Growth

The Girl's biennial cardiology check up was a couple weeks ago.  There was modest bribery required for the ultrasound but compared to years past when she had to be held down, screaming, it was a massive success.  She's growing up. 

As we waited for the doctor at the end, I heard him outside the door, "Oh.... well now.  That's interesting." 

Interesting, in the clinical setting, is by definition bad.  Especially in that sad, flat tone he used. 

But this is not a story about PTSD or flashbacks.  I sighed, but didn't feel the bottom of yet another cliff come rushing toward us.  Which is, I suppose, progress.  Maybe I'm finally growing up too.

Turns out his comment had nothing to do with us and he pronounced her heart repair nigh perfect.  Come back in 2 years.

In the waiting room, before the bribes and the all clear, there had been 3 children giving my daughter the side eye.  At one point the oldest hissed loudly at her brother to STOP STARING.  I ignored them because I do not need to school every human being with whom my daughter comes into contact.  Their mother eventually came out holding a very small baby, gave my girl a hard look, then suggested her children all say goodbye to their Friend in a too bright voice.  The voice that meant Very Special Friend, capitalized, and that makes my teeth hurt from its forced gaiety and saccharine.  I ignored her too because I am not going sanction such awkwardness and the kids hadn't even been playing together and ffs, lady, really?

Except she turned as she was leaving and her baby had the most beautiful almond eyes....

Oops.

I dimly remember stalking people in the grocery store and stumbling over myself and my words when my girl was small and I didn't know What This All Meant (also capitalized).  We have come such a long way.  I hope that mother and all her Very Special Friends find peace.  I wish whatever the doctor was reading was only mildly interesting and didn't involve his newest patient.  I think maybe I could try to be less of a dick around strangers. 

Top of Mt Tam in CA - no cliffs involved.

't

Dear Doc

Dear Doc -

Once upon a time there was a beautiful little girl.  She was very special but, as in all fairy tales, she was given certain challenges.  As soon as she was born she was whisked off to the first doctor, but he reached deep inside her heart and made it strong.  His magic would allow the girl to live a long life and run fast. The girl's parents were well pleased.

Her parents then took her to the eye doctor so she could see all the flowers and story books.  They took her to an ear doctor so she could hear her family laugh and the dogs bark.  There were other people for her feet and still others for her neck - courtiers abounded.

But some of these doctors gave her shots and stuck needles in her arms.  Sometimes she would visit a doctor, fall asleep, and wake up feeling sick in a different place.  That was scary.  One time the little girl was very, very ill and stayed in a hospital where they had the temerity to vacuum her nose like a peasant.  Once they actually held her trying to get pictures!  Audacious paparazzi!

The girl did not care for these gross invasions of personal space.  Their paltry compensation - stickers! ice cream! - was beneath her and she scorned it all.  (Well, maybe not the ice cream but it was wildly insufficient.)

The girl began to believe her parents had abdicated their duties.  She ignored their entreaties and became an expert at spotting and eluding anyone with medical training.  If cornered, she would roar like a dragon and fight back.  Hard.

Though she was impressively fierce, this made her parents sad.  They loved her very much and wanted her to have all the flowers and laughter.  They believed these alchemists could help, but they wanted her to be happy too.  Confusion and darkness spread across the land.  

But then the girl met you, Doc.  She watched you coax reluctant patients into treatment.  She saw you check their ears, check their eyes, and find out what was going on.  She saw how much you cared and how hard you worked to help.  She watched you reset limbs, excise debris, and patch tears.  She saw how happy your patients were by the end of each episode.

Because of you, the girl decided to give the doctors another chance.  Perhaps not aallll of them were evil trolls, after all?  She started bringing you with her to appointments for a second opinion.  

Like a food taster of old, you would gallantly test the equipment on her behalf.  

You submitted to exams to evaluate the physician's technique.  Charlatans who failed to respect or recognize their peer were quickly dispatched. 

Because of you, the girl was properly treated, with deference and every courtesy.  Because of you, the girl's parents were assured she was given every advantage.  Peace was restored and both the girl and the parents were pleased.  

Thank you, Doc McStuffins.  

Thank you.  

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?

                                

My life, in 251 words

My mom sent A.A. Milne in honor of The Girl's 6th birthday and this little gem I found inside makes me laugh and laugh. Back to work today!

BUSY

I think I am a muffin man. I haven't got a bell,
I haven't got the muffin things that muffin people sell. 
Perhaps I am a postman. No, I think I am a tram. 
I'm feeling rather funny and I don't know what I am--

BUT
Round about 
And round about
And round about I go--
All around the table,
The table in the nursery--
Round about 
And round about
And round about I go;

I think I am a Traveller escaping from a Bear;

I think I am an Elephant,
Behind another Elephant
Behind another elephant who isn't really there....

SO
Round about 
And round about
And round about and round about 
And round about
And round about 
I go.

I think I am a Ticket Man who's selling tickets--- please,
I think I am a Doctor who is visiting a Sneeze;
Perhaps I'm just a Nanny who is walking with a pram
I'm feeling rather funny and I don't know what I am--

BUT
Round about 
And round about
And round about I go--
All around the table,
The table in the nursery--
Round about 
And round about
And round about I go:

I think I am a Puppy, so I'm hanging out my tongue;

I think I am a Camel who 
Is looking for a Camel who
Is looking for a Camel who is looking for its Young...

SO
Round about 
And round about 
and round about and round about
And round about
And round about
I go.

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.

All clear

Last week I went in for a mammogram.  On Mother’s Day Matt handed me a letter asking me to come back for more tests.  My comment at the time ran along the lines of, “Are you fucking kidding me?  I don’t fucking have time for this fucking shit.”   

Hey, no one promised you great prose or deep thoughts here.    

The dark voice in my head decided that because the universe is stalking us and since my girl’s bloodwork came back clear, it must have set its sights on me instead and I was going to end up bald, tragically waste away, and orphan my children.

I also instantly decided that I wasn’t all that attached to my boobs.  They had failed to land me any Playboy gigs and, despite many tears and herbs and lactation consults, failed to fulfill their primary duty of feeding my babies.  Double mastectomy?  No problem.  Cut ‘em off. 

What I was really freaked out about was the ultrasound.  Which is about the most innocuous, peaceful test you can get – dark room, nice pillow, warm gel, little wand… it’s almost like getting a massage.  Except at one perfectly routine ultrasound I found out my son had died.  And at another found out my girl’s heart could let her die too. 

Apart from a brief expletive on FB, I downplayed the call back.  My peeps on FB assured me it happened all the time and was perfectly routine.  They would have called if it were anything serious.  I am not a wee fragile flower and refuse to freak out over remote hypotheticals when there is real actual tragedy in the world.  (At least I won’t do it publicly.)  I joked with Matt about the life insurance payout and reminded him to get a pre-nup so the hot nanny doesn’t run off with the kids’ money.  But when alone in the shower and in the car, I’d choke up – not about the leaving my children or the hot nanny or dying, but about being in that fucking room again and getting more bad news.  A perfectly normal response, right?  No? 

I believe that is what they call an emotional trigger. 

I went back yesterday and was smooshed and squeezed in a highly intimate and unnatural manner and they pronounced me good to go. 

Right.  No big deal.  So unexciting, in fact, the additional films did the trick and I didn’t even get to the ultrasound.  *phew*

I went home, went running on my achy feet because I am alive goddammit and I can, had a glass of wine, and pondered the possibility that perhaps the universe is not stalking us after all and perhaps - just maybe - I might have some residual anxiety issues instead. 

Not my boobs.

Obviously.  

"Please No Gifts" - One Life Lesson, in 9 Parts

One rather awesome kid, plus
One fabulous group rate at the local pool, plus
One small measure of maternal guilt for skipping the annual Christmas cookie party and never buying him that swing set, plus
One more pinch of guilt for working, thus restricting his social & after school activities, plus
One set of lifeguards to minimize any incidental drowning, plus
One mega class of 30 kids, plus
One mother's hefty aversion to mountains of plastic crap, plus
One small teachable moment nudge from Mommy, plus
One (or two) reminders that he'll still get lots of stuff at the family party, equals
One memorable birthday blow-out and a mountain of donations for the Crisis Nursery.

Damn, but I am proud of him.
Happy 9th Birthday.

[I don't want to over-sell our altruism because my primary motivation in suggesting this admittedly WAS to keep the small, trip-able, foot-bruising plastastica out of the house but I think it worked out for the other parties too. :) ]

Smorgasbord on Aging, Stress, and Working.

- Since Easter I've pulled 4 all nighters for the corporate gods and I'm still hyper ventilating in the morning at the sheer volume of shit that needs to get done.

- These days, an "all nighter" means staying up till 2-3am.  I really should have powered through till dawn 'cause I could have used those extra 3-4 hours but…  then I'd have keeled over and not had to worry about anything ever again.  Come to think of it, that sounds rather relaxing.

- I thought I was supposed to need less sleep as I got older?  I call bullshit.

- I miss you guys.  And I know it's the devil, but I miss you guys on FB too.  I'll be back soon.

- I did take a little time off ~ On Friday I took The Girl to Children's for her annual labs.  Fun stuff.  We were about 4 months early because for the first time in her entire life she got a nosebleed.  And then a second.  And then she fell asleep on the stairs. And then her teacher sent home a note about how abnormally tired she was.  I didn't say anything because I knew I was being ridiculous but if there is anything that could break us right now it would be leukemia.  Fiscally, emotionally…  I know people find a way, but bankrupt, unemployed, and heavily medicated to stop the shrieking was not on my bucket list.  (Her labs were fine so I was being silly and also, YAY!  Also?  I wonder how other people live when they don't feel constantly stalked by Death.  I assume they're happier, yes?)).

- The weekend was chock full of parties and playdates and swim lessons.  All great stuff but Matt had to work both days and my daughter spent all of Saturday demonstrating her very best elopement techniques near various busy streets so by Sunday I was looking forward to going back to work.  Hyperventilating over my mammoth corporation's money is exponentially easier than keeping my small child off the neighbor's front bumper.

- I took another half day yesterday to get a mammogram and Girl Check.  I'm sorry, I know you must be jealous of my lollygagging ways, but please note this is not the wrinkle-free, sag-free, mid-30s baseline "practice" mammogram.  Shit's gettin' real, yo.

- Many years ago I wrote this post about meeting my friend RK for the first time.  I opened with a line I was sure, ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN, came from a Mid-East class I took in school.  Except I've been watching old West Wing episodes at night because I don't have the emotional energy to invest in anything new and….  I am full of crap.  It was President Bartlett.  I'm sure Aaron Sorkin and/or my college prof were not the first people to have stumbled into this bit of wisdom but I now have the highly uncomfortable feeling that MY stumbling into said bit of wisdom did not come courtesy of my Stafford loans.  Since pretty much everything I know or believe seems to have originated with the WW series, I'm wondering if I could get my tuition back, please?

- I am the heaviest I've ever been, including those immediate postpartum days, and despite all the love yourself/don't buy into the media hype bullshit I'm full of self-loathing.  I have not suddenly taken to eating pans full of brownies by myself in the closet (though that is enticing), leaving age, stress, and the slow creep of the western civilization to blame.

- Compounding that fun is an epic, albeit self-diagnosed case of plantar fasciitis. Nothing starts my day of better than getting up out of bed and nearly collapsing to the floor.  Nothing helps fight Middle Age Spread than being unable to workout because my feet hurt because they're carrying too many pounds, preventing me from working out to lose said pounds.  Feeling young and vibrant I am not.

- I did sign up for a cheapie Parks & Rec yoga class. Matt might kill me for sneaking off twice a week but it would be soooo much worse if I didn't.  Because while I'm fairly certain this is Yoga Lite and it's not even challenging for a yoga-novice like me, it is amazingly relaxing and I leave feeling much less creaky.  I'm also leaving in that gorgeous late afternoon light amid all the spring bulbs my tax dollars bought, and it's just blissful.

- On my 2nd or 3rd session I'm pretty sure I fell asleep during the ending meditation bit.  I jerked awake and everyone else was already sitting up and the teacher was saying her goodbyes.  I think I should have been embarrassed but… it was weirdly nice.
And on that note I'm off to bed!

Conversations with My Children, Part II

Post story, just before lights out, while discussing the current status of The Boy's unrequited year-long crush ~

The Boy:  I'm telling people I don't love her anymore.
Me:  Are you just telling people that or do you really not like her anymore? 
(stressing the word "like" because he's not even 9 yet, people).
The Boy:  No, I'm not in love with her anymore. 
Me:  What happened?
The Boy:  I don't really know.  Besides, it would never work out. 
Me:  Why not? 
The Boy:  Well, we'd have to go to college and move away from each other and then we'd never see each other again. 

I'm raising a fatalist.  A romantic fatalist, but a fatalist nonetheless.

I'm going to remind him of this conversation when he's a teenager, helplessly adrift in a sea of testosterone and begging for money to take his latest trollop out for ice cream, a movie, and a little back seat action.

The Boy and the only woman who will ever matter :)

Conversations with My Children, Part I

While negotiating his new-found love of cooking, particularly pies - fruit pies, which has turned into a rather expensive interest, since until very recently things were decidedly Not In Season:

The Boy:  We could plant some blueberry bushes.
Me:  Yes, that would be cool.  
The Boy:  And raspberry bushes, and an apple and peach tree too.
Me:  We could even get a couple chickens.  Home grown eggs are supposed to be way better than the grocery store ones. 
The Boy:  WE COULD GET A COW AND HAVE FRESH MILK AND WHIPPED CREAM ALL THE TIME, AND I COULD MAKE ICE CREAM AND HOMEMADE BUTTER.  WE SHOULD MOVE TO A FARM!!!  CAN WE MOVE TO A FARM?  LET'S MOVE TO A FARM!  
Me, thinking quietly to myself:  ((Or I could just shut up, buy you the $16 bag of frozen blueberries, and be grateful I don't have to milk them)).

Keep in mind this child is the spawn of me, queen of the PB&J, and someone who doesn't trust food that isn't salted, wrapped in plastic, frozen, and requires microwaving.  I cannot explain it.

Nature Boy. 

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 creatures in my care

I have this recurring dream that I'm at the beach with the kids and I lose them both in the waves.  I don't know where to look and they've been separated - finding one precludes finding the other.  I have other dreams where they disappear into a lake or the woods, or over a ledge.  Natural fears of motherhood, I suppose.

Except tonight I nearly did lose my girl - I was in the bathroom and she was in my bedroom watching TV.  The alarm chimes anytime an outside door is opened and I did hear it but seconds must have lumbered by as I thought it must be The Boy, who was downstairs, or maybe one of the dogs pushing the back door open, or, or, or...

I don't remember even forming a conscious thought but I was suddenly running. The girl was not watching TV.  The gate at the top of the stairs was open.  The back door was closed. The laundry room door leading to the garage was closed but I knew, and I flew outside, because she likes to close doors behind her and it was too quiet.  The garage door was open and I remembered I'd noticed that earlier and forgot to close it because the kids, dinner, dogs, the usual state of chaos. 

She was running. Not exactly in the middle of the street but definitely not on the sidewalk.  And she was wearing a black shirt, because I'd put her Halloween costume back on her trying to get a decent picture, earlier.  She is not that tall, being only 5, and having a 47th chromosome too boot.  The yellow striped bee tights wouldn't have provided much warning for the fucking teenagers who drive too fast down our streets, texting & sexting, & looking down, fiddling with the radio.  They wouldn't have been able to see her.  Especially not now that time changed and it's dark out.

And there was a car of course.  Two, no just one house down, though not speeding. And the bastards looked rather amused as they rolled by, and not at all horrified at the death they nearly unleashed, because all they saw was a shrieking middle aged woman grabbing a small child on the edge of their property line, a perfectly safe distance away, and they saw the useless dogs come running out, free, and too late, chaos spilling out.  They did not slow down much, to make sure they didn't hit a dog, though in fairness they weren't going that fast.  They probably didn't see I was holding my pants up, because I just thought to run, and not button. But I did not care if the dogs ran away or were hit, just then, or if my pants fell down because I was still shrieking, in my head.  I was not yet angry at the dogs, who should have barked a warning, or my son who is supposed to close the garage when he comes inside, or myself who was so very careless and nearly dropped the entire universe.  I'm still shrieking, a little. 

I'm never going to sleep well again.  

Running:

Bonus:

Little girl on a big street:

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....  

There will be ponies at 9.

Last year The Boy's 7th birthday party was cancelled because he came down with a pestilence of some kind.  Which was unfortunate because Aunt Mary was in town and had helped me make several gallons of sangria for the party - which we tragically were then forced to drink ourselves.  It was moved to the following week, conveniently when my mom was in town, but the sangria was gone by then and I have a very, very strict 2 sangria gallon/month maximum.

Different sangria party.  Different month. Still awesome.

Two-ish years ago my husband was at the St. Louis airport when it was hit by a tornado.  Which I can still only marvel at.

This year, in one of those great confluences of freak luck and damn statistics, my son's birthday party was disrupted, again,

by a tornado, again,
that hit the St. Louis airport, again,
while Matt was... ok, he wasn't there again,
but he was about to be, to pick up a friend, until he took a look at the radar and hunkered with us in the basement for a while.  He left later but ended up getting stuck on a bridge for 4 hours because the tornado damage, turns out, had shut down the freeway.  He doesn't like bridges and called me every 15 minutes to inform me the bridge hadn't collapsed yet.  That was fun.

The Boy has an almost-summer birthday and cheap, lazy parents so we have so far managed to avoid the Friend Party.  I've thrown his class a holiday cookie party the last few years, and there are always a bunch of cousins at the family party so I've managed to not feel too guilty, but he finally asked and he's almost too old for the traditional 2-hour pizza-cake-shoo schtick, so we broke down this year.  He had almost carte blanche and, delirious with the freedom of it all, took almost a month to settle on a couple of besties and Dave & Buster's.  Which, if you've been spared that particular joy, is a bigger, less grimy, mouse-free version of Chuck E. Cheese - though they have a liquor license, so it's almost awesome (Flashing strobe lights and beer!  What could go wrong?).  This was to be a Very Big Deal, as only something built up in an almost-8 year old's head for almost 2 months can be. 

(The family party was also a Very Big Deal, because of mommy's awesome, newly found crafting skills, but more on that later).

The tornado was last Friday night and the party was the following day - it took a while Saturday morning to confirm the place was indeed shut down and then we had to deal with a Very Sad Boy.  This was one of those delicate parenting moments - people's homes were pulverized while my baby was Very Sad over what amounted to a schedule change - but kids can't learn empathy for others without owning their own feelings so there were lots of hugs & cuddles.  In retrospect we probably should have done something more civic minded and Life Lesson-ish, like bring coffee & donuts to the emergency workers, but we would have just been in the way and, well, I didn't want to get stuck on a bridge for four hours either.  Maybe we should have brought donuts to our local FD?  Darn it!  Hindsight!

We ended up going out to lunch with some friends, hit the park, and had a couple of those handy cousins come over later so he survived... and the party was rescheduled.  But when he turns 9?  The universe better show up with ponies and unicorns and fireworks.  And mommy may show up with some donuts for the FD too.
   

No, he's not about to jump.

I still want to start watermarking before I put up better pix...

Ha! Right, I'll get on that any day now.

20/31 - 90 Minutes.

On Saturday, before Matt & I went out for fancy pizza to celebrate our anniversary and before The Girl got sick, we stopped by the local Ds picnic.  We'd actually intended on attending, but one of Matt's people called in sick (wth with all the germs?  It's like flu season is starting or something!) so he had to go into work for a bit Saturday morning.  The kids and I hung out, nothing very exciting, but they were going to be up late with their cousins & we were going to be up late on date night, so I announced early naptime.  

However neither one of these kids actually nap anymore, so I may have just been aiming for 30 minutes of quiet to get showered and dressed in peace, but turns out *I* needed a nap.  I stretched out "for just a minute" and was OUT.  I can almost never sleep past 7 and can never, ever, ever sleep during the day.  Not even if I've been up all night & Matt takes the kids out.  But I was out cold for at least 90 minutes, till the phone rang at noon.  Right when the picnic was starting.  Awesome.  

[The Boy was perfectly happy with his unrestricted video game time & The Girl merrily blanketed her carpet with every single piece of clothing she owns.  No children were endangered in the making of this farce.]

Matt got home just as we were scrambling around finding shoes so ended up joining us.  Which worked out well because he was able to fill the bone dry gas tank as I ran into that finest of delicatessens, the U-Gas.  Cooking is sadly not one my many talents, so I won't pretend I was going to bring some Pinterest inspired hand-dipped delicacy, but I was planning to swing by a store with real food for something slightly more upscale than the monster sized bags of potato & nacho chips I ended up bringing.  But who doesn't love chips, right?

Zen.  

Yes, the family was all dressed in Cardinals red.  Chheeezzzee!  

No, I don't want to talk about it.  

I didn't get to see my friend but for a second, was my usual shy and awkward self around everyone else, but I did get a yummy cheeseburger out of the deal, and the kids got to play for a bit.  Usual weekend fare hereabouts. 

19/31 - Five Whoots!

Darn it!  I fell behind in my 31/31 quest.  Rambly nonsensical post to follow:

• I jinxed us hard by writing The Girl isn't sickly.  We went out to celebrate our 13 year anniversary on Saturday with some friends, picked up the kids from my awesome SIL and heard a little crou...  never mind, I'm sure it's just the night air. 
• She woke up two hours later crying with a full blown croupy cough. Crap!  
• Sunday I spent alternatively holding her or leaving the room to escape the incessant teeth grinding and inconsolable weepiness.  Matt took The Boy out on errands and then went to work.  Chicken.  
• Matt arranged to stay home Monday and... she was dancing in the living room.  To his credit, he did not actually say I don't know why you were so stressed out, but I know he was thinking it.  Hrrumph! 
• Monday night she woke up again at 11, crying and with another fever.  Stinker. 
• Matt didn't comb her hair all day and she had white girl dreadlocks like Mel in Braveheart.
• I ended up combing them out at midnight because first, I was horrified & they were only going to get worse, but also because if we did end up having to take her to the hospital I didn't want them to call social services.  It was BAD  (her hair - the cough was equivocal).  
• Matt & I split CoughWatch today but now I think I'm catching something too - a little clammy & short of breath on & off, though I made into work for my conference calls.  And I pulled something in my left shoulder, probably holding The Girl all day Sunday.  You know what else includes clamminess, shortness of breath, & left arm pain?  Yeah, that.  I had a running internal conversation with myself about whether I really wanted to spend $50 at urgent care for someone to tell me I pulled something and am probably getting a cold and not the other thing, but ended up feeling better so managed to avoid being ridiculous.  Whoot!  
• Things I got done today:  
• One scheduled call with a vendor, 30 minutes late, girl howling in the background.
• One call to the school, an hour after it began, to tell them she was still sick, girl loudly laughing in the background. 
• RSVP'd for my SIL's shower which I should have done 2 weeks ago. 
• Remembered I still don't have a hotel reservation for my biz trip to TX on Thursday.
• Failed to actually make said reservation. 
• Re-washed the same load of towels I first washed on xxxxx.  PLACED INTO DRYER.  Whoot!  
• Failed to find the little slip of paper with the colossally inconvenient unilaterally scheduled parent-teacher conference time for The Girl's school.  Too embarrassed to email the teacher since she also recently reminded me I had forgotten to email Transport one day to cancel her bus, and I forgot to return a permission form in the 18 allotted hours.  Passed the task onto Matt.  Whoot! 
• Made it into work on time for my other calls.  Whoot!  
• Received an email from the girl's daycare scheduling their parent-teacher conference, that ended with "Thanks for being awesome". 
• I'm choosing to believe that was not all sarcastic.  Right?  So that get's a Whoot! too.  

13/31 - Jersey #4

I swear I have real posts in my head but it seems to be a struggle to apply fingers to keypad lately.  It's a quiet weekend here - laundry, soccer, reading... maybe I'll trying to add writing to that list tomorrow, before we dive back into the chaos of our work weeks.  Here are some soccer pictures to tide you over.

Soccer may not be The Boy's thing.  He played in kindergarten and successfully avoided the ball all season, until scoring one magic winning goal in the last game of the year.  We were bad parents though, and instead of building on that momentum, we skipped indoor (winter) soccer and then skipped 1st grade soccer altogether (we missed the cut off, he didn't seem to care enough for us to beg our way onto a team, we were too busy to push it).  But he wanted to try again this year in 2nd grade so here we are, every weekend and Thursday night.  Except it's been social hour for him, not a sport, and he's perfectly happy sitting on the bench, goofing off with his buddies.  You know how cute it is when the preschoolers pick daisies and roll in the grass during games?  Not so cute when it's your 7 year old and all his teammates are playing hard around him.  For the record, he wasn't actually picking daisies but he was definitely in a fog - more than one ball went *swoosh* right by him without a reaction.

Stretching?  Yoga?  Victory holla'?  I'll never tell.  

Matt & I discussed this ad nauseum because he's not normally a spacey kid and it was so pronounced during games it was painful to watch.  We tried yelling (Yes! Those parents!) but he'd look over at us and wave.  We tried biting our fists to muffle the screaming but then he just kept happily daydreaming.  Maybe he hated soccer after all?  Maybe he was confused?  Scared of the ball?  Maybe performance anxiety was causing him to shut down?  Then Matt had the BRILLIANT idea of taping some professional soccer games.  I really wish I could take credit for this because watching the grown ups play made something click and all of sudden my kid is hustling after the ball and engaged.  Even the coach commented on it.

Action shot! 

We're not signing him for inter-state tournament play anytime soon and he's still the kid with the most bench time (& today we had to talk to him about not lying down on the bench while benched.  Gah!), but we have progress!  and growth!  We also now have the brilliant realization that my son is a visual learner, just like his mommy and his sister.  

What does this have to do with Down syndrome and 31 for 21 you ask?  Ummmm....

Well, since this is now four paragraphs long, I'm going to pass it off as a post:
Parenting any child can be hard.  I've said this before & I will continue to repeat it.  Your kid will not excel at everything and every individual has their own quirks and their own learning styles.  Sometimes you have to thrash around a bit to figure it out, no matter the chromosomal count.

 Also:  The Girl sat fairly quietly during most of the game today (could I get one more modifier in there? She has not been so agreeable in the past).  But during half time I let her run and she booked it across the field.  I heard her brother laughing a bit, "Hey, that's my sister!"  So much affection, right there.  What an awesome kid to call out to his pesky little sister in front of all the boys.

11/31 - 10/11/12

Did you know yesterday was today is 10-11-12?  Slate calls these Festivals of Numerical Coincidence.  I am noting this merely because I’ve decided all my 31 for 21 posts need to be titled numerically.  Totally unrelated, did you know blogger lets you backdate posts?  [I really meant to do this last night but fell asleep with the kids – getting 8 hours of sleep is its own festival of awesomeness].

In honor of everything falling into line, two vignettes about my children, who do not:
A month or so ago, The Girl’s teacher told Matt that she had walloped some kid that day.  Apparently they were in circle time, it was The Girl’s turn to do whatever it is they do in circle time, but the other kid tried to go instead, so my girl tried to grab/push/hit her.  Matt said he laughed.  Which I’m sure horrified the teacher.  *I* was horrified – that he laughed.  I know The Girl is starting to get frustrated with her communication skills and is at high risk of developing some behavioral issues because of it, but this was a one off and I will tell you that a little part of me is delighted at her feistiness.  No one is going to let her miss her turn.  I would have liked to say we are secretly delighted, but Matt’s guffaw and this post blow that option.

~~~~~~~~~

Yesterday an aide at The Boy’s school pulled me aside during pick up to tell me he’d gone to time out during aftercare.  There is, apparently, a rule against going back to your class after a certain point in time.  But he forgot his homework folder so asked teacher#1 if he could go get it.  She said no, citing this inviolate time on the clock.  So he asked teacher#2, who also said no and chided him for shopping his request.  So then he asked teacher#3, who didn’t know about the rule, and let him go.  I understand that there are safety and crowd control considerations, tossed in with a little personal responsibility lesson (remember your stuff!), but he was trying to get his homework, not spray paint to graffiti the school.  I didn’t scold him.  Of all the things I don’t want my children to learn, blind obedience to authority is at the top of the list. 

Love these kids. 

10/31 - 8.

I worked till 8. 'Tis 

laaattte.  I can but shake my key

board for a post.  Here:

 'Cause Cate reminded me that the moms shouldn't be cropped out.
Hiding behind phones, however, it totally kosher.

9/31 - 3.14

What happens when I
get home from work early, &
The Boy asks nicely.