Next!

I know a lot of people who are very much into always being present and in the moment, and to not dwell on the past or the future.  To just be.

It's all very Crash Davis.

And I do try to enjoy individual moments of life - when I'm standing at the bus stop, I'll put my face up to the sun and enjoy the beauty of the day.  When I'm goofing off and giggling with my kids, I try to take a mental snapshot, because I know that all too soon they'll be surly teenagers who will be embarrassed to be seen with me.  When I'm working out, instead of thinking about how I wish the workout were over, I try to focus on the muscles I'm working, imagining them getting stronger, and I appreciate how physically alive and vital I feel at that moment.

But I can't do that all the time.  Not every moment is that memorable or noteworthy.  Trying too hard to be in the moment all the time is a lot of work, and more fundamentally, it doesn't always ring true.  The past happened, and takes up space in my brain.  Future events will happen, and to go along as if they won't, or as if they don't matter, a) seems silly, and b) doesn't seem like much fun.  Looking forward to something good that is going to happen is one of life's joys, as far as I'm concerned.

It's been a good year in this regard.  So far, I've been able to look forward to our spring break trip to Nicaragua (which was wonderful and relaxing).

the Nicaragua beach house - view from the balcony

Then there was my brother Sam's wedding (which I officiated - it was incredible to be involved like that) in Houston.

My dad, the kids and me in our wedding finery

Then there was my reunion in D.C., which was amazing.

*sniff*  I love these people.

Then I immediately went to my legal conference in Orlando, which I don't have pictures of because it's gross. I have many, many friends who love taking their families to Disney World for vacation, and all I can say is, I'm glad you had fun, but I truly don't get it.  

Next up is the beach with my parents in early July.  Ten days on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, hanging out with family and friends, reading lots of books, surfing, playing with the kids, getting a tan, relaxing.

And when that's done, I'll have to plan something else.  I'm thinking about climbing another Fourteener.

Things to do in Denver when you're snowed in

As is typical of a Denver spring, on Saturday it was 70 degrees and lovely, if increasingly overcast in the afternoon.  J was doing some side work, so the kids and I hung out with two friends of theirs, a brother and sister the same (relative) ages as Zeke and Josie.  Zeke and his friend Cole utterly fucking destroyed the upstairs of our house.  I'm talking, holes in the walls, entire linen closets emptied onto the floor, toys and blankets and shoes everywhere.  I keep waiting for Zeke's destructive tendencies, often fueled by an overwhelming case of "what will happen if..." (i.e., what will happen if I stick a fork in Mama's rubber inflatable stability ball? what will happen if I poke this pen into this stuffed bear? what will happen if I peel the picture part off the cardboard backing on these puzzle pieces), to abate.

Meanwhile, Josie and Maddie played with her stuffed animals, colored, and brushed my hair.

Gender stereotyping doesn't occur in a vacuum, y'all.

As is also typical of a Denver spring, the following day it started snowing at 9 in the morning and didn't stop for 24 hours. I would have been perfectly happy to spend a grey, wet, snowy day on the couch watching movies and eating popcorn, but the kids had energy to burn so we took them to the Denver Children's Museum.

They spent most of their time in this room that is kind of like a giant pinball machine.  You put plastic orange balls into contraptions and then guide them with levers and gears through a system of ramps and tunnels, until they are returned to this clear plastic bin that hangs over a carpeted area.  Every 5 minutes or so, an alarm sounds and the balls drop onto the floor for the kids to gather and play with again.

My kids decided to buck the system, bypass the pinball-game-like contraptions, throw the balls overhead into the clear receptacle, and wait for the balls to fall on them.

This strikes me as insanely fun.  I need one of these in my house.

Happy Mother's Day

Dear Mom,

Last Sunday when Dad was driving me to the airport after my reunion, we were talking about our family and he said, "you sure do have a wonderful mother."

"I sure do," I agreed.  "And you really lucked out to have married her."

And even including the year I was fourteen and a total hormonal bitch, I don't remember a time when I haven't appreciated how extravagantly I hit the jackpot to have you as my mom.

In addition to all of the mom stuff that you did so well - taking care of us, making us feel loved and safe, keeping our worlds spinning with school, sports, plays, and all of that - you were always fun and funny and interesting and compassionate and reasonable.  You're bubbly and positive and smart.  You read to us and encouraged us to explore the world.  You played "duck duck goose" with us in airports when our flights were delayed and our toddler selves were getting antsy and bored.

Mommy with baby Wendy

Ours was the house that our friends wanted to come to to hang out.  I remember when we lived in Israel, I would get home from whatever I did after school and classmates of mine, who didn't have such good relationships with their parents, would be in the kitchen with you, keeping you company while you made dinner.

When I went away to college, I missed you so much.  Back then, there was no internet or email or even cheap, easy international calling.  Calling you in India meant shitty, crackly connections and 3 minute phone calls that cost 10 dollars.  When I went home for Christmas break that first year, I remember flying into your arms at the baggage claim at the Delhi airport, and hugging you and hugging you and hugging you.  Even now, I still choke up a bit whenever we say goodbye after a visit.

You remain my strongest role model.  I try to raise my children the way you raised Josh and Sam and me, being loving and consistent. I try not to worry about things that I can't control, as you always taught me.  In my professional life, now that I supervise employees, I think about you have always treated your employees with fairness and compassion, and use that as my guide.

You have that wonderful exuberant laugh that everyone can pick out of a crowd.

I love that we still talk every day, about everything and nothing.  I love that when we're together, we have such a lovely easy time together - cooking, going for walks, exercising, whatever.  I love that when we are together, I still like to crawl into bed with you first thing in the morning to snuggle and talk.

Whatever you did and continue to do, it works.  People LOVE you.  Every time I've met a friend or coworker of yours, they've pulled me aside and said, "I just adore your mom.  She's the greatest."

All I can do is agree.

You're my favorite mom.

Love,
Wendy

The fundamentals

Yesterday Zeke came with me and kept me company while I did my hunting and gathering at the grocery store.  I forget how the topic came up, but we started talking about friends and friendship.

"Jackson and I have a lot in common," he told me.  "That's why we're good friends."

I chuckled at how grown-up he sounded talking about having a lot in common with someone.  "What do you and Jackson have in common that makes you such good friends?" I asked.

"Well, we both have bunk beds.  And we like chalk."

"That's good stuff.  Anything else?"

"We have the same rug in our bedrooms."

It's the little things, really.

Not that this is news.

The other day my coworker and I were on a bus taking us from our resort to get some dinner in downtown Disney* (a truly vile place), and, as women sometimes do, we started talking about hair.

She has this super-cute short cut that looks adorable on her, but said she gets bored with her hair and likes to change up her style from time to time.

That got us talking about this friend of hers who, growing up, had an unfortunate Jewfro that was not only massive, but bright red/orange.  We both lamented how awful it must have been for her.

"Afros are coming back, you know," she said.

"Jesus, please don't say that.  At least not as far as white women are concerned."

"I'm serious, I think they're coming back."

"Well, I think I've seen them in fashion editorials, but no normal person looks good in an afro.  Well, black women can rock them, but most white women definitely cannot."

"Remember when they used to be so popular?"

"Tell me about it.  Back in the early 80s, at some point my mother and her friends started getting perms that were defintely afro-inspired.  And then I followed suit.  I think it was about 1983."

"Really?  That's awesome.  Was it a true 'around your head' afro, or more of a Rosanne Rosannadanna type 'do?"

"Probably a combination of the two, but leaning more towards the 'around the head' deal.  After the hairdresser was done, I looked in the mirror and started to cry."

We laughed.

"It's crazy the way standards for attractiveness change," I said.  "But even under shifting standards, I look back at pictures of women from that time and think that there was some kind of collective cultural beauty-blindness going on.  Like no one could see how ugly it all was."

"It's just all fodder for Throwback Thursday at this point."

"Right?  And it really hammers something else home."

"What's that?" she asked.

I gave her a big smile.

"Men will fuck anything."

We both cracked up, but nodded in agreement.**

___________________________
*We were there for a legal conference.

**Guys, don't be offended.  We were joking around.  I kid because I love.

Out of the dark, into the light

This past year of my marriage has been so hard.*

When J and I first got together, he was so sweet and adoring towards me, almost exaggeratedly so.  We were *that couple* - always schmoopy and all over each other.

But within a couple of years after we married, we started having problems.  I tried to figure out what was going on, get him to talk to me, whatever.  Nothing worked.

We had such an impossible time communicating.  During the most difficult times, no matter what one person said, the other person took it wrong.  I started to believe that there was something wrong with me -- that I really was the bitch-faced evil asshole troll that I was made to feel like -- so I would walk on eggshells around him all the time, hyper-analyzing every little thing I said and every little thing I did and every little interaction we had, so as not to evoke a bad reaction.  Rather than chat and engage the way I normally would, I withdrew as well, because if I didn't say anything, I couldn't be accused of saying something he didn't like.

I can't even tell you how emotionally exhausting it is to live like that.

Our interactions since we decided to separate have improved - we are cordial to each other, and I don't feel so fragile around him anymore.  But the reality is that I am still sharing a house with someone who doesn't love me or even act like he likes me very much most of the time.  

It's been an emotional desert.  

When J and I drove across the country before we moved to Hawaii, we spent a bunch of time in the desert - Santa Fe, the Grand Canyon, Utah, Nevada.  And while it was beautiful and striking landscape, I much prefer lush environments with humidity in the air to the brown, dry moonscapes that dominate that part of the country.  When we crossed from Nevada into California, I remember going through the Sierra Nevadas and descending down into Sacramento on our way to San Francisco and being struck by how green and vibrant everything was.  After just a few days, my eyes were so acclimated to the muted earth tones of the desert that the depth of color in the landscape shocked me.

That's how I feel after this past weekend in DC.  Suddenly, I was surrounded by people who were so excited to see me, who wanted to hear about my life and tell me about theirs, who couldn't stop hugging me.  Men flirted with me and made me feel beautiful and light and desirable again.  I felt like part of a family again.  My heart burst with all the color and feeling and energy, because I've spent so much time lately trying to stay neutral.

It's been emotionally overwhelming, but in a good way.  I weep at the drop of a hat, but I also feel like I'm quicker to laugh and smile.  I want to go around to my friends and shower them with love and let them know how much I appreciate them.  I feel pretty (oh so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and briiiiiiight... OK, sorry, couldn't resist).  I realize I'm not a bitch-faced evil asshole troll.  

I'm on the flight back to Denver right now (gotta love inflight wifi), thinking about the house I'll be walking back into tonight.  I'm so excited to see my children.  But I'm realizing that J and I need to get on with it. We need to get some distance from each other.  We need to actually separate.  Setting up a second household is financially difficult, but we need to figure something out soon.  

I can't go back to the desert.  

____________________________

* I know that many of J's friends read this blog.  It is not my intention to make him out to be horrible, because he's not.  He's a good person and a wonderful father and we will remain good friends.  But our relationship was not a healthy one.  The point of this post is not to denigrate him, but to write about my emotional state over the past few years.  Though I do self-censor at times in order to spare feelings, I'm too raw right now to do it today.  This is my space and I need to use it the way I need to use it.  

Life is good, wild and sweet, let the music play on.

It's a familiar feeling at this point.  The Sunday morning exhaustion mixed with a sense of longing and wistfulness, plus a hair of a lingering alcohol headache.  Trying mentally to race through and catologue snippets of conversations and laughter and songs and enveloping embraces from the previous two days, so as to not lose them, or the feeling they evoke.  Part of me can't stop smiling, the other part is on the verge of tears.

My India classmates gathered together in DC this past weekend for a mini-reunion.  About 45 of us gathered Friday and Saturday nights at restaurants downtown, and yesterday afternoon for a backyard lunch, to catch up and reminisce and try to recapture the magic that we were so lucky to experience in the late 80s at the American School in New Delhi, India.  We've been looking forward to it for months, and then it was a couple of weeks and then it was in a few days and then it was upon us and now it's over much too fast.

One of my friends remarked last week that when he told people he was heading to a high school reunion, people were like, "ooooh, great," with a note of skepticism.  And we know how unique our experience was - it's hard to explain that when we are all together again, we feel like we're home.  There's this happy love buzz that seeps into our nerves and our bones.  Yesterday morning, notwithstanding having gotten maybe 3 hours of sleep, I woke up way early because I felt like I was vibrating like a tuning fork.

We couldn't stop hugging each other.  Our cheeks hurt from smiling and our heads hurt from laughing.

My knees hurt from getting so into an air guitar performance of Prince's "Let's Go Crazy" that I literally dropped to my knees on the hard floor of the restaurant to hit the high notes at the end.

We took over an Indian restaurant, ate yummy food and drank Indian beer, and talked and laughed and danced until 3 in the morning.  As before, I see my friends the way they were when we together 30 years ago -- there is no gray hair, no middle-aged spread, no wrinkles.  It's a weekend of magical thinking. They are still young and beautiful to me.  The same crushes on the same boys resurface (and the fact that an astounding number of us are going through divorces and separations exacerbate it). The crazy memories from trips to Goa and bonfire parties in the woods and skipping school to go hang out in Agra feel impossibly fresh.

As my dear friend Lisa described a few days ago, back in Delhi we used to do this (admittedly incredibly corny) thing at parties when Lionel Ritchie's All Night Long would play, and we would get in a circle with our arms around each other and sway back and forth and dance together.  When the song came on last night, it was late - there were about 15 or 16 of us still at the restaurant, and we made a circle and put our arms around each other and started to dance.  I was looking around at everyone smiling and laughing, and thinking about how much I love these people and how much I love the feeling I have when I'm with them.  It was such an intensely wonderful, perfect moment.  And I burst into tears.

And then a few other people burst into tears.

Even the ones who were comforting me knew I was OK.  Everything was OK. I wasn't sad.  I was so happy that it was overwhelming.  I never wanted the feeling to end.

I'm sitting in Washington National Airport right now, waiting to board a flight to Orlando, where I'll be at a legal conference for the next few days.  And no, I'm not crying as I write this.  I have dust in my eyes. Really.

I wish it all wasn't over so quickly.  I wish we all lived closer together.  I wish we all had another day together.  I wish we had time to dance to another song.

The beginning of the end of the age of innocence

Now that daylight savings is back on and it stays light later, the kids like to go for walks around the block in the evenings, often stopping at the houses of their friends to play and visit.  They'll go out and do their thing, and at around 7 p.m. I'll go find them and bring them home for dinner and to wind down before bed.

Today they went out after I got home.  I did my workout and then headed out to round them up.  They were at the home of some older boys (older than Zeke, I'd say 8 or 9).  There was a jump rope and a toy that shot foam rockets and a pogo stick.  One of the kids was bouncing on the pogo stick.

Immediately, there was something about the vibe that felt off to me.  Like, these boys were barely tolerating Zeke and were kind to trying to fuck with him a little bit.

Zeke is still so, so earnest.  He totally takes people at face value and is instinctively friendly and inclusive with people, and assumes that others are equally benevolent.  Not that he and his friends don't occasionally bicker, but when they have disagreements, they're open about it.  They have their disagreements, get them out of the way, and five minutes later are happily playing again.  They're not yet at the age where the concept of being passive-aggressive would even occur to them.

But, like I said, these boys are a little older.  They're a little more jaded.  And I could instinctively tell that they were barely tolerating Zeke, who wanted to desperately to be included and to be accepted by them.  They recognized that desire, and they used it against him.

He wanted so badly to have a turn on the pogo stick.  He asked if he could try.  And the boy on it said, "maybe."

"Mama, what does 'maybe' mean?" he asked me.

"It means could be yes, could be no.  It could go either way."

"Well, can I?"  he asked again.

The boy said, "I said maybe.  Maybe you can use it when I'm done with it."

At this point, he wasn't jumping on the pogo stick, but was still standing on it, leaning against a car.

I was staring daggers at the kid, and seriously wanted to say, "look, you little shit.  Either tell him he can use it or tell him he can't, but don't string him along just to be a dick."

But of course I couldn't say that.  So instead I said, "Zekey, come on, it's time to go home.  We need to eat dinner."

"But Mama, he said I could use it when he's done.  I don't want to go yet."

I said, "he said you could use it when he's done, but he's not getting off of it, so he's not letting you.  He's saying no.  Let's go."

I dragged him away and explained that the boy wasn't being very nice and was sort of taunting him by making him think that he would let Zeke use it but refusing to get off it.  "I don't like the way he was treating you.  He was teasing you because you're littler than he is.  He wasn't being a nice boy."

Maybe I overreacted.  But the whole incident made me feel sad and kind of sick to my stomach at the same time.  Zeke is such a sweet, open-hearted kid.  I know that he needs to learn that not everybody is always nice and benevolent.  But I'm not quite ready to have him learn that just yet.

Let him stay sweet a little longer.

The Impressive Clergywoman?

My brother Sam is getting married in a month.  The whole family is super excited, as we adore his fiancée (I've already considered her a sister-in-law forever).  A couple of months ago, I was talking to them about the wedding and asking how the planning was going.

"We've got everything mostly sorted out, but we need to find an officiant."

As a joke, I said, "well, if you want, I can get ordained online and marry you."

"Actually, I would love that," he said.  The fiancée concurred.

Turns out, getting ordained to conduct weddings is absurdly easy.  I googled "get ordained online" and found a "church" that ordains you as one of its own when you fill out an online form and hit "submit."  So I did that, and am now a minister with the Universal Life Church.  I checked with the Harris County clerk's office (they're getting married in Houston), and read the Texas law on the requirements for marriage celebrants, and I'm good to go. 

I'm so, so excited to do this.  I'm so happy for Sam - his fiancée is the polar opposite of Voldemort, his first wife.  It's a huge honor to play a role like this in what is obviously a major life event. 

Now to put the ceremony together.  They're going to do an interfaith ceremony that's heavy on Jewish traditions, so I've been researching the various aspects of the ceremony and started to put the draft together.  I'll have to practice my Hebrew for some of the blessings, but it shouldn't be too bad.

And if I get stuck, I can always go with, "mawwage is what bwings us togevver today..."

Do over

One of the things I do at night when I wake up in the middle of the night is play "what if?" in my head.  What if I had gone to Michigan instead of Virginia?  What if I had decided to become a doctor instead of a lawyer?  What if I hadn't gone to Costa Rica and met J?  I try to create a different trajectory and imagine where I would be now.

Or last night, I went out with a group of my sorority sisters (there are 6 of us in the Denver/Boulder area who were all ZTAs at UVa at the same time), and we were talking about birthdays and the weirdness of being in our mid-40s now.  When I was in my 20s or even my 30s, mid-40s was ANCIENT.  But suddenly it's here. And we talked about how amazing it would be to be able to relive certain sections of your life over and over again, in order to experience all of the different things we'd love to be able to do and experience.  For me, I'd love to redo the ages of 25 to 35 - I could travel, different professions, learn different sports, have relationships with different people, whatever.  A series of fresh starts and do-overs.

One friend pointed out that I'm kind of getting a do-over myself.  Because I'm going to be single again.  I can date again.  Which is both exciting and terrifying to think about.

I have no idea if I even want to get married again.  I don't really think I do.  As my dad recently reminded me, I have long thought that my ideal romantic relationship would be with someone who lives around the corner, so we can hang out when we feel like it, but then have our own spaces to go back to.  I'm not a fan of too much togetherness.

And I've definitely learned some lessons that I will carry forward.  Primarily, that the notion of opposites attracting is horseshit.  Or maybe, they'll attract, but not be the basis for a sustainable relationship.  This time around, I will seek out someone who is more like me.  Someone with a similar background, or similar education, or similar interests.  Not total similarities - that would be boring - but at least some common frames of reference.

It would be nice to experience the flush of romance again.  I'm not ready to give up on that aspect of being a human being just yet.

An additional bonus: apparently I don't look like total crap anymore!

I was nervous about writing yesterday's post, but I'm so glad I did.  I've always felt like I had amazing friends, but really, y'all are so wonderful.  I've received such an out-pouring of messages, offers to talk, reassurances from people who have been through a similar situation.  I tend to be very solitary and focused in my approach to problem-solving, but it is so helpful to hear from others who have been in the same boat, or from friends who just want to let me know that they love me.

Plus the emotional weight that was lifted over the past week, and particularly yesterday, had some physical manifestations as well.  A couple of people at work have told me how much "better" I've been looking yesterday and today.  "No really, you look SO much better," one kept telling me.  "You look good again."

Which... thanks?

But, kidding aside, I get it.  I don't think I even realize how weighted down I've been, emotionally, and I don't doubt that it showed in my face and my posture and everything else.

And as one well-wisher noted, better to start fresh while I still have my looks, right?  Or at least some semblance of them?

The one with the announcement

Much of the reason that I have been blogging so sporadically for, like, ever, is that I didn't feel I could write about the thing that was really occupying my mind.  So I would write about the kids (who are also on my mind), or funny stories or whatever, but not so much the day-to-day, "what's in my head" type of stuff.

But in the decision that J and I have made to separate, a huge weight has been lifted off of me.  I have been mentally living two lives -- the life I was in, and the life I dreamed of.  The life in which I wasn't stuck in an unhappy marriage.  It's been exhausting, and has resulted in me feeling like I was existing in a weird emotional or psychological fog.

But a little over a week ago, J and I talked and agreed that we should go our separate ways.

It's hard to deal with, even though it's what we want.  It's sad.  I have spent much of the past 10 days feeling weepy.  But we're settling in, emotionally, and ready for the next steps.

The next steps don't actually involve much change yet.  We're sorting out some financial stuff, so we're going to wait a little while before we physically separate.  In the meantime, J will study for and take his licensing exam, and, we're hoping, get a better (and better paying) job.  Once that happens, and the financial issues are worked out, he'll get a place in the neighborhood so that we can split time with the kids without having to travel far.

It may seem weird, but the current situation is pretty much how we've been living for a long time anyway -- we're friends/roommates who raise children together.  We're much better that way than as husband and wife.  The truth is, we get along fine and there's no hostility or animosity, and we're excellent parents to our two wonderful children.  But we have almost nothing (other than the kids) in common.  We approach life differently, we don't have similar interests, and there is no fire anymore.  Perhaps I was spoiled by the example that my parents set (and continue to set), but what we have is not a marriage, and hasn't been for a long time.  We both deserve better.

I want to reiterate that I love J.  He is a wonderful guy.  He is funny and fun to hang out with and friendly.  He's an amazing dad.  He will always be a part of my family.  But we will both be happier if we are no longer married to each other.

We are determined to be kind and fair to each other, and to focus on the kids.  They don't know yet, and there's no reason for them to know until the actual physical separation occurs -- it will only confuse them.  But once that happens, we will do everything in our power to make the transition for them as smooth as possible.  There will be no fighting or anger.  Just a new living arrangement.  We will continue to do things together with the kids.

The few people we have told so far have all reacted with concern, and with questions.  So I'll try to reassure everyone again.  J and I are both fine.  We're sad that it didn't work out, but we're OK.  We're committed to making this the friendliest, easiest break-up ever.  It's still early, but I don't see any reason why we can't accomplish that goal.  Fighting was never a problem for us, anyway.  We will continue to live as a family for the time being, which is working.  And then we will have a different living arrangement, and be a different kind of family.

Everything will be all right.

Seeing the future in the past.

I've slept like total crap the last couple of nights.  Last night I woke up at 1:15 in the morning and didn't really get back to a fitful dozing until about 5:30.

None of my tricks worked.  I tried thinking of names in alphabetical order (Albert, Benjamin, Charles, etc.), and counting backwards in multiples, because I read that falling asleep is actually easier when your brain is mildly engaged.  But I can count backwards in multiples of 3 too easily and too quickly, so then I started from 1000 and counted backwards by subtracting 9, then 8, then 7, on down through 2.  I think that was actually a little bit too complicated and prevented sleep more than it helped, plus I got down to 0 and still wasn't sleepy, so I simplified by starting again, counting backwards by 7.

I slept a little bit, but it wasn't restful sleep - lots of doze-y dreams when you feel like you're still awake.  I had a shitty headache and a bad stomach when I woke up.  Being overtired always makes me slightly nauseated.  So I decided to stay home from work and try to get some sleep and feel better.  It's a cold, snowy day - perfect for resting and chilling out.

I started watching the movie Enough Said, because I've been wanting to see it for a long time, and it was on pay-per-view.  I love Julia Louis-Dreyfus, and I love James Gandolfini, and the movie was really well-reviewed.  It's about these two divorced people who find love with each other, and bond over the fact that they both have daughters that are going far away to college soon.  There's a scene when Julia Louis-Dreyfus and her ex-husband are taking their daughter to the airport to say goodbye to her, and JLD is crying.

It made me think of Josie.

Right now Josie is all four-year-old cuteness and lisp-y pronunciations and snuggles.  Her current state is so present in my mind.  I don't ever imagine her as a teenager or as an adult -- she fills up my brain so much as she is right now, it usually doesn't occur to me. And she is going through such a mama-love stage.  She constantly hugs me and kisses me and folds her crazy long legs into my lap so I can read to her.  She and I will snuggle in bed, and she will rub her hand on my cheek, like she just wants to be sure of me.

I know this is going to sound weird, but sometimes I forget that she looks to me, and loves me, the way I love my own mother.  Which is to say, with such enormity that it can be overwhelming.  I talk to my mother almost every day, and on days when I don't or can't because she's traveling overseas or something, I instinctively reach for the phone 5 times a day before remembering I'll have to wait.  She is the one I want to tell everything to, and share everything with.  Hers is the advice and approval I seek out more than anyone else's.  Or the one that I want to just shoot the shit with, because she's fun to talk to.

When I think about the fact that I am that person for my own children, the sense of responsibility I feel scares me sometimes.  And it makes me love them all the more.

Watching the movie, I saw in my head the similar scene that I had with my own mother when I went to college at UVa and had to say goodbye to her, when she and my dad were still living in India.  I sobbed when she left, and missed her so desperately (and back then, there was no Skype or Vonage or cheap international calling plans, or even email -- we wrote snail-mail letters, and when I talked to my parents on the phone, it was a crackly connection and it cost me a fortune, so the huge distance felt HUGE).  And I started to cry thinking about it, knowing that I would be in that situation again, only on the other side, saying goodbye to my baby girl as she goes out to start her grown-up life.

There is still a long time before that will happen.  And of course I want my children to grow up and go out on their own and be independent.  But thinking about it makes me feel old and sad.

I need to get some sleep.

Keeping the dream alive

Zeke has had a wiggly front tooth for at least a month.  It got aggressively wigglier this past week, and because he knows it totally grosses me out, he's made a point of constantly showing me how it's just hanging by a thread.  LOOK MAMA NO REALLY LOOK DOES THIS FREAK YOU OUT IT DOESN'T WELL HOW ABOUT THIS NO REALLY LOOK!!

See?  See, Mama?  NO REALLY, LOOK!

For fuck's sake. 

A number of friends made suggestions along the lines of dental-floss-and-a-doorknob, which is seriously disgusting.  And thankfully, not necessary.  The tooth came out at school yesterday, all on its own (or at least, unassisted by me, which is the important thing).  They even gave him a cute little tooth-shaped box to bring it home in.

I was all set to play tooth fairy, which Zeke still believes in.  He decided that he wanted to sleep on the floor of my bedroom in a sleeping bag.  I was a little nervous, because I feared that if he just put it on the floor, it would get shoved around during the night and thus be difficult to locate and remove without waking him.  Then he said he was going to put it in his Stuffie (a big stuffed hippo that has numerous zip pockets).  I encouraged this, as it would make the tooth location/money provision process much simpler.

But then when I checked at around 4:30 in the morning, the tooth wasn't in the hippo.  Knowing that if I started trying to rummage around under the sleeping bag (with him in it), he'd wake up, I just shoved a dollar in the hippo's mouth, zipped it up, and went back to bed.

When Zeke woke up, he asked, "did the tooth fairy come?"

He reached under the sleeping bag and found the little tooth box.  His head immediately dropped to his chest and his lower lip started trembling as if a cartoonist had been asked to draw a picture of "little boy, utterly dejected." 

"Hey!" I said, "why don't you check the Stuffie?  Maybe the tooth fairy put your money in there so it would be easier to find?"

He unzipped the hippo's mouth and found the dollar.  "Look, Mama!"

"See?"

Meanwhile, I took the little tooth box and opened it, letting the tooth slide into one hand.  With the other, I held out the box.  "Zeke, she did get your tooth!  The tooth box is empty!"

He smiled and said, "huh!  How about that?"

Someday, I'll have to tell him this story, if for no other reason that to instruct him on how to lie effectively to his own children.

Beachy thoughts, and the preparation for the real thing

While my East Coast peeps are freezing their booties off in the aftermath of Winter Storm Janus (when did we start naming storms that didn't have the potential to turn into hurricanes?), we've actually had a relatively mild January so far.  It snowed a few inches last night and is very cold today, but it's going to be 60F tomorrow, so it's hard to complain.  We've had some good ski days, and Zeke can now ski with us, so I've had a blast taking him up on the slopes.  He hoots and hollers and sings to himself and shakes his butt because he's so happy.

But I'm still thinking about the beach.

We are going to Nicaragua for the kids' spring break, and we finished making the final arrangements a couple of weeks ago (car rental, passport applications, that sort of thing).   We'll be in a house right on the beach, plus the house has a pool, so there will be swimming and sunning and surfing and sightseeing.  The little town we'll be in, San Juan del Sur, isn't too far from Lake Nicaragua, which is this ginormous lake that has sharks. Apparently the sharks are aggressive, so no one swims in the lake  (I won't be telling Zeke about this, because then I'll be fielding non-stop questions about whether the sharks will come into the pool or house*).

I seriously cannot wait (for the beach, not for questions about fresh-water sharks making it into the house).  It is so nice to have days that are unstructured, but which naturally fall into a lovely, gentle rhythm of leisurely meals and sitting on the beach and swimming and surfing and reading books and relaxing.

And J and I will be ready.  We have been doing P90X3 with a challenge group - we are only in week 3 and folks are already losing pounds and inches.  One challenger lost 8 pounds the first week, and reports that her clothes are loser and she's feeling leaner and firmer.  Others are reporting gains in strength and flexibility and energy.  As for me, I've been eating really well (doing "slow carb," which works for me better than anything else) and sticking to the workouts, and while I don't know what I weigh (our scale's batteries died and I never bothered to replace them), I've been taking measurements and I'm already down an inch in my waist and my pants are much looser than they were three weeks ago.

Plus, it's hard to argue with 30 minute workouts.  As with Focus T25 (the last program I did, which features 25 minute workouts), even when you really don't feel like working out, you think, "it's only 25 or 30 minutes, suck it up and start and it'll be over before you know it."  And they're actually fun, so once you get going, it's great (and then it's over).  If you want to hear more about the programs or the challenge group format (I've got new ones starting every month), let me know.  You won't be sorry.

Aaaanyway... the beach.  We go in late March for a week, and then April will be hectic between my brother Sam's wedding and a big conference at work, and then it's May and I've got another India reunion and then a legal conference in Florida and then it's the end of school and summer starts and we'll do some camping and hiking and then it's July and we go to the beach again for our annual family trip.

Beach trips are the best.  My kids have the best time -- they are so happy and they spend all day getting sun and exercise and playing until they collapse from happy exhaustion.  And the adults have the best time as well.  Just hanging out and having fun with no sense of urgency.  It's totally rejuvenating.

From last year's July beach trip to New Hampshire.  the end of a long, happy day.

In the dead of winter, it's so important to have breaks planned.  Particularly if those breaks are at the beach.



*Seriously, it never ends.  Last night the kids decided to sleep in their sleeping bags in the playroom/workout room, but only made it about 30 minutes before climbing into my bed because they heard noises and naturally, assumed it was dinosaurs.

Tree, meet acorn

Even as a kid, I had little tolerance for what I perceived to be people talking down to me, or for wussiness or bullshit.  I used to yell at my Tubby the Tuba record because I thought Tubby was exasperatingly little sissy.

My mother would walk by my bedroom door when I was listening, and hear me yell, "oh, Tubby, you fat little tuba!"

I was hyper-rational, never believing in monsters or Santa or the tooth fairy.  I played along when I was little, but deep down it wouldn't have occurred to me to think they were real.

I get frustrated with Zeke sometimes, because as bold and assertive as he is, he believes in and worries about EVERYTHING.  Any bad thing that he hears about or learns about, he obsesses about all of the various ways that bad thing could impact him (or Katy Perry -- when the terrible flooding hit Colorado in September, after seeking reassurance that our house wouldn't be swept away, his next worry was that Katy Perry's house would be hit.  I assured him that Katy would be OK because she doesn't live in Colorado).  I am the opposite.  I will take reasonable caution in a situation, but I generally don't assume the worst and I don't worry much about awful things happening.

I guess at Zeke's school they were talking about rattlesnakes one day as part of some science discussion, and Zeke grilled me for an hour that night about whether rattlesnakes were going to somehow slip into our house and eat him.

"Honey, there aren't rattlesnakes in Denver.  Rattlesnakes live in the desert, not in Congress Park."*

"But what about other snakes?  What other poisonous snakes are there that are around here."

"J, you wanna take this one?"

And he's all too susceptible to the suggestions of his friend Shaun, who apparently spends his days regaling Zeke with stories of monsters and vampires.

"Mama, can vampires get in our house?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

"Because there's no such thing as vampires."

"But Shaun says there are!"

"Who's smarter, me or Shaun?"

"You?"

"Yep.  And I always will be.  Stop listening to that little punk."

Josie, however, is immune to the nonsense.

"I'm not afraid of monsters or vampires, Mama," she'll say in a superior voice, nose in the air, and basically accusing Zeke, to his face, of being a complete pussy.  "I'm not afraid of anything."  (And she really isn't.)

"Good.  You shouldn't be.  And don't taunt your brother.  Nobody likes a show off."

Last night I was sitting in bed reading Doris Kearns Goodwin's new book about Teddy Roosevelt, William Howard Taft, and the rise of the progressive movement.  The kids were sitting on the sofa in our bedroom, watching The Goodnight Show, a kids show on PBS involving a young woman named Nina and her friend Star, who is a star-shaped puppet.  Together they watch kids' cartoons, play games and get ready for bed. One of the games they play is a matching game.

The matching game drives Josie insane, because the version they play is so simplistic and babyish that basically you'd need to be unconscious not to be able to figure it out.

As I'm reading, I'm interrupted by the dulcet tones of my youngest, berating Nina and Star.

"OF COURSE IT'S THE STUPID GONDOLA, YOU DUMMY!  GONDOLAS GO ON WATER, STUPID!  THIS IS SO DUMB.  STUPID LINA AND STAR!  THE GONDOLA GOES ON THE WATER! JERKS!"

"Josie?"

"Yes, Mama?" she responds, sweetly.

"Is everything OK?  What's going on?"

"Nothing, Mama.  Just watching The Goodnight Show.  Love you, Mama."

"Love you too, sweet pea."

That's my girl.
_______________________________________________
*I have absolutely no basis for saying this.  I have no idea if rattlesnakes can be found anywhere in Denver.  But I'm certainly not going to tell Zeke that, nor am I going to worry about it.

A is for "nipple," and other updates

Even though I don't really use this space as a daily diary -- obviously, given the paucity of posts this year -- I love going back and reading about things that happened last year or the year before or in 2006.  So when I don't post, I feel bad, not because I'm depriving the world of my brilliant musings, but because I'm depriving myself of an important took I use for tripping down memory lane.  And I'm a nostalgic kinda chick.  One of the reasons I love reunions so much (and why they make me so emotional) is that I've known so many wonderful people and experienced so many wonderful experiences and lived in so many wonderful places, and I have an overwhelming desire to remember it all and keep it with me, in my heart and my brain, as much as possible.

It's been a difficult, busy few months.

The good news is, I'm still alive and functioning (mostly).
I managed to shake off the depression that had been hanging around since September.  It sapped my productivity and my motivation -- I haven't been exercising as regularly or eating as well as I should, which has exacerbated feeling down and sluggish.  It's so stupid -- I am so obviously aware of how exercise and healthy eating contribute to my mental health, and yet when I need it the most, I can't make myself do it. Drives me nuts.

On the "what's going on with my brain" front, I had an MRI last week.  It was very noisy, but otherwise unremarkable.  I'm still awaiting the results.

In any event, I am getting back on track.  P90X3 was just released (get amazing results in only 30 minutes a day!) and I'm going to be doing it post-New Year's with a great group of people.  So I can get ripped again just in time for spring break in Nicaragua.  Cannot wait.

The bad news is sad.
J's dad died last week.  He had been sick for years, but took a bad turn when he had a stroke about a month ago.  He was in hospital and his condition was deteriorating.  We were in Virginia visiting my parents for Thanksgiving, checking in with the Aussie relatives the whole time.  When we returned, we received a middle-of-the-night call from J's brother, letting us know that the doctors didn't think there was much time left, and that if anyone needed to come to Australia to say their final goodbyes, it needed to happen ASAP.  So we got on the phone and got a flight departing the following night.  J was able to spend precious last days telling his dad everything he wanted to tell him - how much he loved him, how much he looked up to him.  He also got precious time with his brothers and sister, and they were all able to lean on each other.

Denis died on Tuesday, December 10 (the day after our 8th wedding anniversary).  J said that his dad told him that he was ready to die, and that he looked more peaceful in death than he did in his final days alive.  I know he had been unhappy and uncomfortable for a long time.  I'm glad his suffering is over.

But of course, it's hard for J.  As much as we can acknowledge that it was time, it's still his dad.  Denis was a good man and a loving father.  And in all honestly, he was the only parental figure from J's childhood that ever did right by him -- the others were either useless or downright abusive.  (And if any of J's family is reading this, sorry, but it's true.  Believe me, I'm the one cleaning up the resulting emotional/psychological mess they made.)  So J is grieving, and the kids and I are doing our best to give him TLC.  Life goes on.

In other news, my kids are crazy and hilarious and fun.
Winter is upon us, which means it's ski season.  Zeke started ski camp a couple of weeks ago (it's 3 Saturdays in a row), and he LOVES IT.  The first day they stayed on a tiny little hill with an incline of maybe 2 degrees, going up and down via a magic carpet.  When I picked him up at the end of the day, he insisted on showing me how he was able to jump on his skis.  So we went over to the little beginner area and he skied down the hill, stopped half-way down, jumped in place on his skis, and then came down the rest of the way.

Zeke tears up the slopes.

Last Saturday they learned to use the rope tow to go up a slightly longer run that had some curves and terrain (little jumps) built in.  He mastered that, so I took him on his very first chair lift, to the top of a short green run.  He got off the lift perfectly, pointed his skis downhill, and whooped and hollered as he skied down.  So much fun.

Josie is a sassy little thing, and getting so smart and mischievous.  Whenever we're in the car, Zeke likes to play an alphabet game, where we pick a letter and then say words that start with that letter.  Josie can play, but she mostly likes to crack everyone up by coming up with some random word that starts with a different letter.

Zeke:  Let's do "M."
Me:  OK.  Machine.
J:  Macho!
Zeke: Motorcycle!
Josie: Mama!
Me: Monkey.
Josie: Apple!

And everybody cracks up.

We finally decided that when Josie uses a word that starts with a different letter, then the different letter is now the letter we have to use.

Josie:  Apple!
J:  OK, now we're on "A."
Zeke: Allosaur! (he just watched a documentary about allosaurs)
Me: Aardvark!
Zeke: America!
J: Africa!
Josie: Nipple!

And everybody cracks up.

'Tis the season to get some rest.
I'm tired.  J was gone for almost two weeks, and while my kids are crazy and hilarious and fun, they're also exhausting.  Between the logistics of being the one to do morning drop-off and afternoon pick-up and dinner and bath and play-time and bed and ski camp and laundry and on and on, I could use an extremely long nap.  So the Christmas break comes just in time.  I will be on leave from Monday, the 23rd, through January 1st.  I'll do some baking and we'll open presents from Santa and we'll ski and sled and watch movies and go to museums.  And, I'm hoping, get some sleep.

Many, many straws piling upon my back

About two weeks ago, I was sitting in my office talking to one of my coworkers when all of a sudden I realized I was speaking in fits and starts because for the life of me, I could not retrieve the words I wanted to say.  I stopped to gather my thoughts and then tried to speak again, but again tried to say a word, but again it was the wrong word and I stopped again.  At the same time, I had this sort of tingly feeling in my head and my upper body -- kind of like the cold flush you get when you start to feel panicky.  I kept trying to find the words, kept failing, kept stopping.  Finally, much to my (and my coworker's relief), after about 25 seconds the fog cleared and my brain started to work again.  I was a little freaked out, but otherwise felt normal.

I assumed it was dehydration or something similar.  I drank a bunch of water, and started keeping a big pitcher on my desk, so that I would be better at making sure I was having enough.  It's dry in these parts, and I often feel like I don't remember to drink as much water as I should.

Then last weekend it happened again.  It was Saturday night, and we some friends were over to eat, watch a movie, and most importantly, coordinate the purchase of our plane tickets to Nicaragua, where we're going for the kids' spring break. I was in the middle of a conversation when I felt my brain fog up, my body start to tingle, and I couldn't find the words to continue the conversation for about 25 seconds.

I worried that I was having little mini strokes.  I googled the symptoms, but I haven't had any numbness or vision issues, so I figured that was unlikely.  Then I thought about my cousin Simon, who was arguing a case in court one day and suddenly found himself unable to speak or continue making his argument.  He was dead two years later of a brain tumor.

Also, these episodes have come during a time when I constantly feel exhausted, constantly have a low grade (at least) headache, constantly feel like I can't focus or stay on task the way I'm usually able to. I had been chalked it up to a bout of depression that has been going on for almost two months -- it hasn't been severe, but it's been enough that I've felt extremely disrupted by it, particularly because it's lasted much longer than usual.

I went to the doctor on Wednesday, first to see my GP.  She gave me a neurological exam and asked me a bunch of question, and also ordered a series of blood tests, looking at everything from my folate levels to my thyroid to my blood sugar and cholesterol. 

When I got home, I developed a crushing headache, about as painful a headache as I've ever had (I've never been one to get bad headaches).  I took a bunch of ibuprofen, and while I was waiting for it to work, suddenly noticed this fuzzy cloud of grey in my peripheral vision on my right side.  I kept glancing over to my right because I had a sense that something was moving over there, but it was the grey fuzzy cloud. 

Then at one point, I went into the kitchen and put both hands on the counter in front of me, with my forearms parallel to each other.  I then focused on a midpoint about 8 inches in front of my hands.  I could see my left hand in my peripheral vision, but I couldn't see my right hand at all (I could see it if I looked directly at it, but not when I looked at the focal point).  Once it passed a line about 20 degrees off the midpoint, it just disappeared. 

a crude rendition, looking down at the top of my head,
 of how I was standing, where my hands were, and where I was looking

The fuzziness/peripheral vision weirdness continued yesterday morning.  I noticed it as I was getting the kids ready for school, and then when I was walking from the bus to my office building.  There was a man walking in front of my and slightly to my right, and when he passed the 20 degree point, he disappeared.

To top it off, my blood work came back.  Everything was fine except for my blood sugar, which was high, especially considering my lifestyle.  I have been described as "prediabetic," and told I need to go in to talk about treatment options, which is probably going to be similar to what I had to do when I was pregnant with Josie -- regular testing of my blood sugar, and a highly restrictive diet.

 I have to go in for a fasting blood draw tomorrow so they can test my cholesterol, which I fully anticipate will come back high, since it runs in my family. 

I've also had my info reviewed by the neurology department at Kaiser.  They want me to do an MRI and an EEG.

Needless to say, I'm a little freaked.

But now I am six, I'm as clever as clever.*

After I finished my workout this morning, I tip-toed into the kids' room to wake them up.  Both were asleep in Zeke's bed, snuggled up with their arms around each other.

"Good morning, kiddies," I whispered.  I rubbed their backs.  "Josie... Zekey... Good morning.  Happy birthday, Zeke."

Zeke rolled over, opened his eyes a little, and smiled at me as he stretched the sleep away.

"It's your birthday!  Happy birthday, honey."

"Thanks, Mama."

He put his head on Josie's shoulder and kissed her cheek.  "Josie, are you ready to get up?"

Her eyes were still closed and she shook her head.

"Zekey, let's go downstairs and you can open your present.  If Josie wants to sleep a little more, we can get her up in a little while."

Zeke popped up and jumped out of his bed onto the floor.  His bed is a low loft, so it's a jump of about 4 feet.  He landed and said, "yep, six-year-olds are tough."

We proceeded to go downstairs.  I was going to give him his present (a skateboard and a new helmet), but he said, "Mama, let's wait until this afternoon, so Daddy can see it, too."

We had birthday doughnuts for breakfast, I picked out all green clothes for him to wear (it's his favorite color), and he happened to have a field trip for school today, at which he claims he will have a ride on a roller coaster.

It's good to be Zeke.  As my mom said, "his life is firing on all cylinders these days."

It's really true.  He's learning to read, and digs it.  He loves encyclopedia-type books -- when my parents were visiting, they got him a kids' encyclopedia book about animals, and he sits and reads it for hours.  I'll sit with him at bedtime and we'll learn about mammals and birds and primates and different kinds of bats and big cats and insect eaters.

He loves to be outside, and is allowed to go out by himself to ride his bike in the neighborhood.  He LOVES it.  He loves riding, he loves stopping at friends' houses for a visit, he loves getting exercise.

The other day he found his Batman costume (from Halloween last year), put it on, and went for a bike ride.  I couldn't stop laughing as I watched a little mini-Batman (wearing a bike helmet, natch) ride off down the sidewalk.

He loves to go hiking.  He loves to go camping. He's good at rock climbing.  He loves to go to the science museum and the children's museum and the zoo.  He has tons of friends.  He's doing great at school.  He's excited about having lost a couple of teeth.  He's a great athlete, strong and coordinated.  He started taking drum lessons about 5 or 6 months ago, and it turns out he's a natural -- his teacher raves about how he's never seen a kid his age pick it up so quickly and easily.

Sometimes I worry about him.  I worry that it's not good to go through life having everything come to you so easily.  To be handsome and healthy and fit and charming and smart and a good athlete and on and on.  To be good at almost all the things you like to do, almost immediately.  Adversity and challenge build character.  So I try to praise him for his efforts, rather than for being good-looking or smart.  He gets bigger kudos from me when he's kind to his sister or when he behaves himself at school than when he brings home schoolwork that is noteworthy.  I push him to try hard and stick up for people that are having a rough time, because I don't want him to go through life thinking he's such hot shit all the time that he doesn't need to make an effort or be a mensch.

But as far as I can see, he is a mensch.  His approach toward the world, and the people in it, is benevolent.  He's a happy kid, and he radiates that happiness out onto everyone he encounters.

For today, on his birthday, he gets to be King of the World.

______________
Thanks to my friend Vicki, for reminding me of this A.A. Milne poem:

When I was One,
I had just begun.
When I was Two,
I was nearly new.
When I was Three
I was hardly me.
When I was Four,
I was not much more.
When I was Five,
I was just alive.
But now I am Six,
I'm as clever as clever,
So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.

Sunrise

"Mama, it's not daytime,"  Josie insists.

I have just crawled back into bed -- my bed -- with Josie and Zeke, where they are cuddled up together.

"It's time to get up, kiddies."

"Noooo, it's still dark out.  How can it be daytime if it's still dark out?"

"Well, it's fall now, and soon it will be winter.  When it's fall and winter, the days are shorter, and it stays dark longer."

Josie sits up and looks out the window.  "Look, Zekey!  Look!!"

Zeke sits up.  "Oooooh, the sky is turning pink!"

"I know!  Isn't it beautiful?  Look, Mama!  Pink sky!  It's very beautiful."

Then they lie back down, each with their head on my shoulder.  I hug them close and kiss them on the tops of their heads.

"Mrawr.  Mama, I'm a baby tiger," Josie says.

"Me, too," says Zeke.

They both start talking baby talk, cooing and nuzzling up against me.

"Good little tigers," I say.

I think about how sweet they both are, and how I should appreciate the fact that they still love hugs and snuggles and cuddles.  And one day they won't.

"Mama, did you know that bats are nocturnal?"  Zeke asks.

"I did know that."

"Nocturnal means they sleep during the day."

"Yep.  Very good!"

Zeke sits up.

"Look, Josie! Look at the sky now!"

"Wow!  It's pink and purple now!  Mama, pink and purple are my favorite colors!"

"I know, honey," I respond.  "What a beautiful sky."

Josie looks over at Zeke.  "Zekey, lift up your arms."

He gives her an amused look.  "Why?"

"Just lift up your arms."

"Okay."

He lifts up his arms.  Josie wiggles her finger into his armpit and giggles.  "Pit potatoes!  I'm pulling out your pit potatoes."

Zeke laughs, giving her a look like she's the cutest little thing in the world.  Then he turns around and sits facing us.

"Mama, am I going to be hairy when I grow up?"

"Probably."

"Why?"

"Well, you've got the skin and hair from my side of the family, and the men in my family are pretty hairy."

"Will I be hairy like Sam and Josh?  Will I have hair on my chest?"

"Yes, I think so."

"My legs are already pretty hairy.  Feel them!"

I rub my hands on his legs, chuckling to myself.

"Mama?"

"Yes, Josie."

"I love you."

"Me, too, Mama!  I love you!"  Zeke adds.

"I love you, too.  I love you both very much."

Josie sits up and looks at the sky again.

"Aaaaaaand it's blue."

We get up and get ready for the day.