Unemployment mutes my keyboard, largely because I haven't been near it

So, I haven't been here for about a week. Not sure why, but I just felt internet-ally quiet. Didn't feel like coming up with funny stories about my day, or even like booting up my computer. Mostly I've been enjoying being un(der)employed in Hawaii. I figure if I'm ever unemployed again (and God willing, I won't be), it won't be on a tropical island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I've been doing alot of surfing with my similarly un(der)employed husband, hanging out with my baby, and hanging out with my friends that came to visit last weekend.

In fact, I've discovered that it's really fun to live here if you can act like you're on vacation all the time.

Being with Kathleen and Michele turned me into something of a tourist. Friday we went up to the North Shore to check out a surf competition, one of the legs of the Triple Crown of Surfing that was being held in Hale'iwa. We hung out on the beach and watched awesome surfers rip up the waves. Part of the attraction was the waves themselves. The day before we were there, a huge swell and come in from the north, and the waves on the North Shore were 22 feet (yes, you read that right). By the time we got there, the swell had dropped off some, but the waves were still pretty impressive, about 6-8 feet and perfectly formed.

The scene at a surf competition. Usually there are more people, but these were the early rounds and it was a bit cloudy. All the pros hang out under that white tent. Saw a bunch of famous surfers.

With the girls on the beach. We're trying to download a YouTube video of some guy kite-surfing into a whale's tail.

(I don't know who this is, but this is one of the competitors executing a nice snap-turn off the top of the wave.)

After the surf competition, we went into Hale'iwa to get shave ice at the world famous (sez them) Matsumoto's. This is something I had never done before in almost two years of living here. But I'm a tourist now. It's what we do.

(I had root beer and vanilla ice over vanilla ice cream.)

We spent the rest of the weekend going to the swap meet to buy souvenirs and trying to get rain-free beach time. It's been uncharacteristically rainy, and it seemed like every time we hit the beach, it would start out sunny but then clouds would roll in and it would get windy, cold and rainy. The last day they were here, we ended up huddling under an umbrella at Makaha Beach. It would be sunny, and then rain would roll in from the mountains behind us. Then it would stop and the sun would come out, and we would feel like we had dodged a bullet. Then 5 minutes later the clouds would roll in again. This happened 3 times before we finally packed up our soggy towels and left.

(That grey mist behind us is heading in our direction. I'm huddled under a towel, freezing. And I'm thinking, "I live here. I don't need to sit on the beach in the rain. I can go to the beach whenever I want. Why am I doing this?" But the tourist mind-set had me trapped.)

I actually had some work to do two days ago, so I didn't get to surf. But yesterday Jason and I went up to watch some of the later rounds of the Triple Crown competition, which was still going on (the waves had died out early in the week, so they postponed the comp until another swell came in). We watched a couple of heats and then went to a nearby break to catch some waves ourselves. The waves were about shoulder high and really fun.

Then we went to get Zeke from daycare before heading home. One the way we saw this:

(Note the poor dogs having to hang out under a giant boar carcass. Blech.)

Only in Hawaii, folks.

A moment

Yesterday, for the first time, Zeke and I went for a walk together. Not just me shadowing him while he toddled around our street (we live on a dead-end, so there is much toddling about by little munchkins, and it's all very safe), but the two of us heading down the street and out into the neighborhood, side by side.

Some babies, when they figure out how to walk, aren't all that into it. They get to the point where they can take a few steps, but it's hard to put many steps together with coordination, so they'll continue to crawl for awhile, because it's just easier.

Not Zeke.

This is a child that likes to move. And as soon as he figured out how to take steps, he kept practicing, no matter how often or how hard he fell, until he could truly walk.

And now he's figuring out how to run, sort of. He's not fast, but everywhere he goes, he seems to be half-trotting.

Anyway. So yesterday, he's totally chuffed about being on a walk with Mommy. He's trotting along beside me, stopping occasionally to check out a flower or a stick or to point to an airplane with his chubby fingers and say something resembling, "what's that?"

We walk to the end of the street, and we get to the big cross street. And I'm happy to let him roam around on our little dead end, but I have to draw the line when we get to the street where there are cars, many driven by punky-looking teenagers that have looks on their faces that I want to slap off, even though I don't even know them.

Jesus, I'm getting to be an old fart.

So I look down at Zeke and reach my hand down toward him and say, "baby, you need to hold Mommy's hand when we cross the big street."

I don't think he understands me. I assume that I'll say the words, but that then I will reach down and simply take his hand.

But before I have a chance to do that, he reaches his hand up and takes hold of my fingers. And my heart skips a beat. I can't even deal with how much I love him or how adorable I think he is.

We walk across the street, and even when we've reached the sidewalk, he continues holding onto my hand for a little bit. At one point, he looks up at me and smiles, and I look down at him and smile, and we walk for awhile, holding hands and looking at each other and grinning like a couple of goofballs.

And I know, immediately, that this moment will stick with me for the rest of my life.

Aussie Word of the Day: Unemployment Edition

Aussies tend to abbreviate everything. No frequently used word remains intact for long. The two main forms of diminution are by shortening the word and then tacking "-ie" or "-o" on the end. Thus, "afternoon" becomes "arvo." "Petrol" becomes "pettie." "Beverage" becomes "bevvie." Jason's brother Dean becomes "Dean-o." "Sunglasses" becomes "sunnies."

My favorite of these is "smoke-o," short for "smoke break."* Smoke-o falls at about 11 in the morning, between breakfast and lunch. For those that don't smoke, it can be used for morning tea or a snack. When Jason was working, he would call me every day during smoke-o to say hello. In fact, he set an alarm on his watch to remind himself.

This morning Jason and I went for a surf after dropping Zeke off at daycare. There's a nice swell coming in from the northwest, so we decided to head up north and hit one of our favorite breaks. The waves were nice and clean, about 3-4 feet, with an offshore breeze. There was a good 5-10 minutes in between sets, so we tended to bob around on our boards waiting for the waves to come.

A side view of the wave

During one of the lulls, I looked out at the waves just in time to see, about 50 yards away from me, a dolphin jump out of the water and spin around before diving back in. There was a huge pod swimming and playing, and the younger ones were showing off to each other, flying out of the water and flipping around. Then out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of a giant turtle surfacing not to far from where I was sitting. He poked his head up, looked at me for a couple of seconds, and then went back under and swam away.

There's something so magical about being out in the ocean and encountering beautiful sea creatures willing to share their habitat. And it was a gorgeous day, sunny, not too hot, not too cool, blue skies. I may not love living in Hawaii, but on days like today, it's hard to beat. There
are certainly worse places to be unemployed (or under-employed).

So there we were, enjoying the day. I caught a bunch of really great waves, including one that was about as perfect a ride as I've ever been able to produce. As I was paddling back out to the line-up, I heard Jason's watch beep.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Smoke-o!" Jason laughed.

"Well, thank God. I certainly need a break from all this...perfection."

_____________
*For full Aussie effect, say the word with as nasal a voice as possible, and pronounce it "SMAU-kau."

Turning lemons into lemonade, or, My husband really missed his calling as a lawyer

Let me start by saying that if you're horrified by bathroom humor, and specifically, discussion of farts, this is not the post for you. Elizabeth, I'm talking to you, dearest.

For the rest of you, and particularly those of you who know me well, it's no secret that ours is a farty household. If there were some kind of Seven Wonders of the Bowel World, Jason's innards would easily claim a spot in the pantheon. The man eats more than anyone I've ever met in my life (yet he's still got a hot bod -- god bless him) and consumes combinations of food that would fell the heartiest of constitutions -- sandwiches consisting of creamed corn, onions marinated in italian dressing, huge slabs of cheese, and canned salmon, for example. He puts hot sauce on everything he eats (except my chicken piccata). He drinks alot of milk. He puts away copious quantities of bread.

And the results are predictable. He's got gas like no one I've ever encountered. And I grew up in a family of farters, so I'm not a shrinking violet when it comes to flatulence.

His farts are one of the few things we ever argue about. He'll let one fly, and it will smell horrible, and I will say, "Jesus, couldn't you leave the room or something?" and he'll say, "I didn't realize it was going to smell." Which sends me into orbit. "Really? You didn't think it would smell? Based on what, exactly? What precedent has ever been set for a non-smelly fart coming out of your ass?"

I don't mean to imply that I'm ever blameless in a similar scenario. Jason has even complemented me on the trumpet-like timbre of my farts. "They sound exactly like the ideal fart should sound like, baby!" And mine can be stinky on occasion.

Anyway, I've gotten to the point that I just don't feel like arguing about it anymore. I love my husband, smelly ass and all, and I don't want to spend my life having the same argument until one of us dies.

So we've settled into something of an uneasy truce. Jason makes an effort to step away from me when he has to pass gas, and I try to do the same. If we slip up and can't get out of the room in time, the other covers his or her nose and we try to laugh it off.

But I think I'm getting too lenient.

Last night we were watching TV, and Jason farted a couple of times, loudly. They didn't smell too bad, so I didn't say anything. Then I farted a little while later.

"Nice one, babe."

"Thanks, honey."

Silence for awhile. Then he farts again.

"I'm killing you, you know," he says, grinning proudly. "I'm up on you, like, 3 to 1 at this point."

I roll my eyes. "I didn't realize we were in competition." And then I fart, just for good measure. "3 to 2."

We turn our attention back to Friday Night Lights.

And suddenly, it dawns on me. He's turned the tables on me. By making it a competition, he's changed the rules so that the more he farts, the more he wins.

I quickly put an end to the game. But a part of me respects his ingenuity for slyly working it into our discourse, and almost getting me to buy into it.

Almost.

Yes We Can

When we lived overseas when I was growing up, my mom was a consular officer. Meaning she worked in the visa section of the embassy, reviewing and determining the applications of people who wanted to come to the United States to work or live or whatever. I'd go visit her at her office after school sometimes, and on my way through the security checkpoint into the embassy I'd pass huge long lines of people whose biggest dream was to come to America. And it made me feel proud and blessed to have been born a citizen of this wonderful country that so many people around the world wanted to be a part of.

The past eight years have been tough for me, as they have been for many. I love my country, and it's been difficult to see the values upon which she was founded -- due process, equality, open government -- be stomped on by Bush et al. As a lawyer and constitutional law geek, I always marvel at the deliberateness with which the United States was created -- no other country in history was formed for the specific purpose of establishing a particular kind of government, and one which was to be by the people, for the people, and of the people. So when Bush used the war on terror and whatever else was on his agenda as an excuse to bypass constitutional protections like habeas corpus and the Fourth Amendment, I cringed when the proffered excuse was, "these are bad people! They want to kill us! It's different this time."

Because my feeling is and has always been, it can't be different. That's the point of this country. We are a nation of laws, not of men, and if we simply cast aside our principles whenever the going gets rough, then we've betrayed everything we are supposed to stand for. The whole point of the Bill of Rights is that it is precisely when the going gets rough that we have to dig in and stick to our ideals. Otherwise, why bother? If these are fleeting principles, then what are we fighting for? What are our soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan dying for?

So last night was huge, on so many levels. I feel like we're getting the country back from a bunch of hooligans who have been disrespecting her for 8 years. I admire and respect Obama's intelligence, temperament, and attitude, and I feel he has the potential to be truly great.

And then there's the incredible history of it. As I looked at the faces of people like Jesse Jackson, with tears running down his cheeks, and the students of Spelman College, celebrating wildly, and John Lewis, who worked and marched with Dr. King, I was overcome with emotion and wonder. What must this be like for them? As much as the promise of America feels reborn to me, it must feel like that a hundred times more so to them.

There are enormous obstacles before our country. The economy, health care, energy, Iraq and Afghanistan (not to mention Russia, Iran, North Korea, etc. etc.). But I feel like we've taken a step toward regaining our place in the world, and we have a leader who will inspire us to work hard and tackle our problems and do it in a way that is inclusive rather than divisive.

Yes we can.

Sam Cooke's "Change Is Gonna Come." Obama referenced the theme early in his speech last night. It's a gorgous song, and Cooke's voice makes me ache in its clarity and emotion.

Temper temper

Zeke is starting to show more personality these days. More individuality, to be more precise. A distinct preference for certain things over others, a certain cheekiness as he learns and understands the meaning of the word "no," but is determined to test the limits of its power over him.

It is fascinating to observe, from a human development perspective, but also terrifying, from a parenting perspective.

Because for the first time in his young life, our wills are beginning to clash, and the force of his reaction when he doesn't get what he wants has been a bit horrifying. Up to now, he has been malleable -- a generally agreeable quasi-person who was subject to my will and who didn't fuss much unless he was hungry or tired or uncomfortable. Fussing was a way of communication, really, so it was an essential part of his existence because it was the only way he could tell me when he really needed to be fed or when he was ready for a nap or when his mouth hurt from teething.

And then he discovered the button to turn the TV on and off. And apparently, buttons are fun! Pushing buttons -- yay!! And he discovered playing in the toilet -- whee!! Fun for dropping things, like mommy's new cell phone, into the water.

But I'm no dummy. I watch Nanny 911. I know that one of the keys to good parenting (other than showering your kid with love and affection) is maintaining a calm and consistent firmness. Neither Jason nor I ever yell at him (or even around him) or are harsh with him. When he's melting down at night and it's clear he's exhausted and needs to go to bed, I put him in his crib, give him a kiss, tell him I love him and say, "it's time for night-night, baby." And generally, as soon as I leave the room, he stops crying, lies down, and goes to sleep.

But the button thing apparently has a powerful lure, as does the toilet. When I see him head toward the bathroom, I walk quickly past him -- and he tries to speed up to keep pace -- and close the door. And he gets to the door, bangs his fists against it, and collapses on the floor, crying inconsolably. Like, lying on the ground, head in hands, wailing.

Same with the TV button. When he heads for it, I block his path, put my hand over the button, and say "no" in a firm voice. And he cries and screams and tries to pull my hand away. The way he carries on, you'd think he was being beaten.

Eventually, I'm able to distract him with a different toy or by bouncing the ball or piling up the blocks so that he can knock them down. And he stops crying and walks over to me and throws his arms around my neck and gives me a hug.

Sometimes, when he's hugging me, he puts his mouth on my shoulder and gives me a little bite.

I'm not sure if it's a misplaced attempt at a loving kiss, or a warning.

Update

So much is happening, it's been hard been write about any of it. Not because I'm shy, but because I've been so nervous and anxious that it's like I'm communicationally constipated, if that makes any sense.

Halloween was fun. We dressed Zeke up as a University of Virginia football player. I made him a little jersey with his name on the back, made some shoulder pads out of pieces of foam, and used black lipstick on his cheeks. He was outrageously cute, and quite pleased with his costume.

His school has a little trick or treating outing for the kids, and when we showed up for it, he was giddily running around the room, flirting insanely with everyone he encountered. He hated the actual trick-or-treating -- all he wanted to do was run out into the street. And it's not like he's allowed to eat candy.

That night Jason and I went on a date to this cool Mexican restaurant up on the west side of the island. It's the side of the island that's really trashy and full of homeless people, so people were quite surprised at our choice of outing, but the restaurant was great. Of course, we were the only people not in costume. When our waitress teased us about it, we said, "oh, no, we're dressed as parents getting time away from their kid."

The big news of the weekend was deciding that we're going to leave even sooner than we anticipated, i.e., we're not going to wait for May. Jason can take his licensing exam in January, and if he passes it, we're out of here ASAP. My biggest regret was having to call the law school to tell them that I can't teach the education law course, but it's how it has to be. We've got enough money to float us through January or February, but beyond that, it's a big fat question mark, so I've already started posting resumes and doing job searches and looking at real estate listings in Denver.

Speaking of which, the prospect of living in a place where the cost of living is reasonable almost makes me weep. I was looking at rental listings in Denver, and we could get a really cute place in a terrific part of town, and even with the loss we'll take renting our place here (it'll be at least $1000 difference between what we can rent it for and what we pay in mortgage), we'll still come out about $1000 ahead every month. Crazy wonderful.

I'm also going to sell Baby Boot Camp. I'm not taking it to the mainland with me, so I may as well get rid of it now. Oh, well. So much for being an entrepreneur.

A Year of the Zekester

Zeke's first birthday was this past Friday. It took awhile for it to really hit Jason and me. Then all of a sudden we looked at him and thought, "holy shit, our baby isn't really a baby anymore. He looks like a little boy."

His new haircut adds to this effect. The crazy baby curls are gone, and now he looks like Alex P. Keaton in training. Or a baby Ralph Lauren model.

Then there's the fact that he's gotten so toddler-y all of a sudden. About a month ago, he figured out how to stand up, and how he's walking everywhere. Yesterday we were outside playing with a ball and he practically ran after it. He's chattering and pointing to things and saying "what's that?" and just figuring so many things out.

So here's another Animoto video. It makes it easier to get my head wrapped around how we got from here:to here:

A year of the Zekester

Limbo

I'm feeling all jittery and nervous. Everything feels like it's up in the air, like I'm waiting waiting waiting for things to happen.

Which, of course, I am.

It's the last week of the election campaign. All signs point to good things happening on November 4, but being a Democrat, I can't help but assume that somehow it's all going to go to shit. The Republicans will steal the election. Democratic voters will be harassed or purged from the voter rolls. The Bradley effect will turn out to be real (though, based on what I've read, it never actually existed, even in the Bradley election). It doesn't help that I'm an obsessive blog-reader/poll-checker/pundit-keeper-up-with. It's good to stay in formed, but it's not doing anything to calm my nerves.

Jitter jitter.

I finished my first week of Baby Boot Camp classes. I have one paying student. Woop-dee-freakin'-doo. I've had a couple of people register to come to class and then not show up. I had another come to do a class, but then announce that "she wasn't really into exercise," so I doubt I'll see her again. I've got another new student coming to class on Thursday. We'll see what happens.

Twitch twitch.

I've got some legal work to do, but one client owes me alot of money and I need to get paid if I want to pay mortgage next month. Which I obviously do.

Jitter.

In the meantime, I'm preparing my application to be admitted to the bar in Colorado.

Filling out a bar application is a little bit like being in an episode of This Is Your Life! I've had to list the names of three lawyers that know me, three people that know me from every locality I've lived in, the address of every place I've lived in for more than a month since I was 24, every job I've held, every school I went to, etc. The good news is, I'm admitted to practice in 3 jurisdictions already, and I was smart enough to keep copies of my old applications, so I don't have to bang my head against the wall, thinking "dammit, what was the house number of that place I lived in for 8 months with Jenn and whatshername??"

And all of my conversations with Jason consist of "which car should we take to Colorado?" "should we ship the car all the way to Denver or just to Oakland and then drive to Denver?" "should we start checking real estate listings?" "have you submitted your electrician's licensing stuff?" "we should call that real estate guy and see if he can recommend a good property manager for when we rent the house" "how much of the furniture should we take" blee blah bloo.

But mostly, they're just, "Gawd, I can't wait to get out of here."

Done and done

Jason's back from his bike trip in Colorado. Big fun was had by all.

And he's sold on moving to Denver. Not only did he really love the city, but he (unprompted by me) started echoing the sentiments about getting off this island that I have been feeling all along.

That it will be wonderful to have close friends and family in the same city. Being able to head over to Kathleen's house on a whim to have a glass of wine and a chat, or to watch Project Runway or some other stupid reality TV show. Jason and Rich being able to plan a last minute bike ride or ski/snowboard session, or decide to get together to watch a football game on the Fiddy.* Getting together with my cousins and their children. Having Zeke grow up with his cousins and with the children of my best friend -- children whom I love as if they were my own.

He also marveled at the ability to drive for 5 hours out in the country and be in such beautiful, open land.

"I didn't realize how much I was suffering from island fever," he remarked.

The mainland is so huge and diverse. Hawaii is beautiful, but it's small, and limited (and limiting) in so many ways -- culturally, intellectually, geographically. It's hard being so isolated.

And then there's the cost of living. Kathleen and Rich's last electric/gas bill was about $70. Ours was $520. I can find good work in Denver, that utilizes the expertise that I've been developing for the last 9 years. I can't do that here. So not only is the cost of living here choking us, but we've got almost no money coming in.

I can't deal with the stress of it anymore. And neither can Jason.

So last night we were talking, sort of dancing around the issue of, "should we make a definite plan? Should we wait a few months to make a decision?"

And we decided to make a definite plan.

My law school course ends in May. Exams are in mid-May, so I'm assuming I'll have to get the finals graded and the grades turned in within a week or so of that. Jason finishes his union course around the same time. So it looks like the end of May/early June is our departure date.

There's so much to do. I'm still terrified about not being able to make it financially until then. But we'll figure it out.

I can't wait.


____________________________________
* Our obscene 50-inch flat-screen TV.

The Interview

"Mr. Armstrong, I see from your application that you're seeking to be admitted to the Cole Academy's Wobbler program."

"Yes, I am. And please, call me Zeke."

"Oh, OK. Zeke. Well, Zeke, why don't you tell me why you want to join the Wobblers."

"Well, I am getting to that age -- you know, 1 year. My birthday's on Friday."

"Oh, congratulations!"

"Thank you. Anyway, so that's the standard time to start transitioning from the infant room to the Wobbler program. Plus, I feel that I'm ready, development-wise. I'm walking fairly steadily at this point -- wobbling, if you will -- I'm getting pretty chatty, and at this point, I'm towering over the other kids in the infant room, plus the babies can't really keep up with me."

"How so?"

"Well, I'm constantly on the go, and I'm a big fan of leading marauding groups of short people around the room, pulling toys off of shelves, crawling around under the cribs, that sort of thing. It's more than most of the others can handle, since, you know, most of them can barely sit up on their own."

"I see your point. Let's talk a little bit about the future. What are your goals? Where do you see yourself in 5 years?"

"In 5 years, I'd like to be done teething. My mouth is hurting these days, so if I seem a little cranky, you'll have to forgive me."

"Not at all."

"Anyway, I'd obviously like to be running soon. I'm a big speed demon, but right now my gross motor skills can't keep up with the pace I'd like to maintain. Talking would be a plus. I'm imitating lots of words and sounds, but most of them are just Greek to me."

"Early childhood education humor -- love it."

"Thanks. I like to keep things light. Where was I? Oh, yes. So 5-year goals. Um, I guess in 5 years I'd like to be in big boy school. I know most kids start kindergarten when they're 5, but I hope to follow in my parents' footsteps and blow off kindergarten. Lame! So in 5 years, I'd like to be reading, in 1st grade."

"That's very ambitious. Best of luck to you. How about strengths and weaknesses?"

"Well, I've obviously got alot to learn, both academically and functionally. But I guess my greatest strength is my attention span. My parents tell me that my ability to focus on a particular task (or toy, whatever) is quite remarkable for my age. If I had to name a weakness, I guess it's possible that I'm a little too awesome."

"You saw Obama's speech at the Alfred E. Smith dinner, huh?"

"Yeah, I couldn't resist. Sorry."

"Well, your application looks good, and it appears you're qualified. So, welcome to the Wobblers. You'll start your transition today."

The man I married

I'm driving down the road with my parents in tow, having dropped Zeke off at school and had a leisurely latte at Starbucks. Jason left for Denver last night for a big mountain biking trip with his posse.

My phone rings. It's Kathleen.

"Can I just tell you how much I love the fact that your husband showed up on my doorstep this morning in shorts, a t-shirt, and no shoes?"

"He wasn't wearing shoes??"

"Apparently he didn't wear them the entire trip. And he was trying to put on a brave face, but he's standing there shivering in ball-shrinkingly cold weather, poor thing."

This is my husband. The crazy blue collar Aussie whose upbringing could not have been more different from my own, in just about every respect, and who I still look at from time to time and think, "how on earth did we end up together??"

Looking back over old posts, I realized I've never really written about it. So here goes.

It was December of 2003. The country was newly embroiled in the shock and awe of the Iraq war.

And I was in Costa Rica for a surfing trip.

I had taken a surfing lesson in North Carolina the previous summer, and seen Blue Crush, and was dying to learn to surf properly. So in the fall of 2003, I decided to go to Costa Rica. I sent out an email to everyone I knew to see who wanted to come. Shahira, a sorority sister from UVa., signed on, as did Carrie, a friend who I'd met when we were both bridesmaids in Michele's wedding. We decided to go to Witch's Rock Surf Camp in Tamarindo, on the western Pacific coast of CR -- primo Central American surf country.

The day we got there, we had our first surf lesson. Our teachers were Nick and Roach (a nickname, obviously). We saw Jason giving a lesson off in the distance. He had long blond hair and was about as ripped as I'd ever seen a guy.

(Jason coming up from the beach after a surf lesson)

"Surfer boys are pretty," we thought.

The next morning, we had breakfast at the surf camp (breakfast is included in the surf package). Jason was there, and was sitting with a couple of other students. We joined them and got to chatting.

He mentioned that he was from Australia, outside of Sydney, and I mentioned that I had been to Australia and adored Sydney, and there was just a vibe there. I can't explain it. It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but there was an immediate attraction and connection that was undeniable.

He asked me where I was from, and I said I lived in Atlanta, Georgia.

"You're a Georgia peach!" he said, smiling at me.

I laughed it off, but was thinking to myself, "there's something really sweet about this guy."

I had a good surf lesson that morning, and managed to get up on a bunch of waves. Afterwards, I was standing at the bar at the restaurant getting a Gatorade. Jason came up behind me, put his hands on my shoulders, and said, "you're such a beautiful thing."

"You're not so bad yourself," I replied.

And thus started a cautious vacation romance. I didn't really think much of it at first -- I figured we'd hang out, do some surfing, smooch a little, but then I'd go home and we'd go on with our lives.

But as the week went on, the intensity of the feelings between us was getting a bit overwhelming and impossible to brush off. We surfed, we talked for hours, we kissed (but nothing more), and by the end of the week, the thought of going home was very difficult to stomach. We were undeniably falling in love.

So I called the office and made up an excuse about having an ear infection and not being able to fly home ("an ear infection named Pedro!" was my friend Andrea's reaction when she heard about it) and extended my trip for another 4 days.

We went on our first actual date to a rodeo in Braselito, a town near Tamarindo.

(At the rodeo on our first real date --
you can see people sitting on the fence surrounding the bullring behind us)

And it bears noting that at the rodeo, over a week after we'd met, I still had never seen Jason wear shoes. As we were walking around, he kept feeling something brush against his lower leg as he walked. Turns out it was a wooden kebab skewer that he had stepped on and was lodged in one of his feet. He hadn't felt it.

By the time I left, we had plans for him to move up to Atlanta in a few months. He came to Georgia in April, and we spent the next year and a half figuring out how to make our relationship work while Jason spent some time in Georgia and some time in Australia.

It wasn't easy, and sometimes it still isn't. We are very, very different. And before we got engaged, I kept trying to find reasons to break up with him, because I just didn't see how we could make a life together.

But I couldn't. I love him. He's incredibly kind and friendly, he's very funny, he keeps me laughing at myself, he's affectionate. And as I've discovered, he's a wonderful father. I'll stick with him, even though he doesn't read the same books I do, is content to watch stupid punks do skateboarding tricks on Fuel TV for hours on end, and still never wears shoes.

Busy busy busy ... feh

My parents arrived for a visit this past weekend, and it's been a bit of a whirlwind. Sunday was a chill day, but Monday we were off and running. My mom and I exercised in the morning (separately -- she did some kickboxing DVD, and I did shoulders, arms and abs as part of P90X), and then we went grocery shopping, and then we played with Zeke, and then we made lunch, and then "hey! let's climb Diamond Head!"

Diamond Head is a relatively short (it only took us 25 minutes, but we were booking) but intense walk/climb up a winding rocky trail, in and out of the military bunkers that the Army installed during WWII, and then culminating with 271 steps up to a lookout with an incredible view of the ocean and the back yards of very rich people.

(The view east. Jason and I surfed that break when we were here in February 2005 for me to take the bar exam. You can see the Diamond Head lighthouse down in the lower right corner. I think Oprah owns a house along that coastline. Super ritzy real estate down there.)

(looking west toward Waikiki and Pearl Harbor)

I was sweating my ass off, but I guess I shouldn't complain, since Jason did it with Zeke on his back and set a much faster pace that I would have set (but we had to keep up with him, because if he's going that fast with a 22-pound kid on his back, then we're pussies if we lag behind).

(Jason and Zeke. Jason not only hiked with Zeke on his back, but he was barefoot, natch.)

(I took Zeke on the way down. Try to ignore the unfortunate placement of the chest strap on the backpack, making my boobs look like they're plummeting over a ledge. That's my mom behind me.)

I was so exhausted driving home that I was practically nodding off. But then, so was everyone else.

Yesterday I had some work to do in the morning, so we took Zeke to school for part of the day. Mom and I got pedicures, went to the grocery store (I love it when they visit because our fridge is always packed), and then came home to get some stuff done. We picked up Zeke at about 2 in the afternoon and headed straight for the beach. Having another set of adults there was lovely, because it meant that Jason and I could surf together, something we enjoy but don't get to do very often. The waves were kind of small and mushy, but we caught a few good ones and had a good time.

(Zeke puts his face in the sand to see what happens. What happened was the expected -- a face full of sand.)

(Having a snooze using Daddy's shirt as a blanket)

When we got home, we all went to dinner at this great Hawaiian barbecue place that we always take visitors to. The food is amazing and it's a casual, fun atmosphere.

The problem is, it's technically a bar, so they don't have high chairs or booster seats. Meaning that we had to have Zeke sitting in the booth with us, and of course all he wanted to do was grab everything and crawl on the table and knock over water glasses and bang his chop sticks on the plate and wave away the apple-blueberry puree that I had brought for him to eat.

So by the end of the evening, I was cold and wet because my jeans were soaked with ice water, and my white t-shirt now has big blueberry apple stains all over it.

We're not taking him to a restaurant again until his language skills are better and I can explain to him what's going on and what's expected of him. Or unless they have a high chair. Not that he was bad, but it's too much stimulation for him to process without getting crazy excited, meaning that I spend my meal being super-vigilant over every last thing he might want to grab or knock over, taking a minute here and there to shovel food in my face, and then demanding the check and bugging out as quickly as possible. It's just not fun for me, and since I'm the one he's gravitating to right now (he's going through a BIG "mama mama mama" phase), I'm the one that ends up dealing with the bulk of it.

The topper is, we came home and within a couple of hours I started feeling sick. It's not food poisoning, because we all had the exact same thing and everyone else is fine. It's the same stomach bug that's been going around that Jason had last week. So I spent last night throwing up and trying to find a position to lie in that didn't cause my stomach to churn.

I have the house to myself for a little while because my parents went scuba diving and Jason took Zeke to school. But not before Zeke spit up on me.

Sigh.

It's a mystery

Philip Henslow: Mr. Fennyman, allow me to explain about the theater business. The natural condition is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster.
Hugh Fennyman: So what do we do?
Henslow: Nothing. Strangely enough, it all turns out well.
Fennyman: How?
Henslow: I don't know. It's a mystery.

-- Shakespeare in Love

It's the strangest thing.

Just when I think that things are dire and that failure is on the brink, something happens, completely unexpectedly, to pull me back from the precipice.

Yesterday I was lamenting the fact that, upon finishing a final brief for Former BossMan, I'm out of legal work. I had been trying to network and get my name out there, but nothing had come of it.

So I'm plugging away, and I pick up the home phone to call someone, and there's a message. From a guy who found my profile on FindLaw.com, saw that I have experience in administrative law, and called because he needs a lawyer to help him with an administrative appeal. Which is pretty much the type of litigation I've been doing my entire 14 year career.

Now, the crazy thing is -- other than the sheer poetry of the timing -- I didn't even know that my FindLaw profile was even up yet. I have been working with my customer service rep, but the last I heard from him, he was going to draft a profile and send it to me for my approval before posting anything. So imagine my surprise when my prospective client tells me that he found me on the internet.

So, it looks like I may have a new paying client. We'll see what happens. But it's certainly encouraging.

Zeke wears us down to the point that all standards -- of both decorum and parenting -- are cast aside: a photo essay

"I'm walking now. Isn't that cool? I'm still a little unsteady on my feet, but I'm getting there. Mommy and Daddy chase me around constantly. They seem a little tired lately. I wonder why? They also usually don't let me run around in just a diaper. I've heard the phrase 'white trash baby' thrown around, but I don't know what it means."

"I've discovered the trash can. I like banging on it and pushing it around the room. Mommy and Daddy seem to discourage this, but today is Sunday, so they're lying around watching football and couldn't be bothered to stop me. Score!"

"I also like opening and closing things with lids, particularly when there's a chance of getting my fingers caught. Mommy tries to explain to me that I'm going to hurt myself, but I'm a risk-taker. I like to live on the edge."

"I tend to do more exploring when only one parent is home. Mommy went to the store to get me some more swimming diapers, and I managed to crawl into the dishwasher when Daddy had his back turned for 3 seconds. Dude needs to pick up the pace if he's going to keep up with me, yo."

"Bwahahaha! I rule the world!! I get to do whatever I want!"

"OK, not really. But I'm still a white trash baby, whatever that means."

It's brains, stupid

I've been thinking quite a bit about Sarah Palin, and what the general take is on her qualifications (or lack thereof) to be vice president. Many of her critics seem to focus on her lack of experience.

I don't buy the experience line. Not because I think she is particularly experienced, but because, if you look at history, experience has never been the indicator of who will or will not be a great president. Look at Lincoln, or Kennedy, or George Washington. Before being elected president, Lincoln, who I believe was our greatest president, was a small town lawyer, owned a store, and served in the Illinois legislature and then in the U.S. House of Representatives. (Sound familiar??) George Washington was a planter, a land surveyor, and a military man. He also served in the Virginia House of Burgesses for a bit. Kennedy served in the Navy, in the Massachusetts legislature, and then a term the U.S. Senate.

In other words, these men, who are considered among the greatest of our presidents, had no more experience than Barack Obama has, and none of them had the type of executive experience that Sarah Palin has, i.e., none was ever a governor or a mayor or held similar executive office. But they were great nonetheless.

So, let's cut the bullshit. It's not experience.

It's judgment. It's smarts. It's intellectual curiosity and lifelong scholarship. It's a willingness to surround yourself with people who might challenge your views, and a willingness to actually listen to them. It's temperament. It's having true vision.

Palin exhibits none of these characteristics.

The problem with Sarah Palin isn't that she isn't experienced enough. It's that she isn't smart enough. She lacks the intellect or the knowledge base or the desire to improve her knowledge base that I believe is essential to an effective leader, particularly in these complex times.

Palin didn't do too terribly last night, because the expectations set for her were so low that basically, as long as she didn't walk out on stage and immediately burst into flames, the right-wing punditocracy would fall all over themselves gushing about how great she did. Palin looked nice, and manage to string some coherent sentences together (even if they were nothing more than rehearsed speech bits), but she never really said anything substantive. She never showed any real breadth of knowledge or understanding of the issues she purported to discuss. And as DCup eloquently points out, if the Dems nominated a man who performed as Palin did, they would be laughed out of town, and creamed in the election.

That's why she's unqualified, and why, as Andrew Sullivan has repeatedly stated, McCain's choice of her as VP renders him unqualified as well. It's not that she's inexperienced. It's that she's not very bright in any of the ways that really count.

Happy Baby

There's a yoga asana called Happy Baby that's a great way to stretch out your back and relax, particularly at the end of a long workout. In addition to being physically soothing, I also find it spiritually soothing.

If there was ever a day I needed Happy Baby, it was today.

Today the depression hit me hard. As I've discussed numerous times, I suffer from clinical depression, and it's something that is with me pretty much always. I take medication for it, but I still have occasional cycles of despair that I can only chalk up to my internal wiring.

Of course, there is such a thing as situational depression as well, and the stress of our current situation tends to bring on days when I have an inordinately hard time getting out of bed, and even when I do drag my ass up, I spend much of the day crying or feeling utterly despondent. Maybe the clinical depression makes me particularly susceptible to reacting badly to a rough situation. I don't know.

Anyway, on days when this happens, I'll feel shitty all day, and then out of the blue, my head will clear and the feeling will pass, or at least mostly pass. I can at least function, or change out of my pajama bottoms and leave the house.

I was a wreck today. I couldn't shake the feeling that I'm a big fat loser who has failed at everything she has ever done, who has made nothing but shitty decisions and who is now reaping the consequences of those shitty decisions.

So I moped around and did a little bit of work, but couldn't get into it. And I slept some. And I spend a large chunk of time watching the coverage leading up to the VP debate, and then the debate itself.

And then Jason came home from picking up Zeke at school. And in addition to feeling cheerier because my son lights up like the sun the minute he sees me, his daily progress report said this:

Zeke had a wonderful day. He took a long nap and woke up very happy. He played with his friends. He sure likes to talk alot, to caregivers and friends. He's also trying to walk - he takes two - three steps and then gets happy and claps. He is a very happy baby!

And it's true. He is. We play with him and read to him and sing to him and there's alot of laughing and giggling in the house, on everybody's part. I can honestly say that whatever fucked up negativity I've got swirling around in my head, I'm raising a happy baby.

And that's not an insignificant accomplishment.

How's Zeke?

He's fine. The cut is right on the line with his eyebrow, and did not require stitches. It's healing up just fine with the butterfly bandage. He's been happy as ever, eating and sleeping fine, not in any pain that we can tell.

And no, he isn't drinking shampoo. It's an empty bottle that we washed out and now he uses it as a bath toy.

As DCup stated, we've joined the Benign Neglect club. Yay?

Am I underreacting?

I got a call from Zeke's school today.

"Wendy, this is Miss ______ from The Cole Academy. Zeke was playing by the toy shelf and he fell and cut his head."

"Poor monkey. How bad is the cut?"

"He hit his head hear his eyebrow. It was bleeding alot, as head-wounds tend to. He seems to be OK, but you might want to take him to the doctor."

"Do you think it needs stitches?"

"No, I don't think so. We put pressure on the cut and it seems to be OK, but we wanted to let you know in case you want to take him to the doctor to get it checked out."

"How is he doing?"

"He's doing fine, actually. He's not crying or anything anymore."

"Well, keep an eye on him. If his behavior changes or he seems unusually drowsy, or if you can't get the bleeding to stop, let me know, but it sounds like he's going to be all right."

Was this the right reaction? I don't tend to question my decisions as a parent, but I also know I tend to be more laid back than most moms, particularly new moms. Sometimes I wonder if I don't freak out enough.

Zeke is a typical boy, with very little regard for his own safety. He thinks nothing of hurtling himself head-first off the couch (he'll catch himself with his hands and then swing his feet around to bring them to the ground) and generally races around like a little perpetual motion machine. Sometimes he falls, sometimes he bumps himself, but unless there is blood or a hard whack to the head (and there hasn't been so far), I give him a kiss, tell him, "you're going to be OK, just pick yourself up and keep going," and give him a pat on the butt to send him on his way.

If the cut doesn't require stitches, the bleeding is under control, and he seems to be going about his day without problem, my feeling is, he's going to get some nicks and scrapes, and most of them aren't going to require a trip to the doctor's office.

Am I wrong?

Sometimes a bad day in the surf is just a bad day in the surf.

Jason and I went for a surf this morning after dropping Zeke off at school. J got another one of those temporary layoffs he got a few months ago, so he's home for a couple of weeks. While normally the prospect of having my husband laid off would make me want to vomit, I'm actually kind of psyched about it. A) he'll continue to get unemployment benefits from either the union or the state, and B) the house is in complete shambles and I don't have the time to deal with it or the money to hire a maid, so he's got his work cut out for him.

Anyway, back to the surfing.

A surf session can go one of two ways for me. I either feel great, paddling into everything, or I get really frustrated and just want to take my ball and go home. And while I love surfing with Jason, he's so fucking good at it -- he's been doing it for almost 30 years, after all -- that sometimes I look at him on a wave and think, "Jesus, what's the point? Why do I bother??"

There's a common saying among surfers, that there's nothing so crappy in life that a bad day of surfing can't cure, i.e, even a shitty day in the surf is great.

I wish I could embrace that sentiment more. Because today I had a decent surf, and still felt frustrated and grumpy afterwards.

We started paddling out just as a set was rolling in, so I felt like I was paddling forever, getting pounded by wave after wave, and just getting nowhere. Meanwhile, Jason is skimming through the waves like a waterbug on a still pond. And I caught a bunch of waves, but couldn't quite get turned on the waves fast enough, so my rides were kind of sloppy. And meanwhile, Jason is riding these perfect tubes all calmly and easily, practically getting barreled with no effort whatsoever.

And he's trying to help me out, but I'm so irritated that I just snap at him to leave me alone. Of course, I realize that I'm being an unreasonable asshole, so then I'm irritated with myself in addition to being irritated generally.

By the time we got home, I had burst into tears.

"I feel stupid and incompetent!" I wailed.

And my poor husband is trying to comfort me, but at the same time wondering where the emergency number for the local psychiatric hospital is.

I think I just need to get more sleep.