NEW DOMAIN NAME!!!

HECK YES! YOU READ CORRECTLY!

I bought a domain name, I bought a domain name, na-na-na-na-na-na!

Oh, dear, wonderful reader, I have just added fifty-two seconds to your life!

You can now simply type www.freckletree.com to read your favorite blog!!!

Exclamation points for everyone!!!!

"Sleepwalk"

There is a means to time-traveling.

It is Art.

Simply viewing a painting, reading a book, experiencing a play, sharing a photograph or listening to music . . . all of these things provide us with the ability to shift time (as well as place and person).

My very favorite music comes from the late fifties/early sixties. Everyone thinks that it's because my parents must've forced it into my brain, but quite the contrary. I was always the one begging to listen to the Oldies station (Motown Mondays were always my favorite)-- instead of my mom's Lite 102.9-- where Celine Dion will croon the blood from your brain until it's dripping out of your ears. Yuck.

I remember being a wee one (eight years old??) and happening upon Magic 96.1 for the first time. Even at that young age, I would always keep a blank tape in my cassette player so that I could hop on the record button if a good tune came on. "See You in September" was my first love. It's amazing how clearly I laid on the bed, jumping up to press record and then letting it go until I had to switch from side A to B, and then replaced the tape and kept on going. It was love. Real love, not that fake plastic button that you feel when hearing New Kids on the Block. My heart had settled for the first time. And it's still settling today.

Having children has renewed an old relationship with another serious childhood love: the Gaston Library. In all of the libraries that I have silently shuffled, in all of the places that I've lived, none is quite so warm and perfect as the Gaston Library. Yes, Gastonia has something that I am delighted to come back to (other than my wonderful family, of course). The girls and I stroll and search about once a week now. Last week I discovered the CD collection and checked out some Pop Memories discs . . . ahhhh 1955-1959. Dear Jesus and Jezebel, what has happened to pop music? Sixty years from now will young adults stop and hold their breath because Get Low plays on their favorite Oldies station?

I popped this disc in while I was playing with the babies and was so struck by a particular song: Sleepwalk by Santo and Johnny. . . You feel a cool breeze in the dusk. You see a giant, wooden Zenith Radio. You smell a green bean casserole baking in the kitchen. Children are running around barefoot in the fresh cut grass, hair and clothes wet from spraying each other with the hose, legs covered in mosquito bites. You are young. You are vivacious. You are healthy and happy and proud. Your home is in a suburban neighborhood and you are wearing an apron over your yellow print dress. Your husband pulls into the driveway---OH! It's 5:15 already?-- in his shiny Chevy Bel Air. The children squeal and run to the car-- OH! Don't get him dirty!-- as he steps out wearing a pink shirt and charcoal gray suit. You are pleased.

Memories that are not personal are always cliche'. Yet, there is authenticity to nostalgia. I sat in the floor with my babies and realized that the woman at the open door was my grandmother. The first time that she would have heard Sleepwalk, she was doing the exact same thing that I am doing in 2009 with my family. Sweating, loving, raising a family and working to keep everyone happy and emotionally supported while her husband is working away from home to put food on the table and a roof over their heads. My mother would have been four years old.

And now my grandfather, who always dressed well and had jokes on tap, who adored my grandmother and gave her the moon . . . now he is gone. I am listening to Santo and Johnny and my grandmother is rich with life and memories but her children are grown and her husband has passed. She is embarking on a new era of life that has to be learned. It must be very difficult to learn to be alone. It is difficult to realize that you are no longer a child. Just as I am learning to be a parent. Life changes and humans adapt. It is sad. It is also honorable. Time always moves forward and so we are forced to do the same.

It is also possible to visit the past. Whether you lived it or not.

words.

"He must have looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how the raw sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass. A new world, material without being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about . . . like that ashen, fantastic figure gliding toward him through the amorphous trees."

-from F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby

SNAPS july 27, 2009

To the unknowing stranger this appears to be a sweet photograph of twins reaching out to hold hands.

They are actually reaching for the other's toys.

Funny, after I switched the toys, they didn't even notice. They just kept on reaching . . .

SNAPS july 26, 2009

Daddy and Zadie jump in on Mommy's Etsy Photo-shoot.

SNAPS july 25, 2009

Layla agrees: This is not what we bargained for.

SNAPS july 24, 2009

Our Take On
"Family Circus"
(the worst comic in the world, ever)

Z: Wow, Lydia, you sure are cute! I wish I could lay down there and play with you!

Meet Melissa Tad

Meet Melissa Tad:


She prefers "Baby Tad"
and is affectionately known as "Lil' T"
to the boys down at the McAdenville Wreck-n-Tow OR
Melissa T. at Hooters--
not to be confused with Melissa M., Melissa K. or
Mylyssyah B. ( pronounced "Melissa B.")


Melissa (like all care-free Tadpoles with spoilers on their Hyundai), has a story.
A past.
A life before moving into our children's mouths.

Before moving to Gastonia, Melissa belonged to a set of twins near the coast. She also was not a Melissa. Follow me, here . . .

Brandon's parents are well endowed with wonderful friends. Couples-golf at the Country Club, Brunch drinks with the girls on Wednesdays, Weeknight Bridge games and parties galore. Fortunately, we are the beneficiary's of their friends' hand-me-downs.

Double stroller? Yes, thank you!
Rocking chair? Oh, how PERFECT!
Car seats? Well, they're not gonna ride on our heads!
Tadpole that teaches your newborns ? Very cute, I'm sure the girls will love this!

Things were packed away into boxes, closets, under beds and in the dark hole of my brain until the wee ones arrived. At some point, we remembered Baby Tad and found him in the mass of rubble. Upon pressing a colorful shape on his belly (let's just say it was a red heart)-- upon pressing a red heart, we received a very deep, sloooooow, demooonnniic mooooaan from Baby Tad. "Heeeellooooooo, I'mmmmmmmm Baaaby Taaaaad." Then we doused him in holy water and stabbed him with a crucifix.

Just kidding.

We played with him, of course! What could be more fun than going around and talking like crazy Baby Tad, "Hellllooooo Zaaaaadie. Wooouuld you like a Boooottttllle?" Or, "Helloooo Lyyddiiaaaa, is thaat you I smmmeelllll?" Baby Tad was a blast. My mom would always fuss because we still hadn't changed the batteries.

And, so, one day, I did.

Or at least I tried.

Okay, we have to back up for a minute. Remember the Treehouse of Horror where Homer forgets Bart's birthday and buys him a Krusty doll (and gets a free Frogurt in the process? that's good). Okay, probably not (that's bad), but Homer buys this doll and it is an EVIL Krusty doll that is after Homer and says things like, "I want to kill you," instead of, "I love you." Well, Marge has the manufacturer come out to fix the doll and it just so turns out that you can open the back and turn a switch from EVIL to GOOD. It was just set on evil. And then the doll serves Homer (but still tries to hook up with Malibu Stacey) . . .

I opened the back of Baby Tad to replace the batteries and it turns out that there's a little black switch. So, I flipped it . . . and Mel the Demonic Tadpole transformed into "Lil' T"-- everybody's favorite Melissa down at Hooters.

It wasn't the batteries at all. This doll is equipped with the ability to change gender. Being a progressive parent, I think it's never to early to teach our children to appreciate other's differences. Especially in a place like Gaston County, where we've got 99.3% of the population working against us (and the others just keep drifting up on the shores of Lake Wylie).

Honestly, I miss Mel. Melissa keeps offering the kids Zima and tries to dress them in Jordache cut-offs. Yesterday Zadie cooed when I passed the Shell Station that sells racing fuel. Next thing you know they'll be asking for window decals beside their car seats reading, "Lil' Z'" and "Lil' L".

I just might have to set the switch back to evil.

The Sarah Palin Farewell Tour: An Eyewitness Photodocumentary

Back in the day, before mortgages and babies, before three course meals and milk-filled breasts, back when it was completely normal to eat Spaghettio's three times a day and we actually had cable . . . we were slaves to live music. We would tramp around the country in my Dodge Caravan, venturing from festival to concert, looking for a good party and tripped out tunes.

Naturally, when we heard that Sarah Palin was embarking on a Farewell Tour, we knew that it would be the party of the century and HAD to get on board.

Of course, we were instantly faced with obstacles: tickets were nearly impossible to find, we hardly resemble Republicans, and the "scene" will cause us to stick out like a white cop at an NWA concert. But, oh, I had a plan . . . oh, yes . . . a divine and ingenious plan.

This photodocumentary is our eyewitness account of the
Sarah Palin Farewell Tour:

First and foremost, we had to recreate ourselves as undercover Republicans.
Not an easy task, but I had the perfect costumes . . .

NO, NO! Too obvious!!

This is much better . . .

Now we are ready to hunt for those tickets . . .

It was just as we expected-- Republicans everywhere!
We happened to park next to these young Palin supporters. I was hoping that my Dodge Caravan wouldn't blow our cover!

They were nice enough and told us that we should go to a place called "Shakedown Street" to find tickets. We only had $500 between the two of us and hoped that someone would be willing to take a bite!

As told, we strolled down to "Shakedown", looking for our tickets. We found people selling a lot of things-- unfortunately none of those things were tickets . . .


So, you can't find tickets, but you can find BALLOONS! Who knew that Republicans were so interested in having childlike fun?? These people must've been RICH Republican and not REDNECK Republican, because they were eager to buy 5 or more balloons at $5.00 a pop! Nuts!

The intensity of the seller in the black cap was making me very nervous. I think he suspected that the boy in the black shirt was an Undercover Democrat-- Yikes!!) . . .

Moving right along . . .
We made friends with these young gentlemen who were eager to preserve a stagnant America and they told us a horrible story about how the cops raided their car and took everything they had. I didn't tell them at the time . . . but it was probably because they looked so gay.

Needless to say, we bought them a veggie burrito and asked if they'd seen any tickets for sale. They gave us a tremendous heads up and told us to hang out by the entrance of the convention. Thanks guys, and good luck with sharing the DARE program here on Palin Tour!

And so we found the entrance.


We were not prepared for the amount of traffic OR the amount of competition looking for "Miracles" . . . Apparently a "Miracle" is a ticket that is given away-- for FREE-- WTF?????-- What were we thinking?? We were actually going to pay $500 when we could be getting in for free?? This in itself, absolutely discredited everything I'd ever thought about Republicans being frugal old men clutching at the last Benjamin in their pockets! I stand corrected.

We observed these young, stand-up Republicans in need of a ticket and hoped to replicate their performance.

Some had signs:


others used the "blaming method" (didn't work in second grade, not gonna work at a Conservative Republican Convention):


This girl said it was her birthday. I asked her how old she was and she stuttered for a moment-- then yelled,"SAGITTARIUS!!!". I'm still trying to make sense of this.


I am convinced that this guy was either hoping that someone would find pity on him for dying and therefore carry him into the show OR he was just playing dead . . . waiting, hunting . . . until that unsuspecting first timer walks by and NAB!!! He steals her ticket.


At any rate, we soon learned that the event was not sold out . . . Huh? Okay.
We bought two tickets at $7.50 each. So I'd say we are ahead of our game monetarily! Woo-hoo!

Finally, into the convention center and WHOA! Things are so far-right-winged inside that I am beginning to get uncomfortable. After all, I am not ready to shed my bra-- I just came for a good time, guys, that's all.

But the Republicans are taking "good time" to the next level. Brandon and I tried to blend in and not appear threatened.






Hey! There's $10.00 of balloon on that chest.
We pray for a soft, low-impact landing.

The crowd was getting anxious so we knew that Governor
Palin was about to make her grand appearance. Brandon and I were so stoked! We thought that Radiohead would be our last show-- what a let down that would have been!!

The girl next to me told me that she was preparing for the show by tuning in and dropping out. Okay. Thanks for letting me know. Tell me how that goes.

"NO, no, man. Look me in the eye, man, I'm talking something real and proper here." (she was talking something foreign and broken to me). "The experience is what it's all about, man, not what she says or what she's wearing, but, like, how you feel her-- how you connect with her soul-- right? You don't just act Republican, man, you BE Republican. You have to connect on a spiritual realm where your body and mind transcend all political views until you are, like, ONE . . . man. You gotta be tuned in to the energy around you. We all have energies that we share and give to others. That's all part of being Republican. Being able to Turn on, Tune In, and Drop Out, man. Tune into that energy and ride it with everyone else. Sarah will show us the way, man. Sarah has a message."

Okay.

She asked me if I would like to tune in to Sarah's message. Apparently she used a little sheet of paper called:

"Charlton Heston, man, this shit will rock your world."

I politely passed.

All at once, everyone screamed and the stage lit up!


Who knew that Sarah Palin had the kind of money to create a show like this??
Oh yeah, she's advertising on my blog.

The adoring Republicans were crazy for her. They screamed, some cried, men and women alike were shedding their clothes and throwing them on stage.

Brandon and I kept whispering, "Really? For Sarah Palin?"


We were a bit nervous when this Undercover was discovered and dragged behind black doors that led to who knows where . . . we bowed our heads and kept quiet from then on.

Finally, the beautiful Governor (or Ex-Governor??) took the stage as-cute-as-a-button! She wooed us with her native tongue and big balls. That's one cute gal, you betcha!


All in all, it was a great experience. I was more apprehensive than necessary. These Repubicans were just celebrating the polical agenda of their hero. Cheering her on and wishing her best. Trying to get one last glimpse before her 2012 Reunion Tour.

In final retrospect, I enjoyed myself. I must say that I don't understand the system and really don't care to.

Because really, these Repubicans are CRAZY.

Even this poor guy that we passed on the way home.

SNAPS july 22, 2009

HOLY HAIR!

SNAPS july 21, 2009

Two reasons why these troublemakers no longer sleep in the same crib:

SNAPS july 20, 2009

Today we:

woke up with crusty eyes (as usual)

retired our favorite shirt

were held by our creepy Unckie Steve. Yikes.

SNAPS july 19, 2009

This is what the girls think about turning six months old . . . .

ON YESTERDAY'S words. POST!!!!

I just went back and read my "words." post-- something that I've been wanting to add to the blog for a while. I love books, love lines from books, read aloud, dog-ear pages, go back and read the same paragraph year after year, etc. So, I thought I'd share some of my favorite words. from my favorite books.

However, when I opened the blog and read yesterday's post, I realized that this website is mostly about my children, their birth and development . . . and this words. post is also about that-- a creature born with a malformed soul. THIS IS NOT A REFERENCE TO MY OWN CHILDREN! YIKES! I love my babies, and their sweet little honeysuckle souls that drip with every wonderful thing in this world and beyond.

I just wanted to clear that up.

This line has, actually, always reminded me of a person in my life. It is one of my favorite lines in literature. It is about one of the greatest characters that I've read. It is NOT about my little butternut squashes and their perfect souls.

Phew!

words.

"I believe there are monsters born in the world to human parents. Some you can see, misshapen and horrible, with huge heads or tiny bodies, some are born with no arms, no legs, some with three arms, some with tails or mouths in odd places. They are accidents and no one's fault, as used to be thought. Once they were considered the visible punishment for concealed sins.

And just as there are physical monsters, can there be not mental or psychic monsters born? The face and body may be perfect, but if a twisted gene or malformed egg can produce physical monsters, may not the same process produce a malformed soul?"

-from John Steinbeck's East of Eden

Sarah Palin-- GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!

I am going to make some comments that may offend the "right" side of my family, friends, readers and the like. Please know that I respect your choices and views, love you dearly, want you to continue reading my blog, and do not judge when you reach into your gun-holster because the doorbell rings.

I put advertisements on my blog. It seemed easy enough. It's called "AdSense." You just click a few buttons and you're making money . . . why not? Within a week of selling my blog to the devil, I have made sixty-six cents. Easy money.

Supposedly, AdSense reads my mind (and my readers' minds-- hurry! hide your thoughts!) by reading my blog. Maybe you've been feeling the need to adopt a baby or suddenly craving a swaddle to help you sleep at night. Waking up at 2am? Maybe not, but if you were, my advertisements just might have the answer.

Okay, this makes sense. What a clever and equally terrifying program this is.

Last week was very busy and I didn't post for a couple of days. I came back to check out my blog (oh, how I'd missed you, my one and only dear friend!) and there it was, the nightmare that I dream night after night in the Hell that I will be spending my eternity for not hating homosexuals:

ADVERTISEMENT: SUPPORT SARAH PALIN: MAKE A CONTRIBUTION TODAY!

If by any chance you happened to see this advertisement on my blog . . . If you thought that this advertisement reflected my political views . . . If you ran to the coat closet because Hell was freezing over . . . PLEASE, let me ease your minds: IN NO WAY DO I SUPPORT SARAH PALIN, REPUBLICANS, CONSERVATIVES, RUSH LIMBAUGH, PRAYER IN SCHOOL, GUNS ON TOP OF REFRIGERATORS, ENDING SENSELESS BABY-KILLING, TREATING HOMOSEXUALS LIKE NATIVE AMERICANS BY FORCING THEM TO A SMALL PLOT OF UNMARKETABLE LAND IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, OR DANCING LIKE A WHITE PERSON.

I screamed like the world had just seen my hemorrhoids and immediately removed all ads from my blog. Then, the sad questioning of myself . . . Did my mind say something to make AdSense think that I loved a Beauty Queen on a Snowmobile? Am I secretly, deep down inside, suppressing a conservative Christian? NO! PLEASE NO! Why then?

Scanning over my previous posts, I searched for keywords that could have confused Big Brother into thinking I was Republican. Panic? Scared? Disorder? Youngun'? Fur Burger? And then I saw it: Arnold Schwarzenegger. I sacrificed my reputation for a cheap one-liner.

In order to secure a spot in Hell, by NEVER asking you, dear reader, to support Sarah Palin ever again, I am going to add some much needed keywords to this post. These are not necessarily words that reflect my taste, but we need to take extra caution, don't we? I think so . . .

Satan worship. Jon Stewart. Birth control. Universal health care. Anarchy. David Letterman. Progressive. Cat Stevens. Gold teef. Pro-choice. Baby lambs. Hurricane Katrina. Brokeback Mountain. New Age music. Massachusetts. The Lion King. Muslim. Geography. Hard-core Pornography. Global warming. Liberalism. Antichrist Superstar. Gonorrhea. Olbermann. Windmills. Trust-falls. Feminist. Rainbows. Tela Tequila. Democrat. Anti-gun laws. Green. Sex education. Mangoes. The New York Post. Yoga. Harry Potter. Lesbian. Agnostic. Atheist. Papa Smurf. Canada. Judge Sotomayor. Steak: rare to medium. Baby Einstein. San Francisco. Hippies. Toyota Prius. Equality. French fries. Exit strategy. Fine art. Sushi. Anal sex. Vampires. Free range chicken.

I Got Rhythm, I Got Music, I Got Six Month Old Twins

Go ahead.

Get comfortable in your clean underwear.

Because you are about to crap in them.

This blog (and day) celebrates six months of our family.

We are all still alive.

And neither Brandon nor I have joined the Global War on Terror . . . OH OH-- EXCUSE ME: OBAMA'S NEW and IMPROVED: !!Overseas Contingency!! . . . just to get a minute of peace.

Yes, the children are still here and kicking and rolling over and bossing us around. They have survived being thrown out of windows, living off of Mommy's polluted breastmilk and listening to their father's heaving sighs. Moaning. Crying. Expressing himself all over the place. They are here. Healthy and fat. And in serious need of training bras.

My head threatens explosion when I begin to consider the past HALF OF AN ENTIRE YEAR THAT HAS PASSED WHILE I WAS PUMPING 7,000 OUNCES OF BOOBY JUICE. My brain begins to buzz and rattle. Stomach acid transforms to Dr. Pepper. There is a tightness in my chest that is all too reminiscent of every day that we have trudged through. Breaking new ground on Operation Paci and Swaddelimmas. Managing mental disorders while feeding, changing and soothing two infants. While spinning plates on our heads, walking a tight rope, juggling fire and playing I Got Rhythm on the kuzoo. Working my ASS OFF just to get a baby to suck my breast. Hello? It's full of milk! Just drink it! No, don't turn your head-- just DRINK IT! Long days and much, much longer nights. Weeks without bathing and the odor that a breastfeeding mother secretes . . . Speaking of, what year is this? 2010, right? No? What year? Whatever . . . Why should a mother still be secreting a special, lovingly hormonal scent that only her baby will catch on a drifting breeze, follow through a rotting desert and rejoin a shit-eating herd to find her out of two million others mothers? Ahem . . . evolution? Get off of your lazy ass and please do something about my b.o.

People tell you that your life will change once you start a family. You will become a more complete person. There will be a new found purpose for waking up and fighting traffic to sit in a half-coma everyday at your repetitive droan of a job. This was always seen as a praising of parenthood. I never realized that it was actually a warning. These people were trying to tell me that they have never missed and yearned for boredom so much in their life. On the way home from work they are screaming: DEAR GOD, WHERE IS THE TRAFFIC????? I suppose you learn by living. No one can tell you that thrift store shopping can give you crabs . . . until you start itching.

The REAL strain has been to freeze moments of our day. Appreciate today, this minute . . . Remind myself over and over that one day I am going to open their diapers and see a giant, compact, human turd molded into a butt-crack. And soon enough, little Dookie Lieutenates will be commanding from the bathroom, "MOOOOOOM! WIPE MY BUTT!" Yes, their will be a day when I am wiping the butts of two children at one time. Dear Impatient Mother, relish this explosion up your baby's back and all over your hands. It will never smell so sweet.

And, so, on this victorious day that finds the five of us living in one house and still loving each other a bit more everyday, I very much feel that we deserve a celebration. Nothing over the top, just a little, "Good job. You did it. You are total rock-stars."

I think we'll take the girls to get whored up at Libby-Lus and watch them girate in front of bored husbands in the mall corridor.

SNAPS july 17, 2009

CONTRAST has taken on a whole new meaning.

Thank you, MiMi.

SNAPS july 16, 2009

Hey Brandon,
Lydia has something that she wants to tell you . . .

SNAPS july 15, 2009

SNAPS july 13, 2009

Toothpaste Face:

A condition in which the facial skin takes on a pasty, white appearance.
Generally reserved for detoxing addicts, the living dead,
and Brandon Malone in the heart of winter.

Apparently this condition is hereditary.

blaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuhhhhhhhh

Never get drunk.

When you have twinfants.

Hangovers aren't fun.

Like they used to be.

SNAPS july 12, 2009

Oh, Dear Aunt Bettes . . .
Our little Jumping Zadie-Frog and Quackie Lydia-Duck are so adorable.
Thank you, thank you. Your hands are so clever!