SHE'S BACK.

And she's already making art...

making friends...
and making herself at home here.
I've spent the last few days just soaking up her sunshine. She's at least a head taller and missing several more teeth since she left for California last year. I'm finding so much happiness in little things I used to take for granted. Brushing her hair, making her breakfast, folding her laundry. I have missed all of these things so much.

I have missed blogging. I've had plenty to write about, but I guess I just haven't felt inspired or motivated enough to sit down and do it. Now that Tiny Small is here to stay, I think I'll get right back to writing and sharing here. In November I found us a two bedroom apartment in the suburbs of Baltimore county. It's nothing fancy, but it's home.

I love our life here. It's a much needed new beginning for both of us.

seven

Today is her birthday.

Missing her doesn't get much easier with time. I still look at her pictures, talk to her on the phone and feel that pain in my heart that never really goes away. I feel like I have failed her, failed as a mother. I couldn't take care of her, couldn't provide for her. There are so many questions on my mind. Will she resent me for my shortcomings as a parent? Other moms seem to be able to hold things together just fine. Why didn't I make better choices? Why can't I be better, give her everything she needs? Will she think that I gave up on her? Does she really understand why I had to do what I did, or does she just say she understands? Will she still love me when she comes back?

What does it mean to be a good mother? Am I a bad mom?





Am I a bad mom?

we go on.

Things are getting better.


I work full time now, sometimes more. I've taught myself how to manage my time and money efficiently. I've worked out a budget and specific goals to reach. So far I'm doing okay at this whole "being an independent adult human being" thing. It's a learning curve but I'm getting there. I pay my rent on time. I'm good at my job. I'm slightly less terrified of the world. I'm starting to like myself. I'm almost like an actual person.

She has lost several teeth and gained several inches of hair. As predicted, she quickly made friends at her new school. She is a beautifully resilient child and I am proud of how well she has adjusted to the sudden changes that have been thrust upon her. She went to a science fair. She went to the beach to wish the sea lions a happy Easter. She has a new robotic dog. We've recently started using Skype. A few days ago, I got a package from her in the mail. A Mother's Day gift. She still tells me on the phone that I'm the awesomest mom. With every ounce of my being I ache to hold her in my arms.



Every morning I wake up after a night of little sleep. I drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I look my reflection in the eye. And in my head I say to myself,

"Failure is not an option."

"Failure is not an option."

"Failure is not an option."

Where to begin?

Well. It's been quite a while since I've posted here, and a lot has changed in the time between.

Back in November Adam and I split up. The reasons were many and the circumstances were complicated. I could go on and on about what happened and why, but I won't, at least not today. Not really because it makes me sad or because I'm not ready to talk about it (though those things are true), but because it just isn't important right now. I changed. He changed. We both made choices we can't take back. We are going our separate ways.

What is important right now is this.


See that? That's my whole world. That is the reason I get out of bed every morning, the reason for every breath in my lungs. That is the most beautiful pair of brown eyes, the most contagious giggle, the silliest grin, the sweetest hugs. That is my Tiny Small. That is my girl, boarding a plane to California.

Without me.

I have never lived on my own. When I turned 18 I went from my family's home to Adam, and I was dependent on him for just about everything for over three years. I've never had to rely on myself. I've never had to really grow up. Now due to the situation I've found myself in, I needed to get out on my own before I was fully prepared. In October I started my first "real" job in years. It's a good job, but I have to work full time to make ends meet for Autumn and me, and if I do that I won't have time to actually raise her. What it comes down to is that I simply cannot take care of her by myself at this point, so my mother has generously offered to take her in until I can get on my feet. This way I will know that she is being taken care of by people who love her, and I won't have to worry that she's going without the things she needs. In the meantime, I'm moving into a small apartment with a roommate. The rent is cheap and it's within walking distance of my job, which will allow me to save up plenty of extra money for when she comes back.

I know that there are people out there who will judge me harshly for my choice, but all I can say to them is that unless you have been in my position, you haven't the slightest idea what this has been like for me. This is the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my adult life. It was a choice that I mulled over for weeks, weighing my options and always, always putting Autumn first. I am not trying to escape responsibility. I am not abandoning my child. I am doing what I truly believe is best for her right now. And I guarantee that there is not a soul on the planet who knows what is best for her better than I do.

My heart breaks a thousand times over to see her go. I'm going to miss so much. First grade, her seventh birthday, all the lost teeth and trips to the beach and new friends. I will call her every day and send her packages and look at photographs, but I can't hug her when she skins her knee on the playground. I can't pack her lunch every day. I can't kiss her good night. When she left, she took a part of me with her.

But I can't change that. I can do one of two things now. I can sit around feeling sorry for myself, or I can fight to bring my girl back home. This is about a new beginning for both of us. I want to build a life for us here. My will is strong and my goals are clear, and I'll be damned if I let anything or anyone stand in my way.

My dear Sweet P has left us.

This morning I took her and Victoria out of their cage for play time. They ran around on our bed, exploring and hiding under blankets and sheets like they always do. Playing peekaboo with their little pink noses. Then Penelope laid down. She sat very still next to my pillow for several minutes, only looking up when I stroked her back. I thought maybe she was tired. It was pretty early and they usually sleep most of the day. So I took them back to their cage to let them rest. Ten minutes later I checked on them and Penelope wasn't breathing. Her body was still warm and her tiny black eyes were still open when she went limp in my hands.

I don't think that it had anything to do with the tumor or the surgery. She was just very old and very tired. Her death was quiet and peaceful, and I'm glad that she had a chance to play and tunnel through the sheets one last time before the end.

Penelope was a wonderful companion. She was sweet and shy and never said no to a scritch behind the ears. She loved carrots, applesauce and her pink fleece blankie. She liked to snuggle on my chest and eat treats out of my hand. She was so brave when she battled cancer and went through surgery, which she bounced back from beautifully. No matter how bad my day was, she could always cheer me up. Her fuzzy little face and her velvety ears always made me smile. I loved the way her whiskers tickled my face. I loved the little patches of white fur above her paws, how they made her look like she was wearing dainty little gloves.


She was a good rat, and I miss her so much it hurts.

Penelope Rosado

2007-2009

the plague comes to baltimore

On Wednesday night Adam and I headed to the Bourbon Street Ballroom in Baltimore to see Emilie Autumn on her very first North American tour. Not only was it a good excuse to dress like an escaped tightrope walker from a goth circus, but it was one hell of a show.

Emilie and her Bloody Crumpets put on a stunning, elaborate performance that combined her music with acrobatics, burlesque and beautifully choreographed dance. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before. Emilie's voice is just as lovely live as it is on her albums, and she can shred on that electric violin like nobody's business.

And would you get a load of those outfits? Amazing. I don't know how anyone manages to prance across a stage spinning hula hoops and walking on stilts in a corset, but they made it look easy. All of the costumes they wear are handmade, which makes me all the more inspired to add some of these looks to my own wardrobe. Seriously, who wouldn't want a pair of stripey bloomers? I went to bed that night with my head full of dreams of painted parasols, tea stained dresses and lace ruffles.

If you're not familiar with Emilie and her music, you need to be. Seriously, look her up on YouTube or something, and then get yourself to the nearest stop on her 2009 Asylum Tour. You can't see this woman live and not fall hopelessly, utterly in love.

ain't no party like a back yard faerie party

Some of my fondest childhood memories are of birthday parties. Whether it's an elaborate affair with pony rides and moon bounces or a cake-and-balloons night with a few friends, birthday parties always feel special. Sure, other holidays are nice, but only once a year can you invite your pals and loved ones over just to celebrate how awesome you are.

On Sunday we had a belated birthday party for a certain awesome six-year-old. The yard was decked out with handmade decorations, including ribbon and tulle garlands and the ubiquitous Martha Stewart pom poms.

The piece de resistance was this set of mushroom stools, handmade by Adam and yours truly. I'm not even going to tell you how much blood, sweat and tears went into making these bad boys, how many times I muttered profanities at my sewing machine or had to run to Home Depot for yet another can of spray paint. The idea was inspired by similar stools we saw at the Maryland Faerie Festival. There they had about a hundred of them, but eight was more than enough to make me want to swear off crafting for the rest of my life. They are pretty awesome, though. Who knew a few plastic buckets, some plywood and felt could look so dang cute?
The cake was a devil's food tree stump, topped with a tiny faerie and magic wand candles. I'm not winning any awards for cake decorating, but it was delicious. It disappeared faster than you can say "domestically challenged."

Our lilliputian guests pretty much kept themselves entertained, with a table full of craft supplies and dollar store faerie wings to decorate (an outdoor party is the perfect setting for messy, glittery crafts. do not attempt indoors), hula hoops, and giant bubbles. As the sun set there was a glow stick lit treasure hunt for bags of party favors, which sadly I didn't get any decent pictures of. Each friend was given a bit of homemade play dough (tinted blue and sprinkled with glitter), a hand sewn mushroom hair pin, and, of course, a few Pixy Stix, all in paper bags that the birthday girl decorated herself.

Good friends, good food, and good weather made for a perfect Sunday afternoon. It was worth all the hard work in the end, but maybe next year we'll throw a party that involves a little less carpentry.