Bring It

Tonight, tonight we put 2012 to rest. Goodbye, dumb year. In truth though, despite its going out on a sad note for me, it's not different than any other year. The calendar doesn't give a fuck, you know? A lot of shitty, depressing, terrible things went down in the world in 2012, but these things always happen every day of every year, they just take different forms and put different populations in the crossfire. I happened to experience personal sorrow in this year, and though I don't recommend it, it wasn't the first time, and I know it won't be the last time this happens. It's the inevitable downside of the richness of loving and being loved. Not to devalue the worth of Niki's life and our friendship at all - each loss is singular, and though I know I'll get over her death eventually, it's hard to imagine that being possible right now. Certainly not just because a new year is beginning. I believe that everyone's entitled to mourn at their own pace, and right now I'm feeling stuck, glacial even, but it's not like I think I own grief. It sure as hell won't own me. Everyone loses people and the beam doesn't stop to wait for any of us to get back on.

I just can't overlook that a lot of good happened, too. In addition to the everyday wonderfulness of life in my little family, with my soul mate and our boy who is growing so fast and awesomely I can't breathe if I think about it too hard, I got to go to a lot of places and have a lot of fun and celebrate with the people I love the most. New babies were born and others had birthdays or began gestating. The dreadful election season came to an end. I feel like, even if I missed one trip, one occasion, had never made it out of the zip code, I wouldn't have missed out on any of the big and important things, not really.

Anyway, I'm feeling the urge to write again, like I have a lot to say in general, in addition to an epic tribute I owe to an epic human being. And that will come in 2013.

For now, this is my song of 2012 (no matter that it's a compilation of songs that came out in 1991).

What Do You Think This Is, Christmas?

My Christmas, you ask?

Well, there was some of this:

A LOT of this:

Not much of this:

 But a ton of this:

So, heavy on the important stuff, really. All in all, a wonderful time. I felt hugged from the inside out, being around people who knew and loved me and didn't care that I couldn't be bothered to go outside much or even change out of PJs most of the time. The Santa Claus experiment was a smashing success, HR had the best time ever, and even though he was a downright booger about bedtime, that doesn't matter in retrospect because honestly, who could sleep with all the excitement? Plus he gave us the unexpected gift of being a dream on both long rides there and back, and if you've ever had a motion-sick, car-hating toddler, you know that is of a value above rubies.

We did some present exchanging, lots of talking, a bit of drinking, and we ate and ate, and ate some more. And though my body is crying for brown rice and veggies and a hot date with the treadmill, I have no regrets. Saturday we had the raucous get-together with my maternal relatives at Gram's, and it was awesome because it's the first year in a while that we were all there (save for one cousin) and now that there are three great-grandchildren, it really brings the holiday spirit back. Later that night Mike, my siblings and I got to go out for some grown-up bar time, and I had a chance to catch up with a dear old friend, someone who also knew Niki and who lost her own best friend far too young, and even though we kept the conversation mostly light, it felt healing to be together. On Christmas Eve my adorable great aunt had us over for lunch, and that is one invitation you'd never want to refuse. In conclusion, there was snow, there was love, and there was lasagna. What more could you ask for? The only problem is that it went by SO FAST. I looked forward to it for so long, and it feels like I just this second burst through the door with a contented sigh, my dad handing me a Gritty's Christmas Ale and my mom putting supper on the table. But actually it's almost a week later and I've got a full day of work behind me. There was a moment on Sunday afternoon when HR was enjoying some one-on-one Mammy time while the rest of us hit the pub for grub and football, and my sister leaned over, backlit by twinkle lights, and said, "I wish it would never be after Christmas." And it was hitting me so hard too, even then, that time was already slipping away. We are so obviously related.

Anyway, I have a million pictures to upload, a million loads of laundry to do, a million toys and books for which to find a home within my home (and a very happy boy to ping-pong among them) and I'm feeling just as grateful to have passed the last bunch of days, even as I'm sorry they are the past. My blues are already waning, so bring on the next thing.

More soon, maybe one more time before the year ends. It was a doozy and a half, to be sure.

Elvish

Today feels like a party. I'm giddy, bordering on manic, and it has everything to do with the proximity to a chunk of time off and a trip up north. Also I can't say for sure, could be the sugar and caffeine talking,  but it feels like my holiday spirit is kicking in.

I know (because I have tried, over the years) that the magical, Christmas-y feeling isn't something that can be forced, and this year I have made some half-assed attempts to access it, but honestly didn't expect it to come. And it's funny, because right now, all I can think about is how much this time of year meant to Nik and me and our friendship and focusing on that is a pure flame of joy lit up inside my sadness. We made a big deal of the holiday, setting aside a special time to exchange gifts and eat my mom's delicious carmelita bars. We'd always give each other a joke present and a serious one. One of my favorite pictures of all time is of Nik modeling the fingerless black lace gloves I got her one year. I'll leave it to you to determine whether they were the real or gag. Since we were in high school we had a tradition of buying each other the sappiest Hallmark cards we could find, and filling them with our own language of in-jokes and sarcasm, to cut the treacle. But even as we poked fun at sentiment, our gooey hearts were never far from the surface. The message was always clear: you are awesome and I love you and it's the best thing in the world that you are my friend. And I never stopped feeling that way, even when circumstances kept us apart.

This is my last day in the office until after Christmas, which invites its own kind of celebratory vibe, but the thought of going home, to my family, where I will take care and be taken care of, is the gift of the ages. It is exactly what I need. Always, but especially right now. Home where there is snow. Where I know every person in the grocery store. Where the section of the cemetery where children who died way before their parents is entirely too large. That mix of "isn't it nice to be back," and "thank goodness I got out and get to leave again soon," positive and negative, it's all part of what makes it home. My blood is there, my history (though at this point I've been out longer than I was in), my people. I can't avoid the reminders of being in the hometown I shared with my lifetime friend, but I can handle it. I never want to stop being reminded that Niki was here. And there. And everywhere, in my heart and mind. And I'll celebrate, being with my family who are my friends, and the friends who are family, because we are together and it's Christmas. And I'll stuff my face, and go out "on the town" with my siblings, and that can only ever be ridiculously good.

Most exciting for me is being part of  HR's first, proper "Santa's coming!" Christmas Eve. I've only ever seen the wonder of the holiday from the other side, because my brother was ten years younger than me and we kept up Santa for as long as we could. I'm not kidding, for as long as he believed (and probably years after), the kids, including Mike, when he turned up, would all bunk together in one room on Christmas Eve, and come out of the room together in the morning to view Santa's bounty as a single unit. I've never been around to eat the cookies and leave the presents. And I can't wait for my shot (though as far as my child knows, Santa gets nachos and beer left for him). HR may or may not believe in any religion as he grows up, we're leaving that open to him, but it's important to me that he believes in magic while he's still so little. I know the window is short and I'm crashing through it with my jingle bell bandolier and jar of pixie dust.

Anyway, no matter what's going on with you for the next week, I hope it's filled with love.

Grief Takes Its Time, and For Posterity

This has been a difficult few weeks to be a human. I haven't properly grieved my friend, because even though I know she's gone, I see her no more or less than I have in our adult lives and there's no proof of her absence to make it real. And so I'm in emotional limbo, and drinking too much wine and both seeking and pushing away the memories, the private jokes, the good times.

And now I grieve with the nation for people I don't know, but know all too well. The sweet little ones who died were everyone's kids. The teachers, our teachers. The survivors who witnessed the horror and have to live with it, we know them even if we don't. The family of a very sick person, and the sick people who live with their sickness and aren't able or willing to get help. They are all of us, and even if they're not now, they will be someday. And there's nothing about it that isn't awful. And there are many points to be made, and examples to be used when all is said and done. How we can make sure it doesn't happen again. How to tap into the broken roots of society and repair them. But to me, for now, there's only loss. We all react to loss differently, there's no correct way to do it. But turning into animals to each other when we're all feeling the same thing just doesn't sit right. So I recede back, and back, and read less, and speak less.

I've stated before that  I don't believe in a higher power or an afterlife. That is my own personal belief, and I don't think I'm smarter than anyone else or have more answers than anyone about anything. What I truly believe is that something's coming for us all, and for our babies, and it's cancer and it's guns and it's natural disasters and there are no guarantees so there's no time to waste in getting right with ourselves, with our loved ones. We can protect as much as we are able, but ultimately there's no protection, including for our own hearts. So there's no reason not to love as hard and extravagantly as we can, right here, right now.

This weekend we had our annual gathering with Mike's family to exchange chanukah presents and have a celebratory chow-down and spend a day in each other's company and it was nice like it's always nice, but it was especially gratifying this year because HR and his cousins are at the point where they know and love each other, and play and get into shenanigans. And watching them all I could think was, this is why we do it. In a miserable scary world. This is why we go on. This is why we take chances and release our precious babies even if all we want to do is hold them close. Because nothing makes sense. Because there is beauty in the chaos. Because sometimes we're lucky, and sometimes we're not, but we do a disservice to ourselves and our children if we don't roll the dice. Because there is love and light, it's there, I swear it. I don't think of God as one thing, one person, a force that has a plan or can make judgments or control or save anyone or anything. But that love and light we all have access to, what we do with it, that is God. To me. The very suggestion that those innocents were killed, or at the very least not spared, because one idea of one god is not sanctioned institution-wide for every individual (whether they believe it or not) is so offensive to me as a person that I can't be silent about it. That doesn't mean I don't respect your beliefs, if you said something like this. It just means I feel this way of thinking is so disrespectful to all other beliefs, and does nothing to ease the pain of the families of the victims. Why even say it? Just take care of your own beliefs and you'll be OK.

I still don't think I'm back to writing every day. I just had to get this out.

Words

The fact is this: Niki is gone. I'll never see her again, never hear her voice, never get a text at 7 a.m. asking me to complete a lyric to a Kid n Play song. Of course my heart is broken. Of course I am sad. But more than anything, I'm in disbelief. It hasn't sunk in, and I doubt it will for a very long time.

I'm a mess of feelings. Big fucking unruly feelings that won't be wrangled into a thoughtful meditation on a beautiful life. Not yet, anyway. So I'm going to step away from my blog altogether for awhile. Because every thought is about Niki anyway, and I don't want to write about her again until I can give her the tribute she deserves. Until then...

NSV-K - 10/1/1974-12/8/2012

Diamonds and Pearls, Forever Babe

Mental Mistletoe

On the heels of yesterday's watershed, I think you'll understand why I've been having some trouble accessing my usual jingle-jangle enthusiasm during what's typically my favorite time of year. All the spirit hugs definitely help, and I do get a little thrill of the season here and there, but I've accepted it's going to be tempered. That's life, sugarbeet. Also, did November happen? I feel like I was duped out of an entire month this year and it left my head spinning.

Still, you know I love my lists, and I've been compiling a mental list of things to look forward to, things that make me smile and feel a rush of holiday warmth. Like,

-kicking off chanukah by lighting the menorah and giving HR his first present. We didn't do any formal gift giving with him before this year, and as it is we're probably keeping it to one thing, but I'm exited for him to open something we bought special, something that I know he'll love

-latkes and general merriment with Mike's family next weekend

-decorating our house for the first time since HR was born and seeing his reaction

-going to Maine for a big fat chunk of time and being surrounded with the holiday foods of my youth (all the meat pie and chex mix and needhams for me, thanks) and real Christmas trees and, of course, the family crush

-champagne! I know I wrote not too long ago about how I didn't intend to reserve bubbly for special occasions and wanted to drink it all the time, just because. Well I failed at that business, but there's never a better time than now to start it up. From here until January, the stars is my drink of choice

-the prospect of peppermint bark. I want to make some, but at the very least I'll eat some, I know it's available for purchase somewhere in this fine city

-maybe it's time for Santa Claus? I'm playing this one by ear, maybe we won't do it until next year, but the idea of a proper Christmas Eve and the wonder of Christmas morning really appeals to me. It really is all about the kids. Or about the parents wanting the magic for the kids? Either way the kids are involved. As an aside, I love having an interfaith marriage and the mash of traditions - I hope down the line we'll have done right by our kid

-quality screen time: Emmett Otter, Christmas Eve on Sesame Street, Charlie Brown, maybe even the Muppet Christmas Carol and/or Pee-Wee's Christmas Special with the boy; White Christmas and Love Actually for me. I caught a bit of Elf already, but I think I need to schedule a dedicated watch, and of course the traditional bits of A Christmas Story over a 24 hour period.

Per usual my list is largely made up of food items. Traditional food, to which I have a real emotional connection. But really all food is cool with me, just wanted to make sure I didn't come off as unaware that good eating is key to my happiness. All right, gotta go write some decidedly un-festive policy now.

Love. Just, love.

The Here and Now

I met Niki when it was still the 1980s. We were in eighth grade, teammates on the (now non-existent) junior high basketball cheerleading squad. She had been living in Seattle, and before that, Germany, a former army brat of that most exotic breed-- the rare person in our town who I hadn't known since birth. We didn't go to the same school at that point, so our friendship didn't solidify until the next year, when we were freshman in the same brand-new regional high school. And once basketball season rolled around again, we (along with our mutual bestie Tanya) were like glue in pretty short order. We bonded over the same terrible/wonderful music, we crushed on the same pie-in-the-sky upperclassmen, and we just got each other. To this day, nobody makes me laugh until I cry like Nik. She is the wickedest of the wicked funny ladies. When we graduated high school and went to colleges hundreds of miles apart, we remained as close as ever. I have a box crammed with letters from her over the years. Letters, can you imagine! We were so prolific in our correspondence, and visited each other at school, and saw each other on holidays and as much as possible during the summers. And then as adults, even when she made the move Way Down South, I never stopped considering her among my best friends. Because she is. That's the kind of relationship we have where we can go months without talking, but when we do pick up the phone or get the chance to see each other, it's like, BOOM, friendship magic. Yes, all relationships take work and maintenance. But truly this is one of the easiest ones I've ever had in my life. We click, and we take for granted, we take comfort in how we can always count on that.

And now my dear girl is really, really sick. She has been, on and off, for the past five years. It started with a melanoma discovered right before Tanya's wedding, from which she was given a clean bill of health. And then a recurrence. And then another, this one, the scariest yet. And nobody knows for sure what's going to happen. The diagnosis was only made a couple of months ago, and I feel like I've been holding my breath since then. I can only imagine how those closest to her every day life are feeling - her mom, her amazing husband, her best good friends. I haven't seen her in over a year, the time she got to meet Harrison and she was in possibly the best shape of her life. She's been a champ about keeping those who love her posted about what was going on, and her husband's doing it now in her stead. And all I know is that she's extremely not well. And that's all I want to say about it.

I am sad. I am endlessly anxious. And my feeling of impotence, of helplessness is all-encompassing. Helpless because I'm not there, but even if I were to get on a plane and go there to see her, which at this point would be pretty much for my own benefit, there's nothing I can actually do outside of offering all of my love. Of course it's worth something, but it sure won't take away her constant nausea or pack those 30 pounds she didn't have to lose in the first place back on her body. Again, I know this is not about me. But it doesn't change that I am gutted. We are 38 years old. We should be planning our joint 40th birthday extravaganza. And maybe we'll get to, christ I hope we'll get to, but not today. Today we can only focus on today.

Make no mistake: this is not a eulogy. This is keeping you up to date on what's going on in my life, right inside the enchanted sparkle forest I'm always telling you about. A woman I love in the dearest place in my heart is sick. I've been keeping that to myself, and I can't keep it to myself anymore. I am not looking for condolences. I appreciate if you're sorry to hear about it, we're all sorry. And that's all.

If this song seems like a terrible choice to wrap up this entry, then obviously you don't know Niki, the longtime sassy Salt to my wannabe Spinderella (Tanya is Pepa, naturally). Love you, girl.

Agony/Ecstasy

As they go, this was a strange weekend for me. There were nice things, like pretty snow that's already melted, and my kid being his ever amazing self, but the niceness was tempered by a few things. One being that I saw Mike for only a handful of waking hours due to a fill-in shift at work and miscellaneous housekeeping junk. I like my alone time, probably more than the average person, but I really felt his absence this weekend and am looking forward to whatever chunk of hang-out time is in our immediate future.

The other is that my dear longtime friend is very sick, and has been for awhile. I've put off even mentioning it for a lot of reasons, a big one being that I know she reads my blog, several people who know and love her do. And when things are bad, particularly when it's not your own, personal bad, how to even start talking about it? What gives me the right? But I can't not anymore. To not address what has become a constant source of worry and heartbreak makes me feel like a big fake. Her fight doesn't belong to me, but to leave it out of what I write would be glossing over the experience of my own life. I in no way mistake her illness and what it's doing to her for my own struggle-- I'm not the one going through it, not physically suffering. I'm not geographically close enough to be much actual help. But it doesn't change the fact that when people I care about are hurting, it hurts me, and it hurts enough that I can't not write about it any more. And so I will, but not until tomorrow. I want to give the situation its own entry, its due. And I would trot out my usual refrain re: cancer but out of respect for my girl, who has always had an irrational hatred of the "F" word, I will tone it down to EFF CANCER. Same sentiment.

My two-point-seven-year-old piece of work was in rare form over the past few days, and the light he brings to our lives couldn't be more appreciated. The other night we went out to dinner, just he and I, at the neighborhood deli. We had just come from the Curious George store, so he brought the new farm animals I got him for his "pecial qweet." He played so happily and was such a little mensch over the entire course of the meal that diners from three separate tables stopped by to compliment me on his behavior. Trust me, I know it had as much to do with the recently purchased toys than any blazing parenting skills, and he could just as easily be the screeching meltdown monster that was seated across the room from us, but parents are so rarely given props for anything, I took their kind words with gratitude, they made the whole rest of the night for me. Truthfully dining out has never been our problem area with the dude--sleep and that whole talking to people issue have been our historical dragons to slay--but every toddler is a ticking timebomb in public and every time I can get away without an explosion I consider it a successful outing. This is the first year he's shown any interest or awareness in the holiday spectacle, so checking out the light displays has been a blast. He especially enjoys the manger scenes with the big animals and what he calls "farmers" (Mary, Joseph, etc.). And we had a laugh this morning when I offered him the opportunity to go on the potty--he's clearly not ready, we're not pushing it yet, just reminding him--he responded, "That not sound like fun." What can you do but agree? And if it's not fun, why bother? He has no idea that some days he's the only reason to smile. To be fair, he has no idea that he's not actually the sun and moon.

Anyway. Until tomorrow. 

Coming Out

I'm warm in my belly today. This happens when it's cold outside and my work is keeping me contentedly busy (with the odd full-moon fallout mixed in) with envelopes and envelopes. It's the season of giving, and when you get a sense that people are taking that to heart, it changes your outlook. I'll get no fewer than ten calls before year's end by a donor being snippy or demanding, or screaming at me because I printed their acknowledgment wrong or not quickly enough. But it evens out usually.

I've got an at-home, no plans weekend ahead of me which is something I crave from time to time. I do have high hopes that we can get an early family dinner out somewhere tomorrow night followed by a stroll around the neighborhood to take in the lights. They do it big 'round these parts, and most of the displays go up immediately after Thanksgiving. I used to scoff at this, but you know, the season is so short as it is, I'm currently in a mental state where I approve of milking it for all it's worth. As it is I'm no hurry for the actual winter holidays to get here because I have a lot I want to do before then. Also, I dig the big build-up. And the seasonal comestibles.

Switching gears, here's my decidedly non-heartwarming music pick. I honestly can't help that I love this. I keep adoring Kanye despite everything he does to make himself unlovable. And after a decade or more of denial about Jay-Z being the best rapper of all time, I can no longer ignore the notion that he probably is, even if he's not my heart favorite. When I hear his voice come on a track I get a little shiver, like, you know this is gonna be some insanity. I feel so much better having gotten that out.

RIF, Pals

I've been doing some reading, guys. I'm always doing some reading, but I'm on an especially happy-making roll. I recently finished Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl--a hot recommendation when I was trolling for something to read on vacation--and it was fantastic. It was twisted in just the right way, and makes me wonder why I don't read more mysteries. I will certainly check out the rest of Flynn's work. Right now I'm halfway through John Green's The Fault In Our Stars, which I can't seem to read fast enough.

I am an unapologetic John Green fangirl. In my opinion, he does everything right and I admire and envy his smarts, talent and career. And I feel he's particularly on his game with this book. He really really gets it, I mean, writing about teenagers with cancer is a daunting task, and the irreverence with which he approaches it is actually reverent. He honors the experience of those living with cancer by making his characters normal, fleshed-out humans who diseases are their roadblocks but not their defining features. They are smart and funny and rude and they have crushes and want what we all want. Fun. Love. Friends. To go to Amsterdam to meet our idols. There's no preciousness here, and though I am sure I will shed some tears before it's over, I'm in awe of what he's accomplished. Kudos, JG. My brain crush on you won't be going away any time soon.

I've also been slogging (by that I mean slowly reading, not in a bad way) through the Game of Thrones oeuvre on my kindle. And I feel like this is the year that I wrap up Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell once and for all. Fine, maybe next year as we're already a month out, but I do so enjoy it, I think I'll miss it when it's over. Next on the list: Let's Pretend This Never Happened, and probably the Mindy Kaling book via the word on the street. I'm always open to and appreciative of recommendations.

For the toddler set, we're in a major Curious George phase, but this is a recent family favorite.

It is so lovely in every way. My boy also gravitates toward any book with animals so he can turn it into "Old MacDonald Had a Farm"-- I get such a kick out of hearing him "read" to himself, but if I never hear about that goddamn farmer again it will be too soon.

And Mike's reading this, which is a good example of why he's awesome.

Of course I shall subsequently borrow it.

Not that anyone was clamoring for the current roster in the House of JBP, but unsolicited sharing seems to be my biz. Support your local independent book retailer. Thank you, goodnight.



I don't want to talk about poor Matthew Sweet because whoa, but this is a cool cover of one of my most beloved songs.

Effect and Affect

Last night I polished off the last of Gram's chicken soup, with some toast made from her homemade wheat bread (which all by itself is probably last-meal worthy for me), and realized I had finally closed the loop on the first round of holiday madness. Most people have a satisfactory conclusion to Thanksgiving by Friday night, Saturday morning at the latest. They're ready to shake off the cranberry haze and escape the stifling embrace of their loved ones and move on the next thing. Obviously I'm not these people.

It's not like I wasn't happy to have some calm and order restored to my home when my guests cleared out on Sunday (we like to keep the party going all through the weekend). I did enjoy the quiet, the return to comforting routine and the reunion with my big cushy bed. Even the prospect of getting back to work was cool. I've just come to realize that an essential part of every great time for me is a brief period of mourning when it's done. I spent a lot of Sunday, into the evening, feeling blue and weepy because something I had looked forward to for so long had passed. This happens always. After my camping trip. After Mexico. I know it'll happen, hard, after Christmas because the next thing to look forward to will be so far off and undefined. But it's OK. For one thing, I know it's coming. It doesn't blindside me with its timing. I can predict the onset of that pit-of-the-stomach funk as sure as I can identify its cause. And it makes me appreciate my mental health, because I have the luxury of wallowing around in my deep purples. I know I'm all emotional because a good thing happened in my life that I didn't want to end, that's all. And I'm doubly lucky because I know that feeling won't last. I've never, ever in my life felt down--even in the midst of a secret bout of PPD--in a way that I couldn't see my way up. I've been sad and heartbroken and terrified in my life, but I've never once known what it's like to feel hopeless. And I guess the awareness of another example of dumb, in-born luck, goes to the top of my thankful list for next year.

I don't mean that to overshadow the holiday itself, which was a loud, colorful, awesome succession of days marked by feasting and toasting and family and friends. My boy got to go wild with his cousins, which was something I've always looked forward to. Our table was overflowing with loved ones from both sides, food was delicious and plentiful, wine flowed, grandparents and aunties and uncles were indulgent, Mike and I even got to have a night out, many a conversation was had, and it was a holiday like all the other holidays, and also very much unique to us and our people and the time in our lives. And last night, curled up on my couch with a hot, fragrant bowl of soup after a busy Monday while HR slept and Mike was working, I let go. Of any remaining blues. Of the lamentation of time and its swift passage, taking with it all that's great and awful. And started thinking about Christmas, of course.

Toast and Jellybeans For All!

In a matter of hours I'll be home, chilling with my dudes, receiving the first of our houseguests, maybe starting some food prep, maybe getting in a run before the festivating commences, more likely pouring a glass of wine and cutting to the chase. In the meantime I'll be trying to distract myself, wishing it was that time. Sure I have work to do, but how can be expected to focus when I have holiday on the brain? Exactly.

We've got a big crowd coming tomorrow, it'll be a tight fit around the table, but that's what really makes it for me. This year I decided to focus on simplicity for the day, keeping it low-maintenance and hopefully yielding maximum relaxation for us all (but especially the chef). Instead of doing anything elaborate or trying a new dish, we've scaled back to a really basic, traditional menu: veggies and dip, cheese and crackers, turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberries, roasted brussels sprouts and sweet potatoes. The baking elves from Maine will be bringing me pies (all for me, nobody else), and other family members volunteered to provide other bits of goodness. We've got it down to a science.

I wouldn't say that my sole purpose in life is to host Thanksgiving, but this might actually be the case. I'm not saying I am Martha Stewart caliber-- I do not even own an iron, can you imagine what she would say? Not to mention I cook exactly one dish myself, and that's really more of a condiment. It's just that how can I get so much insane joy from it if it's not my raison d'etre? Perhaps it's outsize relief from not having to travel anywhere after my trudge home tonight. Whatever it is, I love my November tradition.

Happy hearts to all and all.  Let's do this thing.

Accio Thanksgivium

I have a lot for which to be thankful. That might as well be the subtitle of this blog, it's the drum I'm beating at 3 a.m. when you're trying to get some sleep. I'm also pretty in-your-face about my love of Thanksgiving. It's my favorite holiday and always has been. Of course I appreciate that there's a national day dedicated entirely to the celebration of gratitude. But it wouldn't be honest if I didn't say that the dedication to the eating of delicious food is equally behind my adoration of the fete, if not the winner by a 1% margin.

It also makes me really happy just to hear what makes people happy. I didn't participate in the gratitude challenge that's going around, but I like to hear from those who do. There's so much good to focus on, even when times are tough. It hasn't been an easy year on a lot of people. Most years aren't easy on most people. But in the wake of some pretty awful occurrences, Hurricane Sandy being fresh in my mind, it seems like that's when people come forward with the highest level of thankfulness. There's something about that "it could have been worse" mentality that causes an immediate shift in perspective. It sounds like what I'm going to say next is that I'm thankful for natural disasters. Nope, I'm not. They suck. War sucks. Illness sucks. I don't want bad things to happen to anyone, ever. But they do. I know it's easy for me to say I'm so appreciative, I'm so grateful and this and that when my path is paved with fairy farts and mermaid kisses. I'm in awe that people are able to muster a feeling of basic gratitude at their lowest point, and I can only hope that I am one of those people when my number is inevitably drawn.

The point is, I don't harp on my everyday abundance to be annoying or to put up a front or convince myself of something. I know that the nature of life is so fragile, and I can't be out here writing about all that's wonderful in mine without attempting to make sure everyone who reads this knows I don't feel entitled to it. I don't apologize for what I have or how I feel about it, I just think it's disingenuous to make it look like I'm 100% copacetic and balanced with graceful awareness. There's tons to fear and lament in the big world, and the small one of my experience. I don't talk about it a lot, but it's always there. And I don't think my life is perfect or better than anyone else's. There are things going on that tear at me, and some of these things I'll write about and some I will never write about because they're not my story to tell. I'm believe I am a good person, and I try to be all the time, but I'm also an asshole sometimes. There's lots of ways I could be improved.

At the heart of it though, I just feel so unfairly fortunate to have what I have - the basic creature comforts (and then some). A good job. A great--ridiculously great--loving family and wonderful friends, all of whom I do take for granted sometimes but truly love and cherish. And I've got my own little family, a husband who is the literal, LITERAL best, and our HR, our healthy, growing, learning, amazing, stubborn, funny monkey of a boy. I'm going to display a bit of favoritism here, but it can't be helped. He is the greatest thing that ever came into my life.

It's all enough, and it's all too much for any one person. It's an embarrassment of riches. I don't forsee a life of great wealth for myself, but in all the other ways I've always been loaded and always will be. I'm lucky, I'm blessed, I'm whatever you want to call it, and I will shout my awareness of it from the rooftops until I croak. It's my protection spell, I guess. My religion.

I meant to come in here and make a list of 10 things I'm appreciating this Thanksgiving, like, the cast of Happy Endings and coffee. And then this happened.

Keeping On

Yesterday I turned 38, which was pretty cool since I had convinced myself about six months ago that I was already 38. So the cake and flowers and phone calls and general air of love and whatnot was simply birthday gravy. There was no sting from realizing just how many moons have come and gone in my life. That's not really my style, anyway. I feel that railing against aging is both pointless and, frankly, lacking in taste. Maybe if I were 102 or living in excruciating pain every day I'd feel differently about the passage of another year, but right now it seems kind of rude and ungrateful to bitch about getting older. I'm all about racking up the years, as many as possible. There's so much out there I haven't done or seen, and I'll be lucky if I can cross off one sixteenth of my never-shortening list, so every one I get, I'll do my damndest not to waste.

In terms of yesterday, it was super chill and therefore perfect. Unfortunately Mike had to work most of the day, but my darling boy decided to take the day off from morphing into Mr. Weinstein (his whiny alter ego) and played contentedly for hours, allowing me to sip coffee and finalize my Thankgiving menu and field messages. Later we went to the park on on the way home there was a real live pony just, you know, carting around another, smaller birthday girl and her guests. A pony, in the middle of a dense urban neighborhood. I've never actually wanted a pony-ride birthday party, but the point is, magic is everywhere. HR, who loves farm animals beyond any other thing, was blown away, and getting to see his reaction made my entire week.

Oh yes, and clearly I've decided to continue blogging for the time being. Happy birthday to YOU, then, am I right?

Song break: I just love the Lovin' Spoonful and always have. I chose to disseminate the lyrics to this song in the essay portion of my Sarah Lawrence application, and, looking back, I'm quite certain that it had a big hand in me not getting accepted. If I read that essay again now I'm sure I would come off as a clueless rube, and they had probably already fulfilled their clueless rube quota by then (to offset the clueless trust funders). Plus I'm not currently in a position to surmount the degree of mortification that reading my old stuff usually stirs up in me. I'd just like to state for the record that, though I do wonder what would have happened to me if I took the road more artsy-fartsily traveled, I'm happy where I ended up and how my life turned out. No regrets, John Sebastian, and thanks for all the secret stoner wisdom.

All Clips, No Content

As I chew on the fate of this blog, please enjoy some music.

I love the National. This guy's voice makes my whole body go liquid whoosh.



Brandi Carlile - the real deal.



Jack White seems like he's probably a tool, but if he keeps making music like this all is forgiven.



2Chainz, I can already tell, is gonna be a thing with me. NSFW video, but totally safe for those who enjoy a little ironic booty glorification.

Ruminating

Oh, hi Thanksgiving NEXT WEEK. Normally I've scheduled no fewer than three planning meetings with Mike by now, but my usual mania for the big show has been seriously diminished. I guess my week spent in a tropical vacuum knocked the sense of time out of my head. In any case, it's the hour to get cracking! How awesome it gets to be Thanksgiving already, is how I've decided to look at it (as opposed to, "Thanksgiving already. Crap."). For all you know, I may have already listened to some Christmas music for good measure. Ok I admit I did, it's finally sweater weather and I'm all in for the holidays.

After that extremely illuminating paragraph, you might understand why I'm thinking about taking a break from writing in here. I'm not sure yet if I'm actually going to, and I'm not taking a poll about whether I should, just letting you know if I disappear for a bit, it's not because anything's wrong. After my vacation entry yesterday, it got me thinking, yeah, this would be a good thing to write in a personal diary for my memory, but otherwise, what's the point of writing about it in a blog? It doesn't mean anything, it's just something I did. And that led to, what's the point of this blog at all? And maybe I'd better examine what I'm trying to do here because even though there seems to be no limit to the internet, the world really doesn't need to be clogged with more inane chatter from a human living a relatively unremarkable life. Over a decade of blogging I've experienced this (non)crisis a hundred times and something's always brought me back, but a thoughtful pause never hurt anyone. We'll see.

Now if Pete Townshend were a blogger, I'd say never stop putting out content. Even when he writes not-great songs they're still pretty great.

Did I Mention I'm Lucky?

These are the things we did on our vacation, in no particular order:
-drank some alcoholic beverages (but just a few... million)
-lounged by the pool
-swam in the sea
-danced on the sand with abandon
-ate some pretty damn good food, from sushi to tapas to late night room service nachos served on the balcony
-watched the sunrise
-survived the flea market
-went to Zumba class (a first for me)
-got massages (about half of us, I was already too chilled out)
-went to the hospital (long story - and he was just fine)
-celebrated the end of the seemingly endless election season (hooray for so many reasons! And I'm so proud of you, state of Maine!)
-read a little
-relaxed a lot
-made copious lists of "Resort World Problems" (such as, "when you can't see the ocean from your shower because you've fogged up the window from all the steam jets")
-slept as much as possible (shocking to nobody: our body clocks had most of us up too early for our own liking, but we appreciated the option to wake up on our terms)
-spent some serious quality time (I've not had a solid week with Mike since, probably, last time we took a vacation like this).

These are the things we didn't do:
-change any diapers
-hear the "Thomas and Friends" theme song once (except in our heads, where it lives permanently)
-have to be responsible for anyone but our own selves.

One more thing that six of the eight of us did:
-missed our kids like crazy, despite the diapers and midnight wakings and grating theme songs that come with the territory. And you know, it's good to miss your kids sometimes. It reminds you why you wanted to have them in the first place.

I know for a fact (aka Skype dates) that HR didn't miss us at all. He was too busy being spoiled by his aunt and uncle and cousins. He went to Gymboree and two different farms. He was showered with attention from preteen girls, which is sort of his raison d'etre. And he learned how to sleep through the night until at least seven. In retrospect, I left a changeling behind, and he changed back when we retrieved him on Saturday. But in all seriousness, it was an awesome experience for our family, and showed us that even if he's not completely cognizant of time and presence and absence and whatnot, our son is secure in that, when we leave him, we'll come back. I can never thank Mike's brother and his wife and their kids enough for being such true and loving sitters. Our boy was ready to come home with us when it was time, but he had a blast and obviously felt very safe and comfortable in their care, and it was great bonding for all of them.

The details of what we did, as listed above, are unimportant to anyone who wasn't there. Who cares about other people's vacations? I just have to go on record saying that we had the time of our lives, and it was due not only to the location or the sense of freedom, but also to the perfect alchemy of those in attendance. Mike and I had always wanted to revisit this resort since we went there five years ago, and even though we're quite good at being entertained in each other's company, we both thought, what a great set-up for a group of friends. And when we decided to use Mike's big birthday as an excuse to go, we started canvassing. The trip was open to anyone, there was never a formal invitation, but a week at a not-cheap resort was really a lot to ask of people so when a few couples showed interest (with the last minute addition of my sister and her husband, who I consider friends), we went ahead and booked. And I can't imagine a better outcome.

Partly this is due to our shared interest in being slothly and gluttonous and prone to rocking out at any chance. I'm not the only graduate of Fun School. But everyone was so go-with-the-flow, even if it goes against everyday personality type. Nobody was too sensitive about things or felt excluded, nor did anyone try to exclude. We did a lot of things as a group, but not everything. And it was cool, everyone was just cool. It was everyone's vacation, and everyone was free to do what they wanted. I would love to do this again, with the same group and/or with others (I feel like my brother and dad should have the chance experience the beauty of an all-inclusive at least once). But if I never get a chance again, I'll always look back at that week in the sun as one of the most fun of my life. Beautiful place, beautiful time, beautiful people. All the love.

This song is played as hell, but there's a reason I'm linking it.

Thank You, Thank You, Thank You

My vacation was beyond amazing. Beyond. I have no words for it. I mean, I'm sure I'll find some, but it's hard to describe something that's specific to one's own heart. And now it is over, which I can't quite believe, but that's OK. Moving on, moving on to the next good thing. I expect to do a full write-up tomorrow, when I have more time to settle my brain and get some cognitive distance. But today belongs to the Veterans.

Few people will disagree that war is a terrible, messed up thing. I can't believe that any person who has ever served in a war and survived could go on to lead a truly normal life again. No matter the circumstances that set a person on that path, be it voluntary or otherwise, fulfilling that specific duty is something I can't fathom for myself, and deserves the utmost respect. I'm a cynical person sometimes, and I consider myself a pacifist, but it doesn't change how I feel about people who make the ultimate sacrifice for their country. My grandfathers are gone, and I honor their brave memories, but there are plenty of people I know and love who have served, still serve in the military. There's no perfect song to express my admiration and gratitude, but this one just gives me the right kind of feeling.

Fun Expert for Hire

Halloween was a moderate success. We got to a few houses, and I think HR enjoyed himself, but probably would have been just as happy to stay home and watch Chuggington. It gave his parents a thrill, anyway, and we got some nice pictures. Maybe he'll never be into Halloween, and that's ok. We'll just wait and see what next year brings.

And now I'm about to go off the grid for a spell, and I couldn't be more psyched. I know it seems like I was just on vacation, and yeah, I guess I pretty much was. I'm on quite a roll in this life, and what can I say, I'll take and appreciate the good stuff while it comes. It's not like I think I need it or deserve it. The way I look at it, in plain, unquantifiable and extremely unfair terms, those who really need and/or deserve such things are the ones that rarely get a chance to experience them. I don't think I deserve or am entitled to anything but the basics like love and respect. Furthermore, it's not like I'm trying to pretend that my life is all that hard or stressful. It's got its moments, and sure it's great to be away from the office, and to get a break from the 24/7 gig that is parenting. But on the job front it could be a lot worse, and I knew what I was signing up for when I had a child, so I'm not complaining about the hours. My sainted husband, on the other hand, could really a vacation because he never, ever stops working. Ever. Not that he ever says a word about it, I just know. So this is for him, and lucky me, he likes me and wants me to come along so we can do what we do best together: have fun. I, in particular, am very, very good at unashamedly enjoying myself, it's probably my most marketable skill. It's right there, in my resume.

I know my boy will be in good hands and even though I'm prepared to miss him like I've never missed anyone in my life, it'll be good for us all. And I'll be back, all to soon. Hopefully with lots of stories. They probably won't be that interesting, because who really cares about other people's vacations? Also, my idea of fun has little to do with adventure and lots to do with lying about and eating and drinking. But trust it will be the bomb.

I already voted and it will be weird as hell to be watching the election returns come in with the Caribbean lapping outside my window. Somehow I think it'll be an appropriate setting for either result. And at least it will all be over.

So long for now!

Horrors

Happy Halloween! Or, not, depending on how you feel about it. Or where you live. It sucks that a lot of kids won't get a proper Halloween this year because of the storm. But the cancellation of a silly holiday isn't near the worst of it. I'm not even a fraction aware of the full devastation caused for so many in this country and others. That's just lucky ignorance. It does feel wrong to go about my life so normally (I guess that's a form of survivor's guilt?), but not wrong enough for me to stop.

We're planning to take HR trick-or-treating to about a half dozen houses. He's into the concept when we talk about it, though I'm not sure what it really means in his mind. If it turns out he doesn't want to do it, it won't break my heart. But I am a sucker for a little kid in a costume, and my little kid is no exception. He's so cute in his self-chosen cow get up that I could cry. Hopefully there will be some pics tomorrow, but smiling for pictures is at the top of that "things he stopped doing when he turned into a toddler" list. It's not a short list. The "things he's started doing" list is miles longer, thankfully.
 
In the critic's corner: Mike and I watched The Other F-Word last night, which we thought would be a lighthearted documentary about punk rockers reconciling their lifestyle with being family men. It was like that for most of it, but it got really heavy in some parts, and one segment was particularly heartbreaking. We both enjoyed it, but we were not expecting to shed any tears, let alone the quantity that caused many a tissue to meet its soggy demise. I recommend it, but you should know what you're getting into.

In honor of my very favorite scary movie of all time, a really great song.



Can you guess which one I'm talking about?

Dumb Storm

We were some of the lucky East Coast dwellers, we were barely scathed by the hurricane. It was rainy and scary windy, and a bunch of neighborhood trees took the hit, but our home and family fared just fine and the power never even flickered. To sum up our experience with Sandy:



A relative flea on the dog of our life. I know that a lot of people were not so fortunate, and we'll do what we can to make sure they're taken care of. Natural disasters seem to have a sense of order and fairness, in that everyone gets a turn, somehow, some time. Someday it will be us.

This was already a crammed work week and now I have an extra day to make up for so I'll bid you adieu and big recovery hugs.

It Reminds Me of Me

We watched Moonrise Kingdom the other night and, as I generally enjoy Wes Anderson movies, I liked it. But I didn't LOVE it like I loved some others. It was gorgeous to look at of course, the actors were all wonderful, but I feel like it suffered under the weight of all that whimsy. Like I said, I'm not new to the Anderson style and I know that "whimsical" (in concert with "melancholy") is defining, and essential. I even wholly bought into The Life Aquatic with its made-up sea creatures. But for some reason, it didn't feel all the way there like most of his other films. Perhaps the "very special unhappy and misunderstood misfit" trope is starting to wear on me, I don't know. It's not that I don't recommend MK, the scout camp set-up alone was worth the five bucks, but I was just bit disappointed.

I am in no way disappointed in this year's pre-Halloween bounty. I mean, could there BE any more candy in my office right now? I would very much like to eat all the world's sugar but I've gotta pace myself. We're actually planning to do a bit of trick-or-treating next week with HR, I have no idea how it might go, but I'll let you know, and hopefully get a good shot of him in his self-chosen costume.

When I'm driving my car, there are certain songs that come on the radio that cause uncontrollable seat dancing. This is one.

And Then There Were Three

Here is some news: awhile back we made decision to remain a family of three, and as of yesterday, it's inked in Mike's ball-blood. That's my elegant way of saying that he had a vasectomy. We didn't really tell people we were doing so beforehand, but it's not a secret. We've known for sure for some time that this was the family that felt right for us, and maybe it seems quick to seek a permanent solution, but we didn't arrive at it lightly. As with many things in life, when you know, you know.

The thing is, I always thought I wanted a big family, at least three kids. And then I had one, and I realized I just... didn't. I was done. I haven't been wishy washy about it since the day he was born. We kept the option open for two years, and when nothing changed for either of us, Mike volunteered his fertility for the chopping block, the mensch (poor choice of words, Mikey?). Maybe if we had started younger I might have felt differently about it, but I didn't, and this is something that I strongly feel is right for me, for us.

Everyone has an opinion about it, which is why we didn't say anything before the procedure. And I understand why they do, I mean, the people who love and care about us. It's not out of busybodyness, but out of concern, for us and HR. It's out of fear that we'll grow to have regrets, that we'll miss out on what a bigger family could do to enrich all of our lives. And you know, maybe we will. But I'm not worried about that. I'm really not. I'm thrilled to go forward in this life adventure with my husband and son. Because even though we choose to limit our nuclear family unit, we are not alone. We have family and friends and we have buckets and buckets of love. We are absolutely complete. It's ok if this makes you sad or if you think we are wrong, I don't blame you. All there is to say about that, really, is don't feel the need to let us know since a) it's too late and b) it's really, really not anyone's beeswax, no matter what the intention. I don't mean for that to sound defensive, I just want to everyone to be at peace. We're good, you're good, let's party.

I don't think that our decision is the decision everyone should make. I can only say what's right for us, and I apologize if I've ever passed judgment on people's decisions about family size. I might not agree that 20 is a good number of kids to shoot for, but I don't have to carry or raise that brood and as long as those who go that route are doing so with love and responsibility to all those lives, there's not a thing I can or should be able to say about it. And I still love babies, always will. Only it's other people's babies now. I'm so thrilled that my friends and relatives are doing their part to populate the world with gorgeous special marshmallow monkeys for me to hold and smell and eat up. I can't wait until the day that my sister or brother make a special announcement (spoiler alert: not any time soon), and I'll be happy to take their little ones off their hands for days at a time. And then give them back.

As you know, I have an amazing relationship with my siblings that I wouldn't trade for the world. It was definitely a consideration we kept on HR's part, knowing that because of us he won't have a chance to have what we both did. But in the end, the possibility of him growing up to be bffs with a brother or sister wasn't a good enough reason on its own to have another kid. We'll do just about anything for him and his happiness, but giving him a sibling just because it seems like we should didn't make the cut.

I don't intend to turn this into a parent-of-an-only-child-blog any more than a blog about day boozing and watching dancing shows. But the details of it will creep in as we go forth, making it just another strand in the rich, fascinating tapestry of my life. And now it's out there and I can get back to what's really important.

Boy bands of the 1970s, obviously.

Things and Stuff and Noodles

This is the weekend that HR hit a swimming lesson milestone: floating with the noodle, unassisted. Of course he didn't realize that Mike had let go, and is not quite aware of the significance of doing this by himself, since I don't think we're at the point where the concept of "swimming" goes beyond getting submerged and bopping around with whoever is holding him. Propelling himself is not an actual goal (if 2 1/2 year olds even have goals outside of finagling as many cake pops as possible in a given day). Still, his fan club is pleased. Once he gets around to being potty trained, I might just be one of those mamas who starts wishing he'd never do any more growing. Mostly kidding.

This age continues to be a delight in a lot of ways, but my generally sweet tempered boy is also going through one of those mysterious toddlery stages of not wanting to talk to people or have them talk to him. Or about him. Or look at him. Not all the time, but enough to make us feel a little cringe-y. I know our boy is just little still, and can't be held to an older, logical child's standards, and we are trying to handle it consistently and constructively. Right now him talking to family members is non-negotiable - Mike and I are both on the same page about that, and he is forced to speak to the people who love him, as much as he can be forced. And frankly he comes around to that on his own quickly, except for on the phone. But with strangers and some of our friends I'm content right now if he can just respond with a "no thanks" and not flip out or say "go away" when someone speaks to him (he succeeds with this roughly half the time). If we're still dealing with this a year from now it might be a problem, but for now, I assume that, like everything else, we've got to work with him until he outgrows it. And not focus on how it makes us look as parents, because let's face it, nobody can ever with that game. Ideally we'll get somewhere close to finding that balance between being strict disciplinarians who will produce a polite, thoughtful member of society and nurturing, respectful caregivers who take his feelings into account, because someday we're going to have to address stranger danger and personal boundaries. Teaching him that his body is his own is a whole fraught business, and there's a lot of room for confusion. I'll let you know if we conquer that sticky-tricky. In the meantime, we're emphasizing "no thank you," and apologies if my toddler has offended you.

What I really wanted to write about today was Chasing Amy, which Mike and I accidentally rewatched last night when we should have been getting some precious sleep. But I don't have the time necessary to properly produce that dissertation, so it'll have to wait. If I never get to come back to it, I just have this to say: I love this film, and I recognize it is flawed in lots of ways, but it succeeds wildly at being a time capsule of the mid-to-late 1990s. So many baby tees and indoor cigarette smoking scenes.

Onto another controversial filmmaker: say what you will about Quentin Tarantino (I'll say that Django Unchained is also on my "to see" list), but he's certainly done a service to the world of undeservedly obscure songcraft. I know a lot of purists are probably pissed off that he made "their" songs mainstream, but whatever, this particular ditty is so good I can almost hear it now without thinking about dismembered sexy ladies. Almost.

Lighter

OK, I think I hit my heavy entry quota for the week with that last one. And I've got to make this quick because I am escaping for some off-site professional development this afternoon. List then? I'm glad you thought of it. Let's do three for three.

Three movies I really want to see even though I doubt I'll see them within the next 5 years because that's how it is with me and movies: Argo, Pitch Perfect and Wreck-It Ralph. Judge away.

Three excellent things I've eaten in the last 24 hours: black pepper fettucine with chicken sausage and broccoli rabe (Capone's fresh pasta, what a treat), Gram's homemade custard pie (yeah I had it for breakfast, and yeah you should be jealous), Gram's homemade eggplant. It's good to have a Gram (and a Mike, he made that first one).

Three books I read on the flights to and from KY: That Old Cape Magic by Richard Russo (I started that one on the beach this summer, fittingly), The Ornithologist's Guide to Life by Ann Hood (write more books please, Ann) and Joy School by Elizabeth Berg (didn't quite finish that one yet). Flying is good at getting you places, but more importantly it helps me get caught up on reading.

Bye until Monday, pals. Oh, and a happy birthday to my favorite mother-in-law!

Dawes, why aren't you the hugest band?

I'm Younger Than That Now

Sometimes I look back at what I write in here and it occurs to me that people think I am a gigantic phony baloney. I'm happy all the time, I'm grateful all the time, everyone in my life is awesome. And I probably wouldn't believe it either. But the truth is yeah, I'm happy most of the time, I try to remember to be grateful always, and I've been extremely, unfairly fortunate to have been born to--and to have in my life for whatever reason--the greatest, dearest people. It's a combination of natural disposition, luck, and growing up. Also, there's a lens between a reader and writer. There's always background, always nuance, and you only get to read what I want you to know.

We all have our good and bad days, and I'm no exception. Things piss me off, things get me down, and it just so happens that most of the time I gravitate away from dwelling on what's nagging at me. Writing has always, always been my go-to form of self-therapy (I have a huge stack of journals that I started writing in like it was my job from the time I was fourteen) and that's how I get out all my bad juju. But when I started writing with the idea that I had an audience, it became an exercise in perspective and focus. By the time I get to synthesizing my thoughts and hitting "publish," I tend to magnify the slightest kernel of positivity over any kvetching or sadness. It's not that I have a secretly bad life, like I said, I'm in a very good place and don't take it for granted. It just doesn't feel right to think it could be perceived as less than genuine. Nobody's a ray of sunshine all the time. And the bad times, they come for everyone.

That whole screed is not a preface to tell you anything's wrong. It's just my way of letting you know that I'm not oblivious to how I come across. That bit about growing up is really the essential ingredient for me. In some ways I guess I was a happy child, but in a lot of ways I wasn't. I was a champion worrier. I was self-conscious. I couldn't sleep. I wasn't quite the self I turned into, and I can tell you exactly why this is. Most of you know that my sister died of cancer when I was five and she was two. I hardly remember anything about that time, but I spent a lot of my life getting over it. It threw my whole family for a loop, and there's nothing anyone can do about that. Frankly I'm amazed my parents were able to get it together as well and quickly as they did. They had two other kids to parent at the time, so that didn't leave them much choice, and they had tons of family support but still, kids dying is a fucking fuck of a thing to ever happen. I know that going through such things is how people get close to god and find comfort in religion, but kids getting sick and dying is the #1 reason I do not. If there's bigger plan that requires such suffering, I don't want anything to do with it. But this isn't about religion or spirituality, and it is in no way an indictment of those things.

My sister dying was one of those things that is nobody's fault, and in the aftermath, everyone did the best they could. I can't imagine one single way that my parents or anyone in my family could have done a better job caring for and loving me. I just needed to grow up and find a way to get to my happiness. And eventually, I did. It wasn't a deliberate decision to search for happiness or just one day decide to be happy. I'm not even sure that I was fully aware that I wasn't. I just somehow, along the way, let go of my constant anxiety and it changed my outlook. I've had some truly wonderful and amazing things happen in my life, in every stage, but in no way would I want to go back, and that is why.

My current job, the one I never consciously sought but ended up in by a series of circumstances over 15 years ago, forces me to confront my family's past situation every day, which makes a strange kind of sense. I see the sickest of the sickest kids, and deal with families in various stages of holding it together and falling apart. They are all terrified and brave, frustrated and heartbroken. Frustrating and heartbreaking, too. I joke that the reason I don't dissolve into a puddle of grief every day is because so many of the adults I encounter deal with their situation by being entitled pains in the ass or totally cuckoo and that shifts the emphasis away from what's really going on. Everyone has a coping mechanism, including me, and it's in my professional and personal interest to not take on every sad burden. But I'm not immune, especially now that I have a child.

Kids and adults get sick. Everyone dies. Everyone's got their shit going on. It sucks, it's unavoidable. But today, I'm alive. And here is my truth, today. And I'm holding onto my happiness within that truth, as long as I can. At the very least, for today.

Good Times Rolling

I went to Kentucky, and all I brought back was a couple of fiddy-cent coloring books for HR. And a bunch of memories of a wedding weekend spent with stellar human beings, so I guess that means it was worth it. It was really a blast, and so good to see people we haven't seen for so long and pick up from where we left off the last time we saw them. It was an honor to be invited to the wedding and be part of the celebration, but more importantly it's an honor to know the bride and the people in our lives that probably wouldn't be there without her. Someday we will get to Israel and see her where she's made her home for the past seven years, but for now, a little trip to Louisville was the fix we needed.

The wedding was absolutely lovely, festive and intimate and fun, and there was also plenty of downtime to just hang out and even get some sleep (we were in bed before our usual bedtime both nights which was sweeeeet). Even in the whirlwind timeframe, this is one of the first trips from which I've returned not feeling like I need a day off to recover.

My child, though happy to have us back, is really missing his grandparents (and great-grandmother and uncle, who rounded out the HR spoiling team). I was missing HR pretty keenly by the time Monday morning rolled around, but our time spent without him was great and necessary, and I'm grateful to my family for giving up their time to babysit. I'm also grateful he gets this time to spend with individual family members on various occasions. I had always hoped to give my child the kind of close family I knew, on both sides, and I can confidently say so far so good with that. I never doubt that he's well cared for by people who love him, but it's also comforting that he knows and adores his caretakers. That's one thing that I can cross off my list of parental worries, though to be honest it never made the list in the first place.

Little getaways have lots of benefits, and one is that they can serve as a reminder to couples why they chose each other initially. To wit: on Sunday morning we were enjoying some lazy, indulgent time like you only do in a hotel, lounging in bed watching Wayne's World as if it was the only thing to do in the world, and I was like, "Breakfast beer?" To which Mike replied, "I was JUST going to say that." It's nearly telepathy between us, but also illustrative of how, you know, the romance never dies. I like to think that every couple saying their vows is looking to that exact sort of magic in their future. For real though, to me, the Wayne's World breakfast beer is an unheard of luxury in workaday life, and that it represents the same to Mike is a pretty clear indicator that we're meant to be.

All right now, make sure you watch this clip because it is truly amazing. 

Thank You, Baby

14 years ago today Mike and I got married, and what do you know, it stuck. I am of the belief now that it should have been illegal for us to be married so young. We weren't teenagers, we knew we loved each other, and I have no regrets whatsoever. I just think that, on principle it's a good idea for both parties to be at least 25 when they hitch up, if not 30. We are one of the success stories nonetheless, which I can only chalk up to patience, communication, trust, and beer. Oh, and love. I got very lucky when Mike came into my life, he's been my best friend for over 17 years, there's nobody else I'd rather hang out with, and it's obvious I would have still married him if we waited until we were way older to make it official. It just blows my mind that we've crossed into this territory, I mean, didn't we just, JUST celebrate our tenth?

We have never been very big on marking the occasion, outside of cards. Things that happen every year sort of breeze by, and I do like to think we make a point to appreciate each other every day. Some days it's more work than others, and of course we take each other for granted a lot of the time, but it evens out. We're low key, and it works for us. Big milestones are of another sort though, and we've talked about doing something big for our 15th next year, like maybe going to Europe with HR in tow, but that's a ways away and also going to Europe isn't free. You'd think it would be, but I checked, and nope. As it is we have our (have I mentioned it?) trip to Mexico in just a few weeks which was technically planned to mark Mike's 40th, but is pretty much all the birthday, holiday and anniversary presents we might have bought for each other combined for the past five years. It's gonna be so awesome, y'all!

Also awesome, our girl who has been living abroad for years is having a stateside wedding this weekend and we're jetting down to her home state, one that neither of us has visited before, to pay our proper respects. I'm really looking forward to it for many reasons, like celebrating the joyous occasion, seeing the bride (honestly, has it been five years?) and meeting her husband, and partying it up with other long-time-no-see friends. There's also the bonus of a solo getaway for Mike and me, two nights to just be together with nobody working, and theoretically sleeping through the night and into the morning (body clocks are hard to override, but just the opportunity is delicious). We'll miss HR, but honestly not too much. He'll be having a blast with his many attendants, and Monday will come all too soon.

I'll wrap it up with a toast: to my favorite husband, favorite marriage, favorite life.

In Celebration of Girliness, Of a Sort

As I mentioned yesterday, Mike, HR and I have been on an old photograph binge which won't let up until we get through the whole archive. The boy has loved looking at pictures for as long as I can remember, and it's fun to play "who's this?" with him. He's quite good at identifying people even when they were much younger, not that I'm saying he's some kind of genius or anything, I just wonder how he even has a concept of the past and how people age. For Mike and me the appeal is entirely different, looking on people we loved and lost, or reliving wonderful times. Nostalgia-a-go-go. One thing that has been hammered home to me after seeing my own mug ad nauseum, from childhood up until now is that I cannot believe how I let myself leave the house on a regular basis.

From, oh, the college years or so, I began to really embrace a persona that prided itself on being low maintenance. I did nothing to my hair beyond putting it in a ponytail. I never wore make up (not that I do much now, but the idea was absolutely abhorrent then). And I bought cheap, simple, unflattering clothes because I didn't care. Tee shirts, sweaters, jeans and sneakers were my staples, and I rarely tried things on. I wanted to be attractive, but I didn't have the patience to put any effort in. That's where youth was on my side - that's when you can get away with being a slob. And I was comfortable and happy. I only cringe in retrospect.

What surprises me really is that the attitude extended to my wedding day. I didn't have my hair or makeup done, my aunt practically had to wrestle me to the ground to get some foundation on me so I wouldn't be too shiny in photographs, and all I can see when I look back at myself is, would it have killed me to buy a new bra for the occasion that actually provided some support? And this is when I had good, young boobs. I just did not make it a priority. I think I got a manicure for the occasion, but I had never even entertained the reality of a pedicure. Feet were feet, right? Yes I was a relative child when we were married, and that helped me look cute despite it all, but I wonder deep down if I really didn't care, or if I was just overly attached to my anti-bridezilla image. It was my wedding day, the single most photographed occasion of my life, and I was like, eh. But I think it's telling that the one little meltdown I had in regards to the wedding was a couple of nights before, when I saw a photograph of me in my gown at my last fitting (in the days before digital, there were no instant results back then) and I decided I looked awful. I pushed the remorse aside and soldiered on, but even then, I think I wished I had put just a little more care into my appearance. I think I wanted to be someone who didn't care, but deep down I did care and I couldn't reconcile my reputation for being easygoing with wanting to look pretty on my wedding day.

Somehow, over the years, I started caring, and started being OK with caring. I slowly came to accept that putting in the extra effort of being thoughtful in clothing choices, being willing to pay lot for a haircut or a decent pair of jeans, was fine if it was within my means and it made a difference in my outlook. I've discovered the joy of the occasional pedicure, which is something I couldn't even fathom in olden times-- I wasn't one of "those" girls, you know? But it turns out I am one of those, and it doesn't make me a difficult or annoying person. I mean, I may be difficult or annoying for other reasons, but I'm not defined by what I do to make me feel good about presenting myself to the world every day. I know I'm the only one this means anything to, but it's just that, I do it for myself. It's frivolous in the scheme of things, but it's not for nothing. It took me way longer than it should have to realize that it doesn't make me less smart or kind or less of a feminist to want to look nice. If my appearance started to be my top priority, or if I started on the slippery slope of equating my worth with my looks, we'd have problems. I'm just saying it took me a long time to make peace with myself as an anti-girly-girl who has some traditional girly-girl tendencies. It's a shame it takes so long to get to these realizations sometimes, but I can't say I have regrets about time I didn't spend fixating on my appearance, only the time that I inverted the fixation, suppressing parts of my real personality because of how I might have been perceived. One of the great things about getting older is that shame goes out the window. You become hyper-aware that life is too short for not owning yourself. And for bad bras. And not listening to the Sex Pistols.

Heady Times

This weekend we teamed up with some friends and took our little ones to "A Day Out With Thomas." In ideal terms, it's a chance for kids to see their choo-choo obsession come to life, which of course is magical and whatnot. In realistic terms, it's an opportunity to drop a ton of bank on merchandise. Lucky for us, though HR lacks for nothing and gets treats all the time, he's very chill in stores and rarely asks for anything, including on this occasion. He was happy to play with the many train sets provided and move on. So right off the bat, it was Family: 1, Greedy Event Organizers: 0.

The overall experience of the event was interesting, and I find that these things never happen like you think they will. For example, he was suitably awe-struck with his first sighting of a real-life Thomas chugging by when we arrived, and enjoyed the train ride when it was our turn, but overall he seemed unimpressed by just about everything, including his first ride on a carousel. Here we are having a photo op while we waited to board Thomas. That is not the face of a thrilled child, though to be fair, he's not into having his picture taken these days, anywhere or for any reason.

By far his favorite part of the day was getting to meet Sir Topham Hatt, owner of the Sodor Railway and all around self-important dictator. He is not as cuddly and benevolent on the show as the costume makes him seem, but my kid would have stayed there all day high-fiving and waving to this creepy, earless, silent facsimile. You just never know what's going to be the thing they take away in the precious moments department. And that's part of the fun, I guess.

I think HR is just old enough to enjoy something like this, we didn't stay long enough for him to be overstimulated, he didn't get carsick on the ride down, and he passed out on the ride back. So even if he wasn't overcome with wonder the entire time, I'd say the excursion was definitely worth it.

We also read Where The Wild Things Are for the first time over the weekend, and though we apparently don't share the same distaste for people in costume, my boy and I are simpatico regarding Maurice Sendak. There were many repeat readings, and, as it's my favorite picture book of all time and the dearly departed Mr. Sendak is a personal hero, that means a lot to me. Of course I expect him to be so over it by next week, but "We'll eat you up, we love you so!" has been permanently added to his frame of reference so I feel my job here is done.

We've been going through a family-wide obsession with old photographs, and it has renewed my quest to achieve some kind of preserving-while-living balance. So far I think we're doing OK.

Here's a song that never fails to inspire. And if this isn't your day, play it again tomorrow.

My Solution to Everything

Sooo... how about that crushing snoozefest of a debate last night? That was not a politically galvanizing experience for me. I'll watch the rest of them of course. And I hope Obama will step up, for my own reasons. But mostly I hope that the discourse gets a bit less rote, and more intelligible. It would not kill either candidate to show a spark of humanistic passion either, but then again that's not considered professional. Maybe when we get into the meaty, personal stuff, like gay marriage and, you know, whether or not women folk can be trusted with brains. All I know is, good thing beer was invented. And friend updates on facebook. Though that backfired to an extent. I tried, I really tried, to look away from the ones that weren't clever and amusing, but I was tricked into reading something written by a person who disagreed with a friend's posting. If a person accuses the President for being "racially dividing," that person's just using fancy lingo to try and disguise his own racism, right? Yeah, I thought so.

I mean, really? A black president in the White House is racially dividing? You must be a genius. It wasn't the term "racially dividing" itself that offended me (though I think the correct term here would be "racially divisive"), it was the implication at the heart of the comment that a white president wouldn't create any kind of race issues. Or maybe he thinks that another black president would be a-ok, it's just Obama that's out there to get a race war going? I don't see another way to interpret the initial statement, and I'm trying not to let the memory of it ruin my mindset for the day, even though it's already hijacked my blog post.  If nothing else, getting all het up served as a valuable reminder that I should never, ever read comment threads if they don't concern, for example, whether Slick Rick was underrated (the only subject on which I truly claim to be an expert) or isn't meant for me in any other way. It's not like I think not seeing things will make them go away, I just try to limit my discussions of very sensitive subjects such as racism to the productive, insightful ones. Casual hatefulness helps nobody on either side. Except me when I casually, hatefully, say, fuck that guy. I'm glad I don't know him. 

Argh, I forget what else I was planning to write about. So let's dance.

An Endless Parade of Eureka Moments

After a lunch date of delicious pizza and equally delicious company, my will to get back work has been temporarily misplaced. I knew it would happen, but it's never not worth it to be able to zip out and dine with my favorite gentlemen (Mike and HR, in case there was any doubt) when the chance presents itself. If I have to resort to late afternoon caffeine, so be it.

On the way to the restaurant, which required me to walk the route by my old college campus, I was hit with a wave of nostalgia. Make no mistake, I am very happy to not be in school at the moment. The thought of never having to compose another academic paper is both thrilling and a teeny, tiny bit sad. Mostly thrilling. But man I loved school, for the school of it. I wasn't a great social butterfly in my higher learning days, I mean, I had friends and I do have some great memories of non-scholastic exploits, but when I feel a yearning for college, it's always in terms of the classroom. I would freaking love to be sitting around talking about Tom Jones for two hours or doing an intense workshop on a poem right now. It's not like studying  liberal arts did much for me, professionally, but I loved the curriculum, and the experience of going to college turned me into an adult really fast, in the best way possible. I learned quickly how much I reveled in being on my own, making my own decisions, figuring things out. It just so happened that my readiness to leave one nest (my family home) coincided with my excitement about landing in another (a world of Shakespeare Workshop, Nonfiction Writing, Women in Literature and the Colonial Perspective, you get the picture).

When I speak of my nostalgia, it's not like I want to go "back there" and relive it. I just look back fondly on my experience, and if I can make a point to access and maintain the feeling that was stirred up in me this afternoon, hit that sweet spot that was the product of 8+ years of nurtured fancy book learnin' (I did my graduate work on a slooooowwww track), I am in my happy place. I know for sure that I experienced a lot of stress in the process of earning my degrees, but that's not the part that truly sticks with me. I already knew that learning made me happy. Creating and contributing made me happy. But college brought it out in me in a way I'd never expected.

That was worth all the money spent. I will say that I do not come from a family with means-- I was so lucky, both in how my alma mater really hooked me up in terms of grants and scholarships, and how I was able to cover the rest through a combination of annual birthday-and-Christmas savings bonds (thank you, Gram and Pup) and loans. Of which I'm finally at the tail end of repaying. I don't know how people do it these days, honestly, or how we'll do it for HR when it comes time. And I know college isn't for everyone. But it so, so, so was for me. And in a perfect world everyone should have the opportunity to live what I lived, get out of it what they can get out of it, if that's what they want. And that is a grim prospect these days.

I am publicly stating for the record that I don't want to go back for my PhD or be a professor or teach in any way shape or form. But academia will never not appeal to me as a gauzy, fantastical, heaven-like state. Not in the snobbish, exclusive way. Just the totally ecstatic, books-are-our-friends way.

Collegiate song tie-in, kinda: one night in my sophomore year, either my roommate or I had this song in our head and we became obsessed with it, staying up all night trying to remember who sang it. If it were even a couple of years later, the internet would have solved that in seconds. Instead we lost a lot of sleep on a song that, as it turned out, neither of us liked much in the first place. But at the moment one of us--I still can't recall who--came up with the singer's name, it was THE most satisfying feeling.