Still Here.

So.  Here we are, February again.  The holidays happened.  Winter is still happening.  I probably owe y'all an update, yes?

The extended family converged not once, but twice this year - at Thanksgiving here in flyover country and again in CA for Christmas.  There was a remarkable lack of drama - which is, I suppose, dramatic in its absence.  Turns out we actually all like each other.

There were no Christmas cards.  Whoops!  There was a photo shoot but then….  yeah.

Papa Fritz was very excited to take the kids out on his new boat.  I had more than a couple nightmares about the ocean swallowing my children, and practical angst my girl would freak the fuck out on the boat, but she LOVED it and no one drown.  Win! 

I am tired though.  On New Years Eve it dawned on me that my son is 9 1/2 years old and the time given me to shape him into a reasonable human being is half over.  What will he remember of his childhood?  The unending grind of school, homework and his frazzled mommy - or the Christmas we went sailing with Papa?   What will I remember of these years?  They seem too much a blur to claim the victory of a life well lived.  Too many days are spent grinding thru work-dinner-homework with an eye on the clock and yet ten years just vanished.  At the end I'll only have this woefully neglected blog and random snapshots to remind me my children were once small and needy… shouldn't I be savoring it all more?  Or is that just so much hippy-HuffPost-airbrushed bullshit?

I'm obviously in the midst of some mid-life post-vacation late-winter existential meh.  I'm weirdly not unhappy and we have lots of good things coming up, but this milestone has done a number on my head.  A situation not improved when I re-watched the jelly bean video.  Which is silly and triggers my sweet tooth, but I figure I only have about 14,000 beans left.  What shall I do?

                                

On time & healing.

Brennan would have been 10 years old today.  A full decade has passed and I don't know if it's a tribute to my busy days or perhaps actual healing but I didn't think about it until Thursday afternoon, April 3rd, when I was staring at my calendar trying to sort out weekend plans.  Used to be I'd take April 4th, 5th, and 6th off because I couldn't stand to be around people who weren't rending their garments and wailing but I haven't for two or three (?) years now.  Vacation time is precious.  I'd stopped making The Saddest Cake even a couple years before that (more out of deference to my slowing metabolism & the scale but it counts, dammit).

Nor do I get agitated when people ask me how many children I have.  I say two and there's a little part of me that still waits for the adrenaline but my body has stopped reacting.

I am, however, having increasing difficulty remembering how old my two are.  I was in the middle of something at work a bit ago and exchanging pleasantries with someone on the phone when it came up.  I may or may not have mentioned fictional children two years younger than the actual ones residing in my  home.  Not ghost children, just a freak glitch in the time space continuum.  Someone should call Neil DeGrasse Tyson.

For the record, The Boy is finishing third grade and going into fourth.  FOURTH GRADE.  He'll be turning NINE years old next month, an astounding fact which I still feel compelled to fact check with him.  He plays outside unsupervised, googles rocket building, and cringes when I sing in the car.  Thirty seconds from now he'll be double digits and tomorrow morning he may just move out and go off to college.

We watch Cosmos together Sunday nights, he is obsessed with Minecraft, we finished Harry Potter and have moved on to Percy Jackson, and in addition to rocket building he's taken up cooking.  Today he made pancakes for breakfast and then a chocolate cake.  Yes, I know ladies, please restrain your daughters.

The Girl will be turning SIX this summer.  I still feel new to this special needs world but perversely I hardly ever think about her as having a disability.  She is funny, adorable, demanding, and woe to the poor soul that comes between her and -depending on the day- her Mickey, Sofia, or Doc McStuffins.

I think she's going to be effectively non-verbal and I suspect there will be many future soul crushing moments on the playground but she communicates just fine with me at home with ASL and her teachers rave about how fast she's picking up her speech app.  She acts out stories and tells me jokes and while not the norm, it works.  Her "where are your glasses?" routine, by the way, is hys-TER-ical.

We go on walks, have tea parties, and "go to the store" up and down the hallway and thru the kitchen on her tricycle, which she's somehow outgrown.  She's become obsessed with "pretty dresses" (I blame Princess Sofia) and rather particular about which ones are up to her standards. She insists on two books at bedtime, unless they are Sandra Boynton in which case she wants three.  When I come back from running she tries to clean me up with baby wipes.

Y'all are catching me on a good day.  The thing is I did give birth to three children and every now and then I wonder what Brennan thinks of the giggles and snuggles down here.  I hope he's in a good place.   I think we are.

A toast -

I was never a huge fan of corned beef but I'm a sucker for anything that'll go in a crockpot & there are those pesky traditions to honor.  Though we made Reubens, not potatoes, and I skipped the sauerkraut.  

Happy St Patrick's Day. 

Gigi would have made a massive spread with both red and green cabbage, and homemade sauerkraut.  She loved to cook elegant, complicated meals and I am always a little ashamed on those nights my children end up with a sandwich or scrambled eggs. 

Not that she was perfect, of course.  She once brined a pork roast till it nearly crystallized and one St Paddy's day dinner forgot the cabbage. The horror!  We were all too polite to say anything, for which we were roundly scolded later, but she did laugh about it - several years later. 

I don't know if it's genetics or a sub-conscious twitch but I've forgotten something at every dinner party I've ever thrown.  Let's call it an homage to my elders (& not what it really is - poor organizational & time management skills).  Every time it happens though, I think of Gigi's cabbage and laugh.  

There is family drama in settling Gigi's affairs & people are behaving poorly.  The fact that she hasn't actually returned from the dead to shame them has killed any lingering hope I might have had in the afterlife.  My faith in the living has always been shaky, I just hate it when I'm right. 

But despite the salty meat and family shenanigans, tonight I ate corned beef, drank Guinness, thought of my Gigi, and smiled. 

Beautiful young people are acts of nature, But beautiful old people are works of art.

Diary of a Single Mom.

Editor's note:  There may have been a *slight* delay between the writing and the publishing here so you should probably interpret "last weekend" to mean 10-ish days ago. 

Matt worked all last weekend, Monday night, and then left Tuesday for Los Angeles, to help my Dad, back from his high sea adventure, pack up Gigi's things.  It was a belated Valentine's Day present for me (I know, so romantic) since my flight bennies are screwed up, I can't miss any more time from work, my low back wasn't up for hauling furniture and -mostly- because I really, really didn't want to see Gigi's empty house.

He was supposed to come back Friday but finally bought a ticket late Sunday after spending two days camped in various airports and a random hotel in Denver, courtesy of Winter Storm, Episode XVII and the airlines' flight cuts.  Yay.  

While there was significantly less laundry, we all missed him.  Some of us for more selfish reasons than others.  I didn't go running for 10 days and, well, bless all the single moms out there.  If you know one, go do something nice for her.  Buy her a coffee.  Or tell her she's still pretty, despite the uncombed hair and ragged nails.  I   She might have started crying if you had.

**************  

On Monday I was busy congratulating myself for all the Fun! Educational! things I'd done with the kids that weekend and marveling at how efficiently I unloaded the dishwasher while the coffee brewed.  I know!  Genius, right?  I should've gotten an award or something.

On Tuesday I folded a load of towels.  I decided the kitchen counters didn't really need to be wiped down that often but the kids were clean and stories read.  I can prioritize like a boss.

I'm not sure what the kids ate for dinner Wednesday and I KNOW one of them did not brush their teeth all day.  I fell asleep on a pillow pet next to one of them.  The one that kicks.  

Thursday morning I couldn't find the large white hairy dog.  He's usually impatiently waiting for me to go downstairs and let him out, but wasn't by the gate.  I thought maybe he'd slept downstairs but he wasn't there either and didn't come when I called.  Holy hell, had I accidentally left him out all night?  Full of remorse and thinking I was going to owe him a big steak, I called.  Nothing.  I saw the temperature gauge - 10 degrees.  Holy hell, I'd let my dog freeze to death!  They were going to take my children away from me and I'd have to move and change my name to avoid the hate mail.  

Dramatic Reenactment

[I found him happily curled up on a pile of laundry in my closet.  SOMEONE in this house insists on closing All Doors and had shut him up inside. *phew!*  All my black sweaters, however, appear unsalvageable].

SOMEONE, playing dress up.

I got to work at 9 and found out at 10 my father in law was bringing The Boy to my house after school, instead of my OCD OR-clean SIL's.  I rushed home at 11 to frantically hide piles, vacuum up the fuzzy elephant herd rolling around the floor, and throw something in the crockpot so the place didn't smell like dirty boy socks, despair, and large white hairy dog.

Jeeeezzz… house and reputation salvaged from the brink by pure panic grit (and a shockingly flexible schedule).  I fantasized about live in domestic help and bald dogs on the way back to the office.  

But I was triumphant by Friday. There was only one morning tardy, no emergency calls to plumbers, fire departments, or in-laws, and *bonus!* I hadn't let anyone freeze to death.  Whoot!

In celebration, we had movie night / camp out in Mom's room…. where I noticed The Boy scratching his head.  There'd been a note a few weeks ago about head lice at school so I panicked and rushed him into the bathroom, fully prepared to shave his head bald, but it was just a rash on his neck.

[I find the phrase "just a rash" hysterically funny now.]

He took a quick shower & was fine so we finished the movie & he went to bed.  Saturday morning his entire torso was red & welty.  I made an appointment with his ped.  The hives disappeared.  (Never, ever underestimate the healing power of a phone call.)  I cancelled the appointment.  They came back, worse…. naturally, minutes after the doctor's office closed.  I called the nurse line and got their blessing for Benadryl.  Which worked great, except when the dose wore off the hives came back & had spread down to his knees & hands.

By Sunday morning his entire back looked like a 3rd degree burn with blisters, and the welts were perilously close to his eyes.  Darn it!  I waved my white flag, called the in laws to watch The Girl, and hauled The Boy off to the ER where they were appropriately impressed and gave him some Prednisone.

Best part of the day?  He thought it tasted like egg nog.

I think the best part of the day really was that I had people to call.  Maybe not people I don't have to vacuum for, but people nonetheless.  And not that I couldn't have wrangled The Girl in the ER, but I don't think she's supposed to play with the Sharps container and it was easier to focus on the one racing toward anaphylaxis shock.  If you know someone going it alone?  Even short term?  Be their people and bring coffee.  Lots & lots of coffee.  And maybe some extra Benadryl, just in case. 

Shedding on the couch this time, not my sweaters.

The Old Man and the Sea

Almost immediately after his mom (Gigi) died, my dad left for the sea.  He'd bought an older sailboat about a year & half ago but family shenanigans ensued so it's sat in various shipyards across Europe ever since, getting cobbled back together as time & money allowed, and while on breaks from taking care of Gigi.

But then she died and he sailed from somewhere in Spain to the Canary Islands, to Cape Verde, and then finally west across the great blue ocean.  He was supposed to be emailing coordinates daily (Technology!) but one day Matt pointed out that we hadn't heard from him in a while.  We proceeded, as people under stress are wont to do, to argue about whether we should, in fact, be worried.  Really argue.  Which was asinine because either one is or one isn't, much as my dad was either afloat or not, and there wasn't a whole hell of a lot we could do about it ten thousand or so miles away.

Cape Verde

I confirmed he'd actually left his last port and wasn't languishing in a Cape Verdian hospital or ditch, then decided he'd either lost the damn phone overboard or was just being uncommunicative.  A day or so later he emailed and was fine.  Technology glitch.

Oh.  OK, then.

The very same day he wrote, a friend of mine called - she knew my sister went to Purdue and had I been watching the news?  Noooo, I was home with the kids on one of the 256 snow days they've called this winter.  There was a shooting.  Another damn shooting.  I called my sister, the phone picked up, and there was crackling - like little firecrackers (or gunshots).  Then the line went dead.

I died.

No, actually, that's not true - in one of those surreal, slow pan, rising music moments I actually thought that there was no fucking way THAT just happened, so I texted her.  She wrote back immediately - and the world kept spinning - she was in class and couldn't talk because even though the building was on lock down her professor was plowing forward.  Linear algebra is important, yo.

Oh.  OK, then.

Exactly one week later my brother received a clearly auto-generated text with coordinates and this mysterious line, "Accuracy Horiz: +/- 8 m Vert: +/- 32 m".  Thirty two meters, for products of this great American school system, is about 105'.  A hundred foot wave would be…. something.  But even if they weren't Perfect Storm big, a 210 foot "accuracy" swing certainly suggested rough seas, right?  And why the auto-text?  One island couldn't be reached, we assumed because of the storm that had just passed thru.  My brother swung into action, various nations' Coast Guards were notified and a pleasure cruiser was even diverting.  I spent all morning at work trying to figure out how to confirm his Epirb had, actually, gone off.  This time I thought it was real and I tried to imagine what a little boat might do in 100' seas.  So this is how it happens.  

And then he called.  Guess what he just figured out his sat phone can do!  Auto-texting!!

Oh.  OK, then.

And these are just the highlights.  There has also been car drama, the aforementioned 256 snow days, the resulting employer dissatisfaction, plumbing trouble (and not the fresh-water-from-the-shower kind), and GI upsets. There has been too much eating, not enough running, not enough pictures, and not enough wine.  Never enough wine.  (There was quite definitely too much coffee.)  There has obviously been no writing.  I'm not unhappy but I am so, so very tired.  Tired of the cold, the angst, and of my pathological inability to balance family, work, and me.

But there have been lots of snowy PJ days, movie nights, and hugs.  There have been stars rendered in Play-Doh.  And, at one point after we were washing the dog and the carpet and the child, who had all intersected in a Bermuda Triangle of Poop, I started to laugh.  What else can you do, right?  

You can go sailing.

In Praise of the OtterBox

I have a real post in the works but this will do for tonight.  I couldn't decide whether to call this "Why we don't have nice things" or "Freakish Bit of Good Fortune" and combining them was too long so this will be instead be an ode to the OtterBox which my in laws also wisely purchased when they all chipped in and bought my daughter an iPad.  Six months ago.

I think their primary goal was its use as an AAC so they could communicate with her, but we're still working on that.  In the meantime we have found some other wonderful apps and I am absolutely delighted with how The Girl has taken to it.  So delighted, in fact, that on Sunday I was bringing it so she could show her grandparents the magic they had bestowed while I took The Boy to a birthday party.

Matt was getting ready for work, I was doing my usual frantic I can't believe we're going to be late AGAIN scramble, and I put it on the roof of the car while I wrangled children and gift bags.  I remember thinking that was not the best place for it.  And then I drove off through a monsoon-like rainstorm.

Spoiler alert:  It was, indeed, NOT the best place.

About 20 miles later it suddenly dawned on me what I had done.  I pulled off to the side of the road, fruitlessly checked the roof, and then swore up a blue streak.  I felt ill.  Actually physically ill.  We're very fortunate in a thousand ways, but replacing $600 iPads is sooo not in the budget.  And it had been  gifted barely 6 months earlier from my in laws (!).  AND it wasn't just a fun thing, it was for my daughter, the visual learner, and may even be her primary mode of communication someday.

I couldn't even talk about it.  I left The Boy in the car while I took his sister inside to her grandparents (whose eyes I tried very hard to avoid meeting) because he has never met a fact he hasn't shared and I just could not process my own guilt.  It was wholly my fault and it was such an asinine thing to do - my adrenaline is going again just writing about it.  I called Matt who drove as far as the onramp, but he didn't see it and said it wouldn't have lasted 5 minutes on the highway.  After the party was over,  I collected The Girl and we drove back up and down the highway but it was dark and still raining and we couldn't even find a debris field.

Then I drove up and down the highway a few more times over the next 48 hours.  Nothing.

But at 2pm today my phone (my free phone! why didn't I lose that?) buzzed and reminded me I had a DDS appointment.  Something had just exploded on my desk so I nearly canceled but I was a year overdue so opted for a little "me time" (at the dentist. whee.).  It was clear and dry out for the first time in weeks and... dammit if I didn't see something off on the shoulder of the road, a mere 2' from semis rumbling by at 70mph.

There were shenanigans circling back around (and around. and around) to collect it and I don't love y'all enough to have lingered for a picture of it on the ground next to the fast lane with said semis rumbling by but HOTSHITDAMN look what I found:

I got it home and hotshitdamn if it isn't FINE.  It's still charging and Matt thinks the touchscreen might be a little wonky but that would be repairable (maybe? yes?) with a few dry circuit boards or something.  Right?  I have no idea how they work but suspect iPads, magical as they are, weren't designed to sit in the rain for two days.  Nonetheless, I am positively GIDDY.  First, that thing stayed on the roof of my car in the middle of storm for over 17 miles.  Second?  It fell 5 1/2 feet at 73mph 61mph, landing on asphalt and the screen didn't even crack.  Yes, the OtterBox itself is mangled but it did its job valiantly and then some.  Fourth? What were the odds I'd find an 9x7x1/2" box along 20+ miles of highway?  MAGIC.

Note:  This is not a sponsored post.  This is a thank you note to the Otter people - Thank you for saving my pattootie, my girl's access to a bigger world, and preserving the peace and traquility of all future family functions.

Otters in the rain

Rescued Mommy from her shame

Sweet apple, uncrunched.

HUGs (HUnting the Good stuff)

These are the things that have made me laugh this last week or so:

No connection to my last post, this is The Boy, playing with Siri.  Poop happens.

The Boy, determined to contribute his fair share to the mortgage.  I told him I didn't think too many people would need their bikes washed in 30 degree temperatures, but he was not to be dissuaded.  I brought him hot cocoa because I felt bad he wasn't getting any business.

'

This dog.  Although he is most assuredly NOT a lap dog and was squishing me first thing in the morning before I even had any coffee.  Oh, the humanity! 

These pictures, from a cousin's birthday party.  

This boy.

These shoes.  Which my dad bought me when I was 17 and heading off to Germany.  I'm pretty sure they had matching shoelaces back then.  I think he thought I was going to be trudging thru the Alps, Heidi-like.  I ended up in suburban Hamburg.  That is my fancy office carpet and, yes, I did wear them to work but only into the building because we were mid-snow storm.  Then I changed.  I may be reconsidering the heels, but I'm pretty sure these violate dress code.

Tickle fights.  

The girls, um, bathing.  I think.  

Or the potty training is going better than we thought. 

Also:  Yesterday Matt was dropping The Girl off at day care when she puked all over him, in the middle of the hall, in front of the principal.  She'd gagged slightly, earlier in the morning, but Matt poo-poo'd it and I left for work.  I consider this a HUGE mom win as that could easily have been me and, well, that doesn't need any more explanation, does it?  It wasn't me.  She's fine, though I stayed home with her today (burning my second to last vacation day- oy!), but today she's all snuggles and no vomit.  

Last:  All your hugs and kind words this week, virtual & otherwise.  

Day Two

Random thoughts as Gigi sleeps:
I'm surprised every time by how out of sorts I get in hospitals.  I mean, who doesn't, right?  But, while I wouldn't describe them as flashbacks, the door to the little closet in my head where I stash memories breaks, and I keep tripping over the emotional crap spilling into the hallway.

I remember looking over at The Girl, seconds after my c-section, as the NICU staff put an enormous oxygen mask over her face & told her to breath.  She did, obviously, but it certainly wasn't a natural hippy birth in a field of sunflowers.

I also think a lot about Brennan, still warm but not breathing.  Never going to breath.
Fucking hospitals.

I can't write about Gigi.  First, because she'd kill me and second, because this is really, really hard.

So on to lighter topics:.
On the way out I had to change planes in Las Vegas.  I didn't notice any ruckus but as we were boarding they were telling someone he wasn't getting on the flight.  Probably a frequent event in Las  Vegas but this was a short, middle aged accountant type in a button down shirt, not an inebriated frat boy.

There was also a curvy woman in a skin tight, low cut, butt-cheek short dress and bight pink hooker shoes.  She was right behind me in line so... I heard her on the phone asking her kids if they got their homework done, telling them to be good for grandma, and wishing them sweet dreams.  I am an asshole.

After a thorough study of the family amenities in several different hospitals' critical care wings, I can confidently announce Gigi's facility fails.  If I ever win the lottery I'm donating money to this ICU for better chairs.

Hug your families tonight.

Gigi

Gigi is in the hospital.  First report was that she'd fallen, which is significant enough at 94, but also that she was also only semi-conscious.  She'd fallen a couple months ago without breaking anything but was taking a long time to heal.  I don't know if it was because this was her second fall, the words semi-conscious, or knowing we were overdue for a visit but I put on my out of office greetings and told the boss I was going California.

Never have I been so grateful for Matt's flight benefits.  I drove home, threw god knows what into a bag and was at the airport with nary a thought.  My sister called from the hospital mid-process and said it wasn't just a fall, she had an aneurysm and bleeding in her brain.  Apparently it's a LITTLE aneurysm and brain bleed, as these things go, and she has improved, is talking & answering questions appropriately, but I'm sitting next to her in ICU right now and... well, she's in ICU and apparently has a DNR.  A fractured hip would have been better.  I don't even know what to say about the DNR.

I've spent time in the NICU, PICU, and now the ICU, watching people I love sleep with one eye and their heart rate monitors with the other.  Not exactly a trifecta of awesomeness but we are very very fortunate - fortunate she's getting good care, that I was able to come here to be with her without pawning my car for a plane ticket, and that our family, for all its warts & blow ups, rallies when it matters.

We're also apparently damn lucky she's here at all.  She was on the phone with her bank when they heard a sudden clatter.  Instead of hanging up a probable dropped call, they called 911.  Her neighbor rode with her in the ambulance and knew to call my dad.  Much as I don't like most of them much of the time, people matter.

If y'all have been reading along, you'll know I'm not religious and wouldn't know a prayer from a telegram (I'm going to hell for sure) but if you want to send some warm healing thoughts out into the universe, I wouldn't mind.  This blog exists because Gigi got a computer one Christmas and it was easier to post her great-grandchildren's pictures on line, then to print & ship.  Laziness, the seed of every great idea.  

Traveling (part one, hopefully. No promises because...obviously)

...Where were we?  Oh yes!  After 10 years of domestic isolation, Matt & I were happily forced to renew our passports.  Matt's oldest friend was getting married in Ireland and thanks to Matt's flight benefits & my dad, who agreed to mind both our two and four legged minions, we were able to make the trip.

Matt left early and was there for a full week, drinking his way across Eire in what might have been the longest bachelor party ever.  I played single parent for a few days without needing a plumber or ER room (success!) and didn't begrudge him the time - except when I had to reach him on his cell at $1/minute to sort through our new insurance options.  He had just finished a tour of the Jameson whiskey plant.  It was not a productive conversation.  Matt is, however, now an official Whiskey Taster with a Certificate to prove it, so if I can get my $5 back, we're all set to go buy the proverbial coffee and some aspirin.

My flight east was uneventful (aisle seat! no neighbors!) but Matt picked me up from the airport in his brand new rental car and immediately tried to pay for the trip by collecting my life insurance.

"Drive on the Left!

Leeeffftt!

LEEFFTT!"

Recovery

We hit a pub in Dublin that night to recover, met one of my dad's friends for breakfast the next morning, and then had exactly 32 seconds to sightsee before leaving for the west coast.  Lucky for us it was just long enough to catch a leprechaun.

Maybe?

The wedding was in an amazing 16th century castle, complete with its very own Irish Wolfhound.  There was a cocktail reception the first night, then everyone took off for more pub crawling.  We had great intentions to Party Across Europe but we'd skipped lunch so grabbed a bite in the oh-my-goodness-amazing hotel restaurant.  All motivation disappeared somewhere between the 4th and 5th course, and then they served something involving warm chocolate and Devonshire cream for dessert that was a breech of propriety to eat in public.  We didn't make it out that night.... but sadly because we were too full to move, not for any more interesting reasons.  Please don't revoke our passports!

The wedding itself was perfect - elegant, warm, sweet, funny, & full of love.  No white dresses though.  Theirs isn't my story to tell but they met just after Matt & I got married - which was a long, long, long time ago.  And while they didn't necessary need to travel across the pond to make it official (though I'm thrilled they did - Castles!  Wolfhounds!  Guinness!  On tap!), I find it pretty asinine they didn't have the option to do it at home.  The only thing undermining my marriage in the process was Matt's driving.  And maybe that chocolate dessert.

So there.  Lecture over.  Congratulations you two!

Oh, wait!  You knew that was too easy, right?  Naturally, there were shenanigans getting home.  We had to leave at 3o'clock the morning after the wedding, which somewhat limited the festivities, and I ended up dropping Matt off at one airport then driving cross-country on maybe 2 hours of sleep to get to a second airport.  Which all would have been fine, except I later learned my dear sweet spouse flew home in first class.  I?  I flew home in coach in the MIDDLE seat (of FIVE!) and then nearly got stranded in Philadelphia.  That part wasn't so good for the marriage either but the lifetime foot rubs will probably help. 

More recovery. 

Or, Gratuitous Booze shot

 Requisite Thatched Irish Roof Shot

 Requisite Armor in the Castle Shot

Completely non-Standard Massive Picture of a Dog in a Feather Boa, 

Hung mere feet away from the Requisite Castle Armor. 

Loved this place! 

Requisite Shot of the Rock Wall My Husband Nearly Drove us Into.

7/31 - 4 years

In The Girl's birthday post, I mentioned I didn't have that many baby pictures of my girl.  My awesome SIL (yup, of iPad fame), then re-emailed me all the links to her Picassa albums.  Since she's the one with the fancy camera, this is no small gift.  I haven't gone thru all the photos yet and - truth be told - I was thinking about skipping this here blog tonite because I always get a little grumpy on Sundays, since I never feel like I accomplished enough or relaxed enough over the weekend to dive into yet another hectic week, and/or I had some TV watching I needed to catch up on (whichever explanation seems more plausible to you), but these pictures are worth sharing.  

Little buddha.  There may have been a parental figure cropped out who had some highly unacceptable post-pregancy blotchiness that I didn't have the retouching/airbrushing skills to correct.  No, Matt doesn't normally wear jewelry.  Yes, I am that vain.  

Highly tempted to make a joke about the burning holy water (these are from her baptism), but will settle for, "Awww, my little spitfire".

Who is THIS kid?  Good God, is he adorable or what?  

6/31 - On high school & 18th Birthdays

Well before the long hot summer began, I flew home to CA solo for a quick weekend to watch my little sister graduate high school.  There is a 10 20, um, "significant" age gap between us and I never lived nearby while she was growing up so I didn't spend nearly enough time with her, but she turned out to be a fairly awesome woman despite my absence.  I hope she has a wonderful birthday.  Good thing it's on a Saturday since I don't think engineering students are allowed out into sunlight during the week -  Enjoy your 20 minute celebration!

parrr-teee!

She's going to school two states over so I'm hoping she'll land here at least one or two school holidays (HINT HINT).

Trips home are always dripping with emotion to start but I will tell you I got a little something in my eye during the principal's speech, "I attest the students, having completed all the necessary requirements..."

Whoompf. There it is.  My girl hasn't even entered kindergarten yet but that was a fun reminder of all the battles and modified curriculum to come.

Disturbing.  Yes, I agree. 

My second take away was the speakers - in a complete reversal of my high school experience, the jock got up and lauded all the diversity in the school, the languages, nationalities, and yes, even the different abilities.  I might have gotten something else in my eye just then.  Damn pollen.  Then the kid with the school's highest GPA got up and tried to sell us on the opportunities in failure and how much he learned & grew as a person after MIT rejected him, forcing him to attend the clearly second rate University of Chicago.  I'm not going to mock an 18 year old kid's speech (my public speaking attempts are stammeringly incoherent), but I bet you can guess which kid I'd rather hire to mow my lawn during the summer.  Do kids even do that anymore?  Maybe not the ones going to U of C.

Three smart cookies.  

I want to stress I'm not against smart.  My family is chock full of various advanced & professional degrees (yours truly being the lone exception), my career floats on the heads of some very bright lawyers, and my daughter would not be alive today if it weren't for a certain cardiac surgeon.  But this child of mine will be traveling a different path, one that is unlikely to pass thru any hallowed halls, and I fret about those unable to see it's value.  That the "jock" applauded it gives me a little sliver of hope & comfort.

Then the speeches were over, caps were thrown, we went home, and I had a large piece of cake.

And appetizers.  I can't show you the cake because it was a brilliant copy of her birth announcement and that's way too much information to share with the internet.

 There was also wine.  There is ALWAYS wine.  

My brother's creation mid-progress.  Isn't it pretty? Curving paths, er, I mean walls.

Montana!

During the blogging desert that was August, we went to a family reunion up in Montana.  I'm not sure what we did the rest of the month but I'm pretty sure I can get at least 2 more posts out of this one weekend, so that sort of counts, right?  Maybe even 3 if my sister sends me the photos I took on her camera (hint! hint!).

Montana is a breathtakingly beautiful state, complete with real life bears in the woods AND dinosaurs in the airport.  What more could a kid ask for?

Oh, actually seeing a bear?  Sorry, buddy!  Will a T-Rex do? 

We DID see family.  Lots & lots of family.  Lots of family I've never met before and whose names I had a hard time remembering.  Have I mentioned that I'm not the most social of creatures?

But we also got to see Family, and that was priceless.

Of course, no Xxxx family get together is complete without a little drama.

Don't we all look HAPPY?  

No parental units were pushed.  Promise. 

But even despite the pits, there can be cherry pie.

Like quiet afternoons by the river

And newfound long lost 5th cousins.

And forts. 

And brothers and sisters.

And wild flowers. 

What's all this have to do with Down syndrome, you ask?  Didn't I announce 31 for 21 only yesterday? 

Nothing.  And every

thing.  Joy in unexpected

places, in family.