to my goddess daughter on the occasion of her mother's 39th birthday.

this is a letter to my goddess daughter, piper, daughter to my very best friend nicole. today nicole is 39. piper is only 3. she will get this letter much later than now. you know, when she can read. and is old enough that she won't giggle at the pee parts.

and yes, this letter contains the words 'pee' and 'pubic bone' and also includes the actual act of someone (me) peeing. and if that doesn't make you want to read it then i don't know what will! but, you have been warned.

Dear Piper,

You will have lot of birthdays come and go in your life, and some birthdays are going to be milestones, like your 16th birthday, the day you turn 21 and I take you for your first drink, your 40th birthday, 65, etc. Then you'll have the birthdays that are real blowouts, the ones that come on a Friday and they last all weekend, the ones with a new love, a fabulous trip, or an extravagant party with all your family and friends.

Today your mother turns 39, on a Thursday, and as far as birthdays go it may seem like a subtle kind of passing. Just another birthday in a life full of birthdays. No big deal. After all, NEXT year she is 40 and isn't that the birthday to save the big celebration for? BUT all birthdays are celebrations whether they are the real blowouts or just a Thursday when you turn 39. Every birthday is a birthday to be cherished, every birthday offers the opportunity for something fabulous to happen, even if it isn't billed as that kinda birthday.

Piper, this story is a Thursday turning 39 kinda story. There is no flash, no fireworks, ponies, or big bands, just a thing that happened. A thing that should be known by you because it illustrates how awesome your mother is and how lucky we all are to have her in our lives, how very lucky I am. Just another day in a life of days, but one that is so very important and needs to be told and to be known.

Now, at the time the story takes place I was about to and then did give birth to the Duke of Fun. And while we all know what she ultimately decided, at that time, your mother was not sure at all about having children. She and your father had met and been together for years at that point, but it seemed children were a distant idea if one at all. Your Grandmother had different ideas, though, and had hoped that because your mother was going to be part of my birth it might start a few balls rolling in that direction. Especially since your mother and father had recently, very seriously, been talking about getting married.

Well, in hindsight, perhaps this was not the birth to do the convincing.

As it turns out, the birth did not go smoothly at all, and after a very intense 36 hours, a baby, and a lot of bleeding later I was headed to the hospital. Your mother found herself sitting in my home after the ambulance left, waiting to follow me to the hospital, wondering if she’d ever see me alive again. I cannot imagine how she must have felt.

Piper, your mother was amazing. She came to the hospital, slept on the floor, and didn’t leave my side for 72 hours. She changed the newly born Duke of Fun and carried him and rocked him to sleep because I couldn’t sit up to do it myself. She interpreted my needs and fielded questions from the medical staff because I wasn’t able to do it myself. Then when I discovered I couldn’t move or feel my legs due to pubic separation from the birth, she got up every few hours all night long and put them back up on the bed because they would slip off and I couldn't do it myself.

Oh, I had the Duke's papa around to help and my family, but they were taking care of all the other business of me nearly having had died from the birth. It took a village to get me up and running, and your mother was by my side every step of the way.

She did all the errands needing doing to get me back home. She shopped and cooked and cleaned and was just *there.* There when I was sent home with a newborn, a catheter, and a walker. (it would be two weeks before I could walk without it) There when it was time to care for the Duke. There when it was time to deal with my catheter and when it was time for me to eat and to sleep and to try and get comfortable.

We were both 25. How incredible that we were so young.

What I remember most, however, happened nearly a week after arriving home. I had just nursed the Duke back to sleep and thought I finally felt well enough not only to sit up, a recent accomplishment, but also to make my inaugural trip to the actual bathroom. The midwife had paid a visit about an hour earlier and had removed my catheter so I felt ready.

It took me some time, but I managed to sit up and steadied myself on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake my baby or topple forward. This was a 30 minute endeavor at the least. I managed to hoist myself up on my walker, and knowing there wasn’t anyone home but your mother and me, I didn’t even attempt at putting on pajama bottoms. Like I could have if I wanted to.

I got to my bedroom door and so far so good. I could hear your mother in the kitchen and it sounded like she was mopping or sweeping. I left my room, and with the aid of the walker was nearly out of the living room when I realized, to my horror, I wasn’t going to make it to the bathroom in time.

Right there in the living room I peed all over the wood floor. And not just a little pee. The kind of pee that comes after having been impeded by a catheter for nearly a week. The kind of pee that comes from finding an outlet in a finally upright body. The kind of pee that would feel fabulously liberating at last if it didn’t happen to be happening in the living room all over the floor.

I started to call your mother’s name and I swear the first syllable hadn’t left my mouth before she was there, crouched before me, with a big towel.

Without a word she wiped my legs down to my feet, moved and wiped my feet, and then the floor.

“Do you still need to go?”

“No.”

“Come on, I’ll get you settled back down.”

Then she helped me back to bed and settled me down next to the Duke.

“Hey, thanks.”

And she turned to me smiling, as if it really was no big deal, and said “No problem. Are you hungry?”

Piper, may you know this kind of friendship in your life. May you have someone who is so graceful and kind and giving. When the shit hits the fan, or the pee hits the floor, may you have someone who will be there, without a word, and with a big dry towel. Someone who will dry you off and settle you back down. Someone who loves you that much.

May you have a friend like the friend I have in your mother. Because those are the very best kind of friends to have.

Love,

Aunt X.

love.

there's a quote from one of my favorite movies, The Mexican...

Samantha: I have to ask you a question. It's a good one so think about it. If two people love each other, but they just can't seem to get it together, when do you get to that point of enough is enough?

Jerry: Never.

yep.

what is it about love that turns us into crazy people. any love. not just relationship love, but oy, isn't that the big one...friendship love, family love, love love love love.

when you let someone into your heart, or they are just there from the minute you draw your first breath, there is this assumption of safety, freedom, peace. oh, there are all those things, sure, they exist, the assumption is when we believe they will always exist. and then they don't. and that's enough to make anyone crazy.

when someone knows your heart they know you. and that works for the good in so many ways. but when everything goes pear shaped people don't often exercise restraint in what they know of your heart. not when they know how to get to you. not when they know how to drive home a point. make you understand. make you listen. make you make you make you...when everything goes pear shaped and they want you to know how badly they hurt they forget you hurt badly too.

the intentions are so pure. so intent. but what's that path to hell paved with again?

and what is it i say about love that hasn't been said or written about or sung about? nothing. except that when you love you are better for it. that love is infinite and cannot be contained, that you cannot run out of it. ever. that love elevates and inflates and it's like that house carried away by balloons in the movie, Up.

the trick is not letting the heart do it all. to carry the whole load. because the heart is not designed for that. it needs someone to do the heavy lifting, and that's where the head comes in. the problem with this partnership is that the head is just not as fun to party with. the head doesn't let us forget the hurts. the head doesn't let us forget anything. not like the heart. and what is the heart without the forgetting? not as much fun that's what it is.

you've never heard anyone say 'follow your head' have you?

i love the heart. i love that it can get shattered and broken in two and yet, and yet it forgets and jumps right back on. like a voracious beast wanting ever more. forgetting. it's such an amazing resilient part of us. a warrior in the world of body parts.

in the past year of few resources i've been fond of saying i don't have much but i have love. love to give. love to receive. lots and lots of it. an endless boundless resource. and with love i am the richest girl in the world.

but that fucker love breaks my god damned heart on the regular. because there are days i wish my love was enough for the people around me, and it isn't. it cannot save anyone. and there are days i wish that the people who love me wouldn't choose to hurt me, but they do. it cannot protect me.

but we are humans. and we all get our hearts broken. and people who love us hurt us. sometimes even the people who are supposed to love us first and the most and forever. and as hard as it is to believe, it's nothing personal. it's just the cost of doing business as a human.

the trick is to protect your heart as best you can without walling it off.

and to remember the opposite of love has never been hate, it's indifference.

so as long as you love each other, even if you can't get it together, you will never get to enough is enough. you will find a way. even if that way is walking away. because love exists even if you aren't standing side by side. and maybe it takes your whole life to figure out and maybe it doesn't.

just remember when someone is in your heart, and you are in theirs, time doesn't matter. proximity doesn't matter.

just remember when someone is in your heart, and you are in theirs, to tread gently and kindly. even when it is so easy not to. and fun not to. yes fun to be ugly and hurtful. because lashing out stitches up our own pain so nicely, doesn't it?

just remember this is your one beautiful life. and theirs. and hate takes up so much time. so much energy. takes.so.much.

x.

i never promised myself a rose garden.

new york magazine recently published this article about how people with kids loved their children but hated parenting. how parenting was so very hard some days, with little joy. and the prevailing theme seemed to be how these parents thought that having kids would make them happy.

okay, now, the first part of that is NOBODY can 'make' you happy. you can be happy with other people, but being happy comes first and foremost from within. the minute you deviate from that you are screwed.

all right, so back to the article. i found it to be very honest. here are these parents, and they cannot believe the drudgery of parenting. they cannot believe how little they are sleeping, how little fun they are having. etc. etc. etc.

about how maybe they expected something...different.

i am so very happy to say i am not one of these people. not because i am perfect, but because i am not. and i never expected my kids or my parenting to be either.

so this post will be a celebration of sorts. a celebration of ME as a parent and the few things i did right, lucked out on, or forrest gumped my way through to make parenting something i enjoy doing. (you know, for the most part. and i definitely let you know when it's not!)

(these are specific to my situation and not meant to cover EVERY set of circumstances for birth or relationship. i fully realize not every mother gives birth, that not every birth is vaginal, and that not every set of partners are opposite sex.)

okay, so let's start with the birth. given my own lifelong interest and 'professional' experience in the field of birthing i feel qualified to say that that's where the illusions begin. women like to imagine the birth going smoothly and serenely without complications. yes, there will be pain, but that's okay. because A) you're either going to choose drugs to make it go away or B) you are not. either way you are smug in the knowledge that it will be 'handled.' and yes, you know there will be the moment you yell at your partner for getting you into this mess but it will be a funny story later. etc. etc. etc.

birth is pain. it is soul tearing incredible god bargaining pain. there is NOTHING in this world that prepares you for this pain. by all means, read the books and take the classes, because it's worse when you don't have a fucking clue. but even with a clue? even with drugs (i don't know first hand, i was smug #B, but i've attended enough drug births to have knowledge. there is still some amount of pain somewhere. really. believe me.)

and when you are staring at you partner who did this to you? their face is a dumb stupid face just sitting there while you are being cleaved in two by the universe. why in the hell are they smiling! there is not one reason for them to be smiling. and looking at you all lovey dovey, telling you you are beautiful. yeah. come a little closer. i'll show you beautiful on the next contraction. give me your hand mother fucker.

eventually this passes and they are your love again. and with this, you shouldn't tell them what you were really thinking. and eventually there will be the baby (oh i've glossed over a lot, and i haven't even mentioned the 'ring of fire' because, well let's just cut to the chase. eventually there will be a baby.) but before that there will be sweat and pain and blood and piss and unnamed fluids and shit and vomit and it will be like a long weekend at a frat house before you're done. without the benefit of drinking. and the smell. they never mention the smell in the books.

but then you have a baby. and that makes it all worth it. every.single.time. and there may be those of you who wonder why anyone would go through that ONCE let alone MORE THAN ONCE knowing what they know? because, believe it or not, you forget. or, you just don't make it as out to be as bad as it was. because it ceases to matter when you want a baby.

so the first thing i did right was be part of a whole lotta births before doing it myself. and not those sweet light filled hippie births either. the real reservoir dogs kind. which is good because as it turns out quentin tarantino could have written the script for my first birth.

i was under NO illusions. lucky me.

the thing i lucked into was nannying and babysitting. always good work for a young woman trying to figure out what to do with her life and job situation. babies, toddlers, kids, you name the age i did it. not only did i get a lot of experience with children, i saw what they did to their parents, to the house, to the car, to the pets. i saw the stickers that don't come off pasted all over everything, the marked up bedroom walls, the trashed cars, the traumatized pets, and the inevitable empty glass of wine left by the television, on the kitchen counter, by the bed. i saw the relief on the faces of the parents when i showed up and they practically ran out the door and knew my OWN relief when they showed up and i was the one running.

plus, there is NOTHING like taking care of other people's children to make you appreciate your own so very much more. even if you haven't had them yet. and just because that's harsh doesn't mean it isn't true.

i was under NO illusions. lucky me.

the thing i forrest gumped my way into was the father of my children. okay, that sounds weird, but true. because i consciously chose to have a family with him doesn't mean that it was the only possibility of me having had a family. i lucked out. see i've been wanting to have kids since i was 12. not trying to, mind you. just wanting to. but considering the father of my children was not the only person i have had ever had sex with, and sex creates babies (for the most part) i consider it quite lucky INDEED that it ended up being him. for that matter, i'm sure there's a group of individuals out there who consider it quite lucky INDEED that it ended up being him as well.

okay, so this article suggested that 40% of the fights couples have are about their kids. we've had ONE fight about our kids. and that was before the first one was even born. and it had to do with the penis. so of course he thought he was right, but i knew i was, so...

i have always been pro non circumcision. i won't go into the whys because it doesn't matter to you what i think about it and because i don't care what you do with your own penis or those of your kids. BUT if we had a boy i was adamant he NOT be circumcised. considering we never knew the sex of the duke before he was born made this a somewhat abstract argument. the father of my children did not want his boy to be uncirc'd for all the reasons a man of his generation wouldn't. i felt like i had the knowledge and facts to back my position up and he felt like he had the experience with the penis to back his up, so it was an impasse. a BIG one.

then he talked to his friend/longtime housemate about it. a man without kids mind you, but with, um, let's say with a much broader experience of the penis than either of us and he said something to the effect of, well...we don't need to get into it here. BUT he was VERY pro non circ and the father of my children was convinced and that was that. (and if you're reading this and remember that and know who you are thank you thank you thank you. you solved a BIG problem. and um, i'm sure my boys will have cause to thank you when they are older, too. ;) )

other things i lucked into;

1. support. years and years ago i stumbled on a group of mothers on-line. it sounded creepier to say that out loud then. now it's pretty common. and this has evolved into a very tight knit, loving, supportive, somewhat exclusive group. oh my god when you are a young mother and the days are long and the years are short and vodka at 8 am is starting to look like a good idea there is NOTHING like have someone to instantly bitch to, cry to, rant to, rave to, brag to, etc. and have the possibility of *at least one* out of the group who has been there say, "i have been there. you're gonna be all right." especially at 3am. especially when you are at your worst. especially when parenting has pulled you into the abyss and you forget tomorrow will come and that this too, shall pass. especially when you forget that. AND to remind you that parenting is sometimes about so much more than children. that it's everything. and not everything. this is a good lesson.

i tried finding it in real life, but the women in san francisco were so bent on showing each other up in how gender neutral liberal additive free organic cotton they could be they forgot to be kind to each other. and the women in santa monica didn't raise their own kids. so they were never around. the nannies were around. the nannies did not speak english. and they certainly didn't want to speak to me. the women where i live now were, well i don't know where they all were? i don't live in a neighborhood, and the preschool the boys went to didn't engender or encourage socialization between the parents. drop off, pick up, stay in your car at all times, no helping in the classroom, no parent's nights. i loved this preschool but i couldn't pick out a kid or a mom from a line up to save my life.

2. homeschooling. while this is a HUGE commitment, and it takes a lot to find other families we mesh with, etc. just by homeschooling i've eliminated two of the hugest issues facing parents of school age kids. getting kids up and out of the house for school on time and intact, and homework. my kids don't have to get up and out and we don't have homework. no fight before school, no fight after. i feel like the luckiest sillymortalmama around. and i didn't even consider these two things when deciding to home school. i think i was just thinking, "thank god. no PTA."

3. my family and friends. well, they've always been supportive. no nagging mother in law about what i'm doing wrong, sisters who respect my parenting decisions even when it's different from theirs, friends who never said a word about my choices. even when they knew, for example, that the boys were still nursing at 3. never a word. at least they didn't say it to me. so thank you for that.

4. starting a blog as early as i did. because if you're not laughing you're crying. and because admitting your shortcomings to the whole wide web has a very cathartic effect. i am not a perfect person or a perfect parent. i remind myself of this by telling these stories to you. so thank you for listening, because it has always meant more than you know.

parenting is rewarding, yes yes it is. tremendously. and there are enough people and media to tell you this. books, television shows, movies. boy they make it look so great sometimes. and it is. but parenting is also hard. and anyone who tells you anything else *without* mentioning this part is selling something. read the books and get the advice. listen to those who have been there, take all of it with a grain of salt. just remember that this is YOUR journey. yours and your child's. and your child is all that matters. and how you parent your child is up to you. and no one else. so be brave, don't be afraid to try and to fail and to try again. and on the days that it's hard don't be afraid to cry and don't be afraid to embrace the imperfection, don't forget that you are not perfect. and you are not supposed to be.

don't forget that tomorrow always comes. and that this too, shall pass.

and above all, don't forget that you were meant to be your child's parent. and that they are so very lucky to have you. and you are so very lucky to have them.

x.

when life hands you lemons make dark chocolate pudding with caramel cream and pistachio praline.

recently two people who are very near and dear to my heart, my person, my life announced that they were separating. what is it about a couple announcing their separation that makes one feel like a little kid again. sitting on the front step, chin on knees, wondering what happened, but knowing it won't ever be the same again.

and it's funny because if you're not in the relationship it's always so "sudden." this is so "sudden" we say...when for the people *in* the relationship it's not sudden at all. and often a long time coming.

so what do you do with information that hits you out of the blue and changes a LOT? well for me, this time at least, i made pudding. because the thing about dessert is that while i don't care for sweets, i love to make them. because making dessert so often means following the recipe to a T or it doesn't work. so there is often little room for interpretation, for your own input, which when you are feeling adrift is a wonderful sense of peace and calm, an anchor.

dark chocolate pudding with caramel cream and pistachio praline is actually three recipes put together at the end. so it seemed a good, long, methodical project.

first i made the pistachio praline. which is as easy as pie AS LONG as you are patient enough to wait for the sugar and water to bubble WITHOUT stirring it and WITHOUT being impatient and stirring in the pistachios before it reaches that perfect shade of dark amber. sometimes easier said than done. OFTEN easier said than done. oh, and be careful of that burning sugar. when the pistachios are coated with the boiled sugar quickly spread the mix before it hardens.

leave it alone and let cool.

next i made the pudding, chopping chocolate and whisking cream and waiting for all of it to come to a bubble. then you mix cornstarch and water together to be set aside and added later. and then you stand by the stove and stir, and stir, gently, waiting, and it seems nothing is happening. the chocolate melts so slowly, you don't think it will ever melt wholly into the milk. the minutes tick by. you want to stop it's so boring, but you don't. you don't because the milk will burn or the chocolate will stick. so you stand and gently stir. and stir.

and just when you thought you've been so pulled in by the repetition that it will never be different, everything happens at once! the chocolate and cream starts to bubble furiously! you have to RE-mix the cornstarch and water because the corn starch has hardened at the bottom of the bowl and separated from the water. how did that happen you ask? it happened because you forgot how corn starch and water can get when you leave the mix sitting for too long.

meanwhile the chocolate is bubbling away, you are RE-mixing the cornstarch and water, you get it liquid again, you add it to the chocolate in the pot and then you've got to whisk this constantly to ensure it doesn't burn or stick or clump and your arm gets tired and you thought you had it all ready to go but it happened so fast even though it seemed to take forever.

then, then when it's ready you pour the pudding into separate dishes, dividing it evenly, trying to make it smooth so it sets that way. but there's always a little that has set before you get to it. and that dish of pudding is clumpy when the others are smooth. a casualty of the process. because you had the choice to put it all in one bowl to chill but you decided to separate it. you wonder if it would have been easier just to keep it together. but you like it this way. even the non perfect bits.

leave it alone and let chill.

making the caramel cream is much like making the praline, only instead of adding pistachios you need to add cream to the bubbling, just-turned-the-perfect-shade-of-dark-amber sugar. and when you do, adding the cold cream to the hot sugar, it's unexpected, jarring, so it boils up something fierce and it's best to give it some space, to back your hand away while using your very longest spoon to stir. but do keep the spoon in there, you need to keep stirring. even if it's hot, even if a bit got on your hand. you have to keep stirring it until the hardened caramel bits have dissolved. and they will dissolve. just give it time.

leave it alone and let cool.

then fold it into freshly whipped cream. and, well, you know, let chill. always make space and time for the cooling and chilling. and, well, you know, don't be impatient with this step. especially not this step.

when it's all done, and it will all get chilled and done, it always does, top the chocolate pudding in the dishes with a dollop of the caramel cream and top that with bits of the pistachio praline.

in retrospect i would have done things differently. the pistachio praline could really use a pinch of salt, i knew that at the time, but i followed the recipe just to see. i should have added the salt.

and i let the hot pudding sit too long in the pot while i futzed with the dessert dishes. i should have had those ready. because as i futzed, a bit of the pudding cooled too much and congealed. and the last dish of pudding wasn't very pretty.

i could have whipped the cream more. i knew it was too soft, but again, the recipe. it didn't say stiff peaks, so i didn't do stiff peaks. and sure enough, when i folded in the caramel it loosened the cream considerably. chilling it in the fridge helped, but it wasn't the same. i should have followed my intuition.

but when i put it all together and gave the pudding to my husband, to my kids, they all had nothing but wonderful things to say. they couldn't get enough. they loved every bite of it. and only i was the wiser of what i could have done differently. deviating from the recipe and making it better, at least in my opinion. because sometimes we're lucky enough that it works out that way. not always, but sometimes.

i know that when people separate it's a decision that they don't take lightly. and i respect the choice. the people. and i am more often than not proud of people being able to take that tough step. most of us have been there. we know it's hard, but so much harder to ignore it.

and it's not the end of the world. not for them and not for *us.* because as much as we feel like making it about us, because we hurt too, it's not. we deal with it but it's not about us. unless you are in the relationship you have no idea. none. even if you've known them forever. it doesn't matter. unless you are one of the two you can never know.

i have learned that the 'bad' things that happen in life aren't personal. that life is just a continuous strip of, well, living. and everyone goes through it. everyone. and we have our role in it, in our own life, and in others. we take our places and we live. and life just goes on like that.

what's personal is that sometimes, sometimes what we are doing needs to change. it just does. and it's just a decision we make in a life of full of decisions. meaning, it doesn't have to make or break us. like deciding whether to divide that pudding into separate dishes or to keep it all together in one bowl. we get to decide.

and we hope it works out.

and we hope others will respect our decision.

and we hope. we hope. we hope.

x.

your moment(s) of zen.

this is a totally indulgent post. please indulge me.

as the duke gets older i find that he is beginning to enjoy the things that i enjoyed at his age, the books the movies the music. not all of them, but some. and this is an odd little deal. because on the one hand i am happy to enjoy these things again, some of them never forgotten, some of them i'm enjoying again after decades. but on the other hand it feels a little strange. like whoa, where did all the time go? who is this young man with the deepening voice beside me and why does he keep calling me mama?

we watched 'stand by me' together the other night. and every kid (all of those 'kids' now my age) who came on the screen the duke wanted to know who he was. what was he doing now? did he stay acting?

oddly, he was particularly taken with corey feldman. he was also taken with, not so oddly, river phoenix. what were they doing now? did they stay acting?

i know every generation produces their own troubled child actors. the ones that burn bright and then out. the ones that just burn out. but why does it seem my own generation has produced so many? does every generation feel that way? is it the excess of the 80s? which is a silly notion that it would be any 'worse' than any other decade because you needed the late 60s and all of the 70s to produce the 80s.

and i remember loving these stars, too. but having to scrape up money to buy the magazines for information or wait for mtv news breaks. because it was their first time around there wasn't anyone who 'knew.' and there certainly wasn't google.

i wonder if the fascination with my youth and its entertainment will stick with the duke? i don't know much about the books and movies and music of his generation because we are just starting the journey. but if it's anything like the youth driven and generated for youth entertainment of the past 10 years i'd just as soon tell him to take a pass and wait for something better. god i sound old but that's the truth.

i'm nostalgic more than usual lately. it's a gift and an affliction. but there was a lot to love about my generation. they don't make music like that anymore. the movies had a sweeter edge to them. the bullies were more buffoonish than actually dangerous, and the girls still wore clothes.

oh don't get me wrong, there are a couple of recent 'teen' movies that come to mind when i think about good ones. 'superbad' for instance was superawesome. but why do i still think of that movie as being made for people my age? says the girl with a mclovin' id in her wallet. i know, don't be jealous.

but i suppose this happens to all parents. this nostalgia mixed with the ever happening moving forward present. this isn't anything new or even particularly interesting. it's just one more step on the path. but a step nonetheless.

all that being said, the duke looked up corey feldman and learned he's not really acting much these days. briefly touched on his pal, corey haim and his recent death. while i know the top stories of the two coreys, i took up the research and was surprised to learn that corey feldman had 15 #1 movies in a row. weird. he's also some long time recording artist. and here i just thought he was one half of the two coreys. i think when he was enjoying his movie star fame i was just too old to care by then because the movies were still for teenagers. though we are only 4 days apart in age.

the duke learned that river phoenix died. which is such a simple gathering of words for what that really meant at the time. all the subtext of his death is lost on him at this point, though. it's a bit like kurt cobain. he loves nirvana and obviously knows kurt died, but unless you were there and conscious of it happening, well you just don't get the impact. i did. living in seattle i remember it like it was yesterday. he asks me about it, like a it's another one of my stories to tell. but telling it doesn't come close to what i remember feeling about it.

river phoenix was a far far different actor than corey feldman. in a whole different orbit. and i appreciated everything i saw him in. and he impressed me. and i wanted him to fall in love with me. and i was sad when he died.

i wonder what the duke's generation will bring? certainly it seems filled with the two coreys of the world, less so anyone of river phoenix's caliber. but i wonder. he's 13. the world is open to everything right now. anything could happen. and, it usually does.

so it is in this spirit i bring you this installment of your moment(s) of zen. i know, you must indulge me yet again. but it's worth it.

x.

two weeks notice.

so yesterday afternoon a call came that was going to bring to a close a long and sometimes painful chapter of our life here at the big red house. i've been waiting for this call for so long. and when it came it said i had to wait two weeks more.

sigh. fuck. sigh. i was sitting on the bleachers, once again, waiting for the duke's game to start. and you know that feeling you get when your heart sinks? when the sigh is so deep you might run out of air before it's over? the feeling of being so trapped in your own moment? when you actually say, out loud, "I CANNOT DO THIS ANYMORE." emphasis on the "I CANNOT DO THIS ANYMORE."

and then your husband turns to you and he says, "of course you can." and then he brings you a cheeseburger. because he knows that a cheeseburger is the only substance on earth that can right you and pull you from a spin.

okay, well, that's *my* life, but i'm sure you've had those moments.

and so i sat with this moment for a moment. i mean, what can you do if all you can do is nothing? when you have to dig deep and you don't know how much further you can dig? when you reached china so so long ago and the terra firma has run out? it's just you and your fucking worn to the nub shovel?

and i was sitting there, feeling very unkind. feeling like i did not want to choose grace about this. that i wanted to rage and cry and be as upset as i have a goddamned right to be. i have done this! i wanted to shout. i was done with this!

and then, because the universe has a giant crush on me, i thought about my friend stacy. she just popped into my head. and i thought about a moment i had with her so long ago. not the same as this moment. but similar enough. and it threw me a rope.

i was living on the border at the time. writing bad poetry, drinking too much, catching babies. and the moment in particular came at 3 am in the clinic. and it found me washing a bloody plastic sheet. and grumbling mightily about this fact. i was washing a bloody plastic sheet because it was the sheet that protected the mattress during birth. and on the border birth came with a lot of blood. always. and since i wasn't the primary midwife on the clean up was left to me and the other assistant(s).

so, i'm washing this bloody plastic sheet. and i'm complaining about it. because i'm tired. and because i am young. i mean i'm old enough to know what i'm doing is blessed, and sacred. and young enough to still complain about it.

and when you're the one left washing the bloody plastic sheet you often find that the sink isn't nearly deep enough, the water is never hot enough, and the sponge is never big enough. it's a loathsome task anytime of the day, monumental at 3 am. and it's tempting to cut corners. who would blame you? what if i only washed the part with the blood? and not the bottom where it never got dirty? and it's covered with another sheet anyway, it would still be clean, but quicker. it didn't need to be sterile. etc. etc. etc.

and then i hear my friend stacy pipe up. oh, now a word about my friend stacy. i love her. forever. she is awesome and beautiful. she's funny and snarky and intelligent. i've not tested the theory, but i have a sneaking suspicion the peace love community minded mama she is could hold her own in a barroom brawl. she has a place in my heart with a reserved table and an always freshly prepared drink. but at that time in my life? yeah, not so much. and i know the feeling was mutual. i don't know *exactly* why for her, but if i had to guess she probably noticed my giant propensity to be a total jackass. and i noticed she was a gemini. which was enough for me.

apparently i can only handle geminis if i sleep with them or marry them. i mean really, it was the only thing to bridge the ginormous fucking gap in understanding. (at the time, mind you. i'd like to think i've evolved. don't quote me on that.) and since i was pretty sure i wasn't going to do either one of those things with her that was that.

so back to 3am. and i hear stacy say, "you know, it doesn't matter how big or small or great or awful the job is, any job that needs to be done is worth doing well. even if you're tired. all work is important. all work is worth our best effort."

i just looked at her. probably hating her for saying that. because even then i knew she was right. and i will tell you what, that is something that has stuck with me all these years. and is a tool in my parenting arsenal that i count among my most treasured. i cannot count how many times i have said the same exact thing to my own grumbling children. any job that needs to be done is worth doing well. all work is worth our best effort.

all work. even the work of swinging at the end of the same rope you've been swinging on for what seems like forever. being patient is work. keeping your head up is work. having faith is work. it doesn't matter how long it takes because it takes as long as it does and you just have to do it. and why not do it with some amount of your best effort. with some grace. that's what stacy was telling me all those evenings ago. and that's what i remembered last night.

i can count so many things in my life that i didn't want to do, or to have happen. that i wished were different, less hard, less painful, less heartbreaking, less work. my first childhood, my first time, my first marriage, my first son's birth, the last minutes i spent with my friend jenny, the last conversation i ever had with my father. this last year. this last year. this last year. this last week. yesterday afternoon.

and i'm still here.

because you do it. you dig deep. and you hope like hell the sink is deep enough, the water hot enough, the sponge big enough. and sometimes it is and sometimes it isn't. but in the end it doesn't really matter because that's just how it is. because this is your life.

and if you're lucky, if you're lucky like me you have the best family, the best friends, the most awesome support. if you're lucky like me you are impoverished only in what really comes to matter so very little, but the richest where it makes the most difference. and where it matters most.

so i think i got this. again. still. and hell, what's two more weeks when you're already the luckiest girl in the world?

x.

i may have spoken too soon. quel surprise.

so as it turns out the tests i had made contact with some alien life form within my person.

they were vague and suspicious enough findings and descriptions of what was seen to necessitate further testing. and to make me think that someone's building an avatar like world inside of me.

i know this is all vague and weird, tell me about it! but the real story is long and boring and filled with medical jargon and this is already bordering on TMI and who really wants to hear about it in the first place, right? but i felt that since i started with the last post i had to update with the more current and correct information.

and that's all i know. which, as it turns out and per usual, is not a whole hell of a lot. LOL!

in other news i will share the following scene from this morning with you because life is just as humorous and charming as always around here.

me; hey, weird. i noticed you have a little bite mark on the same spot on the neck that i do?

PAPA!; yep. so you're probably thinking what i'm thinking about what's causing it.

me; vampires.

PAPA!; uh, fleas.

me; oh. yeah. that too.

x.

lucky.

so my last horoscope suggested that the week ahead was going to be filled with AMAZING GREAT LUCK! like it was basically saying get ready girl and hang on tight because you are going to be blown.away.

so naturally i was thinking i'd win the lottery!!! or get a hold of a bad clam and lose 20 pounds in a weekend!!!

you know, the good kind of luck. the LUCKY kind of luck.

but the thing about luck is that sometimes it's about what *doesn't* happen. but that's not what you're thinking when you're imagining instant wealth and bathing suit season.

and that's where my girlie parts come in.

you know whenever anyone is all up in your grill and you hear 'uh oh,' that that's not good. not during happy fun time with your partner and especially not when you're at your girlie doctor for a check up.

but last week, you know DURING MY INCREDIBLE LUCK WEEK that's exactly what happened. i got the 'uh oh' from my doctor. and i was sent for tests the.next.day. and was told my doctor would call.me.right.away with the results. and she gave me a 'chin up!' before i left.

all of which, in my mind, did not bode well.

so i went to the test. and any time a pretty lady in a dimly lit room with soft colors and nice music is inserting something that hums and seems to be designed with ergonomics in mind into the squishier bits of your person and you're not drunk and you didn't pay cash up front for it then you know you're in trouble. that this clearly isn't a 'dear penthouse forum' moment but a dear god don't let me die moment.

so then i waited for the doctor to call. on wednesday. then thursday. i called the office thursday afternoon. nothing. except the doctor will call you! then i waited friday. i called late friday morning. the DOCTOR WILL CALL YOU! then came the weekend. do you know how hard it is to wait ON A WEEKEND for this kind of news?

by sunday i was sure i was done for and making deals with the devil.

then fate stepped in.

and on sunday night wingman woke me up in the middle of the night with doubled over stomach pains. whimpering, clammy, the whole nine yards. i had him lie flat. palpated his tummy. and right below and to the right of his belly button it was taut and painful.

the appendix.

so i had him stay in bed while i went down stairs to prepare to go to the hospital should we need to. worrying. and when i went back up he was fast asleep. so i let him sleep while i spent the rest of the night wide awake listening for him. worrying. hoping it wasn't the appendix. figuring it was. because we have a family history you see.

when the duke was three months his father came down with a bad stomachache that lasted for days. it wasn't the appendix because he didn't have pain on the right side. but we didn't know what it was.

by the time he finally got to the doctor he was sent to the hospital. and it WAS the appendix! and it had burst. but see his appendix was 'retrocicle' and in the WRONG spot. so there was no way to really know. and he is pretty stoic about pain. but now it had burst and was sitting near and/on his organs just being all infected. much like the present oil spill. not only do you have the problem at hand, now everything around it is affected.

and as a result he had to have a surgery that, worst case scenario, could a) kill him, or b) necessitate removal of parts of several organs or whole organs depending on the extent of the damage.

i was told to prepare for the worst case scenario.i had to a sign a paper that said i understood all this. i was 25 years old. with a three month old. it was not a good week.

long story short, he lived. and the infection had created its own bubble, and it was shielded from the other organs. and he was ultimately okay.

but i read this kind of thing runs in families. the appendicitis thing. so naturally when i have those 3 am signs and symptoms right in front of me i go right to worry. the next morning wingman slept later than usual and had some appetite, but not much. the pain never went away and the pain never got worse. he had no fever. he said he felt 'okay' but he just seemed off. i kept asking did you go to the bathroom, did you eat something weird, yes he went to the bathroom, no he didn't eat anything weird, we ruled out everything. and i worried. do i take him in? because it would have to be the hospital because he has no private pediatrician right now. (long story) and you don't go to the hospital for appendicitis if he's not presenting with symptoms for appendicitis. because they think you're a freak. they think you're one of those moms.

and i did that with the duke. i was one of those moms. 5 years ago. at three in the morning. same thing. but the pain was so bad. and i was so worried. his father lucked out. would my children?

and OF COURSE it was constipation with the duke. and i didn't care that i was one of those moms because he was okay! but, i'm a little concerned about making the same mistake. twice. at the same hospital, with another child. you know, lest they have some sort of 'list' i get put on. the moms who are freaks list. because the first time it's a whew! and the second time it's the list.

later that morning i went to the mailbox, full of worry, and when i came back wingman was hopping about saying he had just 'been to the bathroom' and his pain was GONE. he looked absolutely fine. back to his old self.

OF COURSE he was.

so i called my doctor. and couldn't get through. so i just said fuck it. what if there was something wrong with me? sure, that would suck. but not as bad as there being something wrong with my kid. and whatever it was, if there was something wrong with me, well it would just be what it was. i simply could not worry any more.

then tuesday morning came and i didn't hear from my doctor. and i didn't worry so much as wondered. and, you know, thought it fortuitous that i *just* did my annual update of the play list for my wake a few days before. because i'm just that kind of 'non worrier.'

then i went to baseball and when i came home there was a letter. from my doctor.

Dear Sillymortalmama,

Your test was normal. Please come back in a year.

Signed,

YOUR ASS OF A DOCTOR WHO TOLD YOU 'CHIN UP!' AND SAID SHE'D CALL BUT SENT THIS LETTER INSTEAD.

and it was dated last friday. which meant she knew five days prior and i didn't. five days of unnecessary worry and countless years off of my life with the stress.

which just goes to show you two things; a) it doesn't help to worry, and b) i need a new doctor.

besides, i had a boyfriend who right after we dated found his true romantic calling with OTHER MEN and HE navigated around my girlie parts with MORE EXPERTISE and KNOWLEDGE than this doctor did. good lord it's like she missed that course in school. or never saw a freakin' chart.

so, the good news is wingman is fine. and i *am* going to die, just not for another 40-50 years or so.

well then.

i guess i did have an incredibly lucky week. just like my horoscope said i would.

x.

wherein i find out i still have it. sort of. or not.at.all.

so i'm at the library the other day to pick up a bunch of books i have on hold.

i run in and grab the stack and head over to the self-checkout kiosk.

i've got them all stacked and ready to scan when i happen to look up. and right there at the next self-checkout kiosk is a handsome man. and he's looking at me. and he's smiling.

okay, so you have to know that at my library i rarely see a male person who a) isn't a little boy or b) an adolescent boy or c) an elderly gentleman. occasionally i will see a harried father with a preschooler or two. oh, and there is a male librarian there, but he hasn't been around much. in fact, i saw him working a bit in the produce section at the grocery store recently. but, that's neither here nor there.

so. the handsome man is smiling at me.

and i automatically smile at the handsome smiling man.

and then i look behind me to see who he's smiling at. (yeah, i'm smooth like that. probably because i learned how to interact with the opposite sex from three's company.)

and there is no one there.

oh. (face the camera and give them a wide eyed stare.)

so my smile gets a little bigger and i'm thinking to myself how nice it is to be out of the house, standing here, with a handsome, age appropriate man smiling in my direction.

and we're smiling. okay, this sounds like it's going on like an hour, but really it's just split second kinda smile.

and then he looks down. and his smile stops. and then he gets this pinched look on his face. so i follow his smile down. to my stack of books.

oh.

dear.

god.

my stack is made up of no less than ELEVEN dr. wayne dyer books AND a metric ass load of teen anime/manga. (cue the laugh track.)

okay, in my defense i have to say that i've been thinking about 'intention' a lot. what it means, the power of it. and dr. wayne dyer has a book called the power of intention. and it's something he talks about a lot in his other books. so i got that book and a few others to try and find a quote of his i remember liking. and then i remembered a story he told about a woman and a bag of stones. and i can't remember if it was in his recent books or his older ones. so i got a few more to try and find it. and on top of that, i was picking up the duke's holds. and he is on a HUGE anime/manga kick lately. HUGE. so. there.

i can only imagine what it looks like to him. like i am NOT a good candidate for ANYTHING. like i spend a LOT of time alone. wishing i wasn't. relying on the good dr. and media created for japanese teenagers to tell me how to get out of it, and what to do if i do get out of it. and that i'm probably more often than not covered in cat hair.

i look up to see him walking away really fast.

and even though it's not like it really matters because it's not like we are actually going to meet or date or anything i STILL want to shout "these aren't mine! okay, some of them are! but there's a good explanation! it's not what it looks like!"

but i don't.

because that would be awkward.

even for me.

x.

if you happen upon a home schooler in the wild.

the majority of people i meet are polite and genuinely curious. and i appreciate the interest and the discourse. this is not for those people.

if you happen upon a home schooler in the wild.

1. do not assume they're all christians. they aren't. some of them are even pagans. and do not assume that just because they home school AND are christians that they are conservative. and not all of them dress up for role playing situations/occasions. some of them do. but not all of them. no two home schoolers are alike. you can actually tell us apart if you actually look at us.

2. do not assume all home schooled kids are 'geeks.' because they aren't. and besides, geeks are really cool people. and you shouldn't call someone that unless they've earned the privilege.

3. do not assume all home schooled kids are 'geeks' who can fix your computer. don't ask.

4. do not automatically start quizzing the home schooled child. they actually do not know everything. even the stuff you think they 'should' know. especially stuff you think they 'should' know. they actually forget stuff they've learned or never learned it in the first place.

5. do not act all smug when a home schooled child can't answer your quiz/question. you look like an ass and it proves nothing. except that you have the ability to make yourself look like an ass.

6. please don't ask the home schooling parent about 'socialization.' ever. really. don't. to you it's curiosity or concern, i get that, but to a home schooler it's like nails on a chalk board. like a tired old worn out myth that just won't go away. it's like saying to a parent, "you've obviously made some whacked out choice and now you need to justify that choice to me."

7. do not assume the misbehaving home schooler is just 'under socialized.' does your child misbehave because they are 'adequately socialized?'

8. do not assume that just because a person chooses to home school that they welcome 'your' opinion on home schooling. i don't automatically give you my opinion on your public/private school choice. because that would be rude. if you're not asked then don't tell.

9. do not ask, "huh. how does THAT work?" when someone tells you they home school. because it's rude. ask me how i know.

10. do not assume that because a home schooler is at home that they are available at the drop of a hat to pick up your slack in the busy day. on call child care, drop ins for coffee, long phone chats about NOTHING, after school pick up, etc. etc. etc. i want to help you, and i want to visit, and i will talk to you if you need me, but i am busy too. you know, teaching.

11. do not assume because a home school parent is home all day that his/her house will be sparkling clean and smell like fresh bread. because, you know, she's home all day. because it's not. ask me how i know.

12. do not assume that because a home schooled child goes back to school that the 'experiment' failed. life moves and changes. nothing is written in stone. and just because a person makes a bold, out of the norm commitment does not mean that it's forever. except for sarah palin. unfortunately she seems to be the exception.

13. do not say to a home school parent, " i should just pay you/get you to home school my kid." as a part jest/part serious proposition when your kid is failing academically or socially at school. what makes you think in a million years i'd want to/would? home schooling is a lot of work. it's not a matter of just folding another child in. like putting up the third seat in a minivan. but if you want some help, please ask. i don't like to see any kid fail if there's something i can do to help, or something i can recommend.

14. do not assume that because a parent home schools that they have endless patience and are saint like or perfect in their parenting. this would not be a correct assumption. oh, some of them think they are. but they'd be wrong. i know that i am not. and i do not have endless patience. i'm just a parent who made a choice. just like you. and being a parent is tough work . so if we all cut each other some slack, and ask questions and observe rather than make snap judgments, then we'd all be way better off.

x.

the old heavy petting threat gets them every time.

okay, i've hinted at this but it's really happening now. the duke is becoming a teenager. and i am not the first mama to go through this, i know, but why is it everything our own children do seems like a one way ticket into no man's land? from teething to girlfriends every step feels like i'm making the one giant step for mankind. bringing you all in is my way of phoning home.

and while i've decided to approach this whole phase with humor and an open mind, some things, while age appropriate, simply will not be allowed in this house. and no, i'm not talking about 'twilight.' thankfully, he's not all that interested. whew.

let me set the stage.

last week at wingman's baseball game we were sitting in the stands. me on one side, my husband on the other, the duke in the middle. and my husband (he needs to be re-named for blogosphere purposes. i haven't come up with anything, so for now he's 'my husband.' wow. lucky him.)

okay, so we were chatting and just being. we were not being overly loud or obnoxious. hard to believe, but true. i do have manners and exercise them. you know, when i need to.

so then we hear the duke pipe up

"shhhh. people can hear you."

"what are you talking about?"

"don't talk so loud."

"we are not talking loud and no one is listening?"

"shhh. it's embarrassing."

really? WTF?

oh. yeah. and so it begins.

i knew this day would come, i just hoped it wouldn't. you know, because i'm so awesome how could i ever be of embarrassment to my son. right?

so i tried to ask him what it was that was so embarrassing about my/our behavior. and he didn't have any kind of concrete answer. just us talking, you know, me being me. so naturally i began to rib him a little, and at the same time to seriously tell him it could be worse. you know, pointing out the things i *could* be doing to really embarrass him. you know, other than just being me.

and it just got worse for him. because of course actually TALKING about it is just as terrible and even worse than it happening when you're that age. i know that. but i wasn't talking about it loudly, i was just trying to have some discussion on this new development. and i have a right to address accusations and grievances levied against me. parenting is a two way street, he's not the only one who's allowed to make a case. then i heard

"shhh! stop! you're.embarrassing.me!"

okay. i'm done.

"hey, sir, you brought this up. here. and now. and now you need to listen to ME. i've spent a LOT of years working on accepting who i am and being fully okay with who i am. and that's not as easy as you may think it is to do. and i don't change myself based on the people i'm with. i'm me. and i like me. and you may be interested to know that there are a lot of other people who like me and who actually want to spend time with me. and i appreciate that you're going through some hormonal shifts, i get it. but i am not going to change who i am or stop being who i am because you suddenly can't accept it. and if that's really the case, that i embarrass you, then you can choose to sit somewhere else."

"okay. i'm sorry, mama."

to which my husband added

"yeah. and if you don't knock it off i'm going to pull your mama onto my lap and start making out with her right here."

"PAPA!"

god. it is so hard to be young. how do any of us make it out alive.

x.

if you think this is really about pants then you'd be wrong.

so i have this pair of white pants that i love. they are like those mythical pants from the books and movies. no matter what, when i wear them they are perfect on me. and by 'no matter what' i'm talking about weight and weight fluctuation. these pants give me curves where i want them and eliminate them where i don't. no matter what, they make my ass look perfect. and that is not a brag, that is a fact. and i think we all need to go easier on ourselves and praise ourselves more. so i'm just callin' it like i see it. and i love them for that.

so, the pants. they're white. and i'm not a fan of white. if it's a shirt it gives me some kind of sickly pallor, if it's pants i just know i'm going to sit in something, spill something, etc. and red wine? oy.

so i rarely wore these pants. even though they were perfect on me. yeah, that's how we women like to do things. well, this women.

and this was dumb so i started to wear them more. like i had to make myself wear them. and every time i put them on i loved them all over again, but i was terrified of spilling wine, food, etc. on them. but the more i made myself wear them the more i got comfortable with the fact that i did actually have the capability to keep myself clean in a social situation.

and the more i wore them the more i loved them. and the more i loved them the more i wore them. garden parties in the out of doors! a kegger! a baby shower wherein i managed to break my toe and catch my hair on fire and win the drinking contest i was having with myself BUT did not get one SPECK on my white pants! and then i started getting cocky. and smug. look at me in my clean white pants knocking back the red wine and getting nary a drop on myself.

my talents are endless.

and then came easter.

i was wearing my white pants. flitting about, plating all the appetizers before everyone got there. and then making bellinis when the guests arrived. pouring red wine. look at me with these drippy oven roasted tomatoes, watch while i make this bellini (peach juice, for those of you who don't know, is incredibly staining. weird, right?) hell i even made pea soup with a FIVE YEAR OLD HELPING ME in my smug white pants. pea soup. using the immersion blender and everything. not a drop.

god i'm good.

i thought this as i was putting the mixed berries on the pavlova and running my mouth about something. sipping at my red wine. look at me in my smug white pants.

and then it happened. one errant, terribly full to bursting juicy blueberry broke from the others and like it was in slow motion as it started to roll down my leg. all.the.way.down. on the white pants.

it was a mess. oh sure, it's not like it looked like a scene out of carrie or anything, but it wasn't pretty.

after all those times, the garden parties, the wine, the soup, etc. and it was the blueberry that did me in.

which just goes to show, sometimes it really is the little stuff. sometimes it's not what you think will happen, but what you never consider. because you've gotten cocky, or smug, or just because it was time. and that's how life is.

which brings me to the ball.

my husband and i don't fight. not because we are perfect (because we are not perfect) or scared to, or we don't know how, we are just REALLY lucky enough to both have good communication skills. and THANKFULLY smart enough to remember to use them. whew. skills which have come in especially handy this past year. and seriously, this last year has been so very hard i'm amazed that we aren't at each others throats. all.the.time. because it would be so easy. but, we aren't. thank you god we are not.

BUT

but a few months ago there was a situation. and it started with a yoga ball. and it ended in a standoff of mega proportions. the likes of which have never been seen in this house. and it ended quickly (sort of, i mean in the grand scheme of things) and ultimately with laughter.

BUT

and you know what i'm going to say.

it had nothing to do with the ball.

the ball was the little thing. even after dealing with the big BIG stuff for so long and jumping every hurdle, making everything work out of so very little, hanging on by a thread some days, it came down to a fucking yoga ball.

fucking yoga ball. he was the one who ordered it for me and was inflating it for me. and i was looking at this ball and it was way too small. and he tried to convince me it was the same size as my old one it was replacing. that he had checked and made sure to get the same one. and i would not believe him, and i would not budge because i'm not stupid that is not the same size by any measure. i did a lot of pointing and emphasizing of certain words.

it turns out when you inflate a physical therapy grade yoga/pilates ball you have to do it slowly. like over a period of a day or so. and this piece of information was not relayed to me, or i didn't hear it. (the jury's still out on that one) so yes, it was the same size, or would be *eventually.* but it wasn't then. not yet. but since i didn't know this, i just saw it being small and not the same size at all.

so from my perspective i'm right and he's wrong and why is he trying to convince me of something that simply cannot be true? and from his perspective i've lost my fucking mind over a yoga ball. which, to be fair, was true. i did. and it was not pretty. and then came the freeze out. which i'm really really good at. some people yell, some people throw things, i give the freeze out.

good lord. stress is a killer. and sometimes you don't realize you need a reliever until you are losing your mind over a yoga ball. yoga. ball. and no, the irony is not lost on me.

so what do the blueberry and the ball have in common? does any of this make sense? maybe. it does to me. because the blueberry and the ball are what happen when you're busy just trying to get through the day. living. they are the little things you don't count on.

everyone always worries about the big stuff of life. and the what ifs the big stuff brings. but the big stuff isn't all that hard if you really think about it. not really. because you see it coming. (or you don't but you quickly adapt) you make plans. you work at it. you're given a chance to figure it out.

but the blueberry and the ball are the little things you never see coming. until they're staining your favorite white pants or creating the biggest standoff you've ever had with your husband.

and you don't know it until you're in it and you've got to just figure your way out of it without making the little things bigger than they are. and without 'creating' more little things.

and part of this is about not getting too smug in your perfect white pants, and part of this is about how to learn how to take a step back and ask questions, even if you "know" you are right. especially if you "know" you are right. one minute of jumping off your high horse can do wonders. it's like a miracle cure.

and part of this is me telling you that if you have something that you love and that makes you feel good don't hide it away because you're afraid it will get dirty. or ruined. or broken. or lost. drag it out and wear the hell out of it, use it up and enjoy every moment of doing so.

life is just too god damned short for anything less.

x.

DFTU.

so i've been thinking about the word weltanschauung lately. mainly because it's such an AWESOME word to look at and probably sounds really good spoken in its native tongue.

anyway, weltanschauung is defined as: world view; philosophy of life; a framework through which to interpret the world.

when your life is very different than you thought it would be, or was even a year ago, six months ago, how you perceive life, your own in particular, becomes very very important. in some cases, not only for survival, but for being able to adapt to and enjoy it in some measure. however small. for being able to move forward.

some people just have a world view without really knowing where it comes from, some people pick something by which to define or craft their world view. religion, the way they were raised, what simon cowell throws down on american idol. some people can't figure what the hell i'm talking about when i say 'world view' and that's okay too. (see me after class. maybe i can help.)

for instance, some people craft their world view based on what you 'shouldn't' do. sort of the 7 deadly sins outlook. I SHALL NOT HAVE; wrath greed sloth pride lust envy gluttony. a list of don'ts telling them what they can do. now, i don't know about you, but living by a list of don'ts doesn't sound like all that much fun. not to mention seems a little, well, pre packaged. processed. not a lot of room for free will and creativity. and hell, some of those 'deadly' sins look pretty darn okay to me. right?

and since we're on the subject, why isn't 'being an asshole' on the list? the 8th sin if you will. because it seems to me that THAT is more of an issue and causes way more problems than the rest of the sins. just sayin'.

okay, and then you have the people who don't live by the 'don'ts' but rather the 'cans.' as in they have some particular thing they can do. some talent or creative ability. and that defines them. and subsequently their world view. they can do something, can demonstrate something, can put a really great title on their business cards, can always pull it off. i seriously envy these people because i don't have a particular talent that really defines me. and it seems like it would make those business cards i want to print up for myself a little clearer if i did.

sure, i 'can' write but i mostly write about myself. that's less talent and creativity and more 'abject self absorption.' and which should probably be filed under one of the 7 deadly sins at some point.

then there are people who define themselves and subsequently their world view by their general 'got their shit togetherness.' and by 'define' i mean they don't 'need' to define anything. and if they do, it's just icing on the cake. they are a mash up of the kind of person directly above with the added element of effortless fabulousness. these people are pretty much capable of anything. they always look good, their house is always clean, they have some special talent and creativity, a title to put on a card, and, i suspect, if you got close enough, they would smell like vanilla.

i am not those people.

i spend great swaths of the day in drawstring pants or pajama bottoms, far from camera ready, my house isn't always clean, and i can pretty much guarantee you that i don't smell like vanilla.

BUT

if you invite me to dinner i will ditch the drawstrings and put on a pair of kick ass heels, if you come over i will clean my house for you, if you sit at my table i will cook for you, and i always answer the phone. even at three in the morning. especially at three in the morning.

in short, i love you. that's my talent.

oh jeeze not in the 'i love you! now gimme some jewelry!' kinda way. but in the way you love someone just by being there in their life, even if you don't agree, the way you love someone when you say namaste, even if it's just at the end of yoga, the way you love someone when you put a plate of food in front of them, the way you love someone by drying their tears from 3000 miles away, or say a prayer for them when they need it.

it's there, you only need to call it forth. let it prevail. always.

which ultimately brings me to my weltanschauung. my world view. how i have to see my world so that i can be in it and be the best person i can be and ultimately project that out. because as i have come to learn, sometimes your special gifts and talents and creativeness aren't enough. sure, they are 'enough.' always. but when push comes to shove and you really need to rely on something, well, perhaps there's room for something more. that bit of extra padding when the fall gets a little rougher than usual.

so, you know those bumper stickers that say WWJD. what would jesus do. or WWJJD. you know, what would joan jett do. or president obama, or peter pan, bukowski. take your pick of who you would ask to emulate in a difficult situation to get to an understanding and take action.

well, my weltanschauung is the bumper sticker i've come up with.

which is WWXLCD.

the answer to which is,

DFTU.

don't fuck this up.

with all that i've been blessed with and have, with all that i am able to do, which some days is not much, and others all i can do is ask for help and receive it with a grateful and humble heart, with everything i just need to NOT FUCK IT UP.

which some days is a hell of a lot harder than others. not fucking it up just means no matter what, deep breaths, move forward, keep calm and carry on. love as much as i'm able and know how to say thank you and mean it. because i really really do mean it.

if i can just take each day as it comes, one day, this day, and move through it and DFTU then that's what i can do. and i'm happy. and i'm good. and i think that spreads, and in some small way, at least in this little corner of the world, it makes a good and positive difference.

that's my story and i'm sticking to it.

got weltanschuung?

x.

your moment(s) of zen.

since the beginning of the year the boybarians and i have been doing a study of school lunch offerings in america. it has been nothing short of FASCINATING and HORRIFYING. seriously.

further, our study has taken us all over the world to see how school lunch gets treated outside of america. and i must tell you, it is treated well. very well in a LOT of places. in fact, based on our studies of what is offered where, i've decided i would very much like to be a french nursery school student, aged 4. dude, those kids eat WELL.

not so much here. school lunch in america is in a critically poor state. we need revolution, change, and quick. in short we are harming our children and setting them up for a lifetime of nutritional FAILURE. in length, the powers that preside over how the school lunch program is administered make it a morass of paperwork, rules, guidelines, etc. and so forth and so on. they have taken the act of feeding children and broken it down into a complicated matrix of boxes that must be ticked. it is not about food, it's about the administration of funds, preservation of supply chains, cutting costs where ever possible, and percentages of 'nutritional elements' that must be met. i put that in quotes because i've seen these lunches, and nutrition isn't the first thing that comes to mind.

enter jamie oliver and his food revolution. a new series on ABC friday nights. and it's good. he's been working on revolutionizing school lunch in the UK for the last 10 years and he's bringing his mission here.

he's mouthy, presumptuous, pushy, judgmental, and he uses the word 'crap' to describe food. but he is right on and comes full force from a place of love. love for children and real food. he is committed and he's awesome to watch.

plus, he doesn't just want to come in a make a media splash for his own gain and then leave. he wants to teach people about real food. what it is and how to cook it. because if you know how to cook even one or two dishes you can branch out. and seriously, that's sometimes all it takes. something as simple as just knowing about what foods are and how to prepare them. it's about education and support. because a lot of people never learned how to cook even the basics, and because of that must *rely* on prepared foods. and that is sometimes passed down generation to generation. could it really be as simple as teaching a few cooking techniques? jamie oliver thinks so and i agree with him.

i grew up poor and ate well. because there was real food and cooking in my home. with pots and pans and knives and spatulas. and i am not suggesting that junk food and 'crap' food don't have a place in the world. because good lord we know i do love the cheeseburgers and have been known to crave 'crap' and indulge in it a time or two.

BUT everything in moderation, right? and daily school lunches with all their sugar, fat, salt, and carbs, day after day, 180 days a year? every single day. no, that's not right. not at all. not to mention the children who are having school breakfast, too. two meals a day filled with sugar, fat, salt, carbs. 180 days a year.

look, i know i'm lucky. i home school and my kids get to make their own lunch every day. we have the time and resources to make it delicious and healthy.

but just because my kids don't go to public school doesn't mean i don't care about the kids who do. quite the opposite. just like i support all the school bonds and levies that come my way, and am all too happy that part of my property taxes go to support the public schools, i want to support the change that needs to happen in the public school lunch programs across the country.

i know there are a LOT of people trying, working on this very issue. and have been for a long time. affecting change where they are. good people, smart people. but let's face it, jamie oliver is huge and if he can get this the attention it deserves fast and now, then more power to him. because this needs to go nationwide. and there isn't a second to lose. because we are losing people we love to diseases borne of bad nutrition. and it starts when you're young. and it's perpetuated in the schools. and we need to change that. now.

it is that spirit that i bring you this installment of your moment(s) of zen. please know, it's 43 minutes long, so watch it when you have the time to spend. because it's worth it, and it's important. and please, watch it with your kids.

Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution Fridays 9/8 c ABC.

x.

why i love baseball.

you must understand those are words i never thought i'd type. but, it's true.

i've never been one to like or understand sports. in theory, sure, but in person? like playing or watching? not so much. maybe it's my ADD (self diagnosed, which is the best kind of diagnoses in my opinion) or my lack of coordination, but sports just weren't ever my thing.

i especially never understood baseball. maybe it was the tempo of the game? slow and boooooorrrrrriiiiiinnnnngggg, like the golf i used to watch with my grandpa. and it may also have had something to do with all that math, statistics, averages, blah blah blah. slow and complicated. wow, fun. sounds like a former relationship i was only TOO HAPPY to ditch.

so imagine my surprise when the duke hit me with wanting to play baseball all those years ago. not that we aren't an active family, but sports? especially as organized and intense as little league baseball? he had tried soccer the year before and didn't seem especially into it. he tried basketball and the same was true. and to me, those were the exciting sports! but, baseball?

of course i signed him up and of course he took to it and lo these many years later he's still playing and enjoying it. (as an aside, wingman plays too, but i'm focusing on the duke for this one.)

and watching him play is one of my favorite things to do. i am proud of his dedication and commitment to being a good team mate. i am proud that he continues to improve, and that he continues to ignore the crap that can come about when a bunch of boys the same age hang out together.

oh i know, i have complained about the time commitment, the other parents, the coaches, the cold, the proximity some of the best cheeseburgers on earth and my battle to ignore them, mostly, about the mouthy kids, about the nepotism, and the politics, and joke about carrying and flask, and so on and so forth.

BUT

that's just me being my charming self.

what i love about baseball is watching a team develop. despite all the differences and the politics and the posturing and the popularity of some and the lack thereof of others, there becomes a moment on the field when you see this group of boys and they become a team. and for a moment, or a few strung together, life becomes simple again. a group of boys with a common goal, basic and slightly primal, working together. cohesive. communicating. because it doesn't happen if they don't. getting a job done. a bat, a ball, a base. and they will win or they will lose, but for awhile, it just becomes all about the journey.

a few years ago we were lucky enough to go to spring training in arizona. and while the boys trooped off for games i was happy to lie about at the hotel and do...nothing. but they forced me to go to one game. i groused, (silently) but i went. and, i LOVED it.

it was warm, the day was as fine and blue and soft as you could want, my kids were having the best time, and i got to drink beer and eat a ball park hot dog. and we were close enough for the game to be interesting. now this, i thought, this is nice. too bad it never happens like this at the duke's games.

but the other day it did. the first (mini) game of the season for the duke. oh sure, the sun only came out between gusts of icy wind and the occasional parting of overhead clouds, and there was no beer and no professional ball park hot dog. but there was a moment when the clouds parted and the sun was shining and i realized that i was doing something i really really love to do. after all these years. watching my boy grow right before my eyes on the field, watching a team come together, the rest of us in the stands. enjoying the game and the day.

baseball is as simple or complex as you want it to be. it's changed so much since it was first invented, and, yet, in the grand scheme of things, so very little. and that is its charm right there. it's just as you remember it. and that is such a comfort these days.

i wonder at the country and where we are headed. so much division and vitriol, a lack of a common focus. i worry for the youth with access to so much technology that basic communication skills are ignored in favor of the instant and right away. that cohesiveness for some lasts as long as a text, an IM, or a thread on facebook. and then that's it. on to something new. that because of all this technology you don't really have to 'maintain' an actual friendship any more. that the screen is enough to bond people.

and i worry that people don't journey together anymore towards a common goal. and even if they do, that those goals are ever changing based on what's being offered at.that.moment. that it's all about the end product. that it seems every person is out for themselves, and we are passing that along to every younger generation. that things are so instant there isn't time enough to develop real relationships anymore.

so yeah, i love baseball. it slows things down and brings the simple to focus. it's familiar and timeless. even if it's just for part of an afternoon. and especially so on those few days in may and june that are so sunny and perfect they just want to make you weep. especially baseball with my boy who all too soon will no longer be a boy. it is, and has been, a magnificent gift.

now if they only sold icy cold beer at the snack stand. because an icy cold beer would go PERFECTLY with those cheeseburgers. hey, it's a free country! (for now) and a girl can have any dream she wants, right?

x.

missing.

there's a young mother of a child my child's age missing from the town next to me. her child goes to school 4 miles from my house. her child is missing, too.

the van was found partially submerged in one of the many waterways in this area. there are bodies of water and wooded areas and roads being searched. they are somewhere or they are not. and there are a lot of puzzling clues that don't seem to fit. or they do. and then they don't. she's at fault, or she isn't.

it's a funny thing about being missing. it's almost as if time has stopped for the person(s) missing. and yet it goes terribly on for those who remain. and sadly, entertainingly on for some.

where does one go when they're missing? are you missing just because you can't be found? is there something more? what is it? we wish we could just ring up the missing and ask. we hope we get the chance to ask.

what i have learned from the past five days of her being missing is that missing sucks. it sucks for those who are left behind, those who are searching, those who are questioning, those whose job it is to find the missing. but i've learned it especially sucks for the one who is missing.

i've learned that when you're missing, EVERYTHING is fair game towards finding you. your past and all its glories and heartaches, your recent triumphs or troubles, the suspicions and opinions long held by your neighbors, family, friends come to the surface. things you should never know people are thinking about you are everywhere and now everyone knows. your boss your neighbors your family your friends your community your kid's school the teachers the parents the lunch ladies they all know what others have been thinking. what you did in your past before now.

when you're dead, people only say mostly glowing things about you. they forget the past and they forgive the errors of your ways, the missteps. they may even embellish it a bit towards the positive.

but when you're missing, when you're missing people don't do this. they do the opposite. they play arm chair detective about the past relationships, the failures in judgment, the tattoos the drinking the life lived as lives over time are and every aspect of it comes to light. becomes important. they are clues. and we whisper them over fences and type them in the comments section of the new sites and smugly repeat them in articles and on the local news.

whoever you worked to become falls away and you are just the sum of a lot of parts. and not in a good way. your past is not a long and winding path to the person you've become, it's just a bread crumb trail to this inevitable fuck up.

when you're missing, at first it's sad and scary. there's a flurry of activity. where are you!?! and then it becomes your fault somehow. at first they say 'oh she could never.' and then they start listing the reasons why she probably did. innocent then guilty. guilty as all her past sins. because if it's your fault it can't happen to us. why are you doing this !?!

and i have to think that we don't wish the missing person malice. i have to think this is protection. for us. those who are not missing. because it could happen to anyone. couldn't it? it could happen to you or your kid it could happen to your neighbor your sister your friend.

oh, but not if we didn't have this suspect past. not if we don't buy wine in the big bottles or run around with friends with tattoos. not if we don't love the wrong people or grow up in the wrong town. well then, yes. that's different. yes. that's not us. we aren't her. so it couldn't happen to us.

i check the news every day. many times. i think about her and the boy. i hope she wasn't drinking and driving with the boy in the van, which is one of the theories. and by hoping that i fall victim to that which i am speaking out about. sigh. i am silly and mortal. still, i worry. i try to imagine that it isn't the worst case scenario. i try not to silently judge with the little bit of information at hand. i try to remember she is a silly mortal too. and i am glad for these few days when the weather's been fine, brisk, but sun shining. worried at the cold nights. worried for her and the boy.

where do you go when you go missing? and hell, what happens if you come back? what do you come back to? will you come back?

i don't know why this woman is missing. she just is. and i hope for her and i pray for her. and for the boy. may they be safe. and may things work out for the positive. and i just hope that if i ever went missing those who knew me would be kind. would understand that it wasn't of my own doing and use snippets heard here and there, or witnessed, as trial and jury and verdict.

because i've made a lot of mistakes and missteps, possessed suspect judgment and employed whacked thinking, i've been wrong when i thought i was right, and i have made a mess of things a time or two.

and i would hope that people see that those aren't bread crumbs to the inevitable fuck up. that they are steps on a path to who i am today. evidence not leading to an 'obviously' bad conclusion, just evidence of a life lived. and sometimes lives are messy and some of us just work everlong to pull them up and forward.

if i ever go missing may the world be kinder to me than it is being to this woman. because while all of it may be clues, and those clues may add up to fault, right now it's still her life. her one beautiful life. and the boy, his life. his mom. and we should be more mindful. facts, not judgment. until we know. and even after. even after we know, regardless of the outcome. of fault. be mindful. because unless you've walked in those shoes, you just can't ever know. you can't.

god help us who meet trouble on the path. and save us from those who find out about it.

x.

love and loathing in the pacific northwest.

i enjoy reading the local news sites on the interwebs. mainly because this is where i live, but mostly because the comments section is so hilarious, heartbreaking, and typical.

i like to joke about where i live and call it my (red)neck of the woods. i say that with love AND loathing, which i find to be a fabulous combination that cannot be applied randomly.

i live in a beautiful area. gorgeous and heart stopping in some cases. and while it's funky and mostly a tear down to some, my own particular little spot and abode makes me happy. and is especially beautiful this time of year.

BUT

there are things about where i live that make it less than ideal. for me. community wise. and i didn't consider this before we moved out here. had i considered it before i don't know that we would have. who knows. we're here now.

so.

lately there is a lot of good, and good news going on locally. a new store in the town two towns away that is selling only locally grown produce, dairy, and meat, and locally made products. essentially a year round farmer's market indoors. that's pretty cool.

in the past decade since i've been here i've seen a walking trail put in right in the middle of the retail hub of the county. a beautiful and enjoyable and scenic walking trail. long enough and diverse enough to be worth it. with wetlands, and big trees, and salmon, and it goes right by costco and you don't even see it.

i've seen bridges and roads re-done to better encourage and protect the salmon streams that run through our county, and no less than three new parks built in my town alone.

i've also seen the library levy FAIL by a huge margin because there are 'other things to worry about more.' don't get me started on that. we lost hours and vital resources at all the libraries because of it. i wrote the letter of my life to the editor about that one and would have written more but the profanity. oy. like a runaway toyota i put both feet on the brakes of profanity but it wouldn't stop coming. so, naturally i kept the subsequent letters to myself.

we also don't have a trader joe's. still. it's TWO THOUSAND TEN PEOPLE! i've lived here TEN YEARS! and NO trader joe's. i consider THAT a failure of epic proportions.

but what we DO have are plenty of sexpresso stands. which, as some of you may already know, i like to keep my eye on. oh jeeze, not literally, but the whole thing just makes me giddy. it's like a carl hiaasen novel come to life. i love how people get so up in arms about it. those who think it's okay, those who think it's the devil's handiwork. mostly i love considering the safety and the practicalities, and lack thereof. i've said it before and i'll say it again, i don't have anything against women taking their clothes off for any reason, if it's consensual it's your own business. BUT

all that steam and hot liquid, all that exposed flesh. it's just an accident waiting to happen.

so when there's an article or a letter to the editor about a new stand going up or just the existence of them, as you may imagine the comments section always makes for a good read. the two camps get going and you just can't stop them.

the people who are *for* think that the people who are *against* are all 'repressed middle aged women who used to be fun but who have let themselves go and are now bitter.' the people who are against always drag out the 'what if this was your daughter you pervert wacko in god's name why in the samhell do you need to see boobs and butts while you get your morning coffee?' argument.

but what i really love are the gems. the comments that really have nothing to do with the debate, but just because somebody wants to make them. these are usually made by people you've seen before. the serial commentators who seem to treat the on-line local news comments section as their own personal social networking site. maybe they couldn't figure out facebook? or they don't have enough followers on twitter? but they are always there and they always have something to say about 'everything.' and by 'everything,' i mean 'themselves.' because while they relate their comments somewhat to the article, it's usually just all about them.

so this last most recent article was no exception. but there was one comment that just made me laugh out loud because while it was all about the commentator and not about the actual debate at hand, it was so perfect, and summed the whole thing up in a nutshell.

'fasteddie' wrote, and i quote, "The best times of my life were when naked and around other naked or semi-naked women."

nice.

and therein lies the rub, pardon the pun, of the whole argument. you're up against a lot when you try to argue against women getting naked for business purposes and men paying for it. coffee or all the otherwise. there's just too much there. biology, history, whipped cream being sprung from a can.

that being said, and all kidding aside, i really sincerely hope i don't ever go missing from this town or get into the kind of trouble that would put me in the news. of course for the obvious reasons, but mostly because people are cruel and terrible about other people when given half a chance.

recently a young mother and her son went missing and the comments section was mostly positive and full of prayer and hope. mostly. because a lot are just awful.

and then you get this, "There is more to this story but you can kind of read into the lines. First of all, this lady has a tattoo. I wouldn't be surprised she is into drugs and some drug deal went bad. Why do she and the son have different names. She does not come from any stable family background."

yeah, because tattoos equal drugs, and male dominated patriarchal naming practices equal a stable family. right. i know it's almost as tiresome to be irritated about that kind of viewpoint as it is a tiresome viewpoint to have given the time we're in, but i'm irritated nonetheless. and as i said, unfortunately comments like that are not atypical. and says a LOT about the place where i live. and the people i live around.

do you see now why i was so upset at the library levy fail?

and it makes me angry about and sad for the closed minded asses of the world, especially those who live here, where i live. and for my children who have to grow up around them and their kids. and for my community whose future depends on them.

but mostly it just makes me miss fasteddie.

x.

your moment(s) of zen.

when i was about 4 years old i got lost at the oregon museum of science and industry. i was with my mother and father and older sister. i went into a bathroom while they waited outside. the bathroom had two ways to get in and out and i went out the way i didn't come in. and no one was there. and no one came. and i was never taught, or didn't remember, that if you're lost just stand still and someone will find you.

so i did what i thought i should. i left the museum and somehow found our car and stood by it. in the rain. for a really long time. while everyone inside the building panicked and locked the entrances and searched for me. when they finally thought to come outside and check, there i was. next to the car. in the rain. and my mother and father grabbed me up and hugged me. and then my dad spanked me.

there are all kinds of ways of being lost. when you're little and when you're big. and i don't think there's anything wrong with being lost, as long as you have a few tools. the ability to be patient, don't panic, keep breathing, and above all just stand still until someone finds you. really, just stop. someone will find you. always.

it is in that spirit that i bring you this installment of your moment(s) of zen.

and if any of y'all do this to me, i will cut you. LOL! no. seriously. y'all gotta phone. use it.

keep in touch!!

x.

this life. right now.

it's easy to wake up in the morning to the sun and the birds and believe that it's a new day. and that anything is possible.

and then your feet hit the floor and the day begins. and that day brings what it brings.

today is filled with pain and heartache and brokeness for some people i care a great deal about. and that breaks my heart. and it reminds me. and humbles me. because while i am having my own problems here it's easy to forget the bigger picture. and the bigger picture is that if you are lucky to have love you are lucky enough. if you are lucky to have your family near you and healthy you are lucky enough. if you are lucky enough to have a brain that's working and a heart that isn't breaking then you are lucky enough.

nothing else matters in this world. nothing. not houses or jobs or vacations or things or the lack thereof.

i forget to be grateful. i forget to be open. i forget this is my one beautiful life. i forget that i am the luckiest girl in the world. sometimes i forget. i am silly that way. mortal.

and sadly, sometimes it takes seeing the pain and destruction in the world and another person breaking down to remind me to stop and be grateful. for all of it. the good the bad and the ugly. because in the face of the alternative, and there are a LOT of alternatives, it's all beautiful. it's all good. and i am lucky enough.

be good to yourself. be good to others. this is your one beautiful life, right?

x.