Sunday, April 10, 2011

The room speaks,...aue!

I want to capture this moment, very very clearly...with this entry. by writing about all that is around me.
Right Now.
I am in the Lounge at home, the washing lies folded on the first couch we bought as a couple for $300 from Bed and Post.
But the middle springs are weak...not from any x-rated activities but from too many XXXL asses plonking themselves on its-not-so-sturdy frame.
On my right, sits the dead vacuum cleaner. It stopped cooperating an hour ago and Frenchy chucked it at the spot it died at. RIP vacuum cleaner.
Next to the vacuum, sits the gorgeous bassinet we loaned from the Petersons, who loaned it from Ligi.
But its full of clothes. And the kuikui necklace I stole off my mother's dresser at Lalomalava.
I love that necklace,..but Tuifiti loves it more.
He gazes and gazes and ponder and touches and gazes at it endlessly, before screaming his balls off for attention. He has now outgrown the bassinet, but not the kuikui necklace.
Above the bassinet, five origami birds, suspended from the ceiling turn in slow graceful circles.
Our fabulous Japanese homestay student and now very dear friend Momo, made it with mini Moelagi. Right here in the lounge, two birds are black, two more are pink and one lone purple origami.
Moelagi insists on being the purple one.
She loves purple.
To my left, the mess from the tuigas is driving Frenchy mad.
There is artificial hair on the second couch *The Warehouse X 2 where everyone gets a bargain!..and get your money back gaurantee!*, and sometimes on his clothes.
Feathers are strewn about because Moelagi insists on helping me. Pearl shells line the neglected fireplace. Because Moelagi AGAIN wanted to "help" me by arranging them that way.
Why does her help always mean I spend much more time cleaning up and undoing the damage?
She wants to help me change the baby. And cook. And iron. And do the washing.
I let her change Tuifiti now, supervised. I promised her she will be cooking exclusively under my supervision when she turns 6. And iron when she turns 7. Washing at age 8. And get a JOB - selling my tuigas on the streets when she turns 9 like an obedient Samoan child. Nice. Watch out for my budding entrepreneur. child slave
I want to capture this moment this way because many things around us carry so much meaning.
If those origami birds could talk! (I would snap its neck actually...if it did talk)
There is so much to be grateful for, like the couch we bought with our hard earned pennies, the bassinet that a good friend lent, the graceful origami that reminds me of a wonderful stranger who became a part of our family. The dead vacuum that tells me "Lady, you took me for granted, now try exist without me!"
But the mess?
The mess tells me that this lounge is lived in. And used. And abused. And filled. And enjoyed by a helpful little girl who just wants to decorate it with pearl shells and feathers and flowers and crayons and paper cuttings and puha and kumara and all the love in the world.
*breaks into Barney song*"...I love love me...we're a happy famahlee..."

Okay, enough of the entry because in the room to my right is a screaming baby demanding a boobie right. Now.


Lani Wendt Young said...

Really love this one. the imagery. The emotion.
And most of all the comfort of knowing that somebody else has a lounge that looks LIVED IN with love!

Beautiful writing. As always!

P.S I have Daniella Hulmes prints in my bathroom. Love her bodacious luscious pacific women. Is reminder to love beautiful bodacious self...

Goddess said...

thanks Lani,
I'm running out of things to blog about, so the messy lounge will do, haha!

and yes - love the Hulme gorgeous but now when you look around, theres lots of copycats, especially in auckland!
..i luv the Real and vivacious/vevegi woman in her work too...pass the panipopo thanks haha
manuia le po..