SOME OF EACH

I will never be one of those people who slips away quietly in their sleep not to be discovered for 13 years because no one notices that I am gone. I have too many loves. Too many people keeping tabs. Plus, I live with 3 other humans and two dogs who still have a sense of smell, but I digress (as usual).

My last post had my friends in a frenzy. Not exactly up my ass, but openly concerned and texting, calling, emailing, etc... while I was away on my family vacation. And now that I am home there is more of the same.

Thank you. I am loved and I am so lucky and I know it.

I am not slipping away into the ocean of despair never to be seen again. And this really isn't the first time I have felt a great loss. This may well be the first time I've experienced it sometime near the time it occurred, however. And that is new for me.

So I am having sad feelings every day. I am also having feelings of joy and gratitude every day.

I am having some of each.

SILENCE

Many attempts to communicate are nullified by saying too much.

Robert Greenleaf

I have gone quiet. I am shocked by how little I have to say. If you know me at all this is a surprising phase for me. I am constantly sharing, endlessly prattling on, always coming up with something to say about one thing or another. And I really don't let lack of knowledge hinder me. Like the Energizer bunny I keep going and going and going...

Until now.

Now my heart is aching. My mind is full and my throat closes often.

Now I am reading sad books and watching sad movies and working myself too hard and trying to be with my kiddos during their fun Summer. I am quiet there too. I don't have anything to say so I am quiet.

I wonder when I will feel like me again. I wonder if the way "me" feels is changed forever.

But here is what I want people to know: I don't care that her body was just a vessel. I miss the fucking vessel. I miss it and I want it back. I don't care that we will have her in our hearts forever. She is too big for my heart. It hurts every day with her all crowded in there. I want her out of there and in the world where I can say more things and go to more movies and laugh more and seek her counsel more.

I know we will tell the stories but I want her grandkids to grow up with her, not the stories about her. I want her husband to not be so unmoored by the loss of his partner that his grief doesn't let him through the grocery store with enough food to sustain him. I want him to not have to berate himself when he calls every woman her name. That name that is supposed to come out of his mouth forever, same as it has for the past 40 years, but there is no one here to receive it, to respond to it.

She should be here. My heart is so sore. My chest feels bruised.

And what I know is that everyone I have ever loved will leave me in this way. And I'm scared to death.

I'm so scared.

CUPCAKE KIDDOS

Happy early Independence Day.

COMFORT COMES TO ME IN STRANGE WAYS

This book is coming to me from Amazon. Because when I'm sad I like to dive in and wallow in the sad. Swim in it. Do a backstroke and then flip over float face down in despair. I think this wonderful story of a woman's grief will help me to do just that.

In the event that you are looking for a beautiful, precious, tragic and sad tale, I have a few selections for you:

The Bridges of Madison County

Lucky

Tuesdays With Morrie

The Red Tent

A Time to Kill

Bridge to Terabithia

To Kill a Mockingbird

And I hear from my friend Mary (and a few thousand other people) that this one might be good for jerking a tear or two. We shall see...

IT IS, OF COURSE, POSSIBLE TO DANCE A PRAYER

I've never wanted anything more than to dance like a fucking nut job with a gaggle of complete strangers in every city of the world.

IN LOVING MEMORY

I met Heather in Mr. Williams 7th grade homeroom class. She sat in the next row. She had thick red hair and Jordache jeans. We started out just talking in class. About the teacher (Crazy. Not just odd, actually NUTSO. Left teaching the next year cause he was honest to god crazy.), about boys (Vance Beltran - 7th grade GOD sat right behind me. And occasionally he spoke to me. She witnessed these events), about school work (Lame. Always.), about ourselves.

We became best friends. We walked to school together every day of high school. We spent summers together. Mostly at her house because her folks were there. Her dad worked out of a home office in the converted garage long before it was normal to have a home office. Her mom was a stay at home Mom. She encouraged us to be kind and respectful. She called us MITs (Moms In Training). She cooked delicious treats (popcorn, chocolate donuts, fried fish and okra, biscuits and gravy) and made us feel welcome and loved.

Heather's Mom was a devoutly Christian woman. She knew her Bible chapter and verse but never forced her beliefs on anyone. She was kind and gentle and strong and loving. For the past 24 plus years she has been a second mom to me.

Heather's Mom loved my kids and their accomplishments and quirks like they were her own grand kids. She was lucky enough to have 2 grand kids of her own and she has delighted in them from the moment they hit the planet.

A little over 5 years ago doctors found a lump. Since then she has weathered 3 progressively worse rounds of chemotherapy. She withstood radiation, fatigue, pain and nausea. This year things got a lot worse for her and about 2 1/2 months ago the doctors told her family that she would not be surviving this. When Heather's dad asked if the doctors were talking 18 months (?) they let him know that they were talking more like 3 months.

From that moment everything changed. Suddenly people she loved were making time. Time for long distance visits, time for dinners and shopping and chats. Time for making chocolate donuts. Time together.

When she was asked what she would want to do she said she wanted to go to Greece.

And so all of those people who loved her and felt impotent because they couldn't do anything to change her prognosis suddenly had something they could do. They chipped in and sent her and her husband to Europe. To Italy and Greece for two weeks. This vacation was to have ended last Thursday.

Heather's mom, Phyllis Davis Kelly, died peacefully tonight. About one hour ago.

My best friend's heart is shattered and will never be the same again.

I loved Phyllis. I will love my friend and will remember her mother with with her for all the years that I have left here. I will tell stories to Heather's children about their wonderful grandmother. Her kindness, her humor, her amazing capacity for love and depth of patience beyond my understanding. I will make chocolate donuts and know that they will never taste as good or as sweet because the woman who perfected them is gone.

This is too hard.

A BETTER PERSON THAN ME

So my first kid, she's pretty great.

My second kid is quite OK, too. But that first one, she and I are an interesting team. I have a lot to learn in this earthly plane. And this one has a lot to teach me.

Last weekend was a 10 year-old's Shangri-La. Two birthday parties, photo session and a pedicure for her "graduation" (called "promotion" officially at the tiny school on our mountain).

First birthday party was a scavenger hunt at the mall. With cash and prizes. Second party was at the Fairmont. With swimming in the hotel and dinner at the fancy restaurant. (I'm going to interject here that I have never stayed at the Fairmont or eaten at said fancy restaurant, myself.)

Then the photo sessions. Two of them. For her dance classes.

Then off to the pedicure at the fancy new nail joint in town. Hers are purple with tropical flowers. Mine are pink-red. Wonderful by any standard.

When we got home she decided to bust out a Christmas gift that she hadn't touched since Christmas day. Because she needed to do something fun, I guess. Because life bores you when there aren't photographers standing by and teams of your friends swarming around you for extravagant fun every hour of the day.

When she started tearing the desk apart looking for the packaging from the gift we started arguing. And talking in circles. And I was trying to make her understand that when a package is opened in December, it is reasonable to assume that the packaging will be recycled some time before June. She was informing me that there was VERY important info on that packaging, and SOMEONE had better pony-up said packaging, or there was gonna be trouble.

I finally got fed up and said, "Look, just because you've had a weekend full of fabulous-ness doesn't mean you get to treat me like crap!"

This is where it gets ugly. Because I said "crap." And in my kid's eyes "crap" is a SERIOUS cuss word. SERIOUS. Seriously.

So she told me that I embarrass her sometimes. And other mom's don't cuss at their kids. And that she thinks that she is a better person than me.

What is a cussing addict to do?

I sent her to her room. Duh.

While she was in her room I invited her to be a little grateful for what she had and maybe even a little thankful for all that she is given every day.

And she cried. She felt bad. And she wrote me a lovely letter. Two pages about what a great mom I am and how I have always put her brother and her first, how she wants to be more like me and think about other people more than she currently does. Which, from my perspective, can't be all that hard.

So when we had a chance we talked. And I let her know that, sadly, she was stuck with me for a mom. But the good news was that she gets to know that her mom is a whole person. Not a Barbie, not a paper doll, but a flawed, imperfect, whole mommy/wife/daughter/friend. That what I want most in the world is not to to hand out guarantees that I will behave perfectly in each and every situation that I encounter, but rather that no matter where I go and what I do I will be loving her. And I will be her life long cheerleader no matter what. Even if she tells me that I suck and that she hates me. Even if she thinks that I am the most embarrassing person on the face of the Earth. Even if she wants to move away from me and never look back. I will love her. She will be in my heart and wherever I am she will have a safe place to come home to.

Even if I'm smoking and cussing and singing show tunes off-key while wearing fluffy slippers and a turquoise robe over my clothes.

Especially then.

VOCAB FOR IDIOTS

Mom, have you ever heard of the word exaggerating?

Yes, son. I have

Am I using it right now?

Um, no. Not that I can tell.

Didn't I just say that Mac (our dog) is bigger than this house?

Why, yes. You did.

Well, there it is.


Moments later...


Mom, what is "flu."

Flu is short for the word influenza. The influenza virus is like a germ that makes people sick. When we suddenly get really sick we say we have the flu because it is a shortened version of the word influenza. Like a nic-name.

Oh. I thought it was like"to fly."

OK. Well, yes. There's that too.

A TALE OF TWO MOTHERS

Saturday:

Mother's day for my mom. We went to my folks to spend the day. We went to lunch. We gave her a purple bike. And she loved it.

From there we took Maddy to her dance performance, Levi to his baseball game, grabbed some dinner and saw Speed Racer. We got home at nearly 11:00.

Which was far too late for me. And the kids. We were all exhausted.

Sunday:

Mother's day for me. I slept in until 8:00. I had my husband's famous eggs benedict. I opened beautiful cards and a fancy new crepe pan and crepe recipe book. Deliriously wonderful.

Then I climbed back in bed. I stayed there until 5:00. Audio book and Sunday paper, crap TV movies on LMN and laundry folding (because it is what I do with my hands while I watch crap television).

And it was just what I wanted.

The homemade kid cards:

Dear Mom,
I will love you forever,
And forever you will be,
The most wonderful mother,
You mean everything to me.

I thought of buying you flowers,
In the usual way, But, I knew you would prefer
A FOREVER BOUQUET!
- Love Levi
(Came with a paper bouquet that he made.)

Marvelous in every way
Over the top
Terrific at everything
Happiness wrapped up just for me
Everyone looks up to her
Reaches out and touches hearts
- Love Maddy, 2008
(Came on a rainbow painted watercolor card.)

Wishing all the wonderful mothers and all of the children of wonderful mothers a day for appreciating what you've got. And for those who feel they are lacking either or both of these, I wish you friends who love you and support you when you need it and even when you don't think you do.

Happy Mother's day from the La Familia Cupcake!

MY AMERICAN LIFE

How lucky are we?

Life can be hard. It can be frustrating. It can be disappointing.

But then it gets good. If only for a day. If only for one breathtaking moment, it gets good.

If you can't watch This American Life on Showtime, I understand. Showtime is pricey.

But if you can, you really should. I highly recommend. This week's show is about a man finding independence and choice and beauty in the most extreme life circumstances.

And Johnny Depp spoke for him because he is not able to speak for himself. And I cried like a baby.

And I felt really good.

STUFF AND OTHER THINGS

It all started with Stuff White People Like. Which cracks me right up. Particularly the ones on New Balance Shoes (my husband, who is not white, per se) and White Problems: Poorly Read Partners (Also my husband! I'm the poorly read one!).

Then I started reading other Stuff People Like.

Like Stuff Christians Like. Such as porn and crock pots. Yum.

And that led to Stuff Nobody Likes. And particularly the post on Grammar Nazis.

As it turns out, I am a poorly-read wannabe mini grammar Nazi. If that is even possible. I like learning about common grammar mistakes and shaming people for making them. For example, the phrase "for all intents and purposes" would be correct. If you are talking about "intensive purposes" you ought to be working in an ICU ward, with great purpose. Also, if you feel sick to your stomach, you are feeling nauseated. Not nauseous. Things that are nauseous cause nausea. It's a bit tricky. You'll get it after a while. I'll harp on you about it. Fun for everyone!

I have learned A LOT from the Grammar Girl podcast. Fun and smart and super short. You can listen from the site, or you can subscribe to the podcast on iTunes.

Feel free to shame your friends and family with all the nuggets of delicious hyper-correctness you will find here.

My gift to you!

I DON'T KNOW MUCH, BUT I KNOW CRACK-HEADS WERE NOT ON THE INVITE LIST

If your family is big enough you’re gonna get some kooks. Happens to the best of us. All those unique (read: weird) people. But you love them. You know, like the Jesus freak. And the alcoholic with the 4 ex-wives (but you can only remember 3 of them, who the hell is this Irma that you all keep mentioning?). The Amway sales reps (doing their best to keep an Amway home!). And then there’s the grouchy drama-queen uncle. Who is not happy unless he has made someone cry.

The usual.

This weekend we had a big family gathering for my aunt and cousin, who flew in from neighboring states for a quick visit. My cousin was bringing her new husband, and I was thrilled to meet him. I opted not to go on my weekend retreat so I wouldn’t miss out.

And it was lovely. Really nice.

Right up until my crack-head cousin showed up with her crazy mother and gigantic children.

See, I have this very sweet uncle who really thought that if he invited said crack-head and her unusually large children that maybe, just maybe, she’d feel the love and decide to give up her evil ways want to get better and come back into the fold of regular human beings.

But here’s the rub. She was never in the realm of regular human beings. Doesn’t even know what that looks like. The secrets in her childhood home were big secrets. No really, BIG SECRETS. Big ones. And then there were all the lies required to cover them up. Really fucked up shit. No joke.

So, fast forward a couple of dozen years. And a failed intervention or two. Picture a lovely BBQ. Visiting and chatting. Noshing and drinking. A brisk but sunny California day. Celebrating with my lovely(ish) family. And then she walked in.

Fuck.

It’s not that I hate her. I don’t. It’s not that I don’t want her life to be better. I do. But coming to this party is not going to make it better. Not for us, and not for her. How could she help but feel different? How could she help but feel less than? Her breath stank of booze. Her clothes were visibly soiled. Her teeth (the remaining ones – formerly her proudest feature) were chipped and stained. She didn’t talk the way she used to, because she wouldn’t lift her upper lip to show her gnarled teeth. Also, her voice sounded at least an octave lower and was all scratchy. Like a 75 year old bar fly. With throat cancer.

But what really pissed me off was that suddenly everything was all about crack-girl. And it wasn’t supposed to be about her. It was supposed to be a lovely celebration and visit for the out-of-towners.

And isn’t it just like a crack-head to steal the measly family limelight.

So I’m just being a whiner. If I were a good Christian woman wouldn’t I invite her in with open arms? “Come right this way! We’ve more than enough food/clothes/money/booze to share! Please grace us with your delightful presence!”

But I don’t feel like that at all. I feel like telling my sweet and well intentioned uncle that the next time he wants to invite crack-heads to the family gathering I’m gonna punch him in the face.

And God bless us, every one…

(BTW - my mom and my brother LEFT THE PARTY just after the arrival of Cracky the Cousin of Delight. Left me and my dad there. Cause that is how they roll. Ass holes.)

UGLY MOMMY SAYS "WTF??!!"

Interesting article about the new book, My Beautiful Mommy.

The book in question, My Beautiful Mommy, is a children's book. About when mommy goes in for "a little work." ON HER NOSE AND HER BOOBIES.

Kill me now.

HOW DO I SUCK? LET ME COUNT THE WAYS

OK.

So I've been away. Here is what I have been doing:

Looking for a new job. Which means endless phone interviews, shopping for "live" interview clothes, maintaining my current workload, telling my husband that he has to be positive ('cause I can't handle ANY negativity or doubt), live interviewing, considering offer letters, accepting offer, submitting my resignation, receiving numerous totally sweet messages from my soon-to-be-ex co-workers, receiving numerous totally sweet messages from my soon-to-be-ex clients, mourning the end of an era of my life, looking forward to a totally new and exciting era of my life, and stressing out beyond belief.

I've been waking in the middle of the night with busy brain. Staying awake for 2 to 3 hours.

I'm exhausted. I'm at the end of my tether. I'm a "bit" of a fucking wreck.

So...

The other night my husband woke me when he came to bed. He was feeling "friendly." He hugged me. He kissed me.

"Hey," he whispered. "How are you? Looking for a good time?"

"Oh god. Please no." I said. "This is my own personal hell."

Yes. I said that. I don't actually recall saying that. I had to ask Rube in the morning what (completely rude thing) I said to him the night before. I knew I said something. I just couldn't remember what, exactly, it was.

He was happy to share. Which is great.

I was, of course, referring to being awakened from a (somewhat) restful sleep. Not to my loving husband's amorous advances.

I'm a total bitch.

What do you want from me?

RICISM IN AMERICA

Him: The white rice and the brown rice can go in the same Tupperware, right?

Me: No. I want the brown rice separated.

Him (mumbling): ... pshish ... hurmph ... white woman's keepin' the brown rice down...

NO RESPONSE NEEDED

Laughing until I blow snot out of my nose followed by mopping drool from my own chin is one of my all time favorite experiences.

Not always so much while I'm in the office, but I'll take it where I can get it.

I was reading all 8 parts of this post right here.

Happy Thursday. Grab a tissue for chin mopping if you are at all like me.

I'M A LITTLE BIT IRISH

Or so says my mom. She was a Murphy before she married my father. *

* (Turns out I don't know how to spell her former last name. It is Murphey. But as I have given Murphy to my daughter as her middle name, we all have to deal with this spelling, too, now. Isn't that just like me - I'm such a shitty speller that I screw that up. Oh well. Live and learn and then stop having kids so you don't misspell any more family names.)

I have a daughter named Madigan.

My son is busily making a leprechaun trap.

Tomorrow we will dine on Irish soda bread and corned beef with yellow mustard and cabbage and carrots. (The trick is adding the cabbage for just the last 15 minutes. Just enough to soften the leaves, not enough to stink up your house.)

Happy St. Patty's Day to you and yours from the Cupcake Family.

May you live as long as you want,
And never want as long as you live.

AND NOW A WORD FROM OUR SPONSOR

My friend Lisa sent these strange and wonderful old ads to me. And now I share them with you.

I'm now looking for the jaunty douche advertisements of yore and will post them as soon as I find them.

Can't wait!

TALKIN 'BOUT MY BABIES (AND THE WAY THEY ATE)

I nursed both of my babies. For two years. Not two years total, two years a piece. Four years total.

Now is the time to judge me. Think disparaging thoughts, get that icky feeling and make a face. Go for it.

I'll wait.

whistling, polishing my nails, finding some schmutz under one nail, scraping it out with the ...

Oh, OK. We're back. Here we go.

Why do I even mention this, you ask? Well, this lady is hosting a little web event about the boob stories. And I thought - "Hey, my story might be as interesting as any other story about boobs. I should share!"

Where to begin? Well, at the beginning, I guess.

Madigan, my first born, was huge. Eleven pounds, one ounce. And following her birth (which finally came by C-section eleven days and endless hours of labor after her due date, thank the lord) she had a small heart duct closure problem which caused her to have a heart murmur. The treatment for this ailment was a course of medication that tended to constrict the intestines and so NO FOOD FOR HER. I nursed my baby exactly once before they took her 5 floors below me to the NICU and started sticking IVs into her head and starving her.

I always wanted to nurse (plus I was hopped-up on drugs), so I strapped on the double-turbo hospital pump and went to town. My milk came in. Sweet. Bags of milk collected in the freezer of the NICU over the next few days. I was waiting for the go ahead from the doctors to feed my baby and we would be off!

Funny thing - the doctors released her to eat one night while I was at home sleeping. And the nurses fed her a bottle. A couple of them, actually. In the 7 hours I was away from the hospital Madigan ate 2 times. From a bottle.

I had no idea what that was to mean in my life. Honestly, when I heard the news I was fine with it. My poor baby had been starved by those mean doctors and I was just so grateful that she'd eaten and that she was keeping it down. And then I tried to feed her myself. Holy shit.

Imagine this, you have an ice cold bottle of Coca Cola on a very hot day. You tilt your head back and lift that thing up and the soda slides right down. It is so delicious and satisfying. The perfect beverage for that moment. Now imagine that your mother walks up to you with that same soda goodness (maybe even better, like Cherry Coke!) but she is serving it to you in a beach ball. Seriously, a beach ball. You have to open your mouth super wide and squeeze it out of one tiny, stupid hole and it's running all over your face and you can't seem to get a mouth full. That would suck, huh? Cherry Coke would maybe not be your favorite, right?

This was my daughter's experience with breast milk from my breast. The nurses had brought her this perfect, fast and convenient milk delivery system. She sucked that shit right down. I, on the other hand, came at her with two "E" cup sized rock-hard torpedoes. And she was pissed. Not having it, I tell you. And I was so guilt ridden about my hospitalized, starving, HUGE baby that I caved. I gave in and gave her the bottle.

The next few weeks were a blur of feeding nightmares. Of me sticking Maddy on my breast for as long as I could tolerate the writhing and screaming, and then caving in and giving her the bottle, followed by me pumping all of that milk out for the next feeding, and then changing my clothes (which were now sopping wet from all the milk that sprayed out of my chest during the festivities). Midnight feedings took two hours for these reasons. I wanted to be a good mom, but this feeding bullshit, nipple-confusion thing wasn't helping. But when it came down to it I really wanted to nurse, so I wasn't giving up. Or I was fucking mental. One of those.

Madigan eventually latched on and I had a very successful nursing career with both kids. And I really must interject that at no time did I plan on nursing for two years. I just kept hitting the regular weaning milestones (3, 6, 9 months, etc...) and asking myself, "Am I done? I don't think so."

When it was all said and done I weaned my kids when they could talk. When they both had mouths full of teeth and could eat corn on the cob and steak dinners. When they could (at least partially) dress themselves and go for walks and were whole people. I am not saying it is the right thing for all families. I am saying it was the right thing for mine.

And I'm so glad I was able to figure that out for myself.

DELICIOUS SUNDAY, FILLED WITH GOOEY HOPE AND PROMISE

Boy child started little league. For the first time. We are quite proud.

Girl child continues in her dance career and has recently started Girls on the Run for the third year.

And double report card awesomeness for this most recent trimester. Sweet.

Husband just got a new big manly truck. He's proud as a peacock.

When all is good with my peeps I find that I have more room in my life for things to be good for me. I have yet to manage the "I'm OK even if my family is is in turmoil" zen-masterness thing.

So, that being said, I had the most wonderful day today. I'm still in my jammies, I read and did crossword puzzles and planned for my future and cooked.

I will say that there is change in the air for my life. And that has brought with it some anxiety. But today, this precious day, has been lovely. And in the midst of imagining parts of my life differently, I found I could be peaceful.

And thankful.