Grab a Fork, This Life is Great.

a slice of life
 
"So this weekend, we've got...anything going on? Friday? Date night?"
"Yes, date night, actually it's our anniversary."
"Oh, right. I remembered that earlier this week. Sorry.
"I'm not mad. I made a reservation."

that's it. that's what our marriage looks like, a lot of the time; and it doesn't look romantic, or dramatic, or sentimental, but it is real.

Tranche de vie-- heh, our life sounds better in French.

Whatever language it's in, most pieces of this cake of our life have a big fat rose in the frosting, or some frosting, or at least the cake is baked through most of the way. It's got some flavor. It's worth trying another bite of this 16-year-old cake.

a few bites I've loved:

• Saying, "Yes" to your proposal of "Will you marinate me?"
• Sitting on the rooftop in the fog of San Francisco, taunting the future as we walked with no railings, giddy with youth and libations from the Blue Light.
• Seeing your super-grinning face at the altar 16 years ago, as our pastor quoted Dante, "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."
• Eating Chinese food three nights in a row in Paris, and ending each night at that funky little bar with all of the Ex-pats and the star fruit.
• Spending the day at the Santa Cruz boardwalk after we signed the papers on our house. 
• When I told you that the contractions, "just weren't that impressive." and you said, "I bet you're going to wish you hadn't said that."
• Holding hands in the little room where the parents talked about life while our children were in early intervention playgroup on the other side of the glass. Wishing we didn't fit in...fitting in just fine. 
• Watching you build the most awesome pop-up camper so we wouldn't need to wake up the entire cabin in Montana... and sleeping in that cool camper when there were only three of us squished together, cozy and laughing.
• Snorkeling next to giant sea creatures in Turtle Bay.
• The time when you backed a fully-loaded trailer into a storage unit with only two inches clearance on each side while twenty people watched you maneuver.
• Nervously anticipating, then seeing the ultrasound of that little dancing-hula babyGirl.  
• When you held me while I cried a little longer when the man came to the door to paint the numbers on the curb.
• Thinking we were trapped between a steep clover-shaped freeway exit and a too-low over pass in an RV with two children.
• All the times you wrestle with "all of those children" or any of the other stray kids who like to use you as a climbing wall. 
• Every Wednesday Music in the Park, and every date night, and any night you try to whisk me out of the house. 
• Seeing you laugh so hard I thought you might die while playing Cards Against Humanity.
• Any time you ever wear the Big Red Plaid Coat. It generally means we are happy and cold and with family.
• Friday night at the Lake House, side by side in those awesome chairs with you playing YouTube DJ. Extra love for the nights that our kid comes out of her room to tell us to keep it down.
• When you finally told me last year that you really never, ever, want cheese on your sandwich. 

and every other moment when I stop and look around and think, "This is a great life."

Because it is. No matter how you slice it.

I love you hubbins. Safe travels to you. Perhaps we can leave Chicago out of our anniversary next year, or at least be there together.

I Don't Hate Autism, I Hate Migraines.

Last night my baby girl had her first migraine. Or maybe it wasn't a "real" migraine, but it was a headache so big, that it made her cry on the floor, holding her little seven-year-old head, while afraid to touch her scalp. It made her need help lying down for fear that that her head would 'crash.' She wept and moaned, and looked scared by how the pain took over her entire brain and she told me it made her unable to think of anything else.

myGirl at 7

She didn't have the aura that I get, though she found it painful to read or look at light. It was a headache that built up over the course of the day, and had not diminished after water, food, exercise, or relaxation. She was so miserable, and almost unable to be understood between her sobs and pleas for help.

We have the tools to make those kind of headaches go away at our house, and so with a cool glass of water and a magic melting pill (Maxalt) she was able to crawl into bed, and lay flat, and eventually her swollen eyes closed, and she slept. She awoke today pain-free and chipper from a solid night's sleep. 

*** 

I don't sleep all the way through the night very often, between checking on children, and restless dogs and the occasional bouts of snoring (mine or my husband's, or the dog's) I awake at least once an hour, and I get out of bed 3-4 times a night to be sure that the hatches are truly battened down and no one has escaped, or died. But mostly I fall back asleep easily, unless there is something big playing around in my mind.

Last night, each time I awoke, I realized I had been expecting something. I listened each time waiting to hear the sounds of un-soothed uneasiness. I had been expecting Lucy to be throwing herself around her room, or sobbing, or screaming in pain, because I had been triggered, and I remembered all of those horrible nights when Jake was younger. All of those days we had before we knew he had migraines.

Watching Lucy on the floor of the hallway last night so upset, barely able to speak, I realized how lucky we are that we figured out Jake's headaches at all. Right in front of me was my eloquent daughter with all of her ability to speak, unable to communicate her needs; how did Jake ever stand a chance? 

myBoy at 7

It took us years-- years of testing, and reading, and researching, years of praying, with people we barely know, praying. We drove 'round and 'round, and devised elaborate set-ups to rock him gently even when his body was too big to be held in the gliding chair, or the IKEA swing. We hired caretakers to allow us to sleep, knowing that he would be crying and screaming all night long. We made his twin bed into a giant gated box so he could at least throw himself down onto the mattress over and over again. We took turns holding his hand as he leapt up from between us in our bed and threatened to fly off onto the floor. We tried to keep him safe even as he knocked into and broke our noses, and his grandparents' glasses. We tried to keep him eating and drinking. I remember holding him, crying with him, and making him every promise to try to help him, feeling like I was failing when I had to take a break and pass his care to my husband. He was at least seven before we had a handle on it.

And for all of it, as bad as it was for Descartes and I, and how ashen we got, and how it affected our friendships, and our careers, and our health, and our marriage. I know that it was so much worse for Jake. It was so obvious he was in pain, but no spinal tap, MRI or genetics test could tell us why he was biting at his own hands in frustration. You can still see the scars on his beautiful hands.

Those years before we figured out the migraines are often a blur, sometimes other people need to remember them for us, but I do recall how sad Jake was. So very, very sad. I remember the desperate look in his eyes, like he wanted out of his own body. I remember how he yelled at me, and I just kept hoping that the sounds would turn into words that I could understand, so I could help him. Not being able to soothe him was the most helpless feeling I've ever had.

He had all those sounds, and actions, and giant movements (despite his cerebral palsy), to try to tell me something, and I just couldn't understand the one thing he wanted to tell me: Mom, I have a migraine. 

***

Sometimes people in the online-world think that Jake must have very few needs because I speak about parenting him without saying things like "I hate autism." or "Autism can suck it today."  I have never felt like something "stole my child," or that the "real child" is "hidden behind the autism." I don't believe that saying there is an "autism epidemic" helps my child, or my family. I don't believe that autistics are burdens on society. But just because I don't buy in to all of that doesn't mean I don't find this particular flavor of parenting harder than I thought it would be. It doesn't mean that I don't sometimes long for my son to encounter the world with fewer hurdles. It doesn't mean that I don't want, sometimes, for things to be different than they are. 

But those notions or longings and desires are not always about autism, and my guess is that similar wistful thinking happens for all kinds of parents and people all the time.  I don't need to hate autism to want my son to have an easier time at things, just like I don't hate being tall just because no store-bought clothing ever fits me properly. Autism is intrinsic to who he is, and you can't hate a part of your child and not have that child feel like they are damaged goods. 

I don't hate autism. I hate migraines.

Last Night in the Very Late Early Morning

It's late.

I've tried all the remedies to sleep, but my mind is so filled this time of year, it's hard to imagine it will slow down.

Instead of sleepy,  I fall in to nostalgia, which is possibly the worst category; it's worse than plain sadness or melancholy, or insomnia. I think nostalgia is a purgatory for people who have a solid sense of recall and an ability to  include all of their senses when they remember.

It conjures up almost every place I've been-by smell, and vision, and emotion. The night is instantly filled with forty one years of life, instead of whatever became of this day.

I certainly relive all of the most recent moments that have happened when my feet were a little cold, when Christmas was around the corner, or upon us, but more likely my mind wanders back to 8, and 12, 19, and 22, to when I was a bride-to be, and days of new-motherhood.

I remember learning to ski with my "Unka Danke" (because that is what we called my mother's brother; we always had so many reasons to thank him). He pushed me down into the soft snow and taught me to get up on my own, then fed me soup from a thermos, and taught me how to open a beer. I never feared falling after that trip. Eight years old, and I mostly knew what you should always figure out: what is the the worst thing that can happen? Prepare for that, and everything else will be cake. Doomsday prepper in the making? Perhaps, but we have "go bags" for almost every part of our life. He gave me love and direction with no strings attached. His pragmatics dictated that he gave me distinct praise for my abilities and accomplishments- I always knew where I stood. I didn't know how rare his adjudication was until much later in life. And he treated me as an equal who just had yet to learn, never basing my identity on my age or gender.

When I am sleepy, and there is a chill in the house, I can remember being asked by my parents to help with my brother's gigantic Lego gifts that were from "Santa" because my parents had lost the patience to complete whatever Millennium Falcon or aircraft carrier was laying about in thousands of pieces (or maybe they knew how much I loved Legos, even though they were never my gift?). I spent hours on those December 24ths putting together set after set, and I was always in charge of the stickers.

I can remember that I slipped the neat bow off of the silver gift box (in the middle of the night) to see if my parents had purchased the right purse, so I would have the proper face of appropriate joy upon opening the gift, just in case they had gotten it wrong. I wanted to be disappointed alone so I wouldn't make them sad. (But they got it right!)

I remember lying, something I truly strive every single day not to do, to my parents for at least half of December one year, about who broke the foil-covered chocolate ornaments on the tree and ate part of each ball.  I took the blame so my little brother would not get in trouble...as if my parents really cared. He ate so many of the chocolate balls that no one paid attention to all of the candy canes I pocketed each morning.

On this chilly night, I have a strong feeling, mixed with a  solid haze about the years where I was still living with my parents, split between them since they had divorced. I remember the realization that I really had two sets of parents. There was a dinner when my not-yet-step sisters talked on about going skiing with friends and I wanted so badly to be a part of their world, yet unbeknownst to me, at my other house, I had a new ski jacket, boots and skis waiting for me under the tree. I was a pretty lucky kid.

That was a year when I knew that things had broken, but not forever. I knew my brother and I would never suffer the ill fates that some of my friends had: angry, sad parents, changing schools. With so many parents who really loved us, how could we possibly fail? It's been confirmed in my head, after all of the stories I've heard, just how great we had it, how lucky all of my siblings from both sides are to have so many, many, parents who love them. I say now that I have six parents: the ones I came with, the ones I gained, and the ones I married into. We have that many people loving us, caring about our future, and our children's future. I've got extras looking out for me and the ones I love.

When it is this cold and  I can't sleep, I can remember starting college, and there were so many new-to-me-religions. I was invited to go to Beverly Hills with my Jewish friends, and I craved the solid, persistent, unequivocal religion they experienced. They had family and religion and culture and education all tied-in-to-one thing. It made me understand Catholics better, and Buddhists, and Hindus, and Muslims. It made being a protestant seem bland, or undecided; I church hopped. I only knew I was not a Unitarian.

I can remember, on a cold day like today sitting in the 1st Congregational Church in Berkeley, with my very kind boyfriend trying to figure out how to be a critical thinker and a Christian in one fell swoop, something he had perfected, an armor he wore without shame or arrogance. The church was clapboard and painted buttercup yellow inside, and the pews were smooth; the coffee was weak, but it was served with a smile. None of those things were a good fit for me, not the boy or the little yellow church.

I can remember racing home for the holidays, the acrid smell of tobacco in the car as my best freshman-year friend and I traveled down I-5. Thirty-eight degrees, windows open, pretending that cigarettes and 87 mph in a two door Toyota Corona couldn't shave a moment off our lives. My dad told me I should wait a bit to call him the next time I drove down, because he could do math, and knew that we never should have arrived that quickly.

In this sleeplessness, I feel the physical ache of working at the Big Blue Logo Box store I ran way back when, as the store manager. Looking at my watch (!) 4:45 pm on December 24, knowing that it would take me an hour to get to the airport, and my flight left at 6:10 pm. I remember thinking that the only place to be for Christmas was somewhere in Orange County, where the sun is shining, the grass is green, the orange and palm trees sway. I can remember the joy of exiting the plane wearing the most awesome all-wool sweater skirt and jacket with a black bowler hat and the most precious Mary Jane character shoes, with dark black tights, and realizing that upon disembarkation, I looked like someone heading to Annie Hall's funeral.

The cold, the not-sleepiness, makes me remember the nights I spent poring over books and charts trying to figure out who I would be, and the timeline it should follow. I thought my security, my future, my lifetime happiness, was most strongly knotted to marriage, which would bring me children, and a spouse, which would, in turn, garner praise from my parents. And I had hoped I would find satisfaction for myself, because for whatever shortcomings I have, I always thought my children will be better than I will ever be. I thought my awareness of my weaknesses would somehow give them strength. At the time, with all of my education and desire to succeed in the business world, I really thought I had only two tasks to get right: be married to good man, and be a good mom.

But even now on this sleepless winter night, I can feel the anxiety of trying to be the right person, the right girlfriend. I can feel the needs-to-be written-about experience of my underwear, every piece of of lacy bit I couldn't afford, falling out of my suitcase and down the airport luggage carousal, a ten foot drop, waiting to be swept up into the arms, of what I thought at the time, was going to be my father-in-law. I can remember, as my nose chilled and my cheeks pinked to a hue unknown at makeup counters, thinking that perhaps, I had just become a story in some other family's life.

Numbed hands and toes, I remember declaring my love for Descartes as snow fell around us, feeling warm in what what was surely a blizzard. I remember the longest drive home that day in the windy Jeep.

I remember the cold fog at Fort Tejon on December 26th, 1996, when my now-husband, unwittingly admitted me into his life forever by asking me to marry him, and smell of the oranges we bought miles later at a roadside stand. I wore a yellow sweater that was donated last year by accident. The sky was so very blue that day.

And I practically relive the nausea of being in a fold-out bed in my sister-law's house, suffering from the worst food poisoning. I lay dying in their front room praying the world would end because my body was dissolving from the inside out, knowing that if I had not already been engaged, my groans alone would have heralded the end of my relationship.

The cold reminds me of how warm my children's little bodies are when they crawl into my bed in the morning, making my bed a tumble of  joy I didn't know could be so very big and heart-fulfilling. I think of Descartes' giant 'Lumber man' jacket that he purchased in the middle of August in Montana, making it the best off-season purchase ever. I think of ice fishing, calculating whether my child was bigger than the holes we cut in the ice.

So many memories, so little sleep.

Clean Up! Aisle Five.

Most writers I know crave a space of their own where they can think, doodle, and hopefully-write. I have an entire Pinterest board devoted to retreat-type spaces that given more time, space and money I would create and use to nurture my soul and encourage my craft. I imagine a life where there are outlets on every wall, and at least four places to sit or lounge, so one could read or rest or write.

It will be a quiet space, except for the sound of rain on the roof, which will never be louder than inspirational patter. It will be cozy, with natural light, and bold colors, or not, and blue walls, or yellow, or white-washed old pine. There will be alfresco dining and writing, and the sounds of birds or perhaps the city. It will be a beautiful space that is just barely big enough to invite someone else in, with room for everyone on the patio. It will be glorious.

Or, what really happened, after years of quaint cafes in Berkeley and surrounding environs, museum spaces in San Francisco, then later, my dining room table... I find myself, in a Starbucks cafe inside of a Target.

I thought it would go the other way, that the more I called myself a writer, the more likely my environment would look like a writer's life was supposed to look. I only started saying I was a writer when my daughter introduced me as one to her kindergarten teacher. It gave me the legitimacy that I had been waiting for, so I am going with it, but what about my retreat?  Where is my awesome chair and the corner couch?

Apparently on aisle 5...just over there, past the underwear and the back-to-school section.

Is it a fall from grace, or me recognizing that I do not need as many props as I used to? The coffee is hot, and the wi-fi is free. I'll take it.

In college I wore the uniform, black, and black. I had journals and fancy pens. I carried a leather mail bag that was so heavy it makes carrying a sleeping child seem like a breeze. I brooded appropriately. I drank black coffee.

I looked over some of my writing just yesterday and was pleased to see that not all of it was drivel, but some of the events that weighed down my being, while not frivolous, were certainly not the forever heartbreak I thought they'd be. I didn't even know what I didn't know.

Some of what I read triggered nostalgia, remembering the carefree time spent out dancing with friends until the bar closed, and smoking on rooftops with no railings, three stories up, in the fog of the Marina. Some of it triggered the feelings of lonely I had, even as I was surrounded by people who cared about me.

I was thrilled to find pieces of my husband, as background, then more, as we went from friends to marriage. I laughed at a crush or two I had forgotten.

I missed my little apartment with the tiny room that was barely attached to the house on Dana Street. I missed my friends who have scattered around the globe, and my little vase I filled with flowers every Friday as a treat to myself.

I missed writing every single night, aware that anything I forgot to put to paper would be lost to time. I wrote with passion, about passion. I wrote about the mundane, and the dramatic, and there was poetry, and lists of character names. I wrote, and wrote and wrote.

The time I am in is always the best one when I look back. Even if it was ugly, it was the best because I survived or endured something and came out the other side. And of course there are all the moments that enlightened and surprised me, those were the best too.

But I just know these are the best of times, with happy, healthy children and husband, and our great friends, and lovely adventures. I need to take care to remember these days.

So this wobbly Big-Box store cafe table will suffice. I don't need a specific space in which to write--I just need to make more space in my head so the words can attach to each other in meaningful ways, and then I need to write them out. I don't want to lose this section of our jumbled, messy, lovely, happy, frantic life over a throw pillow and a tin roof.

It's Thursday and I'm in Love

It's our 15th wedding anniversary today, and sitting here in this beautiful hotel room in Chicago, I can't help but think that I am the luckiest girl in the world to have my particular spouse... who is back in California minding after our home, our children, and his work.

I knew when I said yes to come to BlogHer this year, that my desire to be a part of the conference would put us apart on our anniversary, and though I asked Descartes if it was okay that I spend our family dollars for me to attend, I wasn't at all troubled by the fact that we would miss being together on the actual day of our anniversary.

And maybe that's why we are still a whole and functioning marriage after all these years? Maybe being able to roll with it,  maybe that's how we will make it another 35 years after this, and perhaps meet the milestone that his parents just passed. And maybe we will make it several more years after that if there is enough good fortune for us to have each other then too.

I am respectful of milestones; they march us through time, and help us take note of how much has been accomplished, how much there is yet to be done, but I have learned over these years, of marriage and parenting, that it is more important that I mark each morning with thankfulness for a full house of health, for a roof over our heads, for milk in the fridge, and to be at peace each night with the comfort of knowing the head that lies next to mine spins its wheels with how to care for me, and our family, as much as it seeks rest from having put those plans into action.

Our marriage isn't balanced on one day a year with red roses and champagne, though I will probably drink some today anyway. If we held it all up for one day a year to be thankful, to show our love, to announce to the world how great our life is together, I doubt we'd have made it this far. Relying on one day to sustain you for 364 more is asking too much of one dinner date. And flowers cut from their vine don't last more than a week, so what then of the other 51? I told him from the beginning, I would rather you love me every day, than try to make up for it once a year.

I didn't worry about being gone for our anniversary because I know how much he loves me on any given Tuesday, or Thursday, or last week. He shows it in the way he calls on his way home from work, a gentle reminder that it may be nearing the dinner hour if I haven't yet thought about what to feed the masses. I can hear it in his messages to me, in the notes about jobs he thinks I might like, or places we should visit together, and in the swift reply, "Yes!" when we ask him to meet us at the park.

He puts away the ladder, the paint brush, the hammer, the duct tape, the everything-I-left-out, without berating me for walking away from an unfinished project, always giving me the benefit of the doubt, that something more urgent must have come up.

He let's me, be me, as loud and brassy as I often am, even as I am trying to be a little less dramatic.  He draws out my humor and sets the stage for me, because he knows how I love to make people laugh.

We have inside jokes too complicated to explain, and share a dark humor, having waded through the piles of life we could not have anticipated. He accepts my need to plan for the worst, and for however often he has expected me to 'suck it up,' he has always held me when I needed it. He expects me to be strong, but knows when to put his hand at my back, and whisper, "Let's get you out of here." He chooses me to be a part of his adventures, and he fills our life with plenty of them.

He does the right thing, every time. Every. Time. And he is a good man--he is trustworthy, kind, and I've never met a child who didn't like him...and babies know about these things. He even eats leftovers.

He is a cornerstone.

I cannot predict our future; the possibilities ahead seem just as implausible as where we have been, but I know that I am thrilled to see his face when he walks through the door each evening, and melt when he wrestles our children amid a pile of pillows. I look forward to date night like it's the first  time he's ever asked me out, and savor the feeling of being seated beside him in the car, undecided about where to go or what to do--As long as I am with him, everything else is going to work out just fine. It's true. Just watch.

It's more than I thought I'd have. For every young vision I had of my future, this part, my marriage, this man, it's more than I thought I'd have. More depth, more laughter, more big ideas, more feelings... it's more fun than I imagined.


Cheers to you my precious husband. Cheers to us, and what we've built and sustained. May we have so many more years together that we forget each other's names.

You can just call me "dear," and hold my hand.

You're my back bone.
You're my cornerstone.
You're my crutch when my legs stop moving.
You're my head start.
You're my rugged heart.

...

And long after you're gone, gone, gone.
I'll love you long after you're gone, gone, gone.  

Phillip Phillips - Gone Gone Gone -  Live NY PS 22

On Our Anniversary

You were a little boy when I met you, I know that now. With your black hair and shiny hazel eyes, you were young, we were so young, but you had already been through so many things that I thought you were very mature and just had a little boy face. I thought I was all grown up with my speedy car and running my own store, and living on my own never having gone back home after college.

I'm glad that you came home after school or I never would have found you. I am so thankful that California felt like home to you so that you came back to your family. I fell in love with your family first, you know that. Your Mom and Dad and how they loved you and your sisters, and the obvious way that you were a family who fought for each other and supported each other even on grumpy or tough days. You were so respectful of your parents, and they trusted your judgement and your choices; it never seemed like you needed to prove anything to them.

It wasn't hard to fall in love with you, but I'm glad that we were friends first and that I told you all of the stories that I never would have told some boyfriend. You know every twist and bad turn I have taken in my life, and you never let go of my hand when I told you those stories. You have always been a good listener, and able to withhold judgement, or at least you appear to be able to do those things, and maybe that's just as important. You see what is good in someone even as they reveal their failings. You see an individual's best intentions, and give so much room for people to succeed.

I liked waking up this morning and once again finding you there on our bed with too many pillows. After all of these years, no one has ever slept on the couch, or left, or run away, and with all of the frustration we've been through, and some sadness, and worry, and strain, my mind always goes to the wonderful things we've seen and done together, and can only hazily remember the disagreements. Maybe that's how I want to remember things, but mostly I think that's how it is. We are on this path together, and any of those harder times just gave us a better sense of direction for our future.

I trust you. You have so much integrity that I know it has put you at a disadvantage sometimes, but I am so thankful that time has not taken that away from you. Cynical, pragmatic, we've been though those months, but it is with great anticipation that I watch our life unfold before us. Even as we have watched relationships around us sour, or dissolve, or break apart in rocky crumbles, there has always been something that we have... we like each other.

I like you, and your humor, and your clickety-fast mind, and your strong hands. I love you as my husband, and treasure you as a father to our children, who have your same twinkly eyes.

Thank you for another year together. I would choose you again, and again.

I choose you now. I love you. Happy anniversary sweet man.

My Funny Valentines

Valentine's day is filled with chocolates and roses and lots of those horrid balloons and white stuffed bears that only come out in February. We do none of these things. My daughter saw a balloon with a cat on it recently and said, "Let me guess Mom, you double-hate that one."

Descartes brought home some yummy stinky cheese and delicious bread. I usually make him a heart-shaped meatloaf (since I think he fell in love with my meatloaf before he fell in love with me), but this year I opted for Banh Mi one of my new favorite foods because what's not to love about these flavor-filled, flexible sandwiches? A new tradition is born.

We finished Lucy's valentine's cards just before bed last night...I felt guilty that I did not make cake pops, stick lollies to hand-made cards or shape hearts from doilies. She had no sense of this, being perfectly satisfied to give Phineas and Ferb, and Disney Princess cards to her kindergarten friends. Her teacher gave her a Disney princess card, as did half the class. Phew. And she didn't mind that her extra-special card to once certain boy in her class did not get her an extra-special card in return.

I went to Jake's Valentine's day party at Wunderskool. I had great intentions to make a special blah blah blah for each of the children in his class, and something even lovelier for each of the professionals who guarantee my child's health, happiness and safety while encouraging him to learn every day. I decided to show up instead. He saw me as I was walking in the parking lot and headed for the gate to greet me.

I love the look my kids get when they see me across the room, slightly unsure of how long I've been standing there. They grow so fast these days it can take me awhile to find them in their circles of friends and teachers, and they both have darker hair than I imagine they have when they are apart from me. When they see me, there is a smile that spreads across their face, and it fills me up, makes me whole again. Lucy generally calls my name as if she has just greeted a dear friend from college she hasn't seen in years, and Jake will touch my arm with one finger, tracing the space between the radius and ulna.

Jake took my hand and held it later in class while we were waiting for some treats. He took my hand and lifted it to his mouth and kept it there against his lips. Of course I was chatting away with the aides in the class, teasing Jake and his friends, so it took me a moment to register that he was kissing me, kissing my hand. I thanked him for the very nice kiss and he put his arm around me and pulled me in laughing. It's nice to have those moments with him, especially because he is eleven, and there aren't that many more years when he is going to want to hold his mom's hand at all.

Sweet Lemons

My wedding anniversary sneaks up on me each year. It marks the passing of time for me much more clearly than my birthday ever will, because I can remember every year I've been married, whereas there are entire years and seasons I cannot remember from childhood (in spite of my freaky ability to recall events from the past).

We don't celebrate our anniversary like many couples do. We are hardly Hallmark, but we do exchange cards some years. I can't remember the last time we exchanged anniversary presents, and as much as I love fresh cut flowers, I haven't seen (nor would I hope to see) any long-stemmed red roses.

One thing Descartes has purchased for me over the years, and is much more representative of who we are... are fruit trees. On our property we have a cherry, an apple, a tangelo, a kumquat, an avocado, a Behr lime, a pomegranate, and the jewel of them all, the Meyer lemon tree.

When I awoke this morning I remembered that Descartes gave me that Meyer lemon tree right after we got married. He gave me the lemon and the lime. They were in large heavy pots that were too big for them, and we put them out on the cracked little patio of the teeny, tiny post-war housing-boom-era house that was the first "real house" we lived in. That house was so small that if Descartes put his shoes down on the bedroom floor there was nowhere to walk. And it was oddly chopped up, because somehow in an 850 square foot house, we had two bathrooms and three bedrooms and a laundry room, and room for a piano and a dining room table. We were so happy not to be living under someone, or with someone, and buying those trees made it feel like it was really our little house.

We moved the next summer and took the trees with us to our new home on the Peninsula, a house near Descartes' shiny new office, and much closer to mine. It was hot there, unlike the misty cool of Berkeley. It was especially hot that summer, and the owner of our rental house chose to landscape with lava rock, which just sucked in the heat and kept it there. We left for a seven week tour of Europe to celebrate our one year anniversary and had to leave those poor little trees. I worried about them so much that I bought special water gel capsule things that were very expensive at the time, and I prayed they would last that long without water; we didn't have any friends yet nearby that we could even ask to water the plants.

The trees were barely alive when we came home, but they struggled through. We had one lemon that year. I remember because I used it as a garnish on a salmon I made my parents, and Descartes' parents when they came to see our little lava rock house.

And then we got pregnant, and we decided to move again. We looked at houses, took a deep breath, and spent every dime we had putting a down payment on a house.

The trees are in the front yard of that house now, along with all the other fruit trees we've acquired. The lime is still properly a dwarf lime, it's branches spread about three feet across and it is just as tall. But the lemon tree forgot it's grafted roots and spreads 10 feet across and more than 6 feet high. It is prolific. There are lemons year-round, and they are sweet and amazing, and the perfection of what we think a lemon should taste like.

I hardly ever water the lemon and it's still out there, right now,  flowering, and heavy with fruit. We will make home made lemonade this summer; Lucy still wants to make a stand on the corner. And I've chopped a bunch of them up to put in sangria which I served over 4th of July weekend. And I'll make candied lemon peel at Christmas, and serve twists and slices in whatever drink Squid decides is her favorite. And make lemon curd, and what else I'll do...the list is as long as the ways Bubba's mom makes shrimp.

The tree in the yard makes me happy every time I see it, even I hadn't really thought, until today, how far that tree had come with us. We've been through a lot of things in the last 13 years of marriage, and that tree has been around for all of it.

We've taken down wallpaper, made beautiful babies, put up pickles, and played on beaches. We have conquered MRSA, snaked all the drains, and robbed Peter to pay Paul. We've made homemade wild plum jam and our own beer, that was worth drinking. We have happily navigated the loneliest road in America, strapped babies in a LandCruiser to put them to sleep, and driven each other crazy.

Showing our children a national park or pulling weeds in the front yard, we have the same goals in life, and we are good together.  And when it's hard, we are still good together. We make the best of things, and we treasure the moments that life is sweet. I am so grateful for every year we've had together.

****

I love you and our life filled with lemons, lots of sweet, beautiful lemons. I would choose you again.
Happy anniversary to my wonderful husband.

p.s. sorry you are reading this at the same time as the entire interwebs. uhm. yeah.

****
a version of this post was an editor's pick today at OpenSalon.com 

A (prim) Rose by any Other Name Would Smell as Sweet

Sixteen years ago today, that guy, who is now my husband, gave me a little wooden box with four little pots. Each pot had a little primrose in it.

He was dating my roommate, and brought her a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and his handsome smile and his invitation to dinner, but somehow in the midst of being a great boyfriend, he remembered me, the lonely roommate who, I think had just stopped dating the guy who would eventually be the best man at our wedding. Life was so simple then.

It was a very sweet of him. So sweet that after they left, I randomly, plucked three flowers from the plants and pressed them into the largest book I had at the time, "The Riverside Shakespeare," which is a ginormous book of works.

I had never pressed a flower in my life, and for some reason, I plucked those flowers and pressed them in the middle of Antony and Cleopatra which is sort of a strange love story. It's too bad I didn't choose Taming of the Shrew, or Romeo and Juliet because it might make the story better, but our story's not bad. I've never pressed a flower since that night.

I've wondered many times why I chose to save that memory. I thought he was a nice guy, and even at 25 it was obvious that he was a good guy-that he would be "grow up" to be a good man, and as it turns out, a great father as well. Did I know, even then, that we'd be here, nearly 13 years of marriage later?

What is it that makes us stick? What makes any marriage stay together? Perhaps it's facing adversity together and coming out on the other side-not that we're done facing challenges, Lucy is only 4! And I know we're still figuring out how to support each other, because what I need to "feel okay" is different than what my husband needs.  I've recognized that it might be unreasonable to expect my spouse to be my everything, which is why I cherish my relationships with my sister, my moms, my girlfriends, and my online community. My husband and I laugh a lot; we share a dark humor. We have a few secrets together, which may be surprising to some because I do tend to share quite a bit. Maybe this is something: I really like my husband. If we weren't married I would still want to know him, hang out with him, and probably still choose him as someone on my island (do you ever play that game?). He's very smart, and says nice things about me to other people, and we parent the same way without really trying. We have finally figured out that date night is a very smart thing to do on a very regular basis, and without much complaint, he eats everything I cook even if it's terrible. and he's handsome. I am a very lucky woman.

Happy Valentine's Day sweet man.

and thank you again to my roommate for finding such a great guy; I can never thank you enough.

Mad Woman Takes a Pause

I am cleaning out my bookshelves and the kids' drawers trying to make room for some peace in my life, and I'm actually getting somewhere. I think I am giving away about 100 books today. I'm feeling like we need a good clean sweep of things.. of everything to keep our family headed in the right direction.

Just now I made the mistake of opening a journal from 1995. I probably should have just thrown it out without looking, but decided to read a bit instead.

Wow. I dated a lot that year, which makes sense, because it was the year before I started dating my husband. I had forgotten the drama, and the highs and lows of that young single life. It made me ever more grateful for what we have now, however hard some days are. I did a lot of dancing, at least twice a week, and a lot of falling head over heels for the wrong guys. From the looks of it, I had good friends and I worked all the time.

What was fun to find, along with poetic descriptions of rock bands and smoke-filled cafes, was a list of descriptors that I think I was putting together to use as part of a checklist for a spouse. It is interesting to see the things I valued then...not only did I find most all of them in my husband, but I actually still value those traits today.

smart	outdoorsy	humble
handy	eloquent	friendly
opinionated	kind	reserved
private	stubborn	appreciation of the arts
sense of humor	passionate	solid
ambitious	compassionate	social
strong	witty	dedicated
educated	family oriented	committed
amusing

When I made this list I had already met my future husband, and I wonder how much he influenced the list, considering how much time we spent together that year (as friends). Did I really put stubborn down as a trait to look for? Maybe I meant, not a pushover, or with conviction?


and now, back to work.

Whose Life is This Anyway?

He did not put any cake on me because he is a very nice man.

I'll admit, I thought being married would be easier.

In this day and age I thought that gender boundaries would have been quashed. I thought, that since I had clearly married the most romantic and kind man in the world that the sparks that flew in the beginning would be only the base for the fire of our life and that the sweet man I chose would never have a mean thing to say. I thought I would always, and in every way find him charming.

I knew we were better together than separate, and that once together we would be unstoppable in our careers, our travels and our desire to have adventure and novelty. Upon meeting us, I was certain I would continue to hear from new friends what an amazing couple we were.

And having found such an amazing guy from such a solid family,  it never occurred to me that parenting would be anything but joy and pride, with the brilliant little offspring we would create. Our children would be perfect, and well-mannered, and their successes would only bring Descartes and I closer and closer together. Our family would be a vision of success, and happiness. Our parents would be so proud.

yes, I DO have red hair in these photos

I thought I would always be a loving and caring wife, who thrilled at pleasing my spouse.  I thought I was perfectly suited to being married to this man, and when we smiled at each other throughout the entire ceremony I truly thought I would always be that happy. The optimism that surrounded us like a rosy bubble of delight could never be burst, and the people we added to our life would only be more successful and wonderful than we are.

 *******

Our life is so very different than I imagined, and yet we are so much better than those people I thought we would be. Our marriage is so much more real, and raw, and I love my husband so much more deeply than I ever thought I would.

And we are much better together than apart; Descartes and I know each other now. After 12 years we really do know each other, but thankfully we are still learning too; what it looks like to truly support someone in their life and career, how to care for each other when we are both in despair. What we have learned is that we travel well, and we're not scared of really anything when we are together.  Between the two of us, with his strength and my map reading skills, we can get out of almost anything, or into anything, like this cross-country adventure we are almost done planning.

We like each other too. Even when we don't get along, we are good roommates, except for the dishes, which apparently no one wants to do, and we continue to negotiate after 14 years of living together.  I genuinely like my husband, a lot. I think he's funny and smart, and handsome. And the way he builds things, and knows things is amazing to me. Just this morning, he 'hacked' a camera, breaking in somehow and changing lines of code so it would do what we want it to do-- the only obstacle he faced was our four year old daughter sitting on his head.

1998

I'm not as 'nice' as I used to be. I don't think I was ever nice actually. I think I've always had a dark sense of humor and a bit of a snarky streak, but I used to have more optimism. I used to track fewer things, so it was easier for me to remember what is actually important. And I'm sure I am not easy to live with because I demand that you read my mind and prioritize life in the exact same way I do.  I think I am more demanding, but perhaps that happens to many people as they age and know better what they want from life. Descartes is a patient man, tolerant of my drama, but he's figured out how to bust me out of my perseverations, and move our family on to better things.

2010

Parenting has done more to strengthen this marriage than just about anything else. Holding hands during a sonogram while we wait to see if Lucy was growing with all of her parts in the right places, holding each other in a parking lot when we got Jake's first batch of diagnosis from the first official place, helping each other through 52 days of Jake not sleeping, taking turns swinging him or driving, trying to not to yell at each other or our child. Many couples have a few months, maybe a year of disturbed sleep patterns, then they can look back and laugh. We have a life where hard things happen often, but we have learned not to wait to laugh; or at least we try. I think many big, sad things are behind us, and as much as I am rather pragmatic these days, I think I may be coming out of my pessimistic days. Descartes has just been waiting for me, patiently, ever the realist with the ability to take stock, reassess and move on.

I know that my life would be different had I chosen someone else to marry, if someone else had chosen me, but I am so glad Descartes and I chose each other, and that we have this life. I know it's not all perfect. But I think our parents are still proud of us, and I'm pretty sure Jake and Lucy will grow up to be decent human beings under our watch, so at least we know we've maintained one small piece of continuity in this world.

****

I love you my precious husband. 

Thank you so much for another year of life, this wonderful life with you. 

xoxo, 

me

p.s. please consider this your anniversary card. I was not able to get to the store.

You Gotta Know When to Hold 'em

Shannon posted today at BlogHer talking about the dissolution of the dynamic "Green the Vaccine" duo Jim Carrey and Jenny McCarthy. I am totally with Shannon, that while I am not on board with most anything Jenny McCarthy and her movement spout, I have no desire for any ill-will to befall either of them, (or really any person who is anti-vaccine, or really anyone for that matter). 

Shan's focus was more on the myth surrounding the divorce rate in families with special needs children; some say it is as high as 80%. Mull that one over eh?


She interviewed me for the post, and used an excerpt of my response to her query:


1) Are your child's special needs a factor in the state of your marriage?

2) for better or for worse?


and my answer is...

****

Yes, and while I feel that children change the direction of any marriage, having a special needs child changes the direction of everything in your life, and often.

I feel lucky because I got to figure out really early on that I married the right man, and that I want this marriage to last my lifetime. We have learned how to be a team, how to give each other space, how to argue while still taking care of some pretty big or stinky jobs.

I do think marriage is harder when you have a special needs kid. Just finding a babysitter to go to therapy can feel insurmountable, and where is the money for date night supposed to come from when all of your dollars seem to be going towards therapy or special shoes, or another stroller that's even bigger because your kid still can't walk? Everything is just a little bit harder, fixing dinner, bath time, childcare, hours you keep at the office versus home; having a special needs kid impacts the choices you make in every category of your life, it's not like "marriage" could really stand outside of that.

And all of these marriages with typical kids that end in divorce? Sometimes I get angry... sort of like "wait a minute you have everything going for you there: health, and typical kids, and no short bus, no 2+ hour IEPs and no wondering whether you are going to drive off the road because you're so tired because your kid has epic migraines and hasn't slept in days." I think, "Why is it that we are making this work, and you can't with your simple, easy, carefree life?" And I know that's not completely fair, because every relationship has its moments, it just seems we have a lot of things working against us, and we are still here, together.

So it occurs to me that maybe that's why we're still here, or at least part of the reason, aside from really having liked each other to begin with. Maybe having a special needs kid has cemented our relationship, in ways that only despair, coupled with a deep abiding love for our child, could possibly do.

We have learned how to move through adversity, together, and we share the same dark, dark, humor, and we have remembered to laugh. We have figured out, on our worst days, how to still be good roommates, because we have children to raise, and an example to set for them.

I don't necessarily recommend adding a special needs child to a marriage to strengthen it, I'm not thinking it works that way, but for me, for us, we're going to be just fine; place your bets.

Every Action

has an equal and opposite reaction:

Jake off of his Adderall XR:

• more verbalization
• more silliness
• less able to sit in class
• more clearly visible by his reactions that he is "there" because he is making sounds and laughing appropriately at funny things
• I feel like I need to research every drug on the market to find him a new drug that will help him focus without losing what little verbal ability he has.

Travel to Tahoe, Southern California, East Bay and everywhere else we went this summer:

• Lots of great memories for kiddos and grownups
• Nice things to reference in the car when we there is a crybaby Lucy who misses her cousins
• Out of control laundry and suitcases that have not officially been unpacked completely in over a month.
• Nagging feeling that I am behind

I have finally done all of the laundry:

• can't find any time to fold it unless I am awake at 2am
• can't find anything because it is in a gajillion baskets all over my bedroom
• brief sense of accomplishment until I open the dryer and find more clothing that, while clean and dry... is still magically not going to be folded and put away.
• constant feeling that I am behind

Date night with Descartes on Thursdays:

• happy husband and wife who actually talked...to each other.. throughout an entire dinner about more than just who needs to go potty.
• less cash
• less time to do crappy laundry (see above)

Can I Sit With You? book number two being published this fall:

• whooo hoooo excitement and thrill of accomplishing something meaningful
• constant feeling that I am behind

Lucy is most precious bright star:

• no sleep for precocious toddlers in our family apparently because she has not been asleep before 11pm more than once in the last two weeks.
• I am worn out by 10 am each day
• have seriously contemplated nearly full time preschool/daycare so at least someone can stimulate her for 8 hours a day.
• breath-stealing guilt that I am sometimes annoyed by her smart, capable, little personage, after my oft-mentioned heartache of having a child with disabilities. 

Finally took care of myself and went to the doctor for shoulder pain:

• not only do I have a rotator cuff injury, but something is f'd up in my elbow as well.
• need to go to physical therapy 2-3 times a week for at least a month
• personal mini-crisis wondering how the hell I am supposed to be strong enough to care for my disabled child when I am only going to get older and weaker
• guilt for not going to the gym regularly so I could have avoided this injury, be in better shape and live a healthier life for me and my family.

I am now going to clean the guest room, one room, (I can do it) while Lucy is FINALLY taking a nap. 

Back to School...and work

We had a great weekend post vacation-Jake camp-Lucy sleepover week. It was nice to just be us, at home. We did have Sage and her wonderful family over on Saturday night. They are such an easy crew with whom to pass the time. I love that her seemingly quiet husband has become the joking conversationalist as he has come to know us, and that their daughter is now a little chatterbox where she once looked wide-eyed and a little afraid of us. We are not a quiet family with a quiet life. Even on a sleepy day we still have Jake and his unpredictability and Lucy and her wackiness, and me with my drama and need to please and entertain, and two gigantic golden retrievers, and my dear Descartes who by sheer height can worry some people (it's a good thing he has a baby face...).

It's been a good thing to have people over more often. We will figure it out. Now that the backyard has usable space I don't feel like there is nowhere to go. I know we always have enough food and drink, but I worry about trying to crowd people into too small a space...especially people with kids who need a lot of space, or distance from my special kid. If I can just get a grip on the clothing mountains and the paper foothills variously piled throughout closets and corners I'm sure the place will feel bigger. I saw a shed at Costco last night and contemplated putting it in the side yard and calling it my office. (Don't worry mom...I'm kidding)

Driving around the state with Descartes I realize by all of his comments, how happy he would be, how happy each of us would be, if we had a little bit of fenced-in land that was not so close to neighbors. Jake was always so, so happy in Montana, and of course Descartes loves to build things. If my property in north-eastern California were closer, I'm sure we would have a small cabin by now. It would be nice to have it while the kids were little and still wanted to hang out with us, but I am hoping that within ten years we will be able to buy just a few acres...somewhere.. fence it in, make it safe for Jake and be able to relax while Jake plays in the woods (his favorite thing in the world to do). We've talked about buying a place near here in the Santa Cruz mountains. Something close by we could use every weekend if we wanted. I keep checking the ads... one day we will find the perfect place.

Jake went back to school this morning and Descartes went back to work. They both put on cheerful faces before they left the house, but I know that neither one of them enjoyed getting up this morning. Lucy and I have already had breakfast and played the www.pbskids.org Caillou games. I do not understand her obsession with this whiny, balding, four year old kid, but the television family seems decent enough and he gets busted when he's mean to his sibling, so the lessons aren't bad at all. I need to get Lucy her own computer. Something sturdy she and Jake can use. Jake has always loved computer at school, and with more help and practice it could be a very useful tool for him... and Lucy wants to "move da mouse squeak squeak" and "Click now? Click now? Now mommy?" So I am thinking she's ready too.

Lucy meets her new day care provider this afternoon, but first she must go to her 2 year old appointment. Will there be shots? Hmm must remember to bring lollipops.

Anniversary Trip Day Two: Yosemite

Monday morning. Descartes is clearly on vacation because he cannot sleep in. He dosed me with cold medicine last night so I'm groggy as all get out which we decide is pretty funny since it appears this may be about the only way to get me to be quiet. I do not fully wake up for hours...I sleep with my eyes open through breakfast and the drive into the park.
We pack it up and head back to downtown Groveland to drop off our room key and eat the free breakfast. Back in Yosemite National Park we park our car and unload bikes. It is a beautiful day. I'm nut sure where all those people are from last night, but they aren't here now.

Riding bikes on the valley floor is fairly easy, but we do find one small (still paved) trail to huff and puff up for a very short while. We end up at Mirror Lake, where we lock up and do a little trail walking. In spite of the wildfire smoke, it is beautiful as well. I keep saying, "Wow I feel lucky today."

We decide we should have lunch at the Ahwahnee Hotel. It is an old skool place. If you have never seen it, I put it in the same category as the Claremont in Berkeley and the Royal Hawaiian on Waikiki Beach. We sat on the patio of the Ahwahnee Bar and were pleasantly surprised by how good the food was, having heard not so many raving reviews. The cheese plate was really high-end, with pistachios, dried cherries and a very yummy goat cheese being my favorites of the selection. I drink a sidecar, because I figure we are in the perfect place to have one, and I miss my friend Squid who loves them. It was perfect. Little munchkin chikarees race around our feet as we eat and I am thinking this is possibly the best day I have had in a long time.

We call it a day for the valley floor, pack up our bikes and head out of YNP toward Tuolumne Meadows and on to Mono Lake. Mono Lake is interesting, but as far as I can tell, I actually don't need to go there again.

Total miles driven on the trip so far 519

We make a left on 395, marvel at the crazy amount of smoke from the wildfires and drive straight through to...RENO.

Seriously? Yes. We stayed at John Asquaga's Nugget. More for a joke than anything else. We went here a long time ago with very good friends and had a terrific time. This time we get upgraded at the desk, and stayed in a very nice redecorated room that had a freeway running right outside the window. We dined at Trader Dick's and for nostalgia's sake we had a Scorpion bowl.

Between the two of us lost a total of $39.00 and managed to play video poker and some roulette for hours.. so I am thinking we got our money's worth.

In the morning, the smoke outside from the wildfires is so think it seems that Reno is on fire. Poor Nevada..bad enough to live in Reno, but they have all of this horrible smoke from California and no ocean breeze to knock it away any time soon. It's just sitting there hanging. A satellite image from MODIS. We learn on the news that there are over 800 wildfires buring in California. We decide that we will head west. It is 81 degrees at 8:30am. Ugh.

I am always

...amazed by the kindness of others towards my special needs child:

• I know amazing women who helped make something wonderful happen.. an inclusive art project. We had the "art opening" at the Main Library here in Deadwood City. This is the art that was made possible by the grant applied for by DoubleTrouble and executed by Mamalicia, then turned into beautiful cards by Captain Blog. To order your set of cards visit our website and send an email to septarinfo@gmail.com
• the buddy Jake did his art project with came to the opening with his momma. He is the same boy who went on a date with us on Thursday. I must say again that he is one of the kindest little boys I have ever met. While he was at the library he made Jake a card that said "I had a great time at Johnny Rockets. I am having a great time at the library today too. I really like being your buddy." He drew pictures of a fish and several other creatures. He thanked me for inviting him to the art show. It was more than heart warming.

...surprised by death, even when we know it is coming, for all of us eventually:

• my girlfriend Pinks lost her momma this week after a very long battle with cancer. It was hard for me not to go be with her, even though it was not expected, and cost prohibitive, and would have been extremely hard on Descartes to juggle both children and work.
  
• I have an acquaintance, someone I met through close friends who has just entered the hospital for hospice. She is dying. She's only 38. I won't pretend that we are close friends, but I have laughed more than a few times with her, and care very much about Lovey who is her best friend. It will be so hard on Lovey and there is just not much we can do to make it easier for either of them. She is dying, and we knew it was going to come. We have known for awhile, but it is just so hard to imagine that the girl who danced on the bar with me, at Tao, in Vegas...is the same girl who is trying to get pain relief in her final days.
  
• I do not, at all, fear my own death. Not in any way, except to be pained that I will not be able to care for Jake, and who else will possibly care for him if I am not here. I am reminded that I need to get our ducks in a row to make sure that Jake and Lucy will be cared for in case I am surprised by my own demise.
  

...perplexed that I cannot make simple foods, but have mastered the most complex of recipes:

• I cannot make pancakes from a mix. I suck SUCK at making pancakes. I need to look up how to hard boil an egg, and I have failed at Jello every single time I have ever made it. Who fails at Jello?
• I can make an angel food cake from scratch, a soufflé which defies gravity and a chocolate cheesecake that was good enough to garner $200 at an auction.

...delighted when watching my husband plan an adventure:

• we are planning our ten-year anniversary mini-vacation, and have just, in our typical fashion decided that we should go while Jake is at camp at the end of June!
• we have decided to stay on the west coast of this continent and that is as far as we have gotten. Exceptions may be made for Jamaica, Banff, and Montana.
• we have recently excluded Panama due to the high incidence of armed robberies and kidnapping. We do not currently have time to be kidnapped.
• high on the list: Ten-ee-ah Lodge,
  
The Royal in Cancun (technically not on the Pacific Coast, I know.)

...disappointed that I cannot complete simple household projects:

• our downstairs bathroom has been "undone" for a year. It is only half drywalled and has the new toilet installed. We have also managed to place the shower stall floor pan. We have purchased the tile and the grout, and the glass for the shower but just can't seem to get it together to finish the damn thing.
• we have new lights, purchased in December, for the hallways up and down and Jake's bedroom which currently has the old overhead light with no glass in it. It broke last December which is why I bought the lights in the first place. I am hoping that eventually he will not have to stare at bare bulbs.
  

...thankful that this is my life, exactly as it is:

• i have the most precious children, the smartest husband and the coziest home. I am a lucky woman.
  

Waterworks

• The LandCruiser will cost $2500 to repair, and that's just if we fix the catalytic converters...not even trying to fix the tail light or the one bad tire (note: please make sure your tires are properly inflated. You really can ruin your tires by not making sure they are all four inflated properly...especially if you don't rotate them!)
  
• Lucy refused to nap today
• The stylus for my Superphone flew out in my kitchen, landed on the floor and has disappeared.
• Jake woke up with a dry diaper again today (at 6am) and when I tried to race him upstairs (because the downstairs bathroom still isn't done) he went willingly.. then when Lucy followed us and barged in he got mad and refused to go on the toilet.
• I was all excited to go out of town in April with my husband and just figured out that it is NOT the weekend Jake goes to camp, which would therefore make it too difficult for his grandparents to take care of him (and Lucy) for the entire weekend.. so no chance of Descartes and I ever getting away together by ourselves...ever again? for the rest of our lives?
• I am hot. While I love the idea of springtime coming.. bulbs pushing through the dirt, I am not ready for the weather change.Sweater no sweater? long socks short socks? sunblock!
• Lucy did not nap today.
• My Internet connection was down nearly all day.
  

Are these things that would make others cry? I sobbed on Lucy's bed (she was playing upstairs...not napping...)

then of course I got it together and fixed the Internet connection and paid all of the bills and found some short socks.

Jake Goes To Camp

and so of course I am a freakazoid. Sage just took Lucy for the evening. I think Descartes and I may actually go see a movie.

I always get distressed when Jake goes to Camp.. even though he has been 5 times and it is a wonderful place and he LOVES it.. (and even said a high pitched squealy "YEAHHHHHH!" when a stranger asked him if he liked camp).

Also BQ's little boy is in the hospital again and I just feel like there isn't anything I can do for her. She has asked me to send her (via text) jokes of all kinds.. so if you have any good ones please put them in the comments section and I will text away later tonight.

Mamalicia said the other day "Everyone just seems really fragile these days, as if I must watch everything I say so as not to offend, or make someone cry." I guess I am thinking that too. Everything just seems a bit delicate and breakable.

Let's See, Where Have I Been?

Well, there was a massive migraine this weekend. The kind that includes throwing up..bile....yum. And what else? Oh yeah. Rats. Yes, rats.

Call PETA. I killed two of them in the last week. There is a long story there that includes the fact that my 6'5" husband is really, very disturbed by rats, dead or alive. That puts me (voluntarily) in charge of rat clean up. He is really a wonderful husband and father, so in this one area, it is my pleasure(?!) to take care of cleaning little bloody paw prints from our very own Remy off of the floor, and picking up his lifeless body after it has been ferociously snapped by my baited trap.


Rats in your kitchen suck. If you have never had a rat in your kitchen consider yourself the luckiest person in the world. Our neighbors removed a ton of brush from their front yard (big bushes and 500 + square feet of juniper). It is better for the neighborhood to remove the habitat, but in a pinch, it turns out that the space behind the kitchen baseboards in my house makes a decent enough home for two rats for a week. I am normally a generous hostess.

We spent nearly all day on Sunday removing the baseboards, then taking wire mesh and stapling it up under the kitchen cabinets so that the 1 1/2" opening was sealed. I then crawled under the back kitchen window box and discovered where they were coming in and sealed it up with steel wool and more fine metal mesh. Let us pray that there were a)only two of them b)if there were more than two, that they are all trapped outside the house and not inside and c)in the current torrential downpour the little buggers do not attempt to get in our home through any other narrow secret rat passage.

Perhaps I will recover soon and share more exciting things like:

• Jake pooped on the potty at school AGAIN!
• Lucy, at 20 months has begun speaking in 8-word sentences: "Mommy, I want to wash my hands please."
• Descartes and I had a lovely first play date with a couple and their two children... where Jake's (dis)abilites were neither feared nor obsessed over. We just had a plain old relaxing time. The mommy works with Descartes and the daddy is a kid watcher like me.. but he is a master home brewer.. play`dates are always better with beer!
  
• The backyard patio is done and Descartes has re-worked the pergola thingy and we have enough amps in the outside subp-panel to put a hot tub out there!
• Jake has been answering more questions with yeah and nah!
  

Ice Fishing!

Descartes ice fishing