Although it feels like I have been repeatedly chewed up and spat out by my children the last few days, I have miraculously survived. And what, you may ask, has been my saving grace? This morning Babs woke up with a Mystery Fever- no symptoms other than a mild temperature that magically causes her to be sweet and still and extremely agreeable. She crawled into bed with us this morning claiming she felt “very ill” and has spent most of the day on the couch nibbling crackers and singing to her ponies. Mystery Fever? I think I love you.

Everyone has been in a weird mood lately around here. Babs had a rough couple of days at preschool with one of her friends (more to come on that topic later). Her cranky-pie mood rubbed off on Zibbit and they have been at each others throats almost constantly, save for brief moments of attempted mutiny where they united forces against me. I’ve been pretty out of it myself. My head is all wrapped up in a writing project that is (gasp!) not intended for my blog, so between trying to simultaneously concentrate on that and keep the girls from murdering each other I’ve been a bit of a ditz. Just ask my empty, burning coffee pot. (Did you know those things only work if you put water in them? Huh.)

Oh, also, it turns out we haven’t renewed our car tabs since OCTOBER. My stint as Beth’s tour guide was briefly interrupted when I got pulled over by the Seattle police. That’s a phone call every husband looks forward to: “Uh, hi honey, I’m just sitting here waiting for the cop to decide whether or not I deserve a ticket…” I totally lucked out though, and got off with a warning. And I only had to show him one of my boobs!

Anyway, things are sort of falling apart at my house, and if it wasn’t for the Mystery Fever and one very nice policeman I would be in a much worse state. I do good with big things, but when tons of tiny stressful things hit me all at once I just kind of lose my mind. Bleh.

It’s 5:30 in the morning and I am wide awake. This is not like me. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen a sunrise… Sure, I’ve been awake for a few of them the past few years. When you have kids it happens. But I’ve never been a morning person. My brain doesn’t usually power up until about ten… nine if I’m lucky. I’ve always wanted to be a morning person. It seems so much more respectable. Early to bed, early to rise as the saying goes. But even if I go to bed early, I can never fall asleep before midnight. My mind just can’t settle down. My best thoughts come during those nighttime hours, when everything is dark and quiet and so still. The daytime stress has been put to bed and I can finally breathe. I love being alone at night, reading or writing or experimenting with lamplight in my photographs. Time seems to slow down for me then, and knowing that sleep is the next thing that’s going to happen feels wonderful.

But here I am- wide awake- and it’s 5:37. It’s dark outside now, but the day is coming at me fast and I can feel my shoulders begin to tense up in preparation. My brain is chugging along, but not with the familiar slow night thoughts. I am thinking about the tasks that need to be completed today. Wondering if I can shower without waking up the kids (unlikely). Lists are forming behind my eyes. Grocery lists and cleaning lists and lists of appointments that need to be made and I just remembered the cats’ bowl has been empty for 24 hours which explains why they’re sitting there following my every movement with those big wet eyes.

It’s 5:44. There’s no way I can fall asleep now. There are so many hours left in this day. Isn’t that something that should fill me with energy and determination…? Why then do I find it so very discouraging?

It’s 5:46.

Is anyone out there watching Ugly Betty? I was so prepared to hate it, but oh my lands do I ever adore Betty. She is so stinking cute. I feel like each show is a sort of mini-movie. The colors are so bright and the plot is so goofy and entertaining. It’s one that doesn’t sit in my Tivo queue for long- I always watch it right away!

Over the summer I started watching the Grey’s Anatomy reruns and got so hooked. This season has been great so far, and I am slowly overcoming the slimy, nauseous feeling I get every time McDreamy comes on the screen. It’s called a razor, buddy! Just shave already! I am ever so in love with George who I think should marry Izzy, and I really would like someone to smack Christina upside the head with one of those medical clipboards. She bugs.

Lost scares the pants off me, but we’ve been watching it since the beginning and can’t break free. This is THE MOST confusing show I have ever watched. Not only do I have to keep up on the insane plot and all the characters’ random back stories, but dude. What the heck is going on with The Others and their commune thing? Can Jack trust Juliette?? Does Kate love Sawyer, or does she still kind of love Jack? Why don’t they spend more time on Sayid, who is hands down the coolest guy on the island? What’s going to happen with this whole Desmond seeing the future thing? What is the black cloud? So many questions!!!

And oh, The Office. Michael Scott, how do I love thee? You are such a hilarious loser. Has anyone caught how Dwight has been calling Ryan “Tim”? I love that they’re giving a little shout out to the British version there. I was all ready for Jim and Pam to get together after that kiss on the season finale last year, but they have successfully drawn out the tension in that relationship and I like the twist with the people in Jim’s new office.

Is anyone else as repulsed by The Bachelor as I am? This “prince” Lorenzo guy is just so unattractive and gross. Why any of these girls want him is beyond me, but of the final three I’m rooting for Sadie (the virgin). That Lisa girl is messed up with her whole 5 year marriage plan. You can have a plan as much as you want, but do not ever tell the guy you’re interested in. And don’t ever, under any circumstances, put on a wedding dress in front of him. What a loony.

I tried to watch Heroes, but it’s too yucky.

What are you watching?

Not doing so well tonight.

The other day, I was trying to explain to my friend the reason I enjoy photography. I said that looking at life through the viewfinder of my camera enables me to see the world in a different way. I suppose that when life gets too overwhelming, too frightening, too difficult, too muddy, I can always find something beautiful with my camera that makes everything seem worth it. I can’t ever seem to clean my toilets on a regular basis and my kids won’t stop yelling, but look at the way that ladybug is perched so gently on the tip of the blade of grass. It is so perfect in it’s beautiful simplicity, and it centers me.

I also told him that I use photography to show other people the way that I see the world. I can really relate to the things Misha wrote about beauty in her last post. She said, “I am so good at loving people. Trust me. No one person can walk by me slow without me immediately seeing something beautiful in them.” I feel like I know how to do that, as well. I tried to express that in this post awhile back, but I think I came off less eloquent than Misha, and more “obsessive/stalker” like. What I was trying to say then, is that I notice things. And the things that I notice are sometimes obscure, sometimes strange, but I find beauty in them. And I want to share that. So I try to photograph it. And tonight I realized that capturing a picture of something beautiful comforts me. Because it makes me feel like I can’t be all that messed up if I can create something as beautiful as this.

Unfortunately, I just realized that Van Gogh created some of the most beautiful art out there, and then he went on to cut off his ear.

Crap.

ANYWAY, what I am trying to say here is that through photography (and writing and painting and other random things I create) I search for beauty in the world that I feel a lack of within myself. I see it everywhere but in me. I spent an entire therapy session last week bawling about the horrible things I say to myself when I look in the mirror. I am so tired of it all. I am so tired of feeling ugly and worthless and undesirable. Tired of feeling less-than and clumsy and awkward. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know if I’m going to publish this post. I just had to get it out.

Bodies The Exhibition has come to Seattle, and I was able to sneak away for a couple of hours yesterday to go experience it myself.

It was fascinating and disgusting and creepy and incredible. Instead of using models created to show what the human body would look like, the museum is filled with actual human specimens that were preserved using a process called polymer preservation. Most of the bones, nerves, and individual organs were displayed in glass cases, but the intact human specimens were displayed only on low pedestals. If it were allowed, I could have touched them.

I was struck by how incredibly divine the human body is. To be able to see how the hundreds of thousands of veins and muscles and bones intertwine to create the structure of our body and protect our vital organs made it clear to me that something so complex and amazing could never have been created without the help of a higher power. At the same time, however, I realized how ultimately animal we are. Looking at real human muscle, at the way it attaches to bone and tendon just like any other creature, kept reminding me in a very sick way of beef jerky. Each display brought a new wave of nausea coupled with intense fascination. I saw healthy organs posed next to lungs shriveled from emphysema, brains flooded by strokes, and cancer growing everywhere. They also left strange points of reference on each body, so you knew what you were looking at. Skulls and facial muscles were exposed, on top of which sat lips and eyebrows. The center of each torso held the cut out circle of a belly button. In the middle of the massive muscles of the gluteous maximus was a hairy little butt crack. Testicles swung freely on each male specimen. It was these small pieces of skin that made the individuals in the exhibit seem truly human.

The most difficult room to view was the one displaying fetuses that had died in utero from unknown causes or birth defects. I was shocked at how big a nine week old fetus actually is. At nine weeks, you’re barely pregnant. So many pregnancies are lost in that first trimester. So many pregnancies are forcibly ended. But that baby had fingers and toes and every major organ in perfect miniature. I cried as I walked along the case highlighting fetal development, ending at someone’s beautiful baby girl, soft downy hair already covering her head, who had died at 24 weeks. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to hold my children, my amazing and healthy and happy daughters, and tell them how very much they are loved.

Leaving the exhibit, my body hummed with a strange new awareness. I felt the muscles move in my shoulders as I pressed the button for the elevator. I was conscious of my heart relentlessly pumping blood to every inch of me. The people who passed me were transparent- I could envision their joints and organs and muscles all working together to move them from one place to another. It was truly an amazing experience, worth the $25 to get in.

But I don’t think I want to go back any time soon.