Mermaid Mama

Blood, sweat, gears, and tears

2010-06-18T18:54:00.000-07:00

You know those ideas that start out sounding like good ideas? Ones like, I think I'll take the kids on a little bike ride? I'm thinking that instead of going to the gym, I'll pack my four year old and my nearly one year old into the trailer and just take a nice flat ride around the Toro Park neighborhood not far from my parents' house.

It has been a while since I rode around Toro Park. I know I used to do it when I lived here, and was about 23, and childless. My memory clearly does not serve, because I think I can just bike on a relatively flat trail straight around the smallish suburb, which sounds just about right with a 40-pounder and a 20-pounder in the trailer.

Things start off well; I bike away from the road and my parked car, heading down a dirt path next to nice golden hills and the occasional oak tree. Okay, so it is really windy. And the kids are really heavy.

Right about the time I think the trail is going to head back toward the front of the neighborhood, it suddenly veers the other way, heading straight up a very steep, gravelly hill. I bike my darnedest until I realize that no matter how low the gear, I am not going to be able to get up the hill. I'll just walk.

About 1/3 of the way up the hill, the bike starts frantically trying to bike itself out of my hands and backward down the hill, and I realize I probably only outweigh the bike, trailer, and kids by about 15 pounds. I leap my bare legs out of the way of its threatening chain, still maintaining my grip so as to avoid letting my children plummet to the bottom of the hill without me.

I finally make it to the top. Whew! At least the ride back down will be fun. Glad we're almost there! Except we aren't. Before my heart has recovered from the first climb, I'm upon another. And another. Selah keeps asking me nearly inaudible questions, and Asher occasionally cries. I try to ignore them all so the din doesn't drive me to commit suicide.

When I finally get to coast downhill a little, the bike gives a sudden lurch, which I don't really understand, but I keep going. To the next hill. Boy, I can't believe how much farther this has gone than I thought! Can't wait 'til we finally go downhill again! Which we don't, not for a while. I look back down the hill at the neighborhood, wondering if there's another way out, one other than turning back and having to go back uphill again, other than continuing on for who knows how long. The neighborhood presents a wall of houses, presenting their own solid backyard wall. I have to keep going. I fight the wind, try to use my abs, try to just get to the top of this friggin' hill. Asher is crying in earnest at this point; his tiny bike helmet is smushed down over his tiny face, covering his eyes. I look back, but feel helpless to do anything about it.

I finally reach a curve. My exhausted eyes are greeted with a familiar sight. They have seen this sight before when I saw that movie, Alive, about the soccer team that crashes in the Andes. They reach the top of their mountain, and just see more mountains, and more mountains. The path curves on ahead. I consider calling my dad, asking how far the trail goes. I realize it doesn't matter, because I have to keep going.

Finally, downhill! I have a few scares in sand-puddles, when my bike careens from side to side, but I don't want to lose any of my precious, precious momentum. I nearly shoot past what I have been looking for all this time--a tiny path leading back into the neighborhood! I turn around and walk my bike down it. At this point, I realize I have pulled my groin. I hear Selah trying to pacify Asher and fix his helmet, and I mentally bless her little heart. I do so again when I'm trying to squeeze the bike and the trailer uphill between a fence and a bush, and she says, "I'm making it easier now, Mommy!" while leaning forward. I hardly hear her over my grunts; I am trying to force the bike trailer around a corner on this path that is maybe 10 inches wide.

I finally see road ahead of me. Blocked by a wooden fence with a bike-sized--not trailer-sized--hole in it. I look around wildly, but no helicopters are looming yet. I kneel down, wincing from pain, and try to take the trailer off of my bike. I can't; the lurch I felt earlier was the trailer's safety belt unhooking itself and winding inextricably around the axle. I yank, twist, and turn until I unhook it, and ten minutes later I succeed in unraveling the deteriorating belt. Asher sits quietly, still mostly covered by his helmet, and I wonder if he's sleeping, injured, or just frightened by his half-dead, crazed mother. Selah looks interested and hopeful.

Spotting some passers-by, I frantically wave and gasp, "Will you help me?" They lift my trailer over the wall and look like they want to get the hell away from me when I exhaustedly mutter something about being tired, going too far. I hook the stinking heavy thing back onto my bike--would it be wrong to just leave them here--and start pedaling slowly back toward the car, still through the wind. Why is this still uphill? I wonder.

I make it back to the car, at long last. Selah says, "Whew! I am TIRED!" I don't know whether to laugh or cry. But I made it! Now I just need to get the bike and trailer and children back into the car. It sounds impossible. I manage. I drive home, blurry-eyed and wondering what's for dinner.

Nanny 911

2010-05-07T14:20:00.000-07:00

Picture the scene: two parents, a mother sitting in the dining room at the table, a father in the kitchen. Dinnertime is about to start. The mother is attempting to nurse a baby.

Mother: [over baby's head] Selah? Have you finished picking up the toys?

A cat speeds down the hallway, followed by a seemingly sweet four-year-old girl, who is wearing a shirt and a pair of underwear around her knees. The child waddles, as the panties are restricting her movements. She throws a pair of shorts at the cat, as hard as she can. Panicked, the animal [which has already been deemed off-limits for the day] runs. The child waddles away, back down the hallway.

Mother: HEY! Get back here!

The smiling child returns, but when it is clear that Mother has discipline on her mind, appears wary.

Mother: Give me your hand. I am going to swat it because you hurt Mr. Darcy.

Child: NO! NO! [She makes to run off, knowing Mother is trapped with the baby.]

Mother: Honey, would you do it? I can't reach her.

Father: I don't want to do this, but you can't hurt the cat. [reaches over and swats child's hand]

Child: EARGH! [She charges at Father, clearly going to attack him. She kicks her toe on a toy schoolhouse, which, surprisingly, lies on the kitchen floor.] AAAAAAA! MY TOE! MY TOE!

The baby, finished with its meal, looks surprised, then smiles and wiggles.

Father: [Struggling to contain emotions: amusement? horror? It is difficult to tell] Selah, are you going to need to go to your room?

Child, still weeping from traumatic toe injury, hobbles quickly away, perhaps to her bedroom. Father and Mother look at each other.

Mother: That was like something out of the Jerry Springer Show!

Father: Or more like that nanny one.

April Showers Bring May Flowers

2010-04-21T14:51:00.000-07:00

I don't know where that is really true, but it certainly hasn't been true anywhere I've lived. Growing up near Monterey, California, I was often perplexed by seasons in children's books. We got no snow, if March came in like a lion, it was a tame, fuzzy lion, and February showers tended to bring late February flowers. Then, in Portland, I finally learned about colder winters, mostly that I wouldn't want to live anywhere truly snowy (I am far too thin-blooded), and still, February showers tended to bring March flowers--which were smitten with a frost immediately afterward, and died. So I don't know where all those descriptions came from.

I miss Portland a lot--partly the people, partly the culture, and partly just the city itself. Days like today, though, I remember why it was that I physically had to leave. I just hate the rain. It's not the rain itself, it's the gloom. I kind of like the rain, in that I like taking rain walks and such, but when the house is dark or when I'm driving on cloudy days, I just feel so tired and miserable. I think, "Did I feel this way all the time when I lived there?" It's hard, though, because I really don't love Sacramento. I do love where I grew up, my parents' house in Corral de Tierra, but that's not really a possible place for us to live right now. So here I am, in just-a-place California, but at least it hardly ever does this. And it has been so amazing getting to live right next to my nephews and niece, getting to go to their birthday parties and give them hugs more than once a year.

I guess what it comes down to is just figuring out where you have the best shot at being happy and healthy, and maybe it just won't be in a city with a pretty skyline and great concerts (that I never went to anyway, as a mom). But I do miss Portland.

Bunny Brawl

2010-04-11T18:18:00.000-07:00

Jeremy's mom gave the kids each an Easter bunny; Selah's talks about Easter when you press a button.

I witnessed Selah playing with the two bunnies just now. I imagine normal children playing nice Easter games with such stuffed toys, hiding eggs or something. Instead:

Smaller talking bunny tells its story in an electronic voice, closing with "Happy Easter!"
Larger bunny: [Selah affects deep voice] It's not Easter! It's Christmas!
Smaller bunny: It's not!
Larger bunny shoves smaller bunny, who falls over.
Smaller bunny: I died!
He sits back up. Larger bunny hits him with a toy hammer.
Smaller bunny: Aaaaa!
Larger bunny: You have a time-out!
He picks up smaller bunny, who cries out.
Smaller bunny: Nooo!

I try to tell myself that I have a deeply imaginative child, instead of a severely disturbed one. I also try not to worry about the fact that after Larger bunny has hit Smaller bunny with a hammer, he gives him a time-out. What exactly is Selah's perception of us as parents?

Okay, I have to go feed dinner to a bunch of people who are going to hate it now. But if anyone doesn't eat, I will hit him or her with a hammer before handing out a time-out.

Further adventures in motherhood

2009-05-22T08:08:00.000-07:00

I am aware that most of my posts have to do with showers. Perhaps this is because showering is one of those beautiful remnants of the past, back when I had "me" time, and nobody bothered me, and how they tend to play out now in comparison to those days is traumatic at best.

As I near the end of my pregnancy (less than two months left!), I increasingly need and crave relaxation, but where would one find such things? I was taking a shower, hurrying as usual, and right as I had a head full of shampoo, Selah jerked the door open, and shouted, "I need you to wipe my bottom!" Closing my eyes, I decided I could hope that all had gone well on the potty (just outside) for the moment, at least while I was taking a shower, and just clean up if need be later. Shampoo dripping into my eyes, throwing water all over the bathroom, I performed the requested/demanded duty, and then leaned back in to rinse.

I didn't realize that Selah left the door open when she left--until the smoke detector right outside the bathroom went off, as it always does when steam leaves the bathroom. I squeezed my eyes shut again, trying to ignore its shrill shrieks, as I was unable to reach the door knob to shut the door. Of course Selah was frightened by the noise, too, so started running around the house screaming, "Aaaa! Aaaaa!" The volume of her screams competed with that of the smoke detector's, and I finally gave up my quest for a complete, full bathing experience and got out to make everyone shut up.

I wasn't even mad; all you can do is laugh.

We're selling our adorable home!

2009-05-08T11:34:00.000-07:00

I am writing to enlist your help. We are planning to sell our lovely little house, and we are blessed enough to be working with a broker who wants to help us. If we find someone to sell it to ourselves, it would save us a lot of money, and if our buyer wants to work with our same broker or just deal with us, we would be able to pass some of the savings on to them as well. Not to mention I am very attached to our house, and I'd love to send it off into good hands! We will be putting it on the market for 322,000, but we could share the savings if we end up selling it ourselves, so that would go down a bit.

So here are some specs: It's a single story, but the basement is fully finished, giving it a third bedroom, a second bathroom, and another living room/den. The special thing about the house is it would serve someone well who wanted three bedrooms/two baths, but it also can be used the way we have been using it for the past three plus years--you can rent out the basement as a separate apartment, with its own laundry room, kitchen, and entrance. It also could be helpful for someone who wants a relative or someone to live with them, but have relative independence. Most appliances can be included.

The (newly painted) house is located in an amazing neighborhood, at 48th and Fremont, right off the Beaumont Village business district. You can walk to groceries, restaurants, coffee shops, pubs, and cute little shops; a bus to downtown stops right at our corner, two houses down, and we are up the hill from the MAX in the Hollywood District. The Hollywood Library, the post office, a couple of banks, a pharmacy, and some medical offices are also within walking distance, down the hill, and they are opening a Whole Foods there as well. I often walk to Safeway or Trader Joe's for a little bit further of a walk.

It's also in a great school district: Alameda Elementary, Beaumont Middle, and Grant High schools. We love our neighbors, who are a mixture of young families, older folks, and a random assortment of others, all of whom have been very friendly and supportive. The neighborhood is very safe, and there are people out taking walks at all hours, alone, with their families or dogs, etc. The main living space has nice hardwood floors, and there is a fireplace in the living room. Its social/living spaces are large enough that we were able to host a home group in it for several years with no problem. There is a dining room, living room, kitchen, two bedrooms, a bathroom and a mudroom on the ground floor, and the basement has the aforementioned rooms. The house is a total of about 1500 square feet.

Anyway, we'd be thrilled if you yourselves were interested, or if you passed on this information to someone else who might be!

Best,
Laura, Jeremy, and Selah

Bad Parenting Moments Come Back to Haunt

2009-03-13T09:37:00.001-07:00

I am having a hard time not taking out my pregnancy fatigue on Selah, who of course would not understand. Yesterday was a horrendously long day, with Jeremy gone before Selah woke up at 7, and not returning until after she had gone to bed, and our 13.5 hour day in the interim included the gym, the DMV, meeting friends at a restaurant...in short, it was tiring!

I was getting out of the shower toward the end of this day, hurrying to get ready to go back out for the restaurant, and Selah ran into the kitchen, waving a pair of small, sharp, orange-handled scissors. (She owns a pair of small, blunt, orange-handled scissors). Horrified, I snapped, "Hey! Those aren't yours! Those are sharp!" yada yada.

Disappointed, as she clearly thought they were her scissors, Selah argued, and threw a fit when I put them back (I was still not wearing any clothes, and cold and mad). Letting the moment get the better of me, I pulled out her scissors, and said, "Look! These are yours! They are not sharp." I hucked them onto the floor and...they broke.

Understandably, Selah really melted down then, since she had wanted to play with her (cherished) scissors, and then I broke them. I stormed back to the bathroom to dress and dry my hair, and when she came in, I apologized for breaking the scissors, and said I shoudn't have thrown them. She forgave me.

However, when I came back into the living room, there she was, reenacting the whole sordid scene with her toys. One, the oppressed toy, was crying out in grief, "Those were brand new! And you broke them!"

I should probably start saving up for a therapist now. But meanwhile, I might need one, since pretty much my every fault or error is remembered and imitated for my enjoyment. Sigh.

Article in the Oregonian

2009-01-25T16:36:00.000-08:00

Ever since I lost my cat Emily to cancer, caused by inappropriate vaccination procedures, I have hoped other people might find out what I didn't know, and be spared the same sorrow. I wrote an article for the Oregonian on the topic that was published this week:

http://www.oregonlive.com/living/index.ssf/2009/01/lowcost_vaccination_clinics_ca.html

Hilarious

2008-06-30T13:14:00.000-07:00

I had already heard of the blog "Stuff White People Like," but hadn't visited it until I read a fellow blogger's article on EcoMetro. Her reference included things like "farmers markets," "organic food," and "Priuses." I just visited the blog myself, and here are some choice paragraphs, which I have ripped off for your enjoyment in a most unethical manner:

Being a truly advanced white person means being able to speak with authority about pretty much any field of conversation- especially politics. In order for white people to streamline the process of knowing everything, all human beings can be neatly filed into one of two categories: People I Agree With, and People Who are Just Like Adolf Hitler.
...
It’s also critical that you avoid the fatal mistake of getting creative and comparing people you don’t like to other evil dictators, such as Joseph Stalin or Fidel Castro. With few exceptions, white people are actually fond of almost any dictator not named Hitler, and your remark that “this is just like something Mao Zedong would do” will be met with blank stares and possible social alienation. This is because, with the exception of Hitler, oppressive dictators share a passion for many of the things white people love- such as universal health care, conspiracy theories, caring about poor people while being filthy rich, and cool hats. Stick to the script and compare things you don’t like to Hitler, and Hitler alone.

Things I don't believe in

2008-06-16T17:40:00.000-07:00

I have recently gotten several e-mails from the same person, and have over the years received many with the same disturbing messages.

Here is one thing that stumps me: since when do loving Jesus and the military have anything in common? I don't understand. No matter what your views on the military in general, how can you make a case for it being somehow religious? Nowhere in the Bible, and especially not in the New Testament, can you find some sort of implication that Christ's followers should be especially supportive of their local government's military or war in general. Now don't get me wrong: I am not like the Vietnam-era protesters who held the poor veterans responsible for the war. Those enlisted in the military are not responsible for today's war; they have no control over it, and I respect them for wanting to protect us. However, America is not God, and the military is not his warriors. The United States to the Christian is like Rome was to the Jews in Jesus's time, or like Babylon was to the Israelites of old. We are meant to live here, to love people and do God's work, but not to give our hearts or allegiance to the geographic or political terrain. We are meant to follow the laws and pay our taxes as long as that does not interfere with following the much more important laws of God.

Here's another thing: how can someone I see as loving, as being a "good person" completely demonize an entire group of people based on their religion? I have received e-mails comparing Muslims to the Nazis, and I end up feeling the senders are much more akin to that particular evil. Are there Muslim religious extremists, willing to kill themselves just to kill off other human beings for the sake of their religion? Yes. Is this true of Christianity as well? Yes (forgive us, Lord)! I wish it were not so, but there have been crazies throughout the ages of every race and religion who were willing to kill for what they believed in. That does not mean that your average-Joe Muslim in his place of worship is a Nazi. If you are going to be a bigot, you need to examine yourself and your heart. Obviously I do not think Islam is the "right" path; I follow Jesus with all my heart. I also don't think certain groups of people are envoys of Satan as much as that he tries to work in all of us. I am just as capable of intensely evil action as any terrorist may be, and if I fear that within me, I just may try to judge others and make it seem that there are specific groups of people who are evil--thus making me innocent if I am not one of them.

Anyway, forgive the rant, but my religious beliefs lead me to be a pacifist who loves all people equally. It seems to me that Jesus was just that, and if I aspire to be like him, I must follow his example. I may not be "patriotic"--should I want to be? I may be judged. I don't particularly care.

Discouraging

2008-06-05T20:17:00.000-07:00

Something about job-hunting has the ability to make me feel like a total loser. I think it is set up that way, to break you so you will finally accept whatever Baskin Robbins job comes along and be grateful...

A year ago, the company I worked as editor for started having a difficult time; last October I was finally officially laid off. That was hard to process, because I had thought it was the beginning of a really enjoyable career, and then it ended after just a year.

I started freelancing, which scared the crud out of me because it required being okay with instability, okay with not having all of the control all of the time. I began to think that God wanted me in that spot, however, because things started falling into place: I kept getting encouragement, work, and affirmations such as Vinnie wanting me to work as a subcontracting editor for Declaration Editing.

However, working at home is not exactly chicken soup for the soul. I am so lonely! I don't feel like I can have people come over or talk on the phone (not that I EVER really wanted to talk on the phone anyway), because I can't exactly bill clients for time I have spent socializing. So I spend all day all by myself, feeling bored. It is a little better when I get out and have work dates with fellow freelancers or friends, but it really doesn't solve the problem--I crave regular interaction, a routine.

I have finally thought, okay, it's time to get an outside-the-home job. Especially since I have also kind of had it with the financial instability. I have been blessed with a few good months, but I am starting to see some gaping gaps in my pipeline--in fact, I don't quite know what I will do tomorrow! Or next week! To add to the financial pressure, our tenant has announced that he is moving out. In an ideal world, we wouldn't have to rent out the basement again--our toddler-equipped family could use the space and the relaxation of not worrying about Selah making lots of noise, etc.

It turns out that jobs are even more few and far-between than I thought! I don't feel that picky; while I want a publishing job again, those are pretty scarce, and I would be more than happy doing slightly less interesting work in a more exhilarating atmosphere (read: any atmosphere). I have already had high hopes for a couple and then not gotten them, which is discouraging. I have my masters, 3 years of editing and writing experience, and yet I feel like I am trying to get an engineer's job with a junior-high diploma or something. Now that I actually have a field, I don't feel I should just cop out and get a really stupid job like I would have five years ago, last time I was in complete misery over a job-hunt.

I don't know if this is supposed to be some kind of sign, or if it's just that life is not easy. It doesn't help that Selah's been nastier than anything (I think she's sick), and that this blasted rain will not stop! It makes me kind of want to be a kid again, looking forward to summer vacation and Mom's reassurances that everything would be fine...

Kitty

2008-05-12T16:13:00.000-07:00

So I survived Jeremy's two-week trip to Minneapolis, as did Selah (I didn't kill her) and Emily (she didn't die). But now it looks like it might be the end of the road for Emily.

She has looked worse and worse through the past several months, as those of you visiting our house have noticed, but even just these past few days, her tumor has gotten, well, out of control. She was even able to wobble around okay last week, but now she has peed right by where she sleeps a few times, because it's too hard for her to go very far. Yesterday, when she did get out of "bed" (the log holder, in which we put a blanket), she kept lying down on the floor, because she was too tired to cross the tiny room to go back. One time when she lay down, she kind of flipped over, because the tumor was too heavy.

So we have a vet "consultation" appointment on Wednesday.

Two Weeks...

2008-04-04T21:27:00.000-07:00

Jeremy has to go to Minneapolis for almost two weeks, starting this Sunday. I don't know if we've ever been apart for that long at a stretch (except for when the jerk broke up with me :) so it would be tough anyway, but of course the addition of Selah will make my life tougher and his lonelier. I guess it won't help that the weather there sounds like it will be terrible.

Things you can pray for us about: that I don't go nuts, that Jeremy has a good time, that his travels go smoothly, that Emily doesn't die while he is away, that Selah recovers from her current cold and is therefore nice to me...well, the list goes on.

I think I have been focusing on how difficult it will be to take care of Selah all by myself so I don't have to think about what will really be harder: missing him. I am trying to see this as an opportunity to get all of the alone time I need, but that doesn't really work, because by the time Selah goes to bed, I kind of want to just veg out, rather than whatever it is one theoretically does with special alone time! I am going to get to see Jeremy's sister in Bend, and my sister and nephew are coming up to see us for two days, so that will certainly help cheer me up!

Jeremy gets back on the evening of the 17th, so in the meantime, if you see me throw a suitcase in my car and drive away, check on Selah to make sure I at least turned on Sesame Street before I left for Mexico.

Word Humor

2008-02-25T21:38:00.000-08:00

Warning: this may be last year's, as I seem to recall many of these, but hey, it's still hilarious!

Here is the Washington Post's Mensa Invitational, which once again asked

readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are the winners:

1. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject

financially impotent for an indefinite period of time.

2. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.

3. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you

realize it was your money to start with.

4. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

5. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright

ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of

breaking down in the near future.

6. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting

laid

7. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high

8. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who

doesn't get it.

9. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

11. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really

bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious

bummer.

12. Decafalon (n.): The gruelling event of getting through the day consuming

only things that are good for you

13. Glibido: All talk and no action.

14. Dopeler Effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they

come at you rapidly.

15. Arachnoleptic Fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've

accidentally walked through a spider web.

16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your

bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

17. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the

fruit you're eating.

The Washington Post has also published the winning submissions to its yearly

contest, in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for common

words. And the winners are:

1. coffee, n. the person upon whom one coughs.

2. flabbergasted, adj. appalled by discovering how much weight one has

gained.

3. abdicate, v. to give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.

4. esplanade, v. to attempt an explanation while drunk.

5. willy-nilly, adj. impotent.

6. negligent, adj. absentmindedly answering the door when wearing only a

nightgown.

7. lymph, v. to walk with a lisp.

8. gargoyle, n. olive-flavored mouthwash.

9. flatulence, n. emergency vehicle that picks up someone who has been run

over by a steamroller.

10. balderdash, n. a rapidly-receding hairline.

11. testicle, n. a humorous question on an exam.

12. rectitude, n. the formal, dignified bearing adopted by proctologists.

13. pokemon, n. a Rastafarian proctologist.

14. oyster, n. a person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddishisms.

15. Frisbeetarianism, n. the belief that, after death, the soul flies up onto

the roof and gets stuck there.

16. circumvent, n. an opening in the front of boxer shorts worn by Jewish men.

Update on the Terminal Patient

2008-02-19T21:04:00.000-08:00

Today it was brought to my attention that I talked all about Emily on my blog, and then didn't bring it up again, therefore implying that...she died. But she hasn't yet! Though she wasn't supposed to make it through October, she is still going, though not necessarily going strong.

Her tumor is enormous; our friend called her "Quasimodo." She seems to just sleep more and more these days, and I halfway keep hoping she'll just kind of peacefully go. I can't imagine putting her to sleep, so hope that doesn't end up having to be the decision.

Anyway, even though some of you may not be cat lovers out there, I appreciate that you love me, and therefore care that I am sad about my kitty-cat. And that may even include those of you whom she has bitten. Thanks for caring about us!

What Has Happened to Us?

2008-01-11T20:07:00.000-08:00

Was there a time when we had more dignity? I found myself asking, as I looked across the dinner table at my friend. He was trying to get to the bottom (no pun intended) of why his two-year-old's pants were wet after she used the bathroom.

I can't quite tell you what we talked about in the course of our dinner, as it was frequently interrupted by frustrating or funny behavior from the two toddler girls and the school-age boy we collectively had. At one point, Briana was supposed to apologize to and hug Selah, and Selah threw a book at her, shouting, "No!" When Briana was leaving and I asked her to say bye-bye to the stuffed animal she was attempting to make off with, she turned to Selah (who was being restrained, screaming, on the couch) and said, "Bye-bye, Walrus," to her, waved, and tried to escape, still holding the animal.

Back in December, I took Selah with me to a monthly social for WiPP, a publishing-networking group I belong to. I loaded my bag with toys, let Selah run around near our table, and found myself regaling two childless women with tales of how Selah had peed on the floor at Costco. One of them smiled politely; the other simply looked horrified. My fellow patrons at Costco dealt with it fairly well, however. In the meantime, Selah had a blow-out. And if you have kids, you know just the kind I mean. I tried to deal with it in the bathroom, and then not let on when I returned.

The other day, Selah, complete with ear infection, decided to throw herself on the ground in the Safeway parking lot as I tried to push my cart through the rain to the car. I attempted to heave her up under one arm and push the heavy cart with the other. A young and I would guess single man walked by us, clearly amused. I found myself in one of those low points where I threatened to become unhinged, and was tempted to lurch toward him, snarling, "I'm glad you are so amused by us!" After all, shouldn't he have gallantly tried to help with my cart or something? But he, alas, was just me, pre-Selah. Why don't those parents just take their child home? Why isn't that mother disciplining those children? Why would that guy even bring his child here?

Sometimes I wish people would just say those stupid things aloud, so I could throw myself on their mercy, asking, "What about this makes it seem I am not trying my best?" I have done well this week. In the face of Selah's five-in-five-months ear infections, I have not hit or verbally abused her. I calmly say, "I think it's time for a time-out" in the aisles of Target, instead of shrieking, "Shut up! Stop it! Stop!" like I want to. I buckle her into her car seat every time we drive anywhere. I stir pureed vegetables into her cereal and pasta so she will eat them. I tell her I am sorry whenever I do yell at her, even though I'd rather be "right."

Parents of the world, hang in there. I repent of my judgments, and so will all of the people who are currently judging you! I have joined the club of those who are mostly just relieved isn't currently their child who is hitting someone/peeing on Costco/shouting, "NOOOOOOO!" when the parents try to fasten them into a high chair/spilling juice onto someone else's rug.

I no longer discuss politics and religious ideals at dinner parties with fellow parents. Instead, we just apologize to each other, look at one another and laugh, and think, Well, at least I'm not the only one!

Misty and Chris, we love ya. :) Tell Briana, "Good-night Walrus," from me.

Happy Birthday Sarah

2008-01-04T06:59:00.000-08:00

Today is my sister's birthday. For some reason, as I sit here, I can't remember many of her birthdays growing up (of course I haven't had my coffee yet). I do remember we always all felt a little caught by surprise by her birthday, as it is soon after Christmas, and the stores are generally empty of merchandise. Sarah, I will admit here in writing: we probably always did kind of gyp you on your birthday.

These are things I do remember, however:

crying in your room, or crying together in your room
always knowing what was happening to you without being told, and vice-versa
watching you hurl a sandwich bag of cookie dough onto the kitchen floor with fear and awe
sneaking into your bedroom to try on all your 1980s clubbing dresses
the coolness of getting to visit you in AZ or Sac, all by myself
the presents you always bought me when I was little (and still sometimes do)
in the parking lot of Nob Hill, you saying Oprah Winfrey was gay, and mom not wanting to tell me what that meant
your Toyota MR2
being a cool first-grader at San Benancio, getting waved to by junior-highers
having someone who knew what I was going through: knowing at what age people would separate into cliques; protecting me from friends, parents, and yes, our brother; telling me everything you knew about periods, boys, and sex
you used to read aloud to me--Pride and Prejudice, Lorna Doone, Stuart Little--no wonder I'm smart
feeling like I had someone who would always love me, no matter what, and would defend me to the death

Through good and bad, hurled game boards and garbage cans, I have always been glad you are my sister. You are one of the few reasons I ever think about having another child--somehow I want Selah to have what I have. Happy Birthday!

Patrick's Photo Shoot

2007-12-30T21:50:00.000-08:00

Our friend Patrick is an amazing photographer. Conditions were not ideal, and he still managed to come up with lots of great pictures of us!

Turkey, Wine, and Pie--Oh My!

2007-11-22T13:52:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I am grateful for all of you, for my lovely family, for the safety and security we have enjoyed, and for the beauty God has placed around us. I have been making half-jokes about just taking some wine and pie upstairs and consuming them by myself, but I do believe I will make an appearance at the family dinner after all...

Homeward Bound (But Which Home?)

2007-11-20T22:12:00.001-08:00

Well, here I am, back in sunny California. And it really is. I love Portland with all of my heart, but this time of year I either want to spend the day in bed alternating between sleeping and reading or I want to release my inner psycho, and shout, argue, and cry. It gets dark so very early up north, and that is on days when the sun rises at all!

Luckily, the holidays (and my birthday) will soon be upon us, so that keeps me cheerful. I adore Christmas decorating, gift-buying, music, and all other things seasonal. (With one exception: those stupid cards that say "Season's Greetings." If people don't celebrate Christmas, then they probably aren't sending cards. Just a pet peeve of mine; sorry. Oh yeah, and I hate that Beatles Christmas song you just can't seem to get away from. But I'm done, I promise.) Really though, this whole Christmas paragraph is just a tangential waste of your time--I'll get back to telling you how I am likely to want to kill you once it becomes fall in Portland.

Anyway, it is nice to be "back home." While Monterey and Salinas no longer feel like my home, they will always be "back home," complete with a few special spots and some of my favorite people. It is always troubling to discover how few of those special spots are still unspoiled, but I won't dwell on that; I can't.

Selah is having a good time, though she is a bit sick, unfortunately. She has also started potty training, so for those of you who won't be grossed out, I have some funny stories to tell. I am a little grossed out by the whole thing, but I have never had a stomach of iron. She loves Gammy and Pa-pa, as she calls them, and loves this giant house full of interesting discoveries and ancient, semi-broken toys. I love all of these things too, and look forward to the rest of the clan with their new semi-broken toys arriving tomorrow: Jack, Garrett, and Dennis; Sarah, Ed, and David; Jeremy and Jerry; Ed's sister, father, brother-in-law, and brother-in-law's mother (?). It will be quite a full house, and the time already feels too short.

Halloween and Hoodlums

2007-11-01T19:49:00.000-07:00

While this was neither my first Halloween, nor Selah's, it felt like it was in some ways. Last year she was not mobile, and was content to be stuffed into what was essentially a bag with ears pretending to be a rabbit suit.

This year, she was a beautiful ballerina. With the help of much hairspray, I formed her hair into a cute little bun, tugged two pairs of tights on (for warmth) while she protested, and stuffed her rotund, though certainly swanlike belly into a little pink leotard. She was adorable! I finished the outfit off with a hand-me-down skirt from my neighbor Julia, in pink tulle with rose adornments.

At first Selah was demure, hanging back and coyly accepting candy if the giver pursued her. She said little, and smiled shyly. She hung back while her two companions ran ahead. Okay, okay, she just isn't very fast and they are! She tried shouting, "No! No!" since she couldn't keep up with them. Their enthusiasm was catching, however, and she started racing toward people's doors and pounding with all of her might (which isn't much). 3-year-old Micah was by far the best trick-or-treater of this first group, with 20-month-olds Selah and Carys struggling up and down the stairs, handing candy to people who opened their doors instead of vice versa, and occasionally attempting to storm the houses instead of waiting on the porch. Walking the four blocks or whatever was clearly tiring, and Selah fell and skinned her thumb on the way home.

Later, when Micah and Carys had gone home and the next round of small people had arrived (William, Ethan, Brianna, Sonya, and Willem, ages 1-5), Selah got to go out for her second round of candy-begging. She was already tired, so gradually morphed from the sweet ballerina of several hours earlier into a crazed, yelling one, who tried to stuff still-wrapped candy into her mouth and refused to let anyone help her down stairs. Everyone else, meanwhile, enthusiastically swarmed up and down the porch steps, snatching candy like there was no tomorrow.

We got home to an entirely empty candy bowl--some stupid punk stole all our candy from the porch (sigh--farewell caramels!) but hey, that's halloween in a nutshell:
angry, greedy, wound-up kids circling front doors like wolves while teenage thugs roam the neighborhood.

When Selah had officially stopped being a very good hostess, we
just threw her in the bath and let her unwind a little, then she was
much better! We gave some of her candy away to trick-or-treaters who had the bad luck to show up after the Great Candy Theft of '07.

Fun! I love holidays, even the stupid ones.

Ready or Not, Here He Comes

2007-10-29T14:58:00.002-07:00

My friend Rachel is in labor, and once Selah wakes up from her nap, I will be headed over there! I am very excited, and feel like I am the father or something--I can't quite think clearly, and am agitated and happy. Okay, so I probably don't feel as intensely as a real father would, but you get the gist of what I am saying, right?

I feel a little like I didn't get to be present at Selah's birth. I mean sure, I was there, but mentally, I was nowhere. When you are in labor, your body just takes over, and you halfway kind of black out (mercifully, I guess). I was the only person who didn't get to see her crown, to see her come out, etc., and I'm the one who had to do all the work! I know what you are thinking--did you really want to see THAT anyway?

And yes; the answer is yes. Beforehand, I didn't think so, believing I would rather die than have someone videotape my arse. However now I halfway wish I had had a video made, that I would watch one time, all by myself, and then throw away! Because I know it wasn't pretty, but I also don't know what happened.

Don't worry Rachel, I am not bringing my video camera.

Pray for her, for Patrick, and for Baby Wilson!

2007-10-29T14:58:00.001-07:00

Shirts for a Cause

2007-10-23T09:05:00.000-07:00

A new friend who has recently joined our home community is a cancer survivor (Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma) who designs and sells t-shirts to raise money for his medical costs. Here's a good way to look good and help someone out!

http://shourisha.blogspot.com/2007/01/serious-monkey-business.html

Famous Writer!

2007-10-18T21:14:00.000-07:00

I have scored my first paid writing gig--I am a columnist / blogger for EcoMetro, makers of the Chinook Book. If you'd like to visit my other blog, it is: http://www.ecometro.com/portland/categories.aspx?tag=Messays

In honor of this, and because I am currently watching Grey's Anatomy, which I am guilty of being addicted to despite its abhorrent overdramatic nature, I have decided to become a screenwriter as well.

Here's my first project: a Grey's Anatomy episode! Siamese twins will be admitted to the hospital, and all the interns will gather around their bed, while Bailey explains the dilemma. One of the twins, Sheila, has an extremely rare but agressive form of cancer. Though they are attached at the brains, Dr. Shepherd will attempt to separate them to save the healthy one, Jamie. In the middle of the surgery, things go downhill, and unfortunately Sheila dies. Jamie is very sad, feeling guilty because her deceased twin had been in love with Alex, and Jamie was sleeping with him while Sheila was sleeping.

Meanwhile, Christina and Meredith, on vacation in San Francisco, are shopping in Gymboree, the only store that carries clothes small enough for them. Suddenly, an earthquake hits, of an unprecedented 14.0 magnitude! Christina and Meredith are forced to perform open-heart surgery on a fellow shopper using only a hanger, a paper clip, a onesie, and a stick of chewing gum. They manage to save the shopper, much to the relief of her three small children.

It all wraps up with Meredith explaining that sometimes our lives are like an earthquake, ravaging us unexpectedly, and that sometimes we have to be separated from ourselves before we can see ourselves clearly.

So what do you think, those of you who have seen Grey's Anatomy? Pretty good, no?