At least he's not smearing sh*t on the walls

Things Milo could be doing with his stubborn, high-spirited nature during these times of intense life changes:

1) breaking things

2) punching people

3) making himself throw up

4) launching food and overturning dinner plates

5) marking his territory with urine

6) stashing, storing, smearing, or otherwise playing with his own excrement

7) sneaking out and getting drunk with the guys... 

8) hooking up with the loose girls at day care

9) making fake IDs with my iPhone

10) having nightmares, really falling apart...

I guess an occasional 2 hour bedtime show-down is small potatoes. 

At first, I thought it was standard stalling and tried to be firm. But 30 mins in (20 mins after his older brother had started snoring), I stopped focusing on getting what I wanted and just started rummaging through drawers for a white flag to wave...

When he sat on the top stair, twinkled his non-tired eyes, rested his full, puffy cheeks in his not-so-tiny hands and answered my, "You are going to bed right now" with:

"No.  I'm not."  Then he got quieter:  "I. Am. Not...   Not going to bed...   Not tonight."
Then he looked at me, with pity and exhaled: "no. I'm not."

Serious as a heart attack.

People, I know when I'm beat.  My mama did NOT raise a fool.  I'm all about being the adult - "the parent" and setting limits.  But it was the calm in his eyes- like the sea in a glossy travel brochure; it was his non agitated, purposeful stare...

And as Yoda- oops, I mean - JAKE told me earlier today, "Mommy, do you know the secret to beating your enemies?  Make them your friends."

"Okay," I told my curly haired challenger, "If you're not going to bed, come down here and and help me clean up.  You can start by cleaning up your cars."

Trying to get them to bed early on transition day, I had planned to return the 17 die cast metal cars (we counted them aloud 4 times as he parked then in the shape of letters (and one time in the shape of a "mark" that I when I tilted my head a little I realized was a pretty perfect "question mark") away.

When the cars were away, I had him put the couch cushions back and fluff the throw pillows.  Then I told him to go get two books and we read them each - twice.  Then we headed upstairs and drank a small dixie cup of water and as I laid him down, we talked about his day:  The hole he dug in the sand (It was huge)... The sand he put on the slide (even though his teachers told him not to put sand on the slide)... We talked about kindergarten coming up in the fall.

He didn't know that I had already decided I wouldn't even be trying to leave his lower bunk bed until I was dismissed.

Back when I worked in the ICU, I had this little rule, if a patient/or family rang his/her call bell 3 times within 20 minutes, I would pack up my charts and go in there and sit.  I would first see what they needed, and answer their question or request; BUT then I would pull up a chair or desk and sit there yammering and/or charting until the patient and/or family would say something like, "You must have other work you have to do."

When I stopped peppering Milo with questions and the conversation started to lull, I didn't make a move to leave.  I didn't even shift my weight, but still he grabbed my face and whined: "I NEED you." I held my hands over his hands, tight on my cheeks.

"I need you and love you too,"  I replied

"I WANT you."  He pulled me tighter.

"I'm right here."  I kissed both his palms and offered him mine. 

"I ALWAYS need and want you."

"Me too."  More kisses on his hands and arms

"You always... yell at me."  

I laugh.  "I SOME-times yell at you when you don't listen, but I am not yelling right now."

I snuggled in closer. "I'm staying right here until you tell me I should go."

Literally 10 seconds pass.

"When you hear the 'DING' you go.... DING!"  He high-pitched the last word into a flawless, one-toned bell.

"Okay, when I hear that noise, I should go?"

"No.  It ding'd.  You should go now... it already ding'd."

 Now I'm laughing, hard: "Wait... Now? go now???"

"Yes.  You have to. It already Ding'd.  Sorry.  I love you.  Now go."

Bahahahahahahaha!

Seriously, this kid is ridiculous.

All you need is love...

When Katy and I were married, this was the song playing during our first dance together...

It is true, isn't it?  Love is all you need.

And also, sometimes, it's no where near enough.

There will be more to write and share because this blog is really for our sons, and when they grow up, they deserve to know a bit more about the "say what now?" that we have set in motion.  But tonight, it seems important to come clean on the Gin Soaked Olive...

Most of the last year has been a slow, heartbreaking dance of negotiation and decision (Katy's and my relationship hanging in the balance).  As marriage equality, literally swept the country; as DOMA was overturned; as state after state leveled the legal playing field, it became more and more clear that our marriage was coming to an end.  This Thanksgiving weekend brought to fruition the culmination of hundreds of hours of discussion and debate, and a physical split that has followed an emotional separation, a transfer of finances and home ownership, a filing for divorce.

In case I'm being too vague.  We regret to inform our readers that, Katy and I have split up.  Though we will always be a family, she has moved out of our home into a house she has purchased nearby, and we will share custody of Jake and Milo.

It is sad and difficult to explain. We have been and will continue to be as amicable as possible.  We will always prioritize the health and happiness of our sons.

And I will attempt to stop writing on these pages using so much "we" and shift to the more appropriate, first person singular voice.

Eulogy for Gramma Bella

When I went to write this, I looked for a few quotes about grandmothers…  The first two I found were:

“Grandmas never run out of cookies or hugs” and the next: 

“A grandmother is a little bit parent, a little bit teacher, and a little bit best friend.”

Done.   My work was done.

These so perfectly fit our Grandma Bella, that it made me feel a little deflated- those are so generic- anyone could look them up on the internet...  and OUR gram was so special…

You probably read in the paper that my grandmother had 21 Grandchildren, 22 Great grand children, and 1 great-great grand daughter.  It is remarkable to note that FIFTEEN BABIES: 1 grandson (Alex), 13 great-grand kids, and baby Mackenzie (The great-great-grand) were born in the last 9 years since our grandpa died. 

Gram experienced a lot of grief after Grandpa died, but looking back, these years were teeming with babies-

and she LOVED that.

But of course if you knew her, you know she didn’t have just 44 grandchildren.  Our spouses, our inlaws, our cousins on the other sides of our families, any one we brought to her house, anyone who was our friend… she counted all of them too… that’s literally hundreds (possibly thousands of people that knew her as

Grandma Gaetano or Grandma Bella) and she welcomed and treated everyone one of us with love and respect.

I had the idea that I might get up here and mention some of the most important things that Gram taught us.

THAT is a completely overwhelming prospect.

I mostly wanted to represent the grandkids in taking an opportunity to publicly thank her for all that she did for us.  I think we all did our best to tell her this every chance we got- to get as many hugs from her as we could…

What is hard to put into words (in the face of losing her) is that we are losing a relationship that was above all else uncomplicated. 

To be Bella Gaetano’s grandchild was to be loved and appreciated. 

Period. 

She loved us without exception and without expectation. 

She wanted to know us, and see us, and be seen by us. 

She met us where we were and asked nothing more of us than what we could (or were willing) to give. 

She bragged about us. 

She laughed with us. 

She didn’t compare to us each other. 

She just enjoyed us.  

For many of us, she was the first person we brought our grievances and heartbreaks to: When our parents took our favorite toys away or bestowed some insult or punishment, she brought out the cookies and the hugs- sometimes tough love, too- but usually not.

When we started showing up at her door with our tattoos and our more legitimate heartbreaks, scholastic and relationship failures, and other mistakes and adult struggles…

She behaved as a friend. 

She treaded lightly.

She listened more than she preached.

She offered compassion and reassurance…

She reminded us that life was hard, but it was long. 

Without minimizing our pain, she asked us to see hard times as necessary and temporary.

She worried about us when we were hurting…

She locked her blue eyes on us- daring us to see what she saw: that no matter what we did or what we didn’t do we were enough, always worthy of love.

She mostly did this without words… 

Truthfully, a LOT of the time she did it with FOOD. (She could heal a heart with a little plate of parmesan cheese and sautéed zucchini, a plate of food that your parents wouldn’t have been able to get you to eat if all of your lives depended on it.)

She might also cheer us up or distract us with a funny story, or a ride on the golf cart,

or invitation to walk with her or to help her clean up her yard.

Gram was such a good role model.

She had LOTS of friends.  Because she was so generous and so eager to help a neighbor, she collected people and racked up loyalty the way some folks rack up debt.  And her friendships were long lasting and withstood the tests of time, because she knew that giving to others did not subtract from, but only added to what was hers… 

She liked to keep busy and visit with people. She was quick to laugh and forgive small grievances.  And mostly her friendships were strong because she was a good judge of character but never a harsh judge of people.

She taught me that a life well-lived usually means losing labels like “us” and “them”.  And accepting and finding things to appreciate about everyone that wanders into your life.  She was eager to meet new people. She enjoyed watching people do things they enjoyed, even if it was something she would never be interested in doing.  She gave everyone the benefit of the doubt.  She sometimes suffered fools GLADLY.  She expressed and experienced gratitude.

Gramma knew her worth and stood her ground- with her husbands, in her business dealings- but she was not immovable.  She was always willing to show vulnerability.  She would put herself out there even if it meant sometimes getting her feelings hurt.

She didn’t stifle laughter.

She didn’t stifle tears.

She was present. 

She was participatory. 

She never shied away from having her picture taken.

She made her mark on people- on purpose-

not because of what they might do for her but for what she might do for them.

In the last 2 weeks of her life, my gram attended 2 weddings.  The one I was lucky to be with her at, she would have stayed all night. 

This was not a woman who prioritized sleep over living. 

Who looked for rest over dancing or watching others dance.  

Who couldn’t keep up with the kids. 

Who would leave a lobster uneaten.  (If you know her, you know she was no joke with a lobster).

Katy and I apologized to her that we were interested in leaving before the dancing was actually over (we were her ride back to the hotel) and in her usual form, she said something like,

“Yes, you two work so hard, you’re probably exhausted.”

(She wasn’t even rolling her eyes at us when she said it).

My sister and I were talking about our sadness and we know that there has never been a moment of our lives (because we were her grandchildren) when we didn’t know that this day would come. 

But this is the other side of being loved so completely. 

This is the bittersweet nature of having been so perfectly nurtured. 

These are the tears that are shed for you when you live in such a way that hundreds of people know they have lost one of their best friends.

We celebrate these tears, because they are from and for you, Grandma.

And the most important thing is –

We will try to take care of each other- using you as a role model. 

Because, if we do our job right, people who never even got to meet you will get to feel how it felt to be loved by you.







 

First wake

My dad's Uncle George died the day before Thanksgiving (last week).  As I prepared to go to the wake on Sunday, Jake asked where I was going. 

Me: Papa's uncle died and TT and I are going with Gram'ma Bella to the wake.
Jake: What's a wake?
Me: Well, when someone dies, there is usually a wake and a funeral... Or some kind of ceremony where you can go say goodbye, and go hug the family and tell them that you are sorry about losing the person they loved.
Jake: Who did they lose?
Me: Well, Papa's uncle George died.  So Papa's cousins lost their dad, and Papa's aunt lost her husband.  When someone dies, we say we "lost" them.
Jake: Oh.

I absentmindedly asked Jake if he wanted to go.  It wasn't an accident exactly.  He seemed interested and there is something I want to try to teach these boys early on about life being special and about death being a part of life. And about what it means to belong to a clan of people- that you have respect and are generous with your time, and sometimes you stop what you are doing to show up and bare witness at these events. 

Jake: Maybe... I have to think about it.
Me: okay (In my head: "ut oh")

(I never thought he'd agree...
After a few minutes, I thought of a way to deter my 'soft pants' loving boy...)

Me: You know, if you go, you have to put some dress clothes on.
Jake: What do you mean?
Me: I mean, I am going to put work clothes on and you will have to dress up.
J: Like, in what?
Me: Like a sweater, or a shirt and tie, and church pants and shoes.
J: What sweater?
Me: I don't know... like the new one that TT bought you...

(After a few more minutes...)

Jake: I'll wear a tie.

Me: Oh... Okay. (pause)  So, we should talk about what it will be like...  At a wake, there is usually a box called a coffin that the person who has died will be laying in.  And there will be flowers and pictures and his family will be there and we will go through and hug all of his family- Papa's aunts and uncles and cousins.
Jake: Okay.
Me: And at some wakes the coffin is closed and you can't see the person inside but sometimes the coffin is open and you will see the person.
Jake:  LIKE A SKELETON?!?
Me: Oh, no... He will look like he's sleeping.  He will have his clothes on and of course all his hair and his skin... Maybe his eyeglasses...
Jake: (interrupting) HE HAS EYEGLASSES?!?  (The idea that he might see eye glasses seemed as shocking to him as the idea that me might see a skeleton.)
Me: (giggling) I don't know... maybe he does or maybe he doesn't...  The coffin might be closed, but it might be open.  And he will look like he is sleeping, but he won't be sleeping because he isn't alive anymore; remember how we talked about what happens when a person dies?
Jake: Yes.
Me: Their heart doesn't beat anymore, and they don't breathe, and their body is still there, but their spirit isn't inside their body...  ?
Jake: Yes.
Me: Do you still want to go?

Jake: Yeah, but I want to wear the red tie...

Katy likes to tell people that before she met me, she had never been to a wake or funeral.  And now she never stops going to them.  She is gracious about this and says that if it weren't for me, she would have had no idea how to conduct herself at her grandmother's funeral.  I almost skipped Uncle George's wake, but it was at her "it's the right thing to do" urging that I was getting dressed to go.  As a former ICU nurse, I'm more confortable than the average bear with corpses.  I sometimes have to stop and remind myself that these things can upset "lay people".  There are some funerals that children should NOT attend.  Very tragic, unexpected deaths... funerals where the adults are generally falling apart and so grief stricken that they are not able to look out for the emotional well being of kids in the room...

When our friend Liz's husband died leaving her widowed with 4 children (3 of the 4 were grade school age and younger), of all of the things she did that impressed me, none impressed me more than her plan for the kids.  After a brief appearance at the wake, she had them brought back to the house where Katy and I played with them and fed them dinner and got them to bed.  Of course they had to go to their dad's wake, but the emotions were too intense and the line at the funeral home too long to subject them to the entire event.

When my friend John died, I have this stark memory of his nieces a few feet from the coffin only 6 or 7 or 8 years old and my brain was forming the judgemental thought, "What are these parents doing letting their kids just hang around here near the casket all night?!?" when their kiddie conversation came into auditory focus:

Munchkin 1: Do you know why he doesn't look like himself?
Munchkin 2: No?  Do you?
Munchkin 1: I think it's because his soul has left his body
Munchkin 2: Yeah, so it isn't really him anymore... just his body.

I had the urge to stoop down to eye level and grip their shoulders gently and tell them that he didn't look like himself because the mortician in this joint isn't worth shit and has clearly never heard of blush or hair gel... but as I exhaled, the psycho urge passed and I realized that (of course) these children were wiser and more balanced than I.  Truthfully, kids just don't have the baggage that we do.  They don't usually bring their accumulated insecurities and fears into the room; or if they do, their accumulation is miniscule as not to even register.

When my mom saw Jake at the funeral home, she tried to hide from me that she was a little freaked out, asking several times, "Aren't you worried that he will have nightmares?"

And here's the thing.  Jake already has nightmares.  He's just like his freakin' moms.  A few weeks ago he crawled into our bed and told us he dreampt that there was a fire and he was trying to save Milo.  [A FIRE?!?! Seriously?  Where did that fear come from, Disney?!? I promise, we've never talked about fires around the dinner table...]  And last week, he was crying because he dreamed that his grandparents left without saying goodbye.  Some kids have more bad dreams than others.  I've got to try to find some books to see if there's a way to teach or talk your kids out of bad dreams, because I was one of those kids.  At a very early age, I dreamed scary, stressful things.  I still think that is part of the reason I stay up so late- Some of those dreams are sad and exhausting- maybe it's better just to stay awake.

Anyway, I've come to believe that 1) My dreams are not necessarily premonitions.  2) Bad dreams are not something that always happens because of unrest in your conscious life.  It doesn't necessarily have anything to do with your perception of safety or security.  I know this because I was a very safe, protected, nurtured, sheltered child.  And so are our boys. 

Jake is a thinker and he reasons things out.  He likes to be prepared.  And even though Milo is comparitively our "spontaneous frat boy"... He also is a thinker, and a dreamer. 

"You are not quite right" is what I've heard in response to the explanation that this first wake was a "dry run" for Jake.  He will have to see some people he loves in coffins in the coming years and decades and this was his first.  I'm sure we will have follow up conversations and clarifications, but he came through the event without a flinch or twitch or question.  This was just an experience to him.  Not positive.  Not negative.  Not even that big of a deal.  Just something to stash away in his mental filing cabinet.

My working theory is sometimes (maybe) the sheltering and protecting that we do for kids is unnecessary. Sometimes (maybe) that "protecting" contributes to anxiety and unsettled emotions.  (Emotions like, "What if I am not good enough? What if I can't handle all that I am asked to handle?") Trying to pad the sharp corners of the world isn't what I want to accomplish as a parent.  Life is full of struggle and sadness, disappointment and grief.  Our job is to teach them how to deal with downsides, show them that they can handle uncomfortable situations.  Create a time and space where they can safely learn to be vulnerable and successful in struggle.  I kind of believe that is the only way to fully appreciate joy and love.

Uncle George's wake was the perfect opportunity for Jake to see death. To see a body that was without it's spirit. Someone that he didn't know. An event that had no personal sadness or confusion attached to it.  He observed a portion of the ritual without experiencing the associated loss/discomfort.

And when a kid that cries in the morning trying to decide what pants to wear (because he sometimes has trouble making decisions). When that kid tells me he wants to put on a tie and come with me to a wake, I'll go ahead and take him at his word.  I won't tell him he can't handle it.  I will stand next to him and let him see one way death can look.  Because I trust Jake.  Even at this young age, he is so trustworthy.

And I trust myself.  I know if we stumble into a room or situation that upsets him, I will be able to talk him through that discomfort.  I know Katy will always help me with that.  I know she and I will resist the urge to remove painful obstacles so that our boys can learn to overcome difficulties (at least a bit) on their own.  It won't always be easy.  Sometimes we will fail by doing too much for them and protecting them too vigilantly and either forgetting to let them struggle or losing our steel when confronted by the reality of their discomfort.  But we're lucky...

These boys already have the minds and hearts of strong, wise men.  I'm so proud of them.

First day of Kindergarten: Hopes and Dreams

During orientation today, the principal at Jake's school encouraged us to "get to know" her and share with her our "hopes and dreams for his kindergarten year."  Kate and I sat side by side in a humid basement that they call the "gym/auditorium" and even though I was closer to bursting into a puddle of sweat vs. tears, that line did make me shrug away an emotional shudder.  Maybe I hadn't realized I did have hopes and dreams for him at this early stage in the game, maybe i was shocked in these first few seconds of contemplation how basic they were.

Perhaps to a fault, I don't give a shit where he is with his reading or math.  The kid is smart and a "pleaser" with two academic-minded moms, he will excel in school and be reading like a champ in no time...

I hope he has fun and learns to love those put in charge of his learning.
I dream that what happens this year sets him up to trust the people we call "teachers" and to feel safe in the buildings we call "schools".

I hope he makes friends and learns how to be good and generous to other kids.
I dream he has the experience of acceptance and friendship without learning to crave and chase the "high" of feeling popular.

I hope he somehow learns to appreciate the special qualities of others without feeling jealous.
I dream he learns to appreciate the special qualities in himself without feeling superior.

***************
In the middle of the first 1/2 hour in his class room, Jake pulled at my pocket and said, "I have to go potty."  His teacher showed him the room and he was in there for several minutes before the motion sensor light went out.  Over the din of the classroom, I heard quiet yelling, "Anyone... Hey, Anyone... Anyone out there..." it was soft at first and grew louder.  I realized what must have happened and the lights flew on as I opened the door and rushed in.

He shrugged at me, "Hey," he said, not quite embarrassed.
"Hey, buddy!" I said laughing in a way that I'd hoped would reassure him.  "If that ever happens again, you just have to wave your arms around to get the lights back on again."  I offered several more sentences in the way of explanation.  And then I noticed his red face and watering eyes...
He was about to cry, and I didn't want that to happen...  All these emotions rushed to me: he is way more nervous than we realized... He's afraid.  And he was literally left in the dark, oh no...

And then I heard the splash as he dropped (what I later realized was the third) rather large turd in the tiny "to scale" toilet. Misty eyes, cleared and the normal color replaced the red in his cheeks.

Here's my kid!  First thing he does at kindergarten is take a huge dump!!  When I told the story to Katy later, she mocked me with her mind-reading skills: "Oh MY GOD... it's like when you go into a book store and the info overload sends you running to the public restroom!!!"

It's funny because it's true.

I couldn't help it. I reached down and planted a kiss on the top of that kid's head.  "I love you so much, Jakey."

"Yeah," he said absentmindedly contemplating the status of his bowels.  The absurdity of the situation hit a peak as he obviously bared down one last time.  He relaxed his abdomen, shifted on the seat, took a short breath in and out, and I easily identified the cues- he had completed his business.

Looking up at me, he shrugged: "Can you believe I'm in kindergarten?!?" He asked excitedly.

Brief, awkward silence.

"Yes, baby.  I'm so proud of you," was the only thing I could think to say.

I've admitted it before, and I'll say it again, this kid is weird.  His moms are fine with it.  In fact his brand of quirky, honest sweetness is probably less weird than we are.  I'll sometimes tell him he's weird so he recognizes that word doesn't have to hurt: everybody is weird in some way(s).  I dread the day when someone makes him feel bad or insecure about the amazing things inside of him.

I hope that doesn't happen to him in Kindergarten.
I dream for him that when that does happen he has a good friend near him to reassure him that he doesn't need to make apologies for who he is.

Jake has a bunch of friends that he's gone to day care with for several years.  Today, KK shouted to him in the parking lot, "Thank you, Jacob!"

"You're welcome," he spouted over his shoulder as we all walked away from the bus.  When I asked him what he did that she was thanking him for he looked at me as if to say, "What the fuck are you talking about?"  It became crystal clear in that moment that this is just the beginning of me asking what I think is a perfectly legitimate question and him acting like I'm blind, deaf, and dumb.

Colin is Jake's BFF since he was 6 months old.  It's because of Jake and Colin that we are friends with Col's parents.  Now those kids are stuck with each other at least through high school, because Katy and I have really grown to love those dirtbags (Private joke).  When Jake asked us what a "kindred spirit" was recently (after the term came up in Puss in Boots) hearing the definition prompted him to report to us that Colin was his kindred spirit.  Sometimes the two boys greet each other with this term of endearment (sigh).

Life can be hard, even for kindergarteners.
I hope that he hits some bumps (even at this tender age) so he can start to grow confident in his ability to overcome challenges and obstables
I dream he'll have some good little peeps by his side reassuring him and giving him sound toddler advice.


***************
A few weeks ago, katy and I both picked Jake up from day care.  When the kids saw us come in together, it set off a sewing circle of banter among 4 four-year old girls.  They were working on some craft at a low-to-the-ground, circular table and the image in my peripheral vision was oddly similar to a group of old ladies gossiping while shucking peas- heads bent together, hands busy, absentminded familiarity with one another.  While I tried to get Jake to gather his things, I started to catch the content of their conversation:

Girl 1: Yeah, that's how it is.
Girl 2: He has two moms...
Girl 3: No dads...
Girl 1: No, he didn't come with one.
Girl 4: Not a dad in sight.
Girl 2: Nope, just only moms

Jake was oblivious and I realized that the arrival of the two moms simultaneously (when we usually took turns picking up our boys) likely prompted some solidification of the concepts that these little girls have been well aware of for a long time.

They weren't questioning the legitimacy of our family structure.  They weren't trash-talking.  Just hammering the points home to each other in a way that old friends might discuss the inevitability of an impending summer shower:

"Looks like rain"
"yessir, there's no way we're getting out of this one..."
"I guess we better bring the laundry in"
"These rains come and go"
"The sky is sure dark"
"It's been dry- we could really use the rain."

I hope that it will be sometime before Jake is exposed to a conversation where he realizes there are people in the world that have a problem with his family.
I hope if someone indicates there is something wrong with his family structure, there is a teacher (or one of those pea shuckers) right there on hand to immediately correct that lie
I dream we have a few years of solidifying his confidence before he gets a wiff of this part of the world from anywhere.


I didn't cry today. If it hasn't happened yet, I've probably avoided it.  But I wouldn't be surprised if it hit me later in the week or month.  Putting this kid out into the world,  further out of the sphere of our protective capabilities is humbling.  It makes me feel the intense weight of human vulnerability.    It makes me want to grab the break and slow down time a bit.  It makes me want to pray more.

Okay... there.  A few tears dripped down...
Is everyone happy now?

Groundhog Day

There are so many things that I never really thought much about until I had kids.
It's important to note, I'm one of those people that thought a lot about having kids...
I thought about how I would teach them, how I would treat them, what I would need in a co-parent to supplement my particular hangups, talents, shortcomings, and anxieties. I considered how I would handle raising different personalities and how I would balance the different needs of boys vs girls or boys AND girls. I even thought a bit about what I would do if I had a kid that had ambiguous genitalia or one that looked like a boy but felt like a girl (Thank you, Middlesex).

I thought about how I would teach them to pee standing up (having never done that myself) and how I would teach them to stand up for their beliefs without disrespecting others. I thought about how I would handle the rage inside myself the first time they were bullied or teased.

I mean, you get my point, right?

The "parenting" as a verb catches me so off guard sometimes. Watching and letting them struggle for their own good- even if right now it is only with language and putting on socks and shoes- requires attentive restraint. (Jake's particular nemesis right now: Button-fly jeans. Who at gap thought that was a good idea?!?) But sometimes, I am completely disarmed by how they flip the world around on me, they completely scramble the compass.

Can we talk about Santa?!?
An uncomplicated concept to get behind in theory. He's jolly, he's fun, he's generous, he's magical - "Kid-less Tracy" didn't give it much thought. What was there to protest?

I just didn't anticipate how hard it would be to make up the little white lies required to make that myth work. It's not that I have a problem lying to my kids, per se... I mean our relationship is based on honesty (of course)... but a lot of the stuff I say to them is not so much TRUTHFUL as it is AGE APPROPRIATE: "Soda is an 'adult beverage'," "Everyone loves vegetables!", "Mufasa's brother, Scar, is so silly". Still, the pseudo-creepy, heavy-set man in the Santa suit in the mall?!? Not that interested in plopping my toddler on his lap.

When my kids have the uncontrollable urge and desire to run up and hug Santa, I'll stand 2 feet away and allow it. But trying to convince them to partake in the pre-kids-it-didn't-seem-so-bizarre ritual ("Stop crying, there's nothing to be afraid of... Go sit on that strange man's lap so we can take a picture")?!? Sorry, I'm not playing.

I'm okay lying about the reindeer flying and speaking of magic like it's a real thing (that's called imagination). Leaving the notes to and from the big guy and the treats and cookie crumbs... I start to have some ethical dilemmas, but I see the value.

Then I have to partake in the back-story, and I start to loose interest: Mrs. Clause sitting home doing nothing but keeping his suit clean? The army of enslaved elves making millions of toys? Landing on the roof? Breaking and entering- a man sneaks into our house on the promise to leave us some goods? Wait.. WHAT?!? So this guy just wanders around our home while we sleep? How is that congruent with everything else we are trying to teach about normal social behavior?

Why can't we just update the tale? Example: Kids and parents correspond with Santa's family by email to coordinate requests from the children and advice on good behavior from Santa. The elves have been set free except the ones that were hired (union bennies and wages) by the Clauses to help coordinate money exchanges and purchases from corporate entities (toy making and product packaging has obviously been outsourced from the north pole due to increased transportation costs and an effort to be more Green.) This is such a corporate holiday, but as a parent tied to the increasingly outmoded and ridiculous Santa myth, I can't even bring in a tame lesson on the dangers of commercialization or find easy ways to explain how much harder a lot of our neighbors have to work around the holidays, b/c Santa is the only one getting street cred for upping personal productivity...

All kidding aside, it was a creative struggle in December to find pieces of the holiday story that are not complicated by half-truths and increasingly inane postulations (a deer-drawn winter sleigh when we haven't had snow since that one storm in October???). So we tried to minimize it and focus on the story of the nativity, and teach them to notice the smell of the tree and the enjoy the beauty of Christmas lights.

And then, not all of our friends celebrate and believe in Christmas or Santa. And the ones that do? Their not-so-little white lies to their kids are slightly different than ours. Our kids are like, "that's not what so-and-so said about Christmas..."

Holidays with kids can get complicated.

Last night, Jake and I are sitting on the couch:

J: Tomorrow's Ground Hog day.
Me: (not having thought about this at all) yes.
J: what is that?
Me: (stretching my mind) Um... that is a holiday where the ground hog comes out of his hole to determine if the winter will end soon or not.
J: What?
Me: um... the ground hog comes out and if he sees his shadow, he goes back in and if he doesn't, he will stay out of his hole?
J: Why?
Me: I guess he will get scared if he sees his shadow
J: no. why does he do it?
Me: um... (remembering) it's like 6 more weeks of winter if he goes back in his hole but... (I trail off knowing this is absurd)
J: why
Me: I'm not sure, baby
J: why?
Me: (i knowing I'm beat) yeah... I don't know, really... it's a very silly holiday

Parenting (more often than I would have previously believed) involves mini existential crises, sometimes 2 and 3 times a day.

As I try to explain the world to our kids, I'm forced to decide- often in a moments notice: Am I going to pass on some bullshit that no one believes but everyone repeats over and over again? Am I going to overwhelm them with a depressing amount of realism?

But cutting even deeper, once a previously unnoticed absurdity comes to my attention, how will I handle if from there??? Inside MYSELF???

Sometimes I feel like I'm just noticing things for the first time and when Jake or Milo ask "Why?" I have to shake my head like a visitor to this country or planet and say with true helpless confusion, "I really have no idea, guys... I'm sorry. I have no idea..."

"It's totally fucked up." I want to admit to them, "And I'm sorry to report I never noticed how totally fucked up it is until right this moment..."

(Head in hands) When they are older, we can just watch the Bill Murray movie together, right?

Today in creepy kid wisdom...

I have become increasingly amazed at the introspective power of children in general, but also toddlers in particular.

It's more than that thing that will make a child look at someone with bad acne and say,
"why do you have all those red dots on your face?"

Or size up a person of small stature and inquire,
"So, are you a midget or something?"

I'm talking about when a kid is trying to label and understand the world and they come up with an explanation that is at once S-I-M-P-L-E and COMPLETELY profound. Jake does this over and over again, with such frequency and such little fanfare that I can never even remember the examples or conversations. But I have witnessed him capture the essence of "human fears" and "economics" and "relationships" with dialogue that was not parroting of adult explanations but instead an application of some previously internalized concept to a different or more abstract situation...

Boy: We take good care of our friends right?
Mom: yes!
Boy: And we share with them...
Mom: yes...
Boy: But people we don't know might be our friends?
Mom: yes...
Boy: And we should be nice even if they aren't our friends...
Mom: Yes!
Boy: I would share my snack with anyone that needed it. But if my friends needed more snack, I would have to save some for them and me- and not just strangers...
Mom: well...
Boy: What if people take our stuff and then we can't share with friends
Mom: Um...
Boy: Sometimes people that are mean are just sad...
Mom: huh? (wondering if I ever told him this or if he is coming up with this on his own)
Boy: Like Doc Hudson was in Cars... about his accident...
Mom: (sigh) yes
Boy: He wasn't Lightning's friend, but then he was after...
Mom: Yup.
Boy: Sometimes, it's like everybody is our friend, but also, everybody is not our friend.
Mom: (holy shit!) yes... essentially.

That is a compilation and not an actual conversation, but people wonder why I say things like, "yes... essentially" to my kids. It's because if you are going to give me some Gandhi-esque sound bite, I'm not going to reply, "You're so silly, boo-boo-bear!"

This morning it was a slightly different twist...

First of all, Milo AVOIDED ALL THE PUDDLES IN THE DRIVEWAY!!! Katy and I have been working on this, with (occasionally) painstaking patience. We've tried to teach and show him that there is a time for PUDDLE JUMPING and a time for NOT puddle jumping. This morning, we implored, "Please AVOID the puddles, Milo!" and he did a soft shoe around them walking carefully as if solving a puzzle.

Both moms were thrilled and tripping over ourselves to take credit for teaching him to be this amazing and then we quickly swapped saying, "No, it was you honey... You are the reason he is so wonderful!!!"

At that point while we were giggling with each other near the front of the car, we overheard some absent-minded muttering in the back seat:
Moms: What, Jakey?
J: You know what Syndrome says on the Incredibles?
Moms: No, what?
J: "When everyone is super... no one will be."
Moms: huh?
J: Syndrome says, (with more emphasis on each word) "When everyone is super, no one will be"
Moms: (blinking at each other silently)
T: (to katy) Of 115 minutes of movie, THAT's the line that sticks with him on an average morning on his way to school?!? (laughter)
K: (to me) You're the one that planted your creepy "dark" poignancy in him...

Battin' down the hatches

So we are expecting a category 1 hurricane in 20-33 hours. Or as my sister convincingly announced yesterday, "It's only going to be a tropical storm when it gets here."

The difference (in case you are wondering) lies whether or not the wind speeds are sustained at greater than 73 mph.

The photo to the left is not stock footage. It is an actual satalite image of Hurricane Irene. This storm is 450 miles wide- travelling up the eastern sea coast. Our state is 110 miles wide and roughly 70 miles north to south. Despite all the (justified) press that NYC, the eye of this storm is tracking right over our home (give or take a few dozen miles). So no matter if the winds are 60 mph or 80 mph. The gusts will be close to or over 100 mph and there will be a shit load of rain.

As I write this, ML is singing a chorus of "NO! NO! NOs!" to Katy who is lovingly preparing him a meal of pancakes. His age and general stubbornness are the only things that might stand in our way from having a hell of a good time in the next 30-40 hours. Last night, I was straightening up the yard, bringing everything inside, moving furniture and machines into the shed, cleaning out the garage so we can put our cars in there and I went to put the kids' wagon in the shed. But, I decided against it. There's a chance we won't have power for a day or two or more, and if that's the case, the kids could possibly play in the garage... ML loves that wagon practically more than anything or anybody. I told Katy:

"I was going to put this away (gesturing to the wagon) but then I was afraid that if ML woke up in a a power outage and his wagon was gone, it might be the final straw... That kid might pack a bag and take off out of here."

UPDATE: Hurricane Irene- overblown in this part of the state. We had 12-13 hours of no power, but other than that, not a lick of damage. Thank goodness.

Pink Dot

Really beautiful:



hat tip: Joe.My.God

Come out, come out, wherever you are... Part 2

On St. Patrick's day this year, I was in Texas.

I've talked about how the political climate struck me as a tad bit suffocating in Part 1.

I was having a good time and it is quite lovely on the San Antonio river.

Missing my boys and my sweetie, I still wasn't going to ignore the fact that it was ST. PATRICK'S DAY. And on most years that goes by fairly UN-celebrated by me (due to familial and work obligations, not because I don't want to get all sloppy on green beer and Irish car bombs.)

There was that one time when my sister and I took the day off to spend it in a bar in South-ie...

and we drank all day until everyone in that place seemed like a pal...

But usually it's a toss up: "sleep... Green beer? Sleep... drunk girls in a too crowded bar, spilling green beer everywhere?? Sleep... spending too much money on bad Irish food and over priced car bombs???"

I know... I'm lame. I usually chose the sleep. Especially since the kids were born and wrecked my ability to sleep off green beer.

Anyway, this year, I was away from home, getting plenty of sleep, only responsible for myself. I had intended to round up some nurses or others from the conference to go rouse a little rabble.

It didn't work out. The 2nd day of the conference ended weird with some opting to go visit a site and others rushing away early and I was somewhere in between, ending for the day far too early for dinner. I went back to my room. Had an ichat with my family and then decided to head out on my own.

Going out to a bar on your own is strange, especially when you don't have any sexual favors to barter with or center banter around. It's not my game, but I think I understand why there are those people that travel a lot for work who make up an alias... It can only get you into trouble, but it's just so that you can go out and "hunt" for a dining companion, right? Anyway... I found a bar Durty Nelly's

This place was all set for the night; the piano-man was in the center of it all, singing ditties and limericks and keeping everyone entertained:

I found a seat about 12 feet from the piano, up against one of those boxed-in support poles. There was a small (14") table to my right and one empty chair besides mine. I was there for about 30 minutes when I started to get restless and feel awkward about being alone. I wasn't really in the mood to be so outgoing as to make new friends, and I for sure wasn't interested in giving up my seat to go make screaming small-talk (over the sound of the music) with strangers.

I sat for about 10 more minutes, my blood feeling like mercury rising as it measured my increased discomfort. Then in walked two couples looking for seating. They seemed disoriented like when you step from the sunlight into a darkened room and can't quite find your bearings. After I watched them twirl around a few times scouting for unavailable seats, I motioned that they might want to pull some chairs around the small table next to me.

Shuffling.
Confusion...
I got up and quickly corralled 2 extra chairs, pointing to a 3rd in a far off corner. They were happy and silly and it calmed me. We introduced ourselves and ordered up a few more drinks. The "Hi"s and "Where are you from?"s and "What brings you to San Antonio?"s lasted 10-20 mins. They had a few stories of this long trip they had taken to the western edge of Texas, and being social with them was as easy as stirring up a pitcher of iced tea in the summer.

We weren't too far into it when Mary asked about my kids (I showed pictures) and if they were okay with their mom so far from home...

I paused. I admit it, it is not how I roll usually- hesitating to bring up my wife- but this Texas place is strange. People down there seem to have a special way of not expecting the obvious (or what might be obvious to me...)

I smiled. Giving her the most reassuring and genuinely friendly vibe I could muster:

"Well, they have two moms, so they are doing okay..."

"What's that?!?" Mary asked blinking.

"I'm married to a woman, and our boys have two moms, so they are in very good hands when I'm away."

Two blue eyes stop blinking and fly open - wide as saucers.
SRSLY.
She literally brings her hand to cover her mouth which is now gaping open.

I can't even formulate the mental "oops" because her reaction is so extreme, so cartoonish that I am actually giggling.

I wait. There's not much more for me to say, so I let her get a grip of herself and recover from the (apparent) shock.

The other members of her group are not really aware of what is going on... They are eating peanuts, looking around... the music is loud and they have missed the meat of our conversation. I don't think they have noticed her surprised expression.

She lets her hand fall to her lap and her mouth is still open when she forms the words, pausing dramatically between each one. Searching carefully for each syllable, it's as if she is inventing language from scratch. She leans towards me.

"Are..."

It is too loud in here for a whisper to be audible. Though she is shouting, her eyes focus and her posture grows conspiratory in nature.

"You..."

She glances left and then right.

"A..."

I can barely handle it. Is this for real? Is she going to have a stroke???

She squeals the final word: "Democrat?!?"

I about lose my shit. I expected LESBIAN not DEMOCRAT. I nod enthusiastically as I laugh and smile hard at her. (Unlike being gay, being a Democrat is NOT illegal in any state.) But I am wondering, will this be the thing that prompts her to overturn the tiny table between us??? I just can't figure out what is going on... What is about to happen?!?

"Yes," I tell her again as she continues to stare at me blankly.

Then it explodes:
"I AM A DEMOCRAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
(yes, that many exclamation points)

And a round of hoots and howls and giggles.
She is speaking wildly now- dozens of words a second- it is even more cartoonish than before- Now I freaking love her!!! And yet I'm struck with instant empathy. Here is a woman, deep in the heart of TEXAS, who is so isolated in her liberal politics that an Irish (1/4 Irish-mutt) lesbian from the North-East who shows up at a bar on St. Patrick's day is her best shot of MAYBE...

NOT DEFINITELY... BUT MAYBE...

Meeting a fellow Democrat.

You know what this means, right??? In Texas (And Mary has lived there all her life and presumably been out there looking for others) you more likely to run across an OUT homosexual than an OUT democrat...

I don't believe they aren't there, it's just that they have to hide in the closet!!!

Holy shit.

I about pee'd my pants at that bar... The night didn't end until we had shared a few too many drinks and Mary dialed up her 18 (? I forget his exact age) year old son for me to have a chat with via cell phone. (I have no idea what that was about either, but he was just as sweet as he could be and didn't seem the least bit surprised- It clearly happens to him all the time.)

Though none of her other companions indicated to me that they were also democrats, they seemed pleased as punch that Mary had located another one of us in this quaint section of the world.

I say again, "Holy shit." Can you imagine if I hadn't come out to this poor lady??? She would have spent the entire night assuming I voted for George W. Bush and sent money to Sarah Palin's PAC on a monthly basis?!?

You have no idea how profoundly this effected me. Let's just say, there are people all over the world, that need to know they are not in this alone!

;)

** Let's Talk.About.Thanksgiving... Shall we?!?

Today, the world lost an amazing woman, and extraordinary nurse. I lost a friend, a mentor, and an occasional surrogate mom.

I was 23 years old when I met Deirdre. I was a new nurse, starting a new job in the MICU and everything I needed to know about her, I learned in that first shift: She was all business, no nonsense when it came to the job. At first blush, she scared the shit out of me. But you only needed to hear her laugh to know there was nothing to actually fear - she was full of life, heart, humor, mischief, giggles, and truth. Dee would tell you what was what without batting an eye. She could say to you "Why are you wearing that? You look ridiculous!" but make it sound like, "I've been thinking, and I have a great idea for a make over!" She was what my gram would have called a "rascal". To qualify for the label the way my gram intended it, you'd have to be someone smart, someone that intuitively knows exactly what is going on, someone that pays attention and "doesn't miss a trick", someone that speaks truth in a good-natured way, that can knock an arrogant fool down a few pegs without seeming mean or threatened, someone soulful but who truly enjoys a good joke.

Deirdre was all of this. And a real class act.

She taught me so much about what it means to be a nurse. Being a nurse means doing things the right way. Working fast but not taking shortcuts. Taking care of what you can, fixing and organizing what you can; and creating comfort and respectful solutions when things can't be fixed. Washing and rubbing a back, lotioning someone's feet, helping a person eat or go to the bathroom, listening as people talk about their lives- these are not small, insignificant things... They are usually the most important things.

I stopped working in the ICU almost 10 years ago... And Deirdre left before then. We hadn't spoken in a long time, until last year when I learned that she had been diagnosed with Cancer - stage 4.
We emailed a few times, and in November, we had a big party in her honor.



She looked fantastic! The last time she wrote me, she told me that her prognosis had improved... Today, I was caught completely off guard by the news. I hadn't realized that she had recently gotten much worse, that she was hospitalized last week and transferred to hospice.
She died last night, surrounded by her family. She was only 65 years old.

There are too many stories to tell about Dee and all that she taught younger nurses and all that she did for (hundreds and hundreds of) patients, and all of the laughter she encouraged, but these are two of my most vivid and treasured memories.

Grief Stricken Nubbie:
I worked in MICU right out of college. I had recently broken up with my high school sweet heart, my first love of 6 plus years, by BFF all through school. I spent that first year as a nurse, trying to learn how to be a competent professional, trying to recover from the break up, trying to figure out who I was, trying to make sense of it all.

I was happy though, making money, finding satisfaction in my work, developing really amazing friendships. All the people I met that first year, never knew me as John's girlfriend. Never knew me as any one's girlfriend. I didn't have a significant other, wasn't really looking, and maybe some guessed it, but I don't remember telling anyone that I was searching for a way out of the closet. It was complicated inside of me, trying to figure out a way to break the news to lots of people that I wasn't straight.

It must have been really confusing to my colleagues how devastated I was when John died in October of 1997. When people asked what was going on, I first had to explain about John and then had to try to convey the terrible grief I felt. Words were inadequate and so I used few of them. After trying on a couple detailed explanations, I shortened the tale to "He was my best friend" and now he was dead.

Those first few weeks, going to work was awful. You don't realize you work in a place that is all about death until grief settles in you like a magnetic field and the tiny, metal shavings of death (that lay like fine dust in a modern ICU) fly from their resting spots to coat your skin. I was a wreck. And it took several weeks before I realized that people there were watching me. People like Deirdre, looking out for me, moving obstacles before I bumped into them, intervening on my behalf- "You go help with this admission, and I'll do that" I'd be told when it was time for me to prepare and "bag" the corpse of one of my patients that passed away.

One night, I caught the Jay Leno show, and he had a clip from this new comedy called "South Park". Watching it, I laughed and laughed and laughed. It was one of the funniest things I had ever seen. I taped it and watched it over and over and realized, it was the first time I had laughed- really laughed- in almost a month. I brought the tape to work and showed several people (trying to figure out if everyone thought this was funny or if I was cracking up.) Dee was in that first crowd of people and she laughed even harder than I did. Hearing her laugh made me laugh even harder. The laughing felt good. She and I watched that clip a dozen more times that night. We set the TV and VCR in an empty patient room and every so often, we would go in there and watch it a few more times... getting more silly each time. After that night, I would have done anything for that woman- that experience really helped me start to heal.

What would your mother say:
The second story: I had started dating a woman that we worked with. She was a travel nurse and started on our unit a few months before, expecting to stay 3-6 months longer. She was colorful and funny and a good nurse. She was popular, but not quite comfortable in her own skin and had a tendency to be erratic- not at work, but when she wasn't working. Again, I was not really "out", but I wasn't NOT out. Anyone that asked a question, I told the truth to, but this was like 12 years ago, Will and Grace wasn't yet on TV, not a lot of people brought it up.

Still, even though people weren't asking me about it the way they would have if Dana had been a man, we had told several of our friends and there is no doubt it was probably the worst kept secret on the floor (maybe in the hospital). One night, Deirdre pulls me aside...

D: What's going on with this Dana girl?
Me: what do you mean, what's going on? What do you want to know?
D: She's no good for you.
Me: (laughing, slightly embarrassed) what?!?
D: I'm not trying to get into your business, but you are going places and she is not going anywhere you want to be- this isn't about her being a girl... you want to be with a girl, that's fine, this isn't the girl for you...

Thing is, she was right. Not that the girl wasn't good for me, necessarily, but she was right to bring it up. She was right there for me... not letting her possible discomfort or fear of not being politically correct distract her from attempting to care for me. She was there to treat me and this relationship with the respect that comes from someone who tells you to "Pay attention!!!"... who reminds you not to shit where you eat... I wasn't even considering if Dana was "the girl for me" or not, but hearing that said out loud made an impression on me. I wasn't estranged from my family or anything, but there were no "parent-type" members that knew about this relationship (or if they knew, they didn't bring it up to me; and I didn't bring it up to them). Unless you count my MICU family (which I do...).

When you needed a mom or mother figure (whether you knew it or not) Deirdre was there. When you needed a mentor or a friend, same story.

The thing I'm having trouble describing in these memories of her is the love and vitality that Deirdre brought to every interaction. The perfect balance of salt and sweet. She would bust your balls, but it wouldn't be to break you down, it would be to build you up. She was a hard ass, with a heart of gold. She could be serious, but her laugh was seriously infectious.

When I got the news today, I felt sick and I felt sadness wash over me. For a few minutes, I thought I might start shaking with sobs at the loss of someone I haven't spent more than an hour talking to in the last 10 years. It's just this: As is true of most of the people who are our teachers, she is so much a part of special and important things inside of me, that she is kind of with me all the time. And intellectually, that's reassuring because that means (if she is living inside of me) I can never really lose her to death; those parts of her that she planted in me will still always be with me...

But...

That doesn't dampen the ache I feel knowing I will never hear her laugh or see her smile or her wise gaze again.
Sleep well, sweet-tough-nurse, funny-soulful friend.
You are loved more than you know and I miss you already.

**

Coming home tonight

Almost a week since my last post, but a lot has been happening...

I've been away.

I came home from Texas last Friday night (3/18). Spent Sat with the family: did some running around, playing with the kids, grocery shopping, etc. Went to a baby shower for my cousin's wife, spent a few hours with my CT cousin-friends (That's a word I just made up... It's like "sister-wife" in Mormon country, and is used to describe people that you are related to by birth, but more and more as you grow older, they are your friends. While we're here, I think I'll also coin the flip side: "friend-cousins": These are people like the Tabors/Menzies/Priors and the Vuolos... people who fate has so kindly intertwined your families' lives that you are friends with them, but you think of them as cousins...)

Then Katy's parents arrived (Granny and Granna) and we had dinner and I got to the business of packing a fresh suitcase, and bathing, smelling, and snuggling my kids enough to carry me though this week that I have also been away. Katy and I woke up at 3:30 in the AM (last Saturday) to get me to the airport for my 6am flight to Sunny and Warm LA county. The trip with layovers and waiting times on the tarmac to "replace computers on the plane", and flying around in circles to avoid weather patterns, and the harrowing shuttle journey to the hotel took over 15 hours.

It has been neither warm, nor particularly sunny.

But, I have been working my tail off (so to speak).

Only as this week has wound down (Thursday night, Friday, and now) have I truly started to feel the weight of my- not "homesickness" exactly- but yearning to have my babies near me. I think I just compartmentalized it fairly well at the beginning. Also, I knew that (between Katy and my in-laws) the boys were not only in good hands, but they would be distracted and having fun in my absence.

Still, attending these two conferences back to back, I have been away from my family for 11 out of the last 12 days. Even Katy and I have not spent this much time apart since we started dating.
And it has been weird to miss a week that my in-laws took to spend with our family. I've been wondering what I have missed in terms of "bonding opportunities" with them, and while I was out here in CA, my God-daughter and sweet Mac-a-doodle turned 5 years old!!! So, I felt a little sad that night that we weren't all together celebrating.

I've done my best to put the time to good use. I've met a lot of interesting and fun people. I've networked and bonded. I've gotten to spend this last week rooming with (and joking and laughing and theorizing and scheming with) Tara. Tara has been a BFF of ours since Katy's and my grad school days. This week only confirmed why: she is good people. She is real and full of brain and heart power, and loyal and honorable, and not only hilarious- but appreciates (and plays off of) my particular brand of wit. She is funny, without being trivial, and carefully measures the weight of her words and actions like only a soul-sister of mine could.

It is absurd that we ended up here this week together, and I can't help but thank God (The Tiny Baby Jesus, or whatever older version of him you prefer) for the way this trip took T and I out of our other lives and put us here, together for a week.

I also tried to use the time well- to appreciate the things a mom of small children loses out on: Sleep, "Quiet time", complex and extended adult conversation, "me time", I've done some list making and sorting through of things in my head, a kind of spring cleaning of my brain. I've also hit the gym whenever possible and done some sweating- and yesterday got myself onto some of the beaches of Malibu for a little hike.

At the end of this, I am eager to get home. But I think I am going back a little bit of a healthier person. Maybe more focused, more grateful for what I have, more (possibly?) full of energy (though taking a red-eye tonight might put a damper on that).

I can't wait to see my sweetie and our kids!

The Tensile Strength of Cheerios

I tried to write this blog post 2 years ago, but couldn't come up with much more than the name.

Two years ago, I first noticed how the floors of the house were littered with a minefield of Cheerios. JB got those things everywhere. And the ones he wasn't tossing, dropping, and sprinkling about, Katy and I were spilling ourselves. No brooms were active enough to sweep the "danger" clear.

After they achieve a functional pincer grasp and their diets advance beyond mush and slush; after they demonstrate successful mastication of the beloved crunchy oat wheel, then you have to spend a few weeks worrying that they will get distracted while chewing and somehow wedge a cheerio into some narrow portion of their trachea...

THEN, when you are convinced they could chew and swallow a Cheerio in their sleep, you start to use those things for everything: snacks, teethers, passifiers, counting exercises, lessons in sharing, a form of distraction, reward for good behavior... They are like baby dog-biscuits!

Thing is...unless you have live-in help (or are the kind of parent that can't sleep if one item is out of place, or unless your living situation requires ruthless attention to packaging up food lest you attract varmint of all kinds) evidence of the parental overuse of Cheerios invariably shows up all over the floors of your house. I could have predicted all of this, but what caught me by surprise two years ago, and what still amuses me now, is the emergence of this superhuman power I possess: Whether bare-foot or wearing shoes, I have highly sensitive, perceptive abilities in my feet. If I skip, walk, hop, or otherwise landed on a single Cheerio, I can instantaneously reverse course. I will hop up off that thing without even causing damage. Maybe I might crack the "O" into 2 or 3 pieces, but I have learned to instinctively spring-load off those things before crushing them into impossible-to-clean-up piles of oat dust.

At first it was like every WW2 movie you've seen with the soldier's foot on the trip wire and the calculated, slow-motion determining how to back up off of that thing without making a big mess. But then it became smooth and seamless like a 007 dancer.
MUST.
NOT.
CRUSH.
CHEERIOS...
KITCHEN.
FILTHY.
ENOUGH!!!

At some point, we all got better about not leaving Cheerios laying around, and many months could go by without one Cheerio narrowly escaping pulverization. BUT...

Now we are back to Cheerio mayhem again; and my toes and soles and ankles are back at it- bouncing off the cereal scattered around the floors of our house. It's a 1 1/2 year old thing. ML has mad self-feeding skilz, but a pile of Cheerios will not stay above ground when he is their commander.

So this is the part of motherhood is tricky.

You've got to stay on your toes... And you've got to be okay with some dust under your feet.

Intuititvely obvious life lessons...

1) Sleep makes you feel less tired

Turns out that when you go to bed at 10pm and don't get woken up by a teething, sobbing mammal with a fever in the middle of the night, it makes a BIG difference how you feel in the morning.

For the last several nights, I went to bed around midnight (usually a little later), and WAS woken up somewhere between the hours of 1 and 4am. Consequently, I spent the better part of the last 3 days trying not to spontaneously start whimpering like The Princess Bride's Wesley after enduring the rack.

2) The main job of Children is to collect and spread germs

I know there are a a lot of things that people think Children should be and do-
- Be seen and not heard
- Spread joy
- Pass on your genes
- Scrub this floor until it shines like the top of the Chrystler building
- (and for the RCC) Be protected from the evils of homosexuality... (protected by ??priests??... sidebar... moving on...)

But from an evolutionary standpoint, this is their job for the first few years... to build up an immune system that is capable of fighting off all sorts of bacteria and viruses so that illness won't eliminate them like those visitors from War of the Worlds (Jeeze, I'm really on a movie reference kick this AM).

Between my sister's kids and our kids, one of the 4 has thrown up at least once in the last 5 or 6 weeks. Usually, they seem perfectly happy, then they get green for 48 seconds, look at you and say, "I have to go potty." Then they shoot the contents of their stomach at you in the living room, or where ever is inconvenient. Then after their vague embarrassment passes and the clean up is complete, they resume playing as if nothing happened at all.

Anyway, these kids are not ALWAYS sick so much as sporadically sick, unpredictably healthy, and major CARRIERS of infectious disease. Attempting to quarantine them when they are "sick" is impossible as the cousins would never see each other again. Katy and I have stopped even being phased by runny noses and coughs, but we are still in the mindset of trying to avoid the ever-elusive "stomach bug". The problem is, we do not know when the next puke will come... or from who. And even as seasoned health care professionals, we do not understand the meaning of low grade fevers that come and go for a week or more without any other symptoms.

This is no big deal if I am well-rested. But if I'm particularly exhausted, I start to get paranoid that my tiny children are trying to kill me.

3) Your tiny children are NOT trying to kill you

Mid winter's night dream

JB gave up the binki this week.

Oh the drama- mostly for the moms. He's 3 plus years. Our pediatrician said, "It's time."
But it seemed so harsh and unnecessary. Though he has only been using his binki at night for (I think) almost two years now, he has become more whiny about wanting and needing it and he doesn't really need it- he hasn't used it at school practically since his first birthday.

To her credit, Katy has been the enforcer on this one. She really took to heart Dr. L's "It's time." and I think she even heard it as, "IT'S TIME, YOU NEGLIGENT BITCHES!!!!!" Usually, I'm the one around here who is all, "Honey, we have to put our foot down." But in this instance, she was one step away from making him leave it for Santa on Christmas eve in order to get his presents in the morning.

But here is the type of kid we are dealing with:
Last week, we really played up this "YOU're A BIG BOY... YOU'RE GIVING UP YOUR BINKI" thing. And he was into it. Over the weekend, he told anyone who would listen, "I'M GIVING UP MY BINKI in TWO DAYS!" He got a special soft toy and a day trip to the museum with his Papa, and the previous days were full of snow and sledding and fun. Sunday night, when the binki sacrifice was upon us, JB went all, "Binki, I wish I knew how to quit you"...

It was hysteria and crying. Heaving sobs and heartbreaking bargaining: "I...wwwwwill...give..uuuupupupuuuup my Binknknknnknknknknk ieeee... to-ooo-ooo-ooo morrrrrowwwwww... Pleeeeeeeeeze, not tonight..."

This went on and on and I was the first one to crack under this pressure. The parental conferencing went on in whispered tones in between sobs:

Me: What are we supposed to do? He's a wreck.
Her: I know... I don't know.

US: JB, what will happen tomorrow if you get the binki tonight... If you want one more night, that's okay, (We nodded at each other, agreeing to this compromise on-the-fly) but we can't have this go on again tomorrow. (We nodded even more exuberantly at each other, a couple of clown-moms who think they are the first to craft a plan to cram 16 other clowns into a small car.)

Like an addict begging for one more chance, he tells us, NO, of course he won't cry or whine for his binki TOMORROW... tomorrow he will GIVE UP the binki...
He tells us this still in between sobs and spittle, but with the tone of a true con artist, practically convincing me that I am unfair to presume that he was looking for a longer reprieve- it is just ONE MORE NIGHT!!! What don't you get about that?!? No one is going to do this again tomorrow... TOMORROW is the day we GIVE UP the binki... Get it?!?

As he puts the polish on his point, with a heartbreakingly stoic, "please," his screams and cries evaporate. We can see his heart pounding in his chest. In the deafening silence that replaced the chaotic hysteria born of his tiny vocal chords, he inhales one more staccato breath for dramatic effect and leaves the wet tears trickling quietly down his cheeks. And though we know we are being conned, we know this is surely the beginning of months of long battles at bed time, Katy and I look at the clock which is proclaiming the time to be 9:45pm (nearly 2 hours past the little dude's bedtime) and we cave quicker than a house of cards in a wind tunnel.

One more night of binki...

And the next night, guess what happened?

Bedtime announcement:
"TONIGHT I GIVE UP MY BINKI!!!"
Bath. PJs. Stories. Brush teeth. Say prayers.
JB: Goodnight, Mama. Goodnight, Mommy.
Us: Goodnight. Love you.
Him: Love you

To bed. Shut door.
(beat...beat...beat)
US: (motioning silently to eachother) W.T.F.?!?!?

5 days later... not even a bedtime request to see his former life-partner, Binki.

That's the type of kid we have got here:
One part "I'll do what you want"
One part "If you allow my timeline and/or I have some say in the terms"
One part "I trust you and can appreciate what you're trying to do here"
A spash of "I'm not really interested in months of battling"
shaken and poured into a fancy glass that has been chilled in "Just keep it in the back of your head that we all got a little of what we wanted here."

Unspoken warning of a 3 year old: I could have just as easily shut this shit down! But I didn't, did I???

I'm gonna try to stay on this kid's good side. Srsly.