your moment(s) of zen.

so i feel as though we have established my track record with out of the house encounters. in short, not so good. the outside world: 1. the girl: 0

this morning at yoga proved to be NO exception to that rule.

one of the women in class was telling some of the others about the trip she just returned from. her niece had recently had a baby and this woman had gone to help out. you know, decorate the nursery, hang out with the older child, that sort of thing. so the lynch pin of this riveting tale was this woman's grousing about "how much stuff" came with an infant. apparently any outing required no end of items just for the baby, and that didn't include the older child, a toddler, who had a bunch of stuff he traveled with, too.

so then there's an ensuing discussion among most of the class, predominantly grandparents, all much much older than myself, about how "kids these days" are buying into the whole "stuff idea" when it comes raising their children.

oh, and just so all y'all with children know, your parents, your child's GRANDPARENTS, bitch about you and your kids and your "cockamamie" ideas JUST AS MUCH as you bitch about them and their seeming inability to understand what the fuck you are telling them to do re: your kid(s). and how "they" don't know how to latch in a car seat/fit the plastic nipple in the sippy cup/work the diaper pail/etc. and "how did we ever survive being raised by them," and all that. they have all the same gripes in reverse. no joke, they all think you are just as whack as you all think they are.

just sayin'.

all of a sudden i realize the room has gone silent and i look up from my warm up stretch to see them all looking at me. rather expectantly. so i said to the room in general

"excuse me?"

"i asked, do you have children?"

all eyes on me and i swear this is like only the third time in over a year of being in that class that any of them has ever even spoken to me. and now they were dragging me into some group discussion. but i understood, since most of the women in the room probably hadn't ovulated since before the first bush was in office (no pun intended) i got to be the de facto spokesperson for "kids these days."

"i do, two boys. 8 and 12"

"did you find you needed a lot of 'stuff' when they were real little?"

"not really. two boobs and a sling pretty much did it."

good lord you could have heard a pin drop.

you should have seen the looks on their faces. you'd think i said "nope. just endless whiskey and an illegal, underpaid, exploited, mistreated, nigerian nanny i trafficked here myself."

if they're all going to be offended about the word "boobs" then they really ought to have a chat with the woman in the shorty shorts and flimsy panties. at least my "boobs" are covered and don't jump out at you during the cobbler's pose. and don't even get me started on what i had to endure facing her during the *seated wide legged straddle.*

oy.

did somebody mention whiskey?

and it is in that spirit that i bring you this week's moment(s) of zen. otherwise known as "drunk yoga."

take a deep cleansing breath, or a shot, and enjoy.

x.

what a girl wants.

i have been wanting something for awhile now. it's neither here nor there what it is, for the purpose of this conversation it really could be anything.

wanting something is such an intense feeling. it starts out small, almost a crush. uncertainty. it's fun. it gives one a bit of a lift to the day. to think of it, imagining the possibilities.

but the other half of wanting is acquiring. and therein, more often than not, lies the rub. because wanting is so very easy. getting, not so much.

and sometimes you do, you get what you want. and it feels good. but a lot of the time you don't. and does not getting what you want make the want go away? no. but wouldn't that be nice?

so after a time, that wanting without fulfillment gets a little tiresome. it gets old. it's so one sided. the dark side of the crush.

so the other day i was sitting on the porch feeling that dark side of the want. resenting the feeling. resenting the very thing i wanted. just for being a part of me. the unfulfilled, needy part. feeling weak for the wanting.

and that very thing i desired just became an annoyance. irritating and grating. the beauty all but gone.

fun.

and then yesterday i read a story about a woman with prader willi syndrome, a genetic condition that causes one to always be hungry. basically this woman can never eat enough to satisfy her hunger. ever. and there's no cure. and with it comes all the attendant problems of overeating. so not only will this woman never feel satiated she also has to deal with a host of unpleasant and unhealthy problems on top of it. she suffers AND will never be free from want. for all of her life and for the rest of her life it has consumed and will consume her every waking thought.

which brings me to a little nugget i carry with me...quit before you have to.

because while that poor woman, bless her heart, has to suffer, i don't.

what a novel concept. deciding you *don't have to suffer.* somebody should write that down somewhere.

what would happen if we wanted without expecting to be fulfilled? what would happen if we were just happy with the wanting? if it was always the first days of a crush? what would happen if we could achieve some kind of satiation that fulfillment brought, without actual fulfillment?

what would happen indeed.

so that's what i did yesterday. i told myself that it's okay if my want gets unfulfilled. that just wanting it is enough. and yeah, easier said than done, right? i hear you. but i want to quit before i have to. i cannot allow a want to determine my happiness. not even for a moment. that thought right there scares me. because in a life of ultimate abundance that's just so whack any way you look at it. glass half full or half empty doesn't mean a thing if you're the one with the bottle.

and it's only been 24 hours, but i'll tell you what. it's nice not to think about it so much. to begin to like the idea again without expectation. to wonder, to get back to some what ifs. the good kind. finding some bit of charm in the uncertainty.

and just as i fell into the thing that eventually created the want so shall i proceed. it's okay to let things free fall a bit. it's okay to let things happen as they will. it's when we start fucking with stuff that situations get all wonky. desperation always steers the hero the wrong direction. just like in the movies.

besides, every one likes a surprise, right? if you go around wanting something to the point of entitlement and expectation and pissiness how in the world will you ever be surprised? and there is not one speck of charm in entitlement or expectation, and certainly not in pissiness.

and if there's no charm in it, what's the point?

x.

your moment(s) of zen.

well, we're in the final stretch for the date to auction the house. september 11th looming large on the calendar, more so in our minds. and good lord who's farking idea of a joke was THAT?

as you may imagine things are becoming a bit more "intense," shall we say. the breath quickens, a few more wide eyed looks from the mama to the papa. a well placed what the fuck? or two as reality gets more real. nervous giggles over a bottle of wine and a lot of what ifs. it's funny that after all these years together it may be like starting over again. a little of the ha! ha! funny, and a little of the whoa! funny.

have i started packing yet? purging? organizing? planning? yeah, not so much.

at this point i'd like to think i'm possessing a healthy mixture of optimism and denial. both of which have their places, of course. but combined, and they're like a magical elixir for the damned.

the thing is, i don't think this is over. not by a long shot. i have reason to believe that miracles can and do happen everyday. but i think we discussed that before.

i have to say that one of the things that pisses me off the most is after being here a decade i began to fully expect to get old and die in this house. let the kids deal with the crap and the stuff and all that! but i guess that joke just may be on me. the best laid plans of sillymortals and all that, right?

other than, you know the obvious suckiness that comes with losing a home, i think i'm doing pretty good. still. right now. today. this morning. i'll keep you posted.

i just keep thinking about the story of the medieval muslim king who ruled granada from his huge beloved castle, alhambra. now this being southern spain and muslim, it had always been separate from the rule of ferdinand and isabella. that is until they decided they wanted granada for themselves so the whole country would be unified in strength, but mostly in christianity.

well, the muslim king put up a valiant fight for a decade, but ultimately the spanish army was victorious. and as the king was leaving after surrendering his beloved alhambra, he stopped on a ridge overlooking the castle and let out this huge sigh over his loss. there's even a plaque where he sighed. an actual plaque marking his huge sigh!!! can you imagine? and even today you can visit the spot!!! the section of the ridge is called The Last Sigh of the Moor.

anyhow, so he's heaving this huge sigh and his mother, who lived with him and had also lost her home, goes up to him and smacks him across the face! then she screams at him "don't weep like a woman over what you couldn't defend like a man!"

dysfunctional family dynamics. not a new idea.

i will tell you what. whatever happens i'm not the muslim king and i'm not the mother. there will be no plaque to mark where i lost my shit over this house. there will be no blaming or recriminations. will there be tears? hell yeah! i cry at insurance commercials and parades. you can bet there will be tears. and i may curse the name of the people who still have crap "stored" in my basement, but that's just standard and certainly not plaque-worthy.

the only thing that will mark that i was here are the memories i keep with me. and while it seems a little sad, i don't think it is, really. in the grand scheme of things. to have a happy blessed loving home in your life is a gift. and even if the four walls change shape and color and location the happy blessed loving home is, in the end, not a physical place at all.

but yeah, i'll still cry.

anyhow, so there's your update and my reality. and it is in this spirit i bring you this week's moment(s) of zen. it's nearly 7 minutes long and most of you will hate it and it has absolutely nothing to do with anything in this post.

except that for 30 years it has caused me to bust up with happiness every time i hear it. and if we need anything more for something to be zen and to be shared then i don't know what that is.

x.

leaps and bounds.

the other evening we were having a picnic dinner at the beach on the hood canal. when we finished i took a glass of wine to the sand to relish in the fact that there was a sweet breeze, crashing waves, and i was no longer boiling to death.

down the beach a bit there was a woman with two humongous golden retrievers. are there any other kind? the bigger and darker of the two would wait for the woman to throw the stick and then would bound into the waves in unabashed glee. swimming out, grabbing the stick, and swimming back in. then right before he got to the shore the lighter and "smaller" of the two would wade in and grab the stick and run up to the woman with the stick, drop it, and then jump all around and accept all the praise for retrieval.

meanwhile the bigger of the two dogs would shake and shake and then stand ready to retrieve the stick once again.

i watched this go on for some time and i wondered what the dynamic was here? what was the relationship that had one dog so happy to do all the legwork, and one dog happy to take all the credit? didn't the bigger dog resent the smaller dog for this? did the smaller dog have some issue that prevented him from going in the water? and the woman just kept it up, throwing the stick for the bigger dog, praising the smaller dog for retrieving the stick.

the thing is, the bigger dog looked so happy, the way that dogs always seem to manage to do. just bounding in those waves, waiting for the other dog to get the praise so the stick would once again get thrown. and the smaller dog looked so pleased, dancing on the beach with the stick. soaking up the love. and the woman sure looked happy.

i don't know much about dogs, but i do know enough about relationships to know that any relationship we are not part of is always very different from "our" vantage point. that the people (or dogs) in the relationship are having their own thing. and unless you are in that relationship how could you ever know what is really going on?

it seemed to work for them. this dynamic. this relationship.

then the boybarians and the husband joined me on the beach. and amidst all the watching of the dogs and the small talk the duke started in with yet another thrilling baseball anecdote (insert sarcastic eye rolling here). okay, can i say i love that my boys are so very fanatically interested in something? but to regale me with tales from the 1976 world series games or whatever the ancient baseball topic du jour is is just becoming a. bit. much.

besides escaping the dreariness of the pacific northwest in favor of hanging out with a beer and a hot dog for a game or two under the arizona sun during spring training, or my own kids' games, i am not so much interested in the baseball. i am certainly not interested in ancient history baseball. good lord i can only handle so much.

but the duke takes this stuff seriously. and he does love to tell a story. and he loves to think that everyone is interested in what he has to say. wow, i wonder where he gets that.

so this evening the duke starts in on his story of some ball park's "disco night" that took place some time in the 80s. i think. i don't really know the particulars because the minute he started i turned to the husband and gave him the "i. can't. listen. to. this. please make this not my responsibility. please be so interested that he won't notice that i don't care and am not listening. please take this one for the team."

i had to because kids love nothing more than to be listened to. and they know when we aren't engaged. and that sucks for them. and i couldn't just ignore him or get up and walk away. but i couldn't actually take another baseball story either.

so the husband did. and because we were both sitting there, and because the husband was so engaged, at the end the duke was pleased to have shared something with both of us that he was so interested in. and pleased that we both seemed to be interested, too. even though i wasn't listening and in fact was deep in thought about something completely different. probably along the lines of i wonder why it is we never got into watching all the great shows on HBO and showtime? we'd probably love them. i know we would. and yet we never think about it. or, thinking about something covered in cheese. my deep thoughts often times don't run too deep.

and i realized we were the golden retrievers. the husband was the bigger one. diving in the waves getting the stick, passing it off to me. and i didn't have to do anything but wait to be included in pleasing the duke. even though i didn't do a thing.

and that's parenting in a nutshell. picking up the slack, asking for the slack to be picked up. working together. cohesive. it doesn't have to be 100% 50/50 all the time. it just has to mesh.

there are days i can't get my shit together (i know, shocking) and days the husband can't. there are times i get the accolades for an idea that wasn't mine, and days when i get the blame for a decision i didn't make. parenting is just about making the leap no matter the hurdle. and parenting isn't just one hurdle, but a succession of them. so it's best to be consistent and just go with the rhythm that naturally gets established. whether it's praise or blame, in the end it's just about making the leap.

i'd also highly recommend practicing your "of course i'm listening because this is so riveting please tell me more!" face. it also comes in handy at parties while you plan your escape and on really bad dates.

and in the spirit of those happy dogs in the waves with the stick, i dedicate this post to the memory of melissa's bean dog. bean, you were a kick ass dog, much beloved by all who knew you, and you will be sorely missed. be blessed.

x.

your moment(s) of zen.

when i was younger i danced for years. modern and then ballet. i was not very good. okay, let me rephrase that, i was okay. but the problem was i just had no awareness of my body. at all. i had no natural rhythm.

as my friends would say, it seemed i had no control over my limbs. zero.

ballet was better. i loved it. all that structure. it fit. it's like the rhythm was built in. i just came to it too late. i was 18 when i first tried ballet and then did it on and off in my early 20s. but then i just sort of hit a wall where i knew i would never advance and it became frustrating. and i didn't want to go back to modern dance because by then, at that age, it's all about the woman energy and the sharing. shudder. no thanks.

so what does a frustrated former dancer do?

speakers. i started dancing on speakers in clubs. not at first. at first i just started dancing in clubs and i loved it. went every night. there was something so limitless and freeing i found dancing that way. something i never got with the choreographed dance. something i saw other fellow dancers have, it just eluded me at the time.

and that's when i realized i did actually have control over my limbs, that rhythm was indeed mine. have you ever tried to dance on a speaker? let me tell you, it ain't easy. throw in a couple of other somewhat scantily clad, sweaty, gyrating girls and it becomes downright dangerous. especially so when they'd play you dropped a bomb on me. baby. oy.

and i don't know what changed, how i tapped into what had probably been there all along. other than time and maturity, that usually does the trick for a lot of things. that and a lot of regular sex and a lot of drinking. that can help with personal rhythm, too. especially in the art of speaker dancing. (sorry mom, i had to put that in there)

the one thing i couldn't do was yoga. good lord yoga bugged the shit out of me. all that sitting and breathing and awareness. i tried it a few different times and each time i thought i was lucky to have made it out of the class without beating the shit out of someone. it seriously made me angry.

but that was then. now? well presently i have somehow lost my internal rhythm. i don't know how and i don't know when. but i seriously cannot dance in public ever again. i came to this discovery a few years ago at a wedding. i caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and not only was i doing the white man's overbite, i looked like elaine on seinfeld. you know that one where she says she's a good dancer but then she actually dances and she. is. not.

and it's not for the lack of regular sex and drinking (again. sorry, mom) i don't know what it is really. but y'all are lucky i spare you.

but curiously, now i absolutely love and totally rock on the yoga. except, you know, when i'm injuring my back in the senior citizen class.

it is this spirit that i am happy to bring back from hiatus this week's moment(s) of zen.

i would also like to dedicate this to the genius who was merce cunningham. national treasure, local boy. you were a force and an inspiration. especially to the rhythmically inept. may you rest in peace, sir.

x.

pay no attention to the woman behind the curtain.

recently a newish old friend who reads my blog and is on a certain social networking site asked me

"don't you ever get vulnerable, self conscious, or scared? how can you be so sure about the parenting thing?"

really?

um, yeah. every. single. day. of. my. life. the blog is called sillymortalmama after all. right? and with that i'll stop short of saying, DUH.

let's just break this down, shall we? the only way i can be sure about my parenting is to ask, what's my alternative? always WORRY about it? TELL myself i'm doing a bad job? KNOW deep down inside that all my choices are wrong and i'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop?

in that same vein, what about the vulnerability and the self consciousness and the fear? like i said. DUH. but i'm sorry, i did that for nearly 38 years. i'm done. and i've decided i'm trying something new.

because what if we raised ourselves like we do our babies/kids? or how we were or *wished* we were raised as babies/kids? what if we praised ourselves and honored ourselves and loved ourselves just. as. we. are.

ooooh, look how cute you are with all that chub! look at your beautiful smile! i wuv your bald wittle head! you are SO smart! you are so creative! you are so clever! oh i love you SO SO SO SO much! you are the best thing that ever happened to me!

and then when we tantrumed or got sad or hurt, we held ourselves with soothing words and gentle hugs and just stayed open to it. we didn't run away from it or get disgusted with our behavior or just simply ignore it all together and hope it went away. we sat with ourselves until we felt better.

it's not that i don't feel all that crap. it's just that i'm done letting it be at the forefront of what's happening here. because trust me, the column of "cons" in my life is long. i'm just choosing to focus on the other side of the page.

look, i know you're all tired of hearing about me losing my house. trust me folks, i'm sick of hearing about it myself. but it is the perfect illustration of the other shoe dropping. and then you're like, okay, now what? roll up into a ball and wait for the auction? be really really sad and never recover? drink a big ol' cup of penny royal tea?

fuck that.

you know what i did when i found that notice tacked up on the house for the first time? well, i knew it was coming and i'll tell you what i *thought* i would do. i thought i would fall to my knees and never get up. i *knew* i would. because that's just what you do when vulnerability and self consciousness and fear rule the roost. ooh, then maybe i could somehow find a way to blame it on my childhood and then be able to milk it for all its worth. oh poor poor me. right? i'm being semi-facetious, of course, but you get the picture.

but you know what? i didn't. i untacked the letter, handed it to my husband, and went in and wrote the best damn query letter of my life and sent it off to a slew of literary agents.

and now i prefer to believe that you can't know what it looks like until it happens, and then you just go from there. so you might as well focus on the good stuff. might as well give yourself a chance.

the fact that i've faced rejection after rejection after rejection in the time since is neither here nor there i suppose. ;)

i'm finding everything in my life that is good or charming. from the teeniest to the hugest. and i'm exploiting them fully. why wouldn't i? why wouldn't you? or any of us?

so yeah, pretty much it's all about me and how fabulous things are. because this is my life so why wouldn't it be? why wouldn't i tell about the good things? i've done enough of illustrating all the negatives in my life. i'm done. because not that it's not valid or necessary to work through them, but just because it's ultimately taking up all the space. where is the light gonna go? where will the good things take up residence? and besides, how much fun really is it to complain? (after the initial bitching that is.)

but, just to expose a huge flaw, i will now contradict myself and tell you the following illustrate that it really *isn't* all about me.

wingman was recently stuffing his gullet when i asked him to slow down, actually chew his food. then the duke piped up and admitted that he used to swallow his macaroni and cheese whole because it was so easy to do. then wingman admitted the same thing!

okay i have to interject a side note here to those of you who are not mothers. please don't admit things to your mother after the fact. no matter the amount of time that has passed, no matter what it is. it will always piss us off and make us worry and upset us. we will rarely be amused. you could be 80 and and your mother over 100 and this would still be true. trust me.

"guys, i'd be careful with that. i'm sure i can do the heimlich if i had to, but i wouldn't be able to follow it up with CPR if necessary."

"CPR?"

"yeah, i think everyone, especially parents, should know CPR. but i am totally rusty. so chew carefully and don't have a heart attack, okay?"

to which wingman replied with

"well, i'm not going to need to know CPR. but my wife will."

and then i got this sinking feeling. because wingman doesn't even like girls but he HAS mentioned a wife before in passing. and it's never pretty. read on.

"your wife? why your wife and not you?"

"because my wife will take care of the kids. so she'll have to know."

"um, won't you be taking care of the kids, too?"

"um, no. because that's why i will have a wife."

oy. like i said, not pretty. and this isn't the first time it's been brought up. this mythical wife and what her duties will be. and that list is long and ever growing. so far wingman's duties include making them pancakes and eggs and teaching them how to play the Wii. i've not seen it grow from that.

and where he gets this i cannot say. because while i am fairly traditional in my role as wife and mother in this house, he sees his father do all the same things i do. sometimes better. he is being raised to know that gender doesn't have to play a role in our roles in life. it can, but it doesn't *have* to.

so yeah, you want vulnerability and self consciousness and fear?

apparently i'm raising a male chauvinist pig.

nice.

happy now? ;)

x.

happy birthday carlos santana.

38 things i've learned in the past year.

38. i am way more patriotic than i thought i was.
37. i had to be talked into liking obama. (i know, right? WTF?)
36. algebra makes me sweat. seriously sweat.
35. my kids are smarter than me.
34. they just don't know it yet. whew.
33. i've learned to not take life personally. it just is.
32. i am totally okay with the gray hair.
31. i am totally digging the curves.
30. i could totally do without it being hard for me to see while driving at night.
29. i am way more hypocritical than i thought i was.
28. i have learned to do things with full intent.
27. i have learned to trust that i know what i'm doing.
26. and yet half the time i feel like i'm winging it.
25. i still feel like i'm 17 inside.
24. i am really good at this parenting thing.
23. i am not modest.
22. scrubbing people's toilets for money is honest work.
21. i can do anything for money if it means taking care of my family.
20. except let people take advantage of me.
19. and i've learned to flip a table a la real housewives of new jersey if you try. FINALLY!
18. i like wine more than a girl should.
17. i will no longer dance in public because i have lost all rhythm.
16. i don't know how to be fashionable without asking for help.
15. i don't text. i won't text. don't ask.
14. my heart keeps expanding. it is limitless in its capacity.
13. if i love you i won't stop. ever.
12. i miss you when you're not here.
11. i have come to absolutely love the field out beyond wrong doings and right doings.
10. i can keep calm and carry on.
9. i have abundant faith.
8. i am braver than i thought i could ever be.
7. i am strong.
6. i can let go.
5. i will probably have to.
4. and i'm okay with that.
3. and that is probably the most surprising thing from the past year.
2. only love prevails.
1. i am the luckiest girl in the world.

happy birthday to me.

x.

i'll miss you when you're gone.

i went to my high school reunion with my dear friend's ashes in my purse. i didn't mean to. it just happened that way.

she died five years ago and my share of the ashes never made it to me. i met up with my friend, her partner, and he handed them to me. and i wasn't in my hotel room and i was on my way to the event and so i just popped them in my purse. i figured she was already sick about missing the reunion. i know i was sick about her missing it. it seemed fitting. it fit.

they're in a film canister. i kinda chuckled thinking if at some point during the evening i met up with those who vow to serve and protect they'd think i was holding. do people say holding anymore? yes sir, i am. little did they know exactly what. and do people carry weed in film canisters anymore? do people say weed anymore? jesus, i need to get out more.

and no, i don't generally go out with the idea that i'll meet up with the police at some point in the evening. but i think that evening i figured anything was possible. being forced into a tight space with the people you spent the most awkward four years of your life with while wearing kick ass heels and carrying ashes in your purse will do that to a girl.

and they make a rattling noise, too. that would be the chunks of green glass from the port bottle. her best friend is/was/is ?? my best friend. the night before she was cremated we split a bottle of port. her favorite. 1/3 for me, 1/3 for the goddess mother, the rest we left for her. for the journey. we tossed it in the next day with her.

i guess maybe we didn't so much say much about the bottle. because the green crystals that appeared in her ashes gave some pause. but that would be her. sea green crystals at the heart of her soul.

i have a box i'm going to put them in. she gave me the box the last time we visited before the very last time we were together. a beautiful box that i had absolutely no use for. i feigned a need for a box, though. oh i said, i've been needing a little box like this.

she gave me her best don't bullshit me look. ooh, but she was good at those. she knew i didn't need a box. she just saw it and thought of me.

what is it about humans that we have to validate everything? make everything necessary? she just wanted me to have it and i had to qualify it. it's a good thing she never let me get away with much. i appreciate that, because i don't try to as much now.

anyhow, i've never used that box. but now i will. and it's perfect. and yet i still have that film canister sitting on the mantle. next to the box. next to the mary. next to quan yin. next to the miniature replica of the red velvet couch i met my husband on. holding vigil. there.

because once i pour her ashes in the box it's going to get sealed up. super glue around the edge of the top. an inscription on the bottom. and it seems so final.

which is funny. what about death five years past isn't final? right?

but what i like to do is open the lid to the film canister. because when i do a little white puff comes out. and i can see the crystals. and it makes me feel better. like she isn't gone at all. and when i seal those ashes in that box i won't get the puff. i won't see the sea green crystals anymore. and that makes me sad. and that is so selfish.

and this is coming up because i've been thinking about loss lately. how we get so attached and yet it's all so transitory. and i'm not saying that in some boo hoo let me journal my pain crying girl kinda way. just that we get attached. our hearts, our bodies, our lives. we get attached to things to people to ways of being in the world. we get attached to the life we are living.

but what happens when those things aren't there? when the people aren't people we can be with anymore. when life changes whether you want it to or not. when the life you've been living isn't yours to live anymore.

what happens indeed.

and what we want to do, what we silly mortals are conditioned to do is to hang on. hold tight. don't go. on our knees. and that's normal. justified. authentic.

that's mine and it means this to me and i won't give it up. i won't.

but at some point we have to. we just have to unclench our grasp. to open our breaking hearts. to say this person can go and i won't break in two. or to say it's just a thing. it isn't me. it can go and i'll still be here. i'll still be me. i can move forward without it. i will move forward without it.

why do we put so much of ourselves into things and people that can just go away and leave us sad? because we can. because it feels good. because that's how the world moves forward. the ebb and the flow of love and the inevitable heartbreak keeps this world balanced.

because when you look back there's always some point you realize it was worth it in the end. all of it. even the crappy parts. and that in letting go you are better able to hang on to the good parts. and the pain and the crap just go somewhere else. sometimes never "away" away for good, just somewhere more manageable.

that being said, i'm not rushing over to the mantle to seal up those ashes. because right now i just want to hang on to missing her. because there's already a lot of potential for loss for me right now, and i want to keep her close. even though i know. even though i just said. even though i know it's worth it in the end.

it will happen. i'll get there. and because i'm me you'll probably know all about it when it happens.

(and good lord hopefully not in some boo hoo let me journal my pain crying girl kinda way. ;) )

x.

crowing about my kids and why i love friends.

i can be a one woman fan club. not in that i don't think i can do no wrong, just in the things that i choose to do, i do with a combination of dedication and passion, research and intuition. in this i can go forward confidently. i make mistakes, sure, a lot of them, but i only consider them mistakes when i don't try to learn from them.

i am supported by my husband, my family, and my friends.

so when i go about my life and my choices, home birth, co sleeping, extended breastfeeding, home schooling i just assume that the people in my life go right along with me. that they know me, they trust me, they get that i know what i'm doing.

this would be an incorrect assumption. not for all in my life, but for some.

in fact, a dear friend a few years ago actually said something to the effect of

"you know, i was a little skeptical there for awhile about how your kids would turn out. but they're pretty cool."

oh dear. bless the 1000 mile distance between us. because as a parent, those are fightin' words for certain. plus, i'm bigger than him and could fully kick his ass.

he was referring to how long i breastfed them, how we chose to home school.

at first i was a little peeved, how could such a good friend not trust me? then i realized how could he know? he doesn't have kids, doesn't want them. to his mind i was probably doing everything i possibly could to fuck this parenting thing up somehow.

to him, how could i nearly die giving birth at home then go on to choose to do it again? how could sleeping with my child possibly be good for either one of us? and how in the world could i NOT fuck up a boy child by nursing him until he was three and a half? times two!

i was moving forward in full confidence and he was holding his breath on the sidelines.

so i started to realize that just because i have it in me doesn't mean others get it. and that's okay.

and i don't mind telling you that even i look at my kids and do a big old WHEW! because sometimes it doesn't matter what you do as a parent or don't do as a parent. you get what you get. the kid is his own. you're the one who has to adapt. and you're the one who is the first to get blamed.

which brings me to a more recent interaction with another friend. again, no children. he expressed to me that he was impressed with how my kids were both intelligent AND engaged. seemed pleasantly surprised. so i asked

"you mean you were worried they wouldn't be?"

"honestly, yes."

"because of the home schooling? but you know me? didn't you think i could pull it off?"

i think he said no, but i must have blocked that part out. i still want to like him, after all. plus, he's bigger than me. i don't think i could take him.

and the conversation went to what he had thought about it, that he knew how hard it must be to parent let alone be the teacher too, etc. etc. etc.

i would choose to be irritated (and for a minute i was) but i know it comes from a place of love. of caring for me and ultimately my children. that he hadn't seen it, that he just didn't know.

and if you don't see it up close on a day to day basis it can seem so other worldly. they spend all day together, they aren't with other kids their age on a regular basis, what the hell does she know about latin or the fall of the roman empire or split infinitives? and we all know she has NO business teaching anyone any math beyond second grade!

you know, that kind of thing.

all i know is i don't have any concrete answers to other people's skepticism other than come spend the day with my kids. hang out with them and you'll see it isn't weird. that they aren't weird. no weirder than any other kid, that is. that they are both intelligent AND engaged, well rounded, that they haven't been fucked up, and as far as i know have no apparent breast fetishes. yet.

they are snarky and sarcastic and hilarious, too. but now i'm just bragging.

all of this brings me to the following tidbit i'd like to share.

so a little background, recently the duke took his end of the year, two day test. this is a standardized test. (they all are, right?) and i'm not huge on the standardized test, but if you home school in my state you must test your child(ren) every school year. it's incumbent upon the parent to facilitate this, and there are a lot of options.

i feel like the one i chose years ago and we continue to use is one of the best of the bunch. a student cannot pass or fail this test. the results from this test give an "objective picture of how your child or the typical child in a specific grade is progressing in school."

it also shows how a child has progressed in a certain area from year to year, where your child falls in terms of other children in his/her grade. it also shows "the grade level of students for whom a score is average or typical." meaning that the test measures your child's answer and determines what grade level that answer/thought process matches. for instance "a grade equivalent of 4.5 means that the child's score is about the same as what the typical score of children in the fifth month of the fourth grade would have been if these children had taken the same test."

so i'm explaining this all to the same friend who expressed his pleasant surprise at how intelligent AND engaged my children were. and i'm further explaining that it doesn't mean that they are ready or able to do the work of that grade, but how they measure the maturity of the thought process and match it to the grade level.

"and you know what for the duke? in every area except reading vocabulary, which he scored 12.3 in, he scored PHS, which is post high school!"

then there was a moment when i was beaming. all happy to share this news. and i assumed he was taking in the awesomeness, further seeing how fabulous this home schooling thing was going. how wrong he had previously been in his worrying, and i was assuming full vindication was mine. then he said

"so what you're saying is, the duke can think like and solve problems the same way a college freshman would."

oh. and indeed.

to spite myself, i laughed.

and there you have it. because if your friends can't support you and love you AND give you shit then who can?

and having friends who can bring you down a peg or two is actually a gift. smack worthy, but a gift. because if you can't laugh with others at your own expense, where's the fun in life?

yes, the control freak has learned to laugh at herself.

will wonders never cease?

let's hope not.

x.

thursday evening wingman.

last night i was making the bed. it had been fully stripped earlier in the day and i was putting it all back together. this used to be a more daunting task when i went through the our bed needs to look like a hotel room bed phase. the only way a mattress cover and topper, six pillows, three sheets (yes, three), a bolster, a blanket a bed spread and a duvet, plus decorative throw is EVER a good idea is when someone else comes in to clean your room while you go off somewhere to eat, drink, sunbathe or shop.

wingman popped in after he put his pajamas on. he was chatting at me, per usual, about this and that. how he wanted to repaint his side of the room in the colors of his favorite baseball team. how he'd love a mini fridge and a toaster in there, too. about how he'd like his side of the room to smell like a hotel room.

(we're big suckers for hotels around here. i wonder what that says about us?)

so as he's talking and i'm interjecting the timely uh-huhs, and head nods, and oh reallys? i realize that he's automatically gone to the other side of the bed and is helping me. he's straightening the top sheet as he's chatting, helps me smooth out the blanket, and grabs up a pillow to cover.

i don't know that he's aware that he's doing it. he's just doing it. and it was all i could do to contain myself. it broke my heart in how it was just so sweet.

sometimes with children it's better to just let them break your heart, in a good and SILENT way, rather than pointing out that what they are doing is "a good thing," "helpful," or "cute."

but with all things wingman these days, the sweet lasts just so long until the baser parts of him take over. this usually includes, but is not limited to, the idea that either one of his parents is ever naked.

"mama, i really don't understand how you can sleep next to someone who doesn't wear a shirt to bed."

he's 8, so i decided to humor him. so with a big sigh i said

"well, when you love someone i guess you're willing to put up with a lot."

he's 8, so i decided to ALSO gross him out.

"you know, sometimes he even sleeps naked."

he broke into a fit of giggles and shouted

"OH MY GOD! that's SO GROSS!"

i thought he was going to pee his pants.

i remember thinking how he does. how in the world do people do that!?! be naked, have sex, kiss even. in fact i remember being his age watching television and just assuming that there was a clear glass wall separating the two people kissing. because that would be gross otherwise, right?

i love having little kids around. there's just something about being reminded about how simple the world really is.

that being said, getting over that was a part of growing up that did. not. suck.

x.

there's a reason lunatic comes from lunar.

it's a full moon.

i'm feeling twitchy, restless. also very sleepy.

i want everyone to come close and to go away. love me love me leave me the fuck alone.

i feel like anything can happen and that nothing is.

suffering as i do with depression i'd be inclined to believe, with all the signs, that this is the beginning of a cycle for me.

but i don't think it is this time.

i think it's just a matter of me on the edge waiting. having patience. and patience can be a bitch. because when you're waiting for a miracle, for the good stuff, patience is not only a virtue, it can also become an exercise in total frustration.

maybe it's because it's the full moon in capricorn. the exact zodiac opposite for me. that cold saturn energy trying to infuse into my warm moon energy. and i'm supposed utilize that energy during this time. to take stock, nurture my ambitions, make my dreams a reality. i am supposed to be "doing" something.

and i think i am supposed to find this all amusing.

actually, i still kind of do. the big cosmic joke, right? the cancer girl losing her home. but my cheeks are getting a little sore from all the smiling. and my arms are getting a little tired from all the juggling. and i'd like to go sit on a beach by myself until i'm done sitting on a beach by myself.

but (i'm a cancer, there's always a but), it's also the blessing moon this time around. time to count your blessings. to be grateful for what you have.

and i am. i can't imagine a better life for me. i don't know when i've been this excited to see what the next day will bring. my heart is full of life and love.

and to borrow a phrase from a friend, there's light at the end of the tunnel and it's not a train. and i believe that it truly is not a train.

so do i hunker down? do i force an action? what do you do when the whole world is at your feet? when the universe has its own plan and you're used to being in charge?

who in the hell knows. i think i might just channel siddhartha and think and wait and fast until it comes to me. until something happens that needs a reaction. (but not really "fast" fast, just metaphorically fast. because this girl doesn't fast. i mean, what if i got hungry?)

i do know this, though. i am so very glad i stopped writing poetry. because every awful poem i ever wrote came during the full moon. oh good lord but they were bad.

oh, so there's one more blessing to add to the pile. nice.

to mine AND yours as i won't be foisting bad poetry on you. right? i mean how much can i make you take? ;)

x.

p.s. you're welcome.

p.p.s. oh my god i just read my horoscope from free will astrology. maybe i should just shut up now. i think i will.

I believe that when you chatter carelessly about a big change that's in the works, you're in danger of draining it of some of its potency. So I don't want to trumpet or gossip about the gift that's on its way to you. I'll just mention that it's coming, and urge you to prepare a clean, well-lit place for it to land. Here's a hint: It could, among other things, help you convert one of your vulnerabilities into a strength or inspire you to start transforming an area of ignorance into a future source of brilliance.

place value.

so i recently went to my hometown for my high school reunion. i made it there and back in one piece. though i will admit this is the first time as a full grown adult that i left a little piece of myself in my hometown.

because while i went for my reunion i ended up reconciling with a place that is at best bittersweet for me. and that took a little out of me. and i left it there.

with high hopes that the sun and soil will nurture it better this time around.

i won't bore you with the details of my growing up there, but will say that it was shocking for me to learn just how much i had built up this kind of mythology about it. how attached i have become. because all the other times i visited i didn't feel it. i didn't have this kind of little pit in my stomach about it.

and maybe it was just a combination of events. being alone in my hotel (i am never alone) and staying up too late and reconnecting and letting loose. there's something to be said for routine and stability for keeping the demons at bay.

which brings me to the first morning after i arrived and finding myself in a pool of tears on the most humongous king sized bed i've ever seen. why am i crying? what is this? oh, you have to ask? really? says that voice inside. you know why you're crying.

and what started it was talking with a friend on the phone. about an issue of his. 1000 miles away and not even part of "this." we discussed his issue and when we were done he asked me what i was going to do that day. i mentioned with no family left in my hometown i had no real obligations except to my friends later. and he said

"oh, you should drive by your old house or something."

and that was it. i was a crying mess for two hours after that. what is it about childhood that makes it so hard to get out alive and intact? not all childhoods, but some. mine.

what is it about childhood that doesn't let you forget. ever. and what i thought i dealt with didn't even make it to the second afternoon.

what is it about pain that enables it to hide away for so long? in plain sight. to know it's there, to have occasions with it, but not let it get to you. to be able to keep going and just ignore it.

and then you're in some hotel off the highway in your hometown and it's standing in front of you. and it's no longer giving you the opportunity to choose. because it's not going anywhere.

i didn't learn enough as a child, a teenager. not about the world, except the small world around me. and that was learning, but also just a matter of surviving. i look back and i can't believe i did it. got up each day. figured it out each day. know what to do when i had no clue.

i didn't learn enough about my hometown and the valley it sits in. and when i go back i just get that full force. this is where you are from, going back generations, and you have no fucking clue what it is even about. you have no idea.

place is so important. sure, wherever you go there you are and all that. but my god you came from somewhere, and that sticks with you. wherever you go you came from somewhere.

and for me, the quadruple cancer girl, home and hearth and all that is about as important as it gets. and to know that i have no real connection now to the place of my birth, that i didn't learn enough about it when i was growing up there sits awkwardly on my heart.

please understand, it wasn't all tragic and awful. there was a lot of love. there was. a lot of love. and sometimes love is enough. and sometimes it isn't. it's not enough when it can't protect you.

and looking back on it now, the visit, a week out, i see that i didn't even want to try and see it this time. the town. wanted to be there, but not be present. because the whole time i was there i didn't wear my glasses. i had them on on the way from the airport, and took them off right when i got into town.

then it wasn't until we were hitting the highway to go back to the airport that i put them back on again.

and so the whole time i was walking around, riding around, hanging around i was in a kind of a haze. not up close, but surrounding me. a way to be there but not fully be there. funny how we can call up the same old coping skills and just transform them for the time.

humans are so fascinating. especially the silly mortals.

and people ask me why are you so attached to being jewish, you know having "just" found out about it? how come you fell into it so fully?

and i think it's because i need to come from somewhere and understand it. to not need it fuzzed out around me. to not blur the edges in favor of protecting the hurts. i need to have a place to start from that is tangible and accessible to me. i need a history that is bigger than the pain that surrounds it.

and damn, if that isn't some shit right there, right? being jewish somehow gives me a history to attach to less painful than the one i experienced on janna ave?

jesus, between that and not wearing my glasses i think i could be a psychiatrist's wet dream.

but hey, it's just because it was "my" history that makes it so intense. it's nothing if not all relative, right?

so where do i go from here?

forward. ever forward. because i made it there and back. nearly whole, even.

and i'll do the same thing i do for every difficult moment.

i'll open my heart and i'll open my arms.

i will love the shit out it.

x.

y.m., y.m., ymca. c.a., c.a., camp.

the duke of fun left for summer camp this morning.

the same summer camp the lord of the ring went to for 9 years. the same one the duke's been going to since he was 9. in one of the most beautiful places on this big hunk of green and blue rock. yes, i am totally jealous. yes, i am totally thrilled.

can i just say that i love summer camp? summer camp for the duke, and starting next year for wingman, is not only TOTALLY AWESOME, but it's also my own personal backup to insure my kids aren't assholes.

just so we're clear, my kids are not assholes. but i maintain that things can change. and puberty and young adulthood can do a number on even the coolest kid in the world. you just never know, so having all the backup you can get is a good idea.

i also maintain that, given my experience, no serious camp person can be 100% asshole. it's nearly impossible. it just doesn't happen.

you understand, this is an informal and non scientific finding at best, but i'm sticking by it.

so the first year he went i remember crying after he left and holding my breath until he came home.

cut to four years later to this morning when i sent him off with a hug and a kiss and told him to have fun. not a teardrop in sight.

interesting.

as a parent you can see your kids growing and changing and evolving, and you forget that you do too. that it isn't a one way street.

the first few years he was obviously much younger. you worry so much about so much. and not that i don't worry as he gets older, i just have passed some of that responsibility on to him. he is becoming his own person, moving about in the world without needing me to approve or disapprove of his every action.

the instructions get fewer each year. now he knows he needs to drink lots of water and apply sunscreen more than once a day. i don't have to tell him that anymore. now he knows that his bunk mates will ALWAYS knock off his ever present and much beloved yankee's hat. it's a given. and he knows that all he has to say is "dude, that's not cool," and it usually stops.

now I KNOW not to even mention how much i would love for him to send me one measly letter from camp. because I KNOW it's not going to happen. see, i'm learning too. (though i did pack self addressed stamped envelopes and paper just. in. case. shocking, i know.)

this year i sent him off with the same thing i sent him off with last year, a well packed bag and the following

"all you really have in life is your good name. and once you mess with that or tarnish it it can be very difficult for people to move beyond that. so you need to make good choices to stay safe and to maintain credibility."

he's in a new group this year. with actual teenagers. real live living breathing teenagers. which prompted a new piece of advice and the following conversation

"individually boys your age are pretty cool, same with girls your age. but remember how we talked about when kids get together they give up their own brains in favor of a group brain?"

"yeah, especially girls."

"well, let's not be so gender specific, but yes. so if all these kids are sharing a brain maybe some of the choices the group makes aren't so well thought out, you know what i mean? one brain to share doesn't allow for a lot of thought."

"yeah, i don't have to go along with what some other kid or kids are doing. i still have to think for myself."

"right. you ask yourself, is this a good choice? what would my parents think about this choice?"

"yeah, plus i don't want to be somebody's sidekick."

"well, if it's a real cool kid who makes good choices then that wouldn't be so bad, right? to be his sidekick?"

"but, mama? that's just called being a friend."

indeed.

just so you don't think i've given wingman away or anything, he's still here and i will share with you the following conversation from yesterday to prove it.

we were sitting on the porch playing a united states of america geography game. he asked me the following question

"what is the capitol of connecticut?"

"oh, i know this. hmm, i know it's NOT new canaan."

"quick! think of whitey ford!"

"who in the world is whitey ford? and how does this help me!"

"mama, he's a famous baseball player."

"oh, who does he play for?"

"MAMA he's DEAD!"

for eight years old he sure has irritated sighing down to the letter. i CANNOT imagine for the life of me where he gets it.

"why are we talking about him then? how does this help me!"

"mama, the capitol of connecticut is hartford. get it? ford? as in whitey ford? i figured THAT was a really big clue. geeze."

right. sure. good lord.

wingman could write a book with what i don't know. you know, about all the really important pressing issues of our time. he could call it things my mother should know and just doesn't.

i bet i know who he could get to co-author that book.

x.

if it sounds like a lot of drinking was involved, it's because there was.

okay, i just want to say that i highly recommend three days in a hotel room by yourself. i recommend drinking too much with your friends and sleeping too little. i recommend going for the shoes just because they're awesome. i recommend embracing every moment.

i do not recommend forgetting to put something in your body other than what comes in a glass. or sitting by the pool in 107 degrees.

the short version is that the reunion weekend was a smashing success. from the start to the finish i couldn't have had a better time.

the long version is a bit wordier. more convoluted. a reconciling with the past with an eye towards the future. i don't understand how i live so far from my friends. i am amazed at how much my heart expands when i'm with them. and i am ecstatically pleased to report the acquisition of some "new" friends. people i've known more than half my life but only just now "met."

i was also amazed to learn that everything i felt in high school is what everyone else was feeling too. which is weird because i'm a smart girl. but it was definitely an eye opening, well duh! moment or two or seven to get that.

and i guess i'm happy to know i can still learn from the people around me. be surprised by how life turns out. to know i wasn't alone in feeling the out of body experience that was adolescence.

how any of us gets out alive i will never know. actually, that's not true. i do know. my friends saved me. meeting them then made all the difference in the world. with so many arms to hold you aloft it's easy to make it through the mire.

what really amazed me though was how lonesome so many people admitted to being in high school. even those with so many friends around and those with the apparent trappings of high school "success." at the core we were all just silly mortals. i wish i knew that then. i'm glad to know that now.

and what i really enjoyed was the time to be me. rather to remember that deep down inside i'm still the girl i always was. am. no i didn't dance on any speakers, but i got to decide when and where for the whole time there with no thought to anyone else.

and while i don't think i'd care for that lifestyle for more than a few days, it was really great for the time. i think that as parents and partners we tend to over time soften up that core "us." blend it with the family core. which is what i've always wanted all my life and appreciate the most about the life i have. but if who i was got me to where i am today, i want to embrace her and let her know i know she's still there.

and along with that, i am appreciative of the wisdom and experience i have to fully embrace those moments that come when you are hanging out for a big chunk of time with a group of people. that when someone reached out to me i was able to reach back. that i was able to clutch the hand that grabbed mine. to respond to the well timed embrace. to listen to the words that sometimes came with tears. to say i know, i get it, i understand.

and it's the same as it was then. because while we've grown and acquired all the things that certify us as actual adult human beings, we all just want the same things we wanted then.

to be seen, to be understood, to be loved.

now lest you think it was all tearful hand holding and introspection, it wasn't. thank god, right?

okay, so there are some stories i could tell you, but because the interwebs are becoming an increasingly small place for me i won't. because whether people recognize themselves in print or just assume, it's murky. sorry. maybe over a little whiskey by a bonfire one evening in person, but not here.

i will say this, i don't recommend going up to a greek orthodox father in full collar and everything standing with his wife and opening with an overly enthusiastic

"oh my god, hi! i think of you almost every day!"

yeah. not so much with the smooth. his wife had a look on her face that is nearly indescribable. which as you can imagine is a very difficult thing for me to admit to. as generally this is my forte. but i truly can't describe it.

in my defense, and yes i have one, i do think of him often. but only because the duke has been learning academic/classical greek for years and wingman starts in the fall. and i think of him because one of the elements to the curriculum is ecclesiastical. and since he's the only greek orthodox father i "know" he pops into my head.

i explained this, of course. but, yeah. the whole package deal was a little much for them.

i also don't recommend grabbing someone too tightly and badgering them with repeated "oh my god why didn't know each other in high school! you're so awesome!"

i was told this could be construed as creepy or needy. i thought it rather endearing. go figure.

i did stop shy of the alternative to that which is "oh my god why didn't we date in high school!"

now i can agree that THAT might be a bit awkward.

and i will admit to taking sadistic pleasure in seeing the girl who bullied me in junior high and who continued to be a bitch in high school weeping more than once during the evening. and still not know how to dance. or dress.

it was beautiful. so there. i said it.

there were some mishaps to the evening, as there generally are with me. i narrowly missed having a three foot tall, ultra heavy stone standing ashtray take out my leg. as in i was chatting with someone, heard something fall behind me, only to say "huh, what was that noise?" and then look behind me and see this huge thing a fraction of an inch from my heel. oy.

that might have put a damper on an otherwise fabulous evening.

i also had an entire glass of beer fully spilled onto my chest and down into the front of my dress. oh, my the look on his face was priceless. i think he thought i was going to take my shoe off and beat him with it right then and there.

but i wasn't angry, just momentarily stunned. i did find my words when he took his napkin as if he was going to mop it up himself. a natural reaction, sure, but i quickly assured him i was okay and yes, i'll be mopping it up myself thankyouverymuch.

it was 7000 degrees in that place if it was anything. i think i lost weight just standing there. and the food was not bad, but it wasn't good either. regardless, everyone was raving about it. oh, this is so good, they were all saying. and i was like, do you people never eat out? really? but one of the waiters was supah cute so i kept up the pretense of taking food from him just to keep him coming back.

hey, this girl had no date. you've got to take what you can get.

and it was good just to be out in the street too late at night. slightly tipsy and surrounded by friends. knowing you're better off going to bed, but letting things happen as they will. flirting with the pretty girls, enjoying the charms of the boys. how quickly a group can fall into a pattern.

we forget this in our day to day. that life offers so much more than we are usually exposed to, used to experiencing. and sometimes it's good to not over think it. because when i'm nearing the end of my days here i don't think i'll be lying in bed wishing i had gone home earlier.

so that's done. one more boxed checked off in the grand list of life experiences. only this time the build up wasn't a precursor to a let down.

and as i left and was being driven to the airport i actually "forgot" to be freaked out in the car, so consumed with thought and a comfortable sleepiness. i can't say i even much noticed the traffic around us. as you know, this doesn't happen. ever.

and the time going home just flew. the wait in the airport the plane ride the shuttle ride. i was home before i knew it.

and i'm glad to be home, to kiss the lord of the ring, to hug my boybarians, to fight for bed space with the cats. but i still feel like went by too quickly. which is funny because i remember having the exact same thought the last few days before high school graduation.

more often than not all of life just goes by too quickly. especially the good stuff. so when you get the chance, fully embrace it when it's in front of you.

you'll be glad you did.

x.

the day i married the most beautiful girl in the world.

the goddess mother and le petit prince
winter 2004



11 years ago, a lifetime it seems, i joined the goddess mother and her beloved in holy matrimony.

or, you know, as holy of matrimony as this fully ordained by mail order minister can.

the day of the wedding started off fine. i had been staying in my hometown for nearly a week. i was with the duke, who had just turned 1. i had made it through a wedding shower, a bachelorette party, and various wedding preparations and was still standing.

and now, in the hotel room i was putting the final touches on the ceremony while trying to keep a 1 year old out of trouble. hotel room? seems fairly benign, right? but you'd be surprised how much trouble a kid who's too young to be interested in television can get into in a hotel room.

plus, i was using a laptop. this was 11 years ago. using a laptop was new and uncharted territory for me. shit, i still have problems, but i think that's just me. oh, i know it's just me.

okay, so i was waiting for the lord of the ring to arrive from the airport and take over duke duties so i could 1.) finish the ceremony (largely written for months, but there are those details) 2.) get hair and make-up done, 3.) and deal with any other fires that came my way.

he arrived and things were going smoothly and well. i managed to be on time for hair and make-up, although, as you know by now with me and being in public, that was not without its troubles.

the make-up "artist" was a woman of certain age who believed that the more make-up the better. fine. i tried to tell her i wanted it simple, enough to show up in photos, but not too bold or bright.

the first thing she said to me after i said that was

"ugh. you young girls and your eyebrows! why there is so much shame in grooming your eyebrows i don't know! i just don't have time to do anything about them today! ugh. what a distraction. and don't even get me started on your upper lip! there is JUST NOT TIME!"

i do often wonder what it's like not to be me.

my hair was another matter. to make a long story short, don't barter house cleaning for a cut and color job. especially AFTER you've already fulfilled your end of the bargain. this being the late 90s, what i wanted to be lisa loeb like chunky light highlights on my dark hair ended up being very bottle blond, frosted almost. it was not pretty.

needless to say, i ended up with bold and bright make-up and the hair didn't fare much better.

no doubt probably in an attempt to distract from the circus side show going on on my face.

in short, in every photo i looked older than i was, and brittle, and very much like someone who spent too many hours each day snorting coke, but was still able to get a hot meal on the table before passing out.

but i'm getting ahead of myself.

so i get hair and make-up out of the way and head back to the hotel. and because the lord of the ring is the shit, the duke has been napped and changed and bathed and dressed. they are both ready to go. right on schedule.

so i get dressed and grab the disk for the ceremony and we head to kinko's to print it out before continuing on to the church.

and this is where the best laid plans of the silly mortal go awry. there is simply nothing on the disk. i know i copied the ceremony to the disk, but it won't print out. sorry, they say. it looks like it's a faulty disk, they say. and by now i'm standing in the middle of kinko's with a show stopping performance begging them to fix what they cannot, to make something be there that isn't.

nothing.

and now, now we are running late. the church is outside of town and we are downtown. there is no time to do anything else. we have to go.

so i'm in the passenger's seat trying not to freak out. what the hell am i going to do? i've had the bulk of the ceremony in my head for months, sure. but that's not enough. because it's only the bulk, not all of it! and this wasn't my first wedding, so i knew from experience that i tend to get nervous at the beginning, and i NEED a written back up to help get me through until i get comfortable.

we're driving down the road and i shout

"turn here!"

"where are we going?"

"just turn here and go straight! turn right at the next light!"

bless his heart. then and now the lord of the ring knows to just go with it. meaning me. more often than not you will hear him say, "hey, i'm just here to drive."

"turn in here!"

"ernie's liquors? what are we doing here?"

ernie's liquors is the neighborhood liquor store. my old neighborhood liquor store. i went in there with my father when i was a child. and on this day it was going to represent my salvation.

okay, so i'm not saying when the shit hits the fan you should drink. though i hear that works sometimes. what i am saying is when you are sitting in the front seat of the car, freaking out, nearly throwing up with fear, and you are late to an event where a whole hell of a lot of people are waiting for you, well, you do what you can.

i raced in the liquor store, grabbed a bottle of jagermeister and then ran up to the counter. i was now nearly 15 minutes? 30 minutes? late. and there was a line.

a line? this place is the size of a shoebox! but sure enough there were three people in front of me.

i tried breathing through the first customer. in and out. i can do this, i said. but had absolutely no luck. by now i was sweaty and about to go ballistic. so by the second customer i decided to take matters into my own hands.

"i am so sorry but i am late for a wedding and i'm the minister!! please please let me go ahead of you!!"

they didn't buy it. at least the customer already at the counter didn't. he took one look at my clinging dress, (i was wearing a robe over it for the ceremony) my strappy heels, my garish hair and make-up, and the bottle of jager in my hands and i don't think he was thinking "minister."

he was probably thinking something, but i can just about bet it didn't have anything to do with weddings or god.

thankfully the guy in front of me let me cut. he even shouted good luck as i ran out the door.

"i'm riding in the back! please drive fast, but not so fast that we get a ticket. but kinda fast!"

and again, to his credit, the lord of the ring didn't say one. measly. word. about me sitting in the back chugging jagermeister and muttering to myself and jotting down notes on a scrap of paper while on the way to a wedding we were by now very late for. a wedding where *I* was the one person who had to be on my game. not. one. word.

thankfully, the duke was asleep and so i had some quiet in the back seat. you know, to drink and freak out. it's better with quiet.

by the time we arrived at the church i don't know how late we actually were. 30 minutes? 45?

the goddess mother's parents had those bright but thin smiles on their faces i had seen so many times in our youth. especially whenever i was present. they had only recently begun to understand and accept me as i was, then their daughter had to go and tell them i was conducting her wedding ceremony. in their home church. oy.

and here i was, fucking it up just as they had probably suspected i would.

thankfully, the goddess mother, although peeved i'm sure, was all business and was more forgiving and waved off all my explanations.

"let's just get started."

so we did. i mopped up all my sweat, checked for lipstick on my teeth, and threw on my robe.

can i just interject something here about the lipstick? it was still fully present and looked great despite all the back seat chugging. regardless of her chair side manner, that make-up artist sure knew her lipstick and i was right then and there grateful for her piling it on as she had.

i was introduced and made it up to the podium without falling or throwing up. which i counted as a personal triumph. and then i started the ceremony off without a hitch.

it was going beautifully.

i was missing only one thing.

the bride and groom.

nice.

sigh. big deep breath and i said

"i'm sorry. i am SO nervous. you know what, i'm going to start over."

and then i laughed. and they all laughed.

and then i started over.

and i don't know what happened or how i did it, but i nailed it. with no notes, a belly full of jagermeister, and so totally nervous i could have started laughing or crying and never stop, i did it. the whole thing was perfect and went off without a further hitch.

because when i saw the goddess mother walking towards her beloved it just clicked. and everything i felt about her, had felt for so much of my life, all of that deep love and respect and admiration just materialized on my tongue. i was graced by her grace, and that carried me. and the relationship she asked me to make official was right. right there in front of me and inside of me was just love. and that love translated into words that made it out of my mouth and made sense.

it was beautiful.

afterward, people approached me to tell me how beautiful they thought it was, too. and the goddess mother's parents were thrilled and it signaled what was and is a whole new chapter in our relationship. and now they are as grateful for my presence in her life as i have always been for her presence in mine.

it's never occurred to me to do things the way they "should" be done. and while i look back on it now i think, yeah, perhaps that wasn't the wisest course. think of what could have happened. etc. etc. etc. it could have definitely become a cautionary tale. because lord knows i'm REALLY good at creating those.

but at the time, everything i chose to do all seemed to make sense. and in the end, it did.

because i suppose in the end it's about trusting what's in your heart and just going from there. and because when you love somebody you can make anything make sense.

i am happy to report the goddess mother and her beloved are still married. with two beautiful children who are their spitting image.

and even happier to report that she is still my very best friend and i still think she is the most beautiful girl in the world.

x.

one more baseball post. and then i'm done. i swear.

so the duke's team is finished for the season. after losing their first game in the playoffs they came back to win their next two. then lost. and now they're out.

but before we depart from this chapter in baseball history i want to toot the duke's horn one last time.

he was on third headed for home, trying to beat the ball.

the catcher was in front of the plate in anticipation of catching the the ball.

so the duke had no choice but to plow into him to get to the plate. so he does. plows right into the kid. they both fall.

they are in a pile at home plate, the ball hits the catcher and bounces behind him. but what's this? the duke is not actually at home plate. only near home plate. he will be tagged out if he doesn't get there quick. so he crawls OVER the catcher to tag home!!!

yay!!! we're all cheering and going crazy!!!

then we notice that the catcher isn't moving. hasn't moved since the duke plowed into him.

and we realize that the duke has totally knocked him down. as in he can't get up.

can i just say right now that the duke is like the smallest kid on the team? well, there's a shorter kid but he's more of a natural bad ass. the duke? not so much. i've been known to joke (out of his earshot) that he hasn't grown since he was 9.

so here's this kid at home. can't get up. because my kid knocked him down.

and we're all kinda watching and i notice the duke has just noticed what happened. he's still lying at home plate relishing his win when he looks over and sees the catcher.

and bless his heart he crawls over from home plate to where the catcher is, starts patting his back, and leans in to see if he's okay.

oh my god i love that kid.

he sits there with him a few moments more, hand on his back, talking to him, while the coaches assess the situation. and then he got up and went back to his dugout. i could tell from his face he felt really bad.

i jumped up and ran down to the dugout where his team was congratulating him and saying don't worry about that, that's baseball. his coaches telling him that's what you do when the plate is blocked. you plow through. he'll be okay. blah blah blah.

and i could tell from his face he still felt bad.

don't worry about it, i told him. that's what happens, you didn't mean it.

meanwhile, the catcher is getting up, bawling, he seems really hurt. even with all the catcher's gear, the duke has really done a number on this kid. it's actually a little hard to believe. i mean, the duke did this? they have him walk around to see if he's okay. he seems to be. he wants to stay in the game.

the duke seems a little better.

everyone breathes a sigh of relief. i retreat back to the bleachers, thinking about how awesome the duke is. compassionate, caring, etc., not like other boys who might have just jumped up and went to the dugout. blah blah blah all proud smugness swirling in my head.

it's only later i find out from the lord of the ring that the duke was heard saying, more than once i might add

"i'm sorry he got hurt, but man! that felt awesome!"

so i guess let's add a little bit of a bad ass to the compassionate, caring, etc. list.

i gave birth to boys. and as much as i want them to have compassion and emotional depth, i too have to honor their absolute love of the physical. and how fantastic it must feel to knock someone out at home plate.

the presidents of the united states of america sang it best

"I'm a boy, I want to poke and destroy!"

indeed.

x.

your moment(s) of zen.

(sorry for the hiatus for your moment(s) of zen. but it's back! yay! enjoy!)

as parents it's sort of a built in thing to watch your Ps and Qs. you know, lest the children pick up on your more unsavory habits.

i am really good at this sometimes, and sometimes my mouth gets the better of me. or just broadcasts the worst.

in short, i can swear like a sailor. and sometimes i do. oh it's just your standard fare. nothing too outrageous. it's not like i'm The Rooster or anything (david sedaris' brother, paul) but still, i'm a mom and moms "shouldn't" swear around their kids.

i love that word, shouldn't. it's SO encapsulating of all the things we "could" (and do) lie awake and fret about in the wee hours. if you want to cut a mom off at the knees, throw out a well timed "shouldn't." ka-POW!

anyhow, so i swear and the boybarians know they aren't allowed to.

i own the hypocrisy, i get it, i try, i fall short.

what i tell them is that they haven't yet earned the right to swear. that when they grow up and get older and gain life experience then they have earned the right to say whatever they want. in the meantime, they have more creative and imaginative language to learn. because swearing, while it can be colorful, is lazy. plus, it's incumbent upon them to please exercise restraint as their young brains take in the world around them.* **

*see above re: hypocrisy.

** this does not apply to swear words in other languages. which are perfectly acceptable. except if we're ever in the country of origin.

but that does not mean that they aren't taking it all in. and i can appreciate that, and if a situation calls for a well timed swear word, then so be it. you fall off your bike, dump your entire bowl of cereal on the floor, bend your favorite baseball card on accident, i can see the situation where it would be appropriate.

but still, they really don't. not with the good stuff anyway.

case in point. a few weeks ago the duke was grousing about something that really was bugging him, some outside injustice or some slight, i can't even remember. and he said to me

"excuse me for this, mama, but that's really STUPID if you ask me!"

i know. what i have to put up with, right?

but stupid is a swear word and i'll tell you why. because it's unkind. and it's overused and misused. and moreover because it's too. damned. easy. to. use.

same goes for shut up. especially, shut up.

anything that can just fly off your tongue with no thought whatsoever should be a swear word.

that's why i use the word fuck all the time. i really don't mean to. but it's like it's just perched on the tip of my tongue and it just waits there to take the leap. sometime it doesn't even wait. it just leaps.

just like words that describe people's physical characteristics unfavorably are swear words, too. it's just too easy to put someone down based on their looks. to form that kind of judgment right away. and we learn it as kids and it's awfully hard to stop even as we get older and "know better."

awhile ago the duke asked me what "retarded" meant. and i told him what it was and how and why kids use it.

"oh, i can see that. it's from a piano term, ritardando, meaning slow down. it's italian."

ever the wordsmith.

but did he "get" why it was bad?

"but can you see how it would be hurtful, right? whether or not a child is really differently-abled or it's just a put down, you can see how it's not a kind word. right?"

and rolling his eyes (which SHOULD be a swear word) he said

"of course, mama. it's MEAN. i would NEVER say that and would be upset if my friends called someone that. but it's just too bad they have to mess up a nice word."

indeed.

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

it's about 10 minutes but worth it. please do not listen to this if you don't like swearing, LOTS of swearing, are around kids, or are at work.

(as a caveat i tried to get david sedaris reading this but couldn't find it.)

x.

it just keeps getting better and better.

the other day i was sitting in the yard chatting on the phone when an unfamiliar truck drove up the driveway and parked in front of my house.

now, when you live out in the "country" and people just drive up and park right in your driveway they are treated with suspicion. which is weird because how else would they get to your house? but i suppose it's because the driveways are long and the houses set back that it seems a violation. and plus people who move out to the middle of nowhere do it because they don't want people just showing up in their driveway.

anyhow so i walk over and there's this guy i've never seen before getting out of his truck.

"hi. can i help you?"

he gestures to his papers and asks if i'm my husband.

and right away i know who he is. he is "the guy" who drives around and tacks up foreclosure notices on your property.

so i'm on the phone and i'm wishing him gone and as polite as i can i say

"i'll take those."

"can't let you do that."

"do you need my husband? or a signature?"

(BTW what is this 1960? what am i? chopped liver? while i appreciate my husband being on the frontline of all the financial bullshit, this house and all its attendant problems are half mine. oh yeah, that's right. i like the gender lines that are drawn when it comes to trash day and dead bats, but i can pull my betty friedan out at the drop of a hat. it's a talent.)

"nope."

"i'm standing right here, can you please just hand them to me?"

"i have to tack them to the house."

"listen, my kids are going to come out any moment. as you can imagine this would be a difficult and awkward situation for us all. can you just hand them to me? please?"

"no. i have to tack them to the house and take a picture."

"okay, i understand. can you please be quick. before my kids come out?"

"sure."

that's right. we haven't told the boybarians. because it isn't time yet. because i'm still holding out for the miracle. and because difficult words find their own time frame. they come out when they're ready. i have trust in that.

so he goes and tacks up the notice and takes a few pictures and then starts back to his truck.

"all done."

"thanks for being quick. i appreciate it."

and because he must encounter hostile and hysterical homeowners every single day and this was obviously different from that, or because he was just a nice guy, or nosy, he came closer and leaned into me as if we were in a crowded room and he had to be discreet. he asked, quietly, not unkindly,

"what is it? just behind in your payments? bad loan?"

and i realized that he was just being friendly. that he was using this opportunity to let the homeowner open up to him if need be. that perhaps he saw himself as a kind of anonymous shoulder to cry on, a knowing and experienced shoulder. you know, because he's "in the business." i've seen it all, i could imagine him saying as he encouraged me to tell him my own tale of woe.

and i thought it was sweet. he's just doing his job, most likely low paying, definitely thankless, and here he is taking the time to talk to me. to give me a chance to talk if i need to, to maybe make sure i'm okay.

and in that split second i was glad i wasn't the hysterical and hostile homeowner. that despite it all, i maintain some composure and semblance of manners. because i will tell you what, even though you know what it looks like it's still a shock when it happens. again. and again. the notices on the house (there's never just one), the signing for the certified nasty grams, again and again. and every person who you sign the little slip of paper for knows, they see these all day every day. everyone trying to keep up the 30 seconds of banter, pretending what's happening isn't.

every piece of paper making things just a bit more of a hurdle. and you never know how you'll respond. you never know if it's all just going to fall apart right then and there and you'll end up going bat shit crazy on the messenger. i haven't, i probably won't, i hope i won't, but you never know.

and while i certainly wasn't going to open up to this stranger about what i'm facing (i just do that on the interwebs ;) ) i appreciated his concern and my own ability to be standing there not losing it on him. because he's just doing his job.

then i realized that he was fully checking out my chest. i can't say that he was salivating, and i can't say that he wasn't.

as i was waxing prophetic in my mind about life and the silly mortal's place in it, he was fully and openly enjoying a bird's eye view of the girls. and because it was a warm day and i was wearing the kind of tank top a young lady might wear should she hope to get some sun on her upper torso IN THE PRIVACY OF HER OWN YARD, and he was shorter than me, and then by leaning in, well, you can imagine the view he got.

"OKAY. so we're done here?"

"uh, yep."

"all right sir, you have a nice day then."

"oh, yeah, you too."

and he got into his truck and drove away with a big smile.

i'll tell you what, i want my house out of all of this. but if i come out of this with more grace than i came into it, well you know what? that would be a gift.

and if by grace i mean giving the man who's job it is to further drive the nail in the foreclosure process politeness, and respect, AND a full unadulterated view of my boobs to take with him, then so be it.

hey, grace comes in all forms. it's not mine to judge.

oh, and the papers he tacked up?

they were the notice of auction for the big red house.

and the date?

september 11, 2009.

and if that's not enough to convince you that this is the universe displaying hilarity in its finest, i just don't know what is.

x.

baseball and more baseball.

on wednesday the duke's baseball team assisted the little league's challenger division in a game.

the challenger division is for kids of all ages who are mentally and/or physically challenged and want to play baseball. the little league pairs the two challenger teams up with two majors teams for each game. two majors players assist one of the challenger players in fielding, batting, and running the bases.

the duke has been talking about this for awhile and was looking forward to it. he wondered if he would be paired with our friend maggie, who has autism and is non verbal.

sure enough he and another teammate got to assist maggie. who is very very physically capable. so when you say "assist" maggie you are essentially saying "reigning" her in! always.

maggie, in short, is a pistol. i have seen this firsthand a number of times and it didn't stop on the ball field. so first things first her mother armed the duke and his teammate with bags of skittles and warned them to be quick about it.

the duke found out exactly what this meant when maggie kicked him hard in the shin when he was a little too slow on the skittles distribution. he got the message after that.

this was even before the game. during the game they were in the outfield. a place in which maggie's mother assured me the ball never goes. but that didn't stop maggie from getting into the action. every time the ball was hit maggie went running from the outfield to the infield all the way across to home plate and back. she didn't go for the ball. she was just running to run AND to kick up as much dirt as she could on the way in and out. and as she went running you saw two boys with bags of skittles in hand running after her trying to keep up and steer her back in.

and because they didn't spray down the infield before hand that was a LOT of dirt every time.

before each ball was hit i saw the duke lean in to maggie and say something, gesturing to the infield, and then very deliberately planted his feet and got his glove at the ready. he was trying to show her what to do. he was trying. he was patient and i never saw him lose his composure. and every time he did this.

and every time maggie went running from the outfield to the infield all the way across to home plate, kicking up as much dirt as she could there and back. and you saw two boys with skittles in hand running after her, trying to keep up.

and when the duke went and got her a bottle of water and asked her if she wanted some she dumped it on his head. and he said

"well that was refreshing."

so all of this went on for three solid innings and then it was done. and it was great fun to watch. you never saw a group of kids have a better game. every ball that was hit, base rounded, home plate crossed was reason for a rousing cheer.

there just wasn't all the usual crap that can go on with baseball. none of the coaches shouting or players hanging their heads, none of the parents getting nervous about their child's performance. no pacing. just a bunch of kids getting to play baseball and a bunch of parents enjoying watching them do it. and it was really nice to see.

after the game the duke said how much he enjoyed the game. he brushed off being kicked in the shin, covered in dirt from the infield ramblings, or having water dumped on him. he just had fun.

and then the next morning he brought it up again and wondered if he'd be able to participate in another game.

every baby is a mystery. you really never know who you're going to get when you give birth. who they're going to grow up to be. and when it's bull's eye obvious you got one of the good ones, well, it's pretty darned awesome.

x.