Through the pink

Matt & I have both been working long, intense hours lately, culminating in a not very healthy or productive "discussion" about who has been doing what domestic chores.  Good times!  Then he left for a two week long business trip.

The first day he was gone I overslept by two full hours.  The second day my car wouldn't start.  That night the dishwasher nearly exploded, forcing me to manhandle the much feared circuit breaker box.  As my Gigi liked to say, "That'll learn ya."

Yet in the midst of all the chaos this month, I have been gifted moments of peace.

A rare walk thru the early morning drizzle with my wolf-like puppy.

These two, always.

Even these times.
Actually…. especially these times. 

Buying groceries, a much loathed task, and finding the oysters my Gigi always bought.

My drive home through pink light.

There was also a recent moment when I fled my desk, this stack of paper, and the inane, incessant late Friday chatter of my co-workers.  I walked into the break room just as the rainy clouds parted and the fridge stopped humming.  The sudden sun and silence were damn near spiritual.

It is a mystery to me why these moments come - what slight shift in the brain chemistry allows me to find beauty in fleeting moments while other days I'm left gritting my teeth and slurping coffee.  Perhaps I'm being too cynical in assuming it is chemical, and should just be grateful my cold, old heart can still find magic in the world.  Even on the odd day.  

Monday, Monday

We had a lovely low key weekend - Matt returned from a 5 day business trip (!), which we survived without any ER visits, all family meals involved fresh produce, which is my new minimalistic parenting goal, and I binge watched Orange is the New Black while folding 354 loads of laundry.  I am happy to have neither committed any felonies, nor to have grown up in foster care.  Perspective, yo.

Other things that are making me happy:

• I ran 2.5 miles on Friday & another 2 this morning.
• It finally cooled off, making my morning runs less sauna-like, and more crisp fall, damn-I'm-glad-to-be-alive-like. 
• That self congratulatory feeling I get when I get my ass out of bed and go running before work. 
• The Boy and his friend finally tired of Minecraft during Saturday's sleepover… and pulled out a chess set.
• Bedtime stories and sibling pix.

Things I'm not loving, just to keep it real:

• That I haven't had the cash to chip in (yet) to the 6 fundraisers for people I actually know & like.  Real people, real friends, not random faceless organizations.  
• Nor have I bought that shower gift, my brother's birthday/graduation gift, or sent flowers to the 5 people to whom I should send flowers.  
• That after Friday's whopping 2.5 miles I spent all weekend hobbling around, cursing my feet & middle age.
• The aforementioned ass.  

Reason Enough to Celebrate

It was Saturday, there was coffee cake, which The Girl did not distinguish from regular cake, and she asked for candles.  

I couldn't think of any reason not to. 

Happy Saturday! 

Futility

Yesterday Matt & I spent several hours cleaning the house.  He spent most of that time getting the wine & coffee spots out of our bedroom carpet.  I even scrubbed the walls (dear God, I hope that brown stuff was coffee).

All the laundry was done & folded.  We had a lovely lunch and even cleaned the kitchen after.

WE ARE MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE SUBURBAN LIVING!

By 8:30 this morning I had knocked the sugar bowl off the counter, sending shards of glass and ant crack across the kitchen floor, and the dog puked half digested grass up on the newly clean carpet.

It is slowly dawning on me that the problem around here may not be the underaged humans.

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.

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.

I Run 4

Speaking of communities and running (ugh, that's not even funny yet), a few months ago I signed up with I Run 4.  The idea is simple - runners will run for and connect with those who can't, mostly via photos and FB posts.  It started with one guy and an offhand comment and now has almost 9000 members.

And, I thought, a great potential for cheesy inspiration porn.

But I have a vast sucking need for motivation.  Matt is more likely to offer me ice cream and a warm blanket than hand me my shoes and such is the magnitude of my sloth-dom, I've been known to actually do laundry while procrastinating.

(though that doesn't necessary mean that I will)

I like the idea that I run.  I'm proud of my race bibs and calf muscles (if you squint you can't see the pasty whiteness or spider veins).  I love the post run high and sometimes, if I'm very lucky, I feel stronger than all my problems during, but putting on my shoes and taking that first long stride is a Big Deal, every time.  So I sign up for races.  

I am a huge sucker for these silly motivational memes.

And I signed up to run for someone else.
Because you know what I really need is more responsibility.

But I also thought it might be a nice thing to do for someone, since we have no money to donate or time to volunteer.  And, squabbles and random snarkiness (auto correct changed that to snakiness.  That too) aside, the Down syndrome and blogging communities provide terrific support & resources.  My daughter's genetic quirk comes with monthly playgroups, of all things, and all the people I've stalked met in the larger special needs community have come thru this space.  What do you do if you don't write and are dealing with something rare, something that doesn't have three or four competing national organizations?

Not to suggest there aren't other fabulous community supports in this age of the internet, but we are on a well trodden path.

I had steeled myself for a barrage of special angel comments but I've seen very little smarminess.  It's light, fun, & supportive - almost like a daily play group - but one that operates in THIS world, the one with hospital stays, surgeries, and occasional gut wrenching loss.  There is a religious base (which I'm happy to ignore) and there can be some awkward, non people first terms but I'd never thought much about the language of disability either, 6 years ago.  I think there's a tendency to bristle and get cranky when we wander out into the world and find the gen pop isn't quite as involved/understanding/PC as we want them to be, but that knowledge doesn't spring organically from nothingness.  Connections and familiarity are the fastest, surest way to that understanding we crave.  People without a single tie to the disability/special needs community are signing up to run for strangers, getting to know them & their families. Running is hard and nothing kills the smell of pity faster than a blister, yet it keeps growing. Y'all know I don't do rainbows & unicorns but that does warm my frozen, cynical heart a bit.    

Weirdly, and last paragraph notwithstanding, I haven't signed up The Girl up to be matched. Partly because I run for her too, but mostly because I think she can run for herself.  Just like Jimmy Jenson.  Now if there was a group for the non-verbal…

I was matched with an adorable little boy who probably isn't old enough to appreciate my sporadic 5 milers (or my fastest ever half marathon last month - whoot!), but he likes pictures of my girl and I'm one more person in the world who cares for him.  We could all use one more person, couldn't we?

I also doubt he appreciated all my artsy outdoor shots, before it got cold and rainy and I retreated to my treadmill.  Before I found out Murphy shouldn't be running (I wonder if anyone would want to run for my dog?).  But forcing myself to look for photo opportunities during my runs, to be present, was a beautiful gift.

Thank you, Robert - IRUN4U!

Now I just need my knees to hold out.

(photo quality is a different issue)

31 for 21: 14 years

One of the girls in my office is engaged, and at one of those insufferable office showers someone else, 7 years in, started waxing poetic about what it took to keep a relationship going - communication, listening, how not to fight... blah, blah, blah. 

Nobody asked me, though I realized later with a mix of horror (are we that old?) and pride that I'd been married longer than anyone else in the room, but MY tip would have been to simply resist the occasional homicidal urges.  If you are very lucky, the rest will sort itself out. 

Here's to 14 years of laughter, tears, & only occasional body dump scouting!

I couldn't find a recent picture of us together so here's a look at what we did together.  *smirk*

31 for 21: Double Trouble.

Family looks trump
chromosomes. Nothing as sweet
as this matching pair.

31 for 21: 6 shots

... Proving my girl will climb ANY obstacle, literal & otherwise.  

And she certainly won't let anything like a silly girl dress stop her!

31 for 21: 42 years.

First, I really am out of practice.  Sorry if it lands in your reader again but I had to edit my recently renewed blogging efforts - the typos were making my eyes twitch.  Also, note to self, don't try to post something from your phone in the one room in the house without wifi while dozing off between sentences.

I was trying to figure out what I was going to write about tonight when I heard this on NPR on my way home (apparently on repeat?  It's from 2012).  My facebook posts these days seem to be limited to NPR links so apologies for another one but it's not often I cry in the car.  The story is about an autistic boy who was institutionalized at age 8 and lived in the same place for 42 years - until one of his caretakers broke his neck, rendering him a quadriplegic.  No one was ever charged.  

Forty two years ago my OB would have recommended we institutionalize my daughter, too.

If she had been institutionalized, she would have never gone on a walk with her mommy.  

Or been given glasses, to see better 

Or been able to make goofy faces into the camera. 

 No one would have laughed with her.  How would she have learned to smile?  

No walks, no streams to cross, no one to help her cross them.  

 Discarded. 

There'd be no silly bouffants. 

 And no rock splashing. 

 Certainty is for fools. 

Certainty about the value of a life, 

certainty about joys to be found - 

you cannot be certain of anything sitting a sterile office. 

It may not be simple, or easy, or obvious

 But this girl...

led me beyond the expected

and I have felt the warmth and joy of a thousand suns.  

Five years ago no one suggested we do anything but take her home and love her.

Although this is not the case everywhere in the world, and although there remains much undone, I am always moved by this simple and profound gift of time and space.

Ups and... Downs

Will that ever stop being funny?  

Lest anyone think all I've done is work the last two months, this is my catch up/ photo dump/ clinging onto the (mostly) happy moments post.

MAY: 

My son wanted a Minecraft party for his birthday.  Two-ish (?) days beforehand I realized the noble folks there have not yet sold out to corporate America.  Meaning there are no pre-packaged Minecrafty items available at major retailers.  And it was too late for Etsy.  Oh, fffuuuu.... 

I am NOT a crafty person.  Pintrest makes me itchy.  But bless their enormous pixels, Minecraft is all squares.  Surely I can manage that?

Butcher paper & a square brush, left over construction paper, and Rice Krispie/corn flake treats with cocoa & green food dye #37 for the Win!

I think he had a good time. (This was for his family party; the fiasco of his first official "friends" party is here.  The Girl's party will be in a couple weeks.  What's with the summer birthdays?)

JUNE:

We went to the annual Ds Walk/fundraiser but gave friends & family almost no notice so it was just the four of us.  The Girl was highly annoyed.  Possibly with her mother's pathological inability to plan ahead.  Also because we didn't let her stay on the slide all day.  Mean parents. 

But not to worry, we went to a street fair later that month and she was much happier.  This girl loves her selfies!  [The boy ditched us for his cousins]

JULY 4th:

Aunt Mary came to town, which was awesome.  We went to the sculpture park, which was grand.  One of my food experiments turned out beautifully (not pictured: the several that didn't and my kitchen, after).  And for the first time, my sound sensitive girl sat thru the fireworks and loved them, clapping and laughing and having a marvelous time.  I even posted something on facebook the next day about how much she'd grown up.

But as soon as I pressed enter I had that weird, unsettled feeling.  Could it really be that easy? 

Oh, fffuuuu.... 

Double ear infection. 

Fireworks are apparently even better when you can't hear the explosions.  

Whoops.

JULY, cont'd:

If you're new here, my husband works for an airline and we fly for free, but standby as "non revenue generating passengers".  No empty seats, no flight.  Thru trial and much error, we've figured out the basics - early morning flights are good, flying in the summer is bad, holidays are worse.  Trying to get somewhere by a certain time?  The gods will laugh.  

I need to remember that last bit.  Two weeks ago Matt and I went to Denver for the NDSC convention.  We got to the airport at 4:30 in the morning, as we should, and Matt got his 5am flight, no problem.  The twit was already in Denver napping before I had lunch.  I passed up the 5:30 to Chicago, hoping for the 6:30 direct to Denver because no way everyone shows up on time for a 6:30am flight.  HA!  Wrong!  So I took the 9:00 to Chicago but all the directs from there looked bad too so I ended up going thru Akron.  Akron, in case you're a bit fuzzy on American geography, is not in between Missouri and Colorado.  Eleven hours after leaving, a nearby mom pointed out the Mississippi to her kids as we flew over it. Eleven hours... to end up back where I started.  Yay!  

It could've been worse though - I missed Friday's events but arrived in time for dinner and didn't have to go thru Seattle or Portugal... or, horror, buy a ticket.  

Win???  

Don't hold me to those times - I think I went thru 3 times zones twice and it got a little fuzzy after Ohio.

Coming home I did everything wrong - late afternoon flight, out of a major hub, on a Sunday, during the summer.   Seventy shades of wrong.  The ticket agent on the first flight I tried openly mocked me.  The gal on the next flight out agreed to list me but I was #16 and the flight was full.  I started staking out the best corners of the airport to camp in.  But, lo, one person didn't show up and, in sweet but slightly co-dependent and defeatist fashion, none of the couples ahead of me in line wanted to separate.  Families may be the glue that holds society together, they may make all the other bullshit worth it but... ruthless isolationism for the win!  

One more reason why Matt and I don't fly together.  (That, and a wee bit of paranoia about orphaning my children.)

I can't let this end on an anti-family note, so here's a bonus picture of the kids at Ted Drewe's

Doesn't it seem like the summer should've involved more than one post?  School starts in ten days. 

Oh, fffuuuu....