Mandyland

Let it Grow

2012-01-31T20:05:00.000-08:00

The weather outside is brightful.*
Out there it's so delightful.
And since we've no place to go,
Let it grow, let it grow, let it grow.

The kids and I spent Sunday afternoon in the garden.

It all started with a tomato.

On Saturday morning, childless and fancy free, I decided to introduce a friend to a local Farmer's Market. The poor man is from a place where there is snow and ice and cold in the winters. A place where they actually close the Farmer's Markets until spring.

I know, right?

The horror.

The first booth next to the entrance was piled high with tomatoes. Red, ripe, glossy globes of perfection, they were vine ripened and made the ones in the grocery store look like copies from a machine running low on ink.

Like Carrie at Hidden Hollow, they were just too delicious to pass up. Especially since this early in the season, I have no hopes of my garden producing tomatoes any time soon. We grabbed a couple especially pretty Solanum lycopersicum and went back to my house where we crafted the most delicious BLT known to mankind.

No. Seriously. It was.

By Sunday, all I could think about was tomatoes: planting, growing, placing, picking, wanting. The problem is, even with the USDA's newest zoning, I can't plant tomatoes right now without worrying about frost. Even though Home Depot is already selling them and Joseph tried to talk me into taking home five cute baby tomato plants. Which, of course, caused Elizabeth to chime in that she wants the babies. I resisted. I know it won't work out well.

Unless I get a greenhouse for my beds.

Don't tempt me.

Instead, the kids and I went to OSH where we bought cauliflower, spinach, mint, pansies, and ranunculus.

We came home and started planting.

The ranunculus is Joseph's. He picked out the pot, he planted it, he watered it, he set it carefully in its sunny spot.

The pansies are Elizabeth's. She picked out the colors - purples, blues, yellows, magentas. She planted them, accidentally snapping the flowers in her excitement. She asked for them to be put next to the front door.

And the greens are mine. I'm already anticipating a flowing bucket of salad waiting to be snipped and put on our plates.

Let it grow, let it grow, let it grow.
*Yes. I realize "brightful" is not a word. Just go with it.

Two Paths

2012-01-26T10:20:00.000-08:00

When I was 26, I was interviewed by the local paper as a representative of the "young, career-minded people" in our county. The story took up most of the front section of the lifestyle page, a picture of me with my hair dyed red wearing a black suit jacket and funky earrings splashed above the fold. It shared a look into my life, my career, and how the housing boom was negatively impacting my ability as a single woman to buy a home. It spoke briefly of my volunteer work, my activities, and the organizations to which I belonged.

At 29, I was pregnant and in a career I loved, but working for a woman who made my life a living hell. The stories I could tell about Dragon Lady would make you shudder. I had held her position on an interim basis for a year before she was hired. She never forgot or forgave that.

As I planned and prepared for Joseph's birth, she called me into her office. I walked in and sat down across from her. She told me being a mother is one of her greatest joys. She then told me that she hated working with new moms. She felt they took too much time off work and were too preoccupied with their children. I'll never forget the cold smile on her face when she said, "Enjoy your maternity leave because if you think you're going to take time off for doctor's appointments or when the baby is sick, you'd better think again."

I was stunned. I knew she didn't like me. I knew it stemmed from insecurity. But for her to say this, something that I'd expect from a male supervisor in 1984, blew my mind.

I went home that night, realizing I had to make a decision.

I knew leaving my position to stay home with Joseph was a death knell to my career. I wasn't naive. I worked in an industry that changed too often to be able to catch up after a year off. I worked in a field with little to no local opportunities. And I had a certification that expired after a year if I didn't pay nearly $1500 in dues and fees plus conference expenses.

But I also knew I couldn't work for Dragon Lady any longer; not as a mom. I knew I couldn't put in the expected 50 hours a week plus two hour commute; not as a mom. I knew I couldn't work in a place that offered no flexibility even after a decade with them; not as a mom.

So I chose to be a stay-at-home mom. I resigned and watched as my certifications expired. I played with Joseph, joined mom groups, started a business, and, eventually, went back to work. I found a position that's perfect. My hours are flexible. I have time off around the holidays and in the summers. I work for someone who's kind and supportive and honestly, simply amazing.

And I'm happy with this path. Truly.

Still, every now and then...

The local paper, the same paper that once interviewed me, recently published their top 20 under 40. I saw it open in the break room, a familiar face grinning back at me. I walked over and realized one of the men was my first boyfriend's best friend. We worked together on a couple of volunteer projects. And one of the women is someone I used to work with. She got pregnant with her oldest a couple years before I got pregnant with Joseph, but then went back to work.

They are who I was going to be.

While I wouldn't trade my life, as muddied and ridiculous as it currently is, I still have to wonder...

What if?

What Should I Read?

2012-01-24T20:31:00.000-08:00

A couple weeks ago, a friend invited me to a poetry/book reading.

Intrigued by the idea of sitting in a dim room wearing a black beret and drinking martinis while surrounded by others wearing black leggings and sunglasses, I told him to count me in.

His response was a splash of cold water.

"Great! I'll give you 15-30 minutes for your reading."

Uh...

Um...

Wha?

My reading?!

What could I possibly read that would a) be interesting to people who don't know me and b) take 15-30 minutes?

So I thought I'd take it to my friends on the blogosphere. I've written tens of thousands of words. I blog to a ridiculous level. I start (and will one day finish!) novels. But I'm drawing a blank here. What should I read?!

Help?

One Day is Fine

2012-01-24T08:59:00.000-08:00

One day is fine.

One day means coming home from work to a quiet house and cleaning without interruptions. One day means a late dinner and an early movie. One day means drinks with friends and settling down with a book. One day means a quick trip to the grocery store. One day means waking up in the morning and making breakfast instead of eating it on the go. One day is fine.

Two days are too much.

Two days mean finding excuses to stop by Chad's house because Elizabeth forgot her doll's new hat. Two days mean calling every couple of hours and chatting with Joseph. Two days mean staring at their room and hating that the beds are made. Two days mean rattling around the house and wondering when it got so big. Two days mean calling Chad and asking if he'd be cool with the kids coming home early.

Three days are impossible.

I don't even want to think about three days.

So I avoid three days in a row.

I've had so many people tell me it must be nice to get a break from the kids. I hear the envy in their voices. I understand why they say it. I might have said it myself last year, when I was still living with a husband and kids and would have loved nothing more than two days to myself.

But I've discovered there's a difference, a big difference, between taking a vacation from your family and scheduling each week to include two or three days of visitation.

One is a welcome respite from the daily. You leave, you come back refreshed and appreciative of what you have.

The other is a heartbreaking way of life. You say goodbye almost as much as you say hello.

One day is fine.

More than that? Not so much fun.

The Supper Club

2012-01-22T22:20:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, my friend Tara sent me an email asking if I'd like to be part of a supper club. I immediately did two things:

1. Emailed her back with a resounding "hell yes!"

2. Googled "supper club".

I assumed she wasn't wanting to start an underground jazz restaurant - though that would have been fun too. The only other definition I could find was a group of people meeting for the purpose of cooking and eating.

Sounds like my kind of club.

Especially the eating part.

So I sent her another email asking when and where.

She replied to me and four other ladies the date and the menu. That was my first clue that I might be getting in over my head.

The menu was from Cooking Light and featured Chinese New Year dishes. Glancing at the list of choices, I immediately picked the only thing that looked familiar: sweet and sour chicken.

And then I stressed.

For a week.

Because I'm not sure how to follow a recipe properly and I have no idea where I could find Chinese rice wine. Thankfully, I do know how to cheat and "accidentally" used the wrong Cooking Light recipe.

On Saturday we got together - ten adults and nine children. It was a blast. And, because I'm a total nerd, I started a blog for it.

Go check out Six Kitchens and follow our foray into the world of culinary experimentation and recipes. It could be fun.

Or we might all end up with food poisoning. (And yes, Tara actually labeled a spoon to prevent cross contamination and a trip to the ER.)

Either way, it'll be entertaining.

Oh? And the sweet and sour chicken? Way easy. And amazingly delicious. Who knew getting out of my comfort zone would be so much fun?

Inquiring Minds...

2012-01-19T14:42:00.000-08:00

Fine, fine.

I'll tell you the name of the book.

But you have to promise not to laugh at me.

Because I have a sneaky suspicion it also tops the reading lists of fifteen-year-old boys who play D&D.

It might have also spun off a role playing game in its own right.

And it might have its own conference.

Which is why it sat on my coffee table for three days before I picked it up. Well, that and the thought of getting involved in yet another 1,000+ page per book series was a bit overwhelming.

But, in the spirit of full disclosure, and also because the book was phenomenally good, I'm going to let you discover the full extent of the nerdom I've only hinted at.

The name of the book was Eye of the World. It's Book 1 in the Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan who, apparently, died before completing the series.

Worst. Nightmare. Situation.

Fortunately, he left copious notes and a fan in fellow author Brandon Sanderson who was brought in to complete the series.

So there you have it. The reason behind my accidental hiatus. I was busy in the land of Trollocs, Aes Sedai, hapless young heroes, forceful and powerful women, and the Green Man.

And lots of names with apostrophes in the middle, which we all know is a hallmark sign you're reading a fantasy novel. Well, that and the Dark Lord.

And yes. I've started book 2. Which is why I haven't gotten to bed at a decent time all week.

Considering there are about 45 books (not really), this could get bad.

Accidental Hiatus

2012-01-17T14:29:00.000-08:00

I did something a little scary this weekend.

A little...crazy.

I...turned off my computer.

I know! Gasps of horror. Intakes of breath denoting shock. And maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit of awe.

I hadn't planned on taking a hiatus from the land of wire and connections. It started innocently enough. You see, my friend Matt loaned me a book. A very large book. A book that's the first in a series of very large books.

I thanked him and set it on my coffee table where it stared at me, the colorful cover emblazoned with gold embossed words proclaiming itself a fantasy novel. Not my typical genre.

He texted me and asked, "Have you started it yet?"

"Um. Nope. I got a bit busy."

It sat there and stared at me, the 1,000 pages screaming to get started. I nudged it aside and set my iPad guiltily next to it.

He texted me again the next evening. "Have you started it?"

"Uh...not yet." The book niggled at me, pricking at my conscience. Finally, with a sigh, I picked it up and started reading.

Three days later, I finished. Setting it down with a happy smile.

And the realization I hadn't checked in on Facebook, Twitter, or the Blogosphere.

To be honest, it was actually kind of relaxing.

I'm not sure I can handle this sort of disconnection too often. But every once in a while, it's kind of nice.

Besides, there's Book 2.

Farmers' Market

2012-01-13T10:47:00.000-08:00

Carrie swayed where she stood, arching her back to relieve the weight of Emily strapped to her chest by a brightly colored sling. The table in front of them bent under the weight of fresh produce. Blueberries and strawberries jostled for position with tomatoes and zucchini. An old man sat in a canvas chair under the shade of the umbrella.

Carrie narrowed her eyes as she searched through the produce.

"Do you have any raspberries, Mr. Wells?" she asked.

He stood slowly, his arms supporting his body on the chair as his legs unfolded. Standing, he eyed the produce, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "I know the boys picked some this morning." He shifted the bins overflowing with leafy greens. "Hold tight. They ought to be around here somewhere."

Carrie waited while he made his way towards the truck parked behind the umbrella. She bent down to kiss the top of Emily's head, the downy hair tickling her nose. "What do you think, sweetheart? Do you think Mr. Wells is going to have raspberries so Mama can make creme brulee tonight?" Emily gurgled a reply. "I think you're right. We may have to go with chocolate cake."

Carrie propped the handle of the red wagon filled with fresh vegetables and fruit against the table. The gardens at Hidden Hollow supplied most of the produce she needed, but she still liked to wander the weekly Farmers' Market.

Carrie picked up a tomato, its skin tight and firm. "This is gorgeous." Emily flapped her arms. "I know, baby. We have tomatoes." She set it back down on the table, her fingers lingering on the glossy surface. "I could always do a caprice salad for lunch tomorrow," she murmured. Emily's tiny fist caught Carrie's hair. She yanked. "Ouch!" Carrie untangled the strands. "You're right. We have enough tomatoes."

Mr. Wells stepped in front of them, a single box of raspberries in his hands. "Here you go. I knew I had some somewhere. Ain't many left," he apologized.

Carrie dug a handful of crumpled bills out of the pocket of her skirt. "We'll still take them." She took raspberries and started to set them down. The berries glistened, tempting.

Carries smiled as she walked away. Selecting a plump berry, she popped it into her mouth, the flavor exploding on her tongue. "You're going to love these next summer, little one." She ate another, a smile on her face at the sublte sweetness of the fruit.

Emily's arms flapped, her legs kicking while she gurgled in excitement. "Wow. You are looking forward to it," Carrie said, amusement tinging her voice.

"Hello Carrie."

The box of raspberries fell to the ground.

This is a fictional post inspired by the Write on Edge prompt: flavor.

This post takes place late in the summer after Emily's birth. If you'd like to read more about Hidden Hollow, check out Fictional Mandyland.

As usual, concrit is always helpful. No. Seriously. My fiction writing is a tad bit rusty, so I'd love feedback.

Kindergarten Love Square

2012-01-12T07:26:00.000-08:00

"So how's your girlfriend?"

"Maa-maa," Joseph said in exasperation.

"What?" I asked innocently.

He sighed in the back seat. "She's actually badder than she was."

"What do you mean?"

"She stole my friend Curtis. Now he wants to read books with her and play with her."

"Maybe she wants to be his girlfriend now."

"Probably," he said, without concern. "She has a lot of boyfriends."

"Really?"

"She has three boyfriends."

"Three?"

"Uh-huh. Me, Ricky, and now Curtis. Ricky was her first boyfriend. But he started running faster and was able to lose her. She's scary."

"Maybe you should run faster."

"I try! But she's really fast. And now she's doing something worse."

"What's that?"

"She's handing out kisses!"

"Oh no!"

"Yes!"

"What do you do?"

"I tell her I don't want her to kiss or hug me but she says she's my girlfriend."

"What happens then?"

"She closes her eyes and puts her arms out and tries to kiss me again! It's like she's a zombie!"

"That's crazy, Joseph!"

He sighed, looking out the window. "I think Curtis wants to be her boyfriend."

"Are you cool with that?"

"I think he's making a big mistake. She's not very clever."

"She sounds clever to me."

"No. All the boys like her because she wears pretty clothes, I guess. That's not clever. That's silly."

"Oh."

"No. I think I'll just have to run faster or learn to hide better. Or maybe write her a note. Because she doesn't listen to my words."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out, baby."

"Girls are not fun."

Amen, love. Amen.

Early Bird

2012-01-11T09:31:00.000-08:00

I've been trying this new thing:

Early to bed, early to rise.

Supposedly, if Ben Franklin isn't a liar, this will make me healthy, wealthy, and wise.

So far, it's just made me tired, grumpy, and needing to close my eyes.

Ever since the kids and I moved, I've noticed a disturbing trend. We don't seem to wake up as quickly or as easily. I think, and this is just a theory, it's because we're now living on a very quiet street and our windows don't face east. And also because the house is chillier which means we're very cozy in our warm beds.

Once we get up, we tend to stumble over each other and can't seem to get ourselves out the door.

Which is probably because we only have one bathroom.

So I decided to go to bed earlier and try to wake up before the kids.

I can't believe I just typed that sentence.

I've been falling asleep between 9:00 and 10:00 each night - a mere hour or two after the kids. And, as expected, I've been waking earlier. But me waking earlier hasn't - yet - resulted in getting more done in the morning or getting out the door on time.

The last two mornings, I lay in bed after my alarm strummed its soothing harp music and tried to figure out what I was thinking to set it so early. My brain, foggy and somewhat dull, required about twenty minutes before I realized I was supposed to get up. Then, as I stumbled bleary eyed out of the bedroom, it hit me. I must have been smoking crack. It's the only explanation for this early morning thing.

Still, I'm going to give it a week and see if I become wealthy, healthy, and wise.

In the meantime, I'm typing with a band aid on my thumb. Apparently me + early morning + knives = bad idea.

Maybe I'm already getting wiser.

Leather Dresses and Sparkly Bracelets

2012-01-09T11:21:00.000-08:00

Eighteen months ago, I "met" Peryl.

It started off as an almost professional relationship, a support group of four writers who helped each other edit posts, brainstorm ideas, and guest posted when those ideas fell flat.

It became a friendship.

Between the paragraphs asking if anyone had ever tried this or that paid blogging sites, bits of our lives started to emerge. An anecdote here. A confession there. Soon, the emails were filled with personal messages and words of encouragement.

I learned about their lives. They learned about mine.

We fantasized about meeting somewhere, someday. But we live in various parts of the country and we're not exactly conference go-ers.

Then, Peryl moved to California. Within driving distance. And this weekend, I drove to see her.

It was at once surreal - she knows almost everything about me - and familiar - she knows almost everything about me. But I was happy to discover there were a few things I didn't know.

She's tiny. I'm 5'4" and always thought of myself as short. I tower over her. She called me tall. She said the only reason I think I'm short is because I associate with giants. Bless her.

She's a bad influence while shopping. She's incredibly stylish - don't let her say anything to the contrary - and made me want sparkly bracelets and animal print overnight bags. And even try on a leather dress. From 1984.

She's a "cool" mom. No. Really. She had a cookie bake off for her sons and their friends. A cookie bake off! And speaking of kids, her boys are adorable, rosy cheeked, I-want-to-take-them-home bundles of cuteness.

Her coffee order should be bronzed and placed in the Starbucks Hall of Fame. It's so complicated, the baristas deserve a raise for getting it right. When I talk about ordering at Starbucks, I often tease that I'll go in and order a "non fat two shot 180 chai with a double back flip twist". That's actually her order. Or something like it.

And she's as wonderful in real life as she in in virtual life. It felt like we were old friends and, when I gave her a hug goodbye, I knew I'd be seeing her soon.

Hacking Away

2012-01-06T09:03:00.000-08:00

Mandyland has been sick since last year.

Sorry. You know I to do it.

It all started the week before Christmas. I was up until the wee hours coughing up my lungs. Thankfully, sleep and the magic of Robitussin had me feeling better in less than 24 hours.

So when Joseph started coughing just before Christmas, I didn't think it was too much to be concerned about.

But when it got worse the week after Christmas, no matter what I tried, I started to frown.

And when he developed little purple spots around his eyes, I went into full scale panic mode. I called his doctor who told me he wasn't getting enough air when he coughed. She told me to keep an eye on him and take him to he ER if he coughed continuously for more than 15 minutes every half hour.

Which I interpreted as: sit up until I fell asleep leaning against his bed, stop watch in hand.

I took him to the doctor the next morning to get the not-so-reassuring news Allergies were back and they'd decided to bring their BFF Asthma with them.

The poor kid is now on two inhalers, a nose spray, a topical cream - for his eczema outbreak, a liquid allergy medication, and an antibiotic.

But he's feeling much better.

Just in time for Elizabeth to get a double ear infection.

Because that's how we roll.

Whereas Joseph is cooperative when he's sick, Elizabeth is a holy terror. If CPS had peeked in my windows last night, they would have taken her away from me. I had her pinned down with my legs and one arm while I tried to pry open her mouth to give her an antibiotic. She bit my fingers and spit it out at me.

Even though it was bubblegum flavored.

She head butted, kicked, screamed, cried, and gave me a black eye. And when I tried to put the numbing ear drops in her ears? You'd think I was pouring acid in them.

The whole time, Joseph sat next to me. "Mama? Would you please read me this story? I'm so excited to see what happens next."

"Just a minute, baby," I replied while Elizabeth grabbed my hair and pulled while I tried to give her Tylenol.

"Mama? Do you like the blue ninja or the red one?"

"Joseph, my love, Mama can't really chat right now," I dodged Elizabeth's kicking foot. "She's trying to help your sister."

"Poor Elizabeth," he said, leaning down to give his sister a hug. "She's si--OW!! She hit me. Hard." He started crying.

I put my arm around him while we watched his sister bruise her hands and feet pounding them on the floor, remembering with fondness the days when I could look at Chad and say, "I give up. You try."

She did eventually calm down and fall asleep.

And she did eventually take her medicine.

An Act of Kindness

2012-01-04T10:26:00.000-08:00

For weeks, the kids and I have been looking for a random act of kindness to perform. And, since money is tight in Mandyland, we thought about low and no cost ways to help people. Joseph came up with giving all the kids who don't have families to parents who don't have kids.

My boy is efficient, isn't he?

After trying to explain adoption and the foster care system, we put on our thinking caps.

We make sure we buy an extra box of pasta and can of soup to drop in the Food Bank bins, but that's not very random since it's done at every shopping trip.

I'm careful not to cut people off and I'm more than happy to let someone else have that parking spot near the store, but that's not kindness, it's just safe driving and the knowledge I need the exercise.

The best idea we've been able to come up with is to make hats for the babies in the NICU. So, Joseph and Elizabeth picked through my yarn and selected colors they thought would make pretty hats. And I'm knitting while watching TV in the evenings. We thought six was a good number. Actually, Joseph thought three hundred was a good number, but we decided to compromise.

I was comfortable in my role as the provider of a random act of kindness. I felt good. I felt happy.

But then, I became the recipient of an act so generous, it literally took the starch out of my knees.

Well, not literally. I don't have starchy knees.

I don't write or talk about finances much. Money, to me, is fluid. Sometimes I have it. Sometimes I don't. There have been some very lean years in my life and there have been years when I didn't blink an eye to drop a couple grand on a party. Lately, we've been on the lean side. Chad finished his disability and apologetically told me he wouldn't be able to pay me anything in child support until he could find a job.

I wasn't too worried.

Fine.

I was worried.

But I knew I'd be okay. If nothing else, I know how to work hard. I knew I'd be able to figure it out at some point. Plus I have very generous family and friends who have helped the kids and I out in more ways than one.

So I was worried, but knew it would all be okay.

And then, yesterday, someone gave me a check.

I don't know these people. They don't know me.

I do know their story.

They're don't have a "home" church. All year, they've taken the money they would normally tithe to their church and set it aside. At the end of the year, with no home church in sight, they decided to use that money to help random people.

I was one of those random people.

I didn't know what to say. I wanted to tell them to give it to someone who needs it more than I do. After all, the kids and I are fine. We have a cozy home, food, clothes.

We're not living in poverty. Not by a long shot.

But to not accept their act of kindness seemed...crass. Rude.

So I took it and wrote a thank you note to be mailed in a box with a couple jars of jam. Then, I sat with the check in my hand and tried to decide what to do.

I'm going to use part of it to pay off a credit card I used to buy Joseph's asthma medications.

The rest, I'm going to pay forward to someone who might need it more than I do.

And, no matter how tight my finances are, I'm going to set aside a little each month so that next year, I can do the same. On a smaller scale.

I'm hoping it will quiet the nagging voice in my head telling me I don't deserve this sort of largess and to give it all away. Because the practical voice is telling me to be very grateful I won't have to pay interest on medication.

What would you have done?

Barring the Apocalypse

2012-01-03T11:24:00.000-08:00

2011 was a tough year.

Really tough.

It wasn't all bad. I learned a lot, met some amazing people who have become some of my dearest friends, began writing more seriously, got paid to write, and started the journey to reclaim myself.

But it was still a tough year.

Which is why I'm so happy to start 2012.

I love the feeling of a fresh start. I love opening a new calendar to page one. I love brand new notebooks, empty journals, crisp new paper. I'm an optimist. I know this year is going to be fabulous - mostly because I refuse to have two tough years in a row.

I'm also stubborn.

And controlling.

They're just a few of my charming traits.

So as I start 2012, one word pops in my head. One word brings a smile to my face. One word sings its joyful tune and insists on becoming a resolution.

That word is: fun.

I'm tired of being sad. I'm tired of being stressed. I'm tired of being tired.

This year, I resolve to include more fun in my life.

Fun with the kids.

Fun by myself.

Fun with my friends.

In preparation, I bought board games for the kids for Christmas. Games I like to play. Games that are not Candyland - which I find mind numbing. Games like Operation and Memory and Uno.

I'm writing silly fiction and not worrying about plot lines and story structure.

I'm remembering the joy I feel at crafting a gift, at knitting a hat, at crocheting a scarf. I'm having fun with friends, planning to spend more time with them.

Fun.

I'm also making a few serious resolutions.

I joined myfitnesspals.com (see my review at Makes Fun) and plan on making my body healthier this year. And by "healthier", I mean fitter. And by "fitter", I mean drop the baby weight - they're not babies any longer. And drop the marriage weight - I'm not married any longer.

Well, technically, I still am.

But still!

And I'm making a resolution to finally get my paperwork together to start the process of officially getting a divorce.

I have a few more resolutions. Private ones. Personal ones. Resolutions I might share. Later.

Suffice to say I have high hopes for 2012.

Barring the apocalypse, it should be a pretty kick ass year.

Flying Colors

2011-12-29T15:04:00.000-08:00

Christmas as a restructured family, the last big "first" that weighed in my mind and heart, is over.

And we aced it.

I don't want to be too cocky, but we sailed through our first Christmas as a separated couple with flying colors. Not only was it peaceful, but we all had fun.

Five months ago - shoot, one month ago - I wouldn't have thought it would be possible.

I'm going to open the door just a bit here.

Just a tiny bit. Don't worry. Chad knows I'm writing about this.

For the past five years, Chad's been struggling with what he thought was depression. He saw a doctor. he saw a therapist. He went on medication. But no matter what he tried, he couldn't stave the feelings of being out of control.

Unless he self-medicated with alcohol.

Which was not good.

At all.

I have pages and pages of posts to write about that. Someday. But for right now, I'm happy that he's been sober for four months and twenty days.

But without the addition of his own brand of "medicine", the prescription pills he was taking for the depression wasn't helping.

Things were tough.

And with that one sentence, I became the Queen of Understatement and have books and books to write.

Then, a little over a month ago, he called his doctor in one of his manic states. For the first time it was his doctor, not me, who talked him down. It was his doctor, not me, who saw the paths his mind spun. And it was his doctor who finally diagnosed him with hypo mania bipolar disorder.

Finally, after years of struggling, he was put on the proper medication.

The difference has been unreal.

He's less agitated. His moods aren't as...severe. He's able to engage, to connect, to laugh, to enjoy.

I've changed too.

When we've spent time together this month, I notice my shoulders aren't next to my ears. I notice I'm not trying to create a protective barrier around him, keeping all unpleasant things at bay. I'm letting him learn to deal with his life and, in the process, am able to enjoy my own life.

All of this has had some fantastic consequences.

For the first time since we decided to divorce, I can see a glimmer of hope that the Pollyanna version of "peaceful restructuring" is within my grasp.

But I wasn't the wife of an alcoholic without consequences.

I'm tentative. Cautious with this new leaf. I'm hopeful - I'm always hopeful - but I'm also waiting.

Waiting because I don't quite trust this new found person. I've been here before. Almost.

And I've been hurt before.

So, I keep that glimmer of hope in the distance a bit. I watch. I listen. I talk. I keep my fingers crossed.

Because the thing is, no matter what has happened and what will happen, I do still have love in my heart for him.

I'm not able to be his wife. For many reasons, not the least of which I've mentioned.

But I think, I hope, I pray...I will be able to be his friend.

And that knowledge made for a very merry Christmas indeed.

Packing

2011-12-28T17:57:00.000-08:00

"Ellie," Kate said gently, "What are you doing?"

I looked up from where I stood at the foot of my bed, staring at a suitcase. Kate stood in the the doorway of my bedroom, her long hair pulled back into a casual ponytail, her body encased in jeans, a tunic and flip flops. I assumed her question was rhetoric.

"Are you and Brian going to the beach?" I asked absently, looking at the list in my hand.

"Later," she said, moving into the room, picking up a silky scarf that had fallen to the floor. "Henry called."

"Oh?" I looked up, focusing on her.

"He doesn't want you to go," she said, playing with the smooth length of fabric.

I sighed. "I know." I turned and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Why are you still going?"

"I always swore I'd never let a boyfriend stop me from pursuing my dreams. And I want this. I really want this."

"I know, but isn't -" Kat paused, searching for the words. "Isn't he someone worth staying for?"

"Right," I said wryly. "As if I'd tell his sister otherwise."

Kate laughed and sat next to me, pushing the suitcase away.

"Kate, I really don't know why this is such a big deal. I mean, I'm sad I'm not going to be able to see him for six weeks, but it's only six weeks and then I'll be back!"

"He's afraid."

"He's ridiculous."

"He's afraid of losing you."

I rolled my eyes. "I keep telling him. He's not going to lose me."

"He's already lost one woman he loved. He's afraid it's going to happen again."

I stared out the window at the palm trees waving in the courtyard against the crystal blue sky. I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I don't want to hurt him," I whispered. "I love him. A lot." I looked back at Kate, "But he has to trust me. I'm not going to leave him."

"That's what Georgie said." Kate handed me the scarf and stood to leave. "Ellie," she turned back to me, "be careful with my brother's heart."

This is a piece of fiction that's part of my groovy little break from reality. If you want to read more about Henry and Ellie, check out Fictional Mandyland. This bit takes place after Leaving on a Jet Plane.

Christmas Eve...

2011-12-25T00:25:00.000-08:00

The presents were wrapped, the kitchen cleaned. Chad was snoring on my couch while two exhausted children sprawled across their beds. Their tummies were filled with ham, green beans, and cake. Their minds with the toys they'd gotten from Boppa and Gee, Gran, and their great-aunt and great-uncle.

I sat at the computer, smiling as I remembered Elizabeth yelling, "Oh my GOSH!" while she ripped the paper off the doll house her grandparents got her.

I giggled a little remembering Joseph's face when he unwrapped a corner of a box and discovered Pirates of the Caribbean Whitecap Bay. "It's cooler than anything else in the whole wide world. I'm a lucky boy!"

My back ached a bit, from sitting hunched on the floor while cutting paper and taping edges. I hummed A Few of My Favorite Things.

My menu - charged by two children - was in my head: monkey bread, eggs, fresh squeezed orange juice. I started to shut down my computer when I remembered I needed to take out the trash.

And yes, I agree. Considering I'm making him breakfast tomorrow, the least Chad could have done is take out the trash, but I let it go. Peace and goodwill towards men and all that.

Coming in from the garage, imagine my surprise when I saw someone by the tree.

I can't wait to show the kids.

I hope you are all having a wonderful Christmas filled with love and joy. And if you don't celebrate Christmas, then I still hope you have a wonderful day filled with love and joy.

And Chinese food.

A Bit of Business

2011-12-23T11:48:00.000-08:00

Before I take my break, a bit of business...

First of all...

Did you guys see Alex's post about Random Acts of Kindness?

Grab a tissue and go check it out. It spurred an interesting conversation between Joseph and I that I'll write about after we perform our random act.

Now...

Last year, I was fairly new to Twitter and the World of Bloggers Who Talk To Each Other. I remember seeing some of my new faves sending mugs to each other and thinking, "Wow. I wish I could be one of the cool kids."

Little did I know that the only thing I had to do to be one of the cool kids was send an email to Liz saying, "I want to participate in Mug Swap 2011."

This sort of knowledge would have been awesome in high school.

So, I made a mug and sent it to Morgan at Little Hen House.

A few days later I received this from Mama Gump:

Cute, no?

She even filled it with hot cocoa.

That woman is awesome. Truly.

Now...back to my regularly scheduled break from reality.

Break from Reality

2011-12-23T09:46:00.000-08:00

I don't know about you guys, but I'm kinda tired of reality.

Just a bit.

So, how about we spend the next couple of weeks playing the "opposite" game. Don't give me that look. This is going to be way more fun than the "quiet" game.

Promise.

Normally, I write reality - or my version of it - four days a week and slip into fiction, once a week. Over the next couple of weeks, I'd rather post fiction, with a small break for reality here or there. I'm hoping it'll get me back into the story telling groove.

Sound fun?

Great.

But where to start?

Any thoughts? Suggestions? Requests?

Oh! Should I have a button? Something tells me I need a button. Hmmm...how about....

Yep. That's right. I created a button.

You're all impressed now, aren't you?

Don't be. Morgan's tutorial is the only reason I didn't pay someone on Etsy to do it for me. She even had a tutorial on how to make it a grab button.

Which I'm still trying to figure out.

It may take me a while...

Revisiting Fantasyland

2011-12-20T07:31:00.000-08:00

The kids and I spent the first part of last week in Disneyland.

With Chad.

And his sister and her family.

And his parents, who very graciously footed the bill.

It could have been a recipe for disaster. Instead it was a magical time out in a world that is increasingly more complicated.

Chad, the kids, and I arrived Sunday afternoon after a hellish drive with three stops in the first hour. It appears that Elizabeth has inherited her brother's propensity towards motion sickness.

Which is another way of saying, she threw up. A lot.

After checking into the hotel room - which we were all sharing - we walked into the park.

Disneyland at Christmas was amazing. At times I felt like I was in a Christmas commercial. Everything was perfectly color coordinated, perfectly themed, perfectly Disney. It was icy cold and crowded, with lines wrapping around the dark boulevards lit only by colored lights reflected in the windows.

We watched the Christmas parade, ate hot chowder in New Orleans Square and stood in line to see the Haunted Mansion transformed into the Nightmare Before Christmas.

We left the park at eight, exhausted and ready for bed.

We woke to a downpour.

We knew rain was in the forecast. What we didn't know was how much. After a quick trip to Target, we bundled the kids in fleece, windbreakers, rain boots, hats, and gloves. We draped the stroller with a poncho and splashed into the nearly empty park.

We rode rides without having to wait more than a few minutes. We found shelter under the monorail. We ate with our jackets on. And Elizabeth, somehow, fell asleep under the poncho and a fleece blanket, cozy warm while I walked across Toon Town.

We hopped over to California Adventure after she woke and spent the rest of the day in a grueling marathon of rides, water, cold, wind and rain. None of us were ready to cry uncle. We were going to enjoy ourselves no matter what Mother Nature dished out.

We finally called it a night at five. Once the sun set, there was no way for us to stay.

The next morning, we woke to...silence. Not a drop of rain, blue skies, cold temperatures. But not a drop of rain.

We rushed to the park and spent the next eleven hours playing, during which time Joseph became a real Jedi and Elizabeth met Tinkerbell, the kids danced with Phineas and Ferb, and we all went head to head on Astro Blasters and the Toys Story ride.

Overall, it was a fabulous trip. A trippy trip. At one point, Chad held Joseph's hand and walked next to me as I pushed Elizabeth's stroller. To any passerby, we'd be the picture of a happy, nuclear family enjoying a day at Disneyland.

In reality, we're in the middle of a separation, starting divorce proceedings, and trying to figure out how we're going to restructure our little family.

Chad looked at me as we walked down Main Street.

"I feel like we're in a time warp," he confessed, handing me his Diet Coke.

"Me too. It's like the last seven months haven't happened," I said, taking a sip and handing it back.

"But it has."

"I know."

We smiled at each other, a little sadly. I thought of the little married habits we'd developed - sharing drinks, snagging coffee and hot cocoa for each other, packing the hotel room, getting the kids ready for bed.

It felt familiar, yet strange.

It was like trying to sleep in your childhood bedroom - a room that while familiar is also alien and outgrown.

But it was a good trip.

Christmas Crack Recipe

2011-12-19T09:47:00.000-08:00

For years I've seen a recipe fly around my moms' forum. The subject lines made me giggle:

"I'm addicted to crack!"

"I need more crack."

"I'm such a crack ho."

And the recipe, with variations was posted.

To be honest, they all looked really gross.

But with the raves and accolades and the fact that I had all four ingredients for the "pure" crack variation, I thought I'd give it a whirl to rave reviews.

Here it is...pure and simple...

Christmas Crack

1 sleeve Saltines (though club crackers seem popular as well)
1 cup butter (MUST use butter)
1 cup brown sugar
1 bag chocolate chips (can use other flavors, but chocolate is the orginal)

1. Preheat your oven to 350.

2. Line a cookie sheet with tin foil.

3. Spray with Pam. (I didn't do this the first two times and had the joy of peeling the foil off with my nails.)

4. Line the foil covered cookies sheet with one layer of crackers. Don't break them or smash them or anything. Just lay them out.

5. Boil the brown sugar and butter together. Now, this is important. Let it boil for about five minutes or else you'll just end up with an ooey-gooey mess. Seriously. It happened to me. Twice.

6. Pour the brown sugar mixture over the crackers.

7. Bake for 10 minutes.

8. Remove from the oven and pour the chocolate chips on top. When they're soft, spread them around with a spoon.

9. Chill for two hours and then "crack" apart.

Some variations I've seen included topping the soft chocolate with chopped nuts or chopped candy cane.

Enjoy this somewhat easy-to-make treat!

The Countdown

2011-12-16T10:09:00.000-08:00

Five.

The minute hand moved into place with a heavy click. Someone shifted in their seat. Someone else coughed. Papers rustled. Carrie stared at the clock, watching the second hand sweep the face.

Four.

She started as her attorney passed her a pile of papers. Her frozen fingers picked up the pen. She signed next to a vibrant yellow tab, the black ink scrawling across the line. She flipped the pages, signing and initialling, her breath becoming more shallow with every scratch of the pen.

Three.

She passed the papers back to her attorney and watched as Todd began signing. His pen moved quickly across the pages until he looked up.

Their eyes met.

Two.

Thousands of memories flashed before her eyes: their bodies dancing, banana pancakes, breakfast in bed, holding hands while driving, flicking each other with kitchen towels, feeding him cupcakes with her fingers, laying entwined on the bed, his smiling face when he presented her with a bouquet of whisks, laughing in the theatre, holding each other when the test showed two lines.

His face blurred.

One.

"Congratulations," her attorney's wry voice penetrated her numb brain. "You're no longer husband and wife."

Todd shoved his chair back and stalked out of the room, the door closing silently behind him. His face was a mask of anger and something else. Carrie stared after him, trying identify the alien emotion in his eyes.

"Ms. Granger?"

She looked up. It felt familiar but still so odd after years of going by another name.

"It's over."

This is a piece of fiction inspired by the Write on Edge prompt "Countdown". This is a little more of the Hidden Hollow series. You might remember Todd and Carrie. For those of you who are new, I have a few storylines going with this series. Check out Fictional Mandyland to read more.

Fantasyland

2011-12-15T13:49:00.000-08:00

I just glanced at my poor neglected blog and realized I left you hanging. For almost a week. Bear with me, kids. I just got back from the Annual Family Vacation and need time to recouperate.

At least a week to catch up on my sleep.

And another to come to terms with the fact that there are no flocks of birds showing up on my window sill to do my laundry.

Yes. I tweeted that.

And facebooked it.

Because I thought it was that funny.

Which shows you what my state of mind is.

The short story...

The kids and I joined Chad, his parents, his sister and brother-in-law and their two kids on a three day trip to Disneyland.

The long story...

Well, that will just have to wait until I'm less exhausted and more alert.

But you know me. I can never resist a long story.

Holiday Honey

2011-12-09T14:54:00.000-08:00

The doorbell rang, its broken buzz sending a stab of pain behind Honey's eyes. Sighing, she stepped out of her black stilettos before walking to the door.

A man stood on the other side clutching a brown paper bag in one hand.

Reaching into the jar next to the door, Honey grabbed a handful of silver coins and crumpled bills.

"Thanks, Jimmy," she said as she started counting.

"No problem," the man said, settling against her door jam. "You really need to start getting that ready before I show up. You make me late for my other deliveries."

Honey bit back a retort as she dumped the change into his hand. "You can't be that busy tonight."

"You'd be surprised." Straightening, he pocketed the money. "Merry Christmas, Honey."

Honey locked the door behind him and walked into the kitchen of her tiny studio. She snorted to herself. Kitchen. What a stupid word for a space the size of her closet back home. She set the Chinese food on the stove top, opening the oven door and grabbing a pair of slippers.

Her mother would have had a conniption at the thought of using an oven for storage. Honey smiled sadly. Her mother wouldn't have thought it was possible to spend this much money for an apartment without a working range. She swallowed the thickness in her throat, feeling her eyes prick.

She grabbed a pair of chopsticks out of the cup next to the sink and opened the paper bag, the smell of sweet and sour pork making her stomach rumble. She'd been too busy to eat since breakfast.

She settled her aching body on the chair next to the window and began to eat. Looking out at the city, full of the noise of bustling people and honking horns, she noticed, dispassionately that it had begun to snow.

This is a work of fiction. Yes. Fiction. Can you believe I'm back in Hidden Hollow today? This week's prompt from Write on Edge made me wonder how Honey's doing now that she's realized her dream of living in the big city. I'm starting to think it's not all it's cracked up to be.

As always, concrit would be appreciated.

Hair

2011-12-08T07:16:00.000-08:00

I've discovered the joy of having a daughter who likes to brush hair. With the exception of the times she poked me in the eye, it was very, very relaxing.

It started off while I was snuggling her on my lap.

"Your hair is messy, Mommy."

"Is it?" I asked absently.

She lifted her hand and smoothed my bangs. "It's messy, Mommy. I brush it!"

She ran into the bathroom, opening drawer and returning with my brush. I sat down on the floor cross-legged while she began to brush, her tongue stuck between her teeth as she attempted to tame the frizz on my head.

"It's messy, Mommy."

"I know."

"There!" she said in satisfaction. "It looks good."

I waited, feeling the bangs she'd pushed to the back of my head slowly start to rise.

"Mommy! Your hair is messy!" And back to work she went. I relaxed into the brush strokes, enjoying the relative quiet.

"Elizabeth, will you brush my hair too?"

"Hang on a minute, Joe. I brush Mommy's hair."

A few more minutes passed and finally, satisfied that she smoothed all my hair, she started on Joseph's.

"It looks good, baby," I commented.

Elizabeth looked at me and shook her head. "Not yet."

"Oh! Sorry, sweetie. I thought it looked good."

"No, Mommy. Not yet."

Joseph and I sat while she took turns brushing our hair until finally, with a deep sigh, she looked at us and said, "It looks pretty."