COMING UP ROSES

Ruben is having a root canal tomorrow. We have excellent dental coverage.

My dryer is broken and I need a new one. Ruben hung a line on the back deck and the sun and wind have dried my clothes for the past few weeks.

I need to buy a new car. Said car is running fairly well right now and I may be able to wait until after the root canal and dryer purchase.

The economy is in a slump. From this comes a collective appreciation for less expensive and more meaningful exchanges.

I can't lose for trying around here.

BUH-CATION 2009

Get ready...
...4 suitcases, 4 mp3 players, 3 computers, 3 phones, 2 cameras and one argument about how many cords can be hanging out of the truck console at any given time before my husband looses his everloving mind. (One, BTW.)
Get set..
...the alarm for 3:45. (Who decided this crazy crap? Jeese! Oh, wait. That was me. Aw hell...)
Go!
Pacific northwest - here we come!!

This one was hard earned. This one I'm reveling in.

DO NOT GO IN THERE

At the rest stop....

Maddy: Didja go?

Levi: Yes.

Maddy: Didja flush?

Levi: There was no flush.

Maddy: Didja wash?

Levi: There was no wash.

Maddy: EEEEEEWWWWW.

Levi: Do you hafta go?

Maddy: No.

Levi: Good. 'Cause its horrendous in there.

FISH TALE

My son caught his first fish last week. And his second (which was actually the first). Long story. Suffice to say, two experienced (old) fishermen stuck a BIG fish on Levi's line while Rube was looking down the way. And Levi played along.

A few minutes later he caught an itty-bity little guy and reeled him in on his own.

What a day! Boy was Rube proud!

It wasn't long before my boy was telling his dad, "I didn't really catch the big one. I only caught the little one."

And then his dad was REALLY proud. This moment in parenting could only be more sublime if it didn't come as a result of stabbing living creatures in the face. But, I digress.

Here he is before the hullabaloo.

LAZY SUNDAY

Roast chicken.

Stuffed with onions and garlic.

Crispy skin.

Juicy oysters underneath.

That was the smell yesterday that made my kiddos squeal with delight.

Today brought dog walking, cheezy waffles, laundry folding, near napping and Elvis and Annabelle.

A surprising delight. Even if it is a bit of a cliche.

MUSIC TO MY EARS

"Something smells terrific!" says Madigan.

"What smells so good?" asks Levi. "I can't wait to eat it, whatever it is."

Today I am in my kitchen.

Today is glorious.

Tomorrow I will tell you all about it.

WHY, OPRAH, WHY?

Levi: Why would Oprah give you hell?

Me: Um, I don't know how to answer that.

Levi: That song. It was just playing.

Me: Oh, no. That song says "Hope it Gives You Hell."

Levi: OK. I thought the words were different... And I was wondering why Oprah would do that.

ENDING THE YEAR BY PICKING A FIGHT - KINDA

Rachel. Rach. I can call you "Rach," right? You don't mind?

Read your blog posts. And many of them are lovely. Except, some of them are a little - how do I put this? Your posts can be kind of... a bummer.

For starters, the "Bill" to whom I'm certain you are referring in this post is also known as Mr. President. He is a man who has achieved quite a lot in his lifetime. From his education to his professional career, to his job as the leader of the free world and the president of your country, it is safe to say that his life is worth more than one shameful and humiliating experience broadcast for the world to see. Some might say he deserves some respect despite his shortcomings.

You yourself have a colorful past, documented on television, no less (and on a channel that I feel confident you don't allow your children to watch). And yet when you became a wife and mother you became something more. Someone who has had many experiences throughout your life and now is grounded in your beliefs and your desire to help your children to become good and whole people.

This is my point: our world is complicated. Parenthood today is not for the meek. What I hope for most in my own family is not that my kids be served up sanitized versions of the world, but that they are helped to know that that they have a unique place in it. That each one of us is an important addition and deserves to be honored.

My children are not here to make me look good, they are not here to fulfill the lost dreams of my youth. They are here to live this life. To experience every emotion and feeling, to walk through easy days and hard ones, and to learn the lessons that are there for them. It is their birthright.

The fact that their very existence has made my life better than I ever thought to hope is my experience. I hope that it informs their understanding that they are valuable beyond measure, but it does not define them. When it comes down to it their life is their own and the choices that they make for themselves will be theirs to live with. Good, bad or otherwise. Figuring out how to do the hard times and the easier ones with a little bit of grace and dignity would be lovely. But I strive for these things every day and I am nowhere near perfecting that technique.

There is no "if" in the equation; my children will have questions on provocative topics, they will attempt to adopt ugly behaviors, they will fail miserably one day and accomplish amazing feats the next.

My job: be as honest as I can in the moment, and get out of their way and to help them to traverse this wild terrain (all be it in a sleepy little community on the top of a tiny mountain). To sing praises and offer counsel. My job is not to ask the world to stop being so "un-pretty" because my kiddos can't handle it. Or I can't. One or the other.

To be in this world with love and respect and humanness, and sometimes with anger and fears. All of these things I wish for my children.

And to be clear, I wish these things for your children as well.

Regards,
Erica

NEW JOB

Got one.

Will not be laid off. Will not be on unemployment in the holiday season of the worst economy this country has seen in decades.

Will not work for micromanaging misogynist douche bags anymore.

And so all of my prayers have been answered and all of my Christmas wishes fulfilled.

Many thanks to those who sent well wishes, and to those who thought them. I am grateful for all of your kindness and support.

Thanks to my folks and my ladies who said things like, "You're so smart! You're beautiful! They would be lucky to have you!" which made me want to punch you in the face but was, still, so sweet.

Extra, turbo thanks to Lisa, without whose council I would have been profoundly less confident walking into that interview.

And to my husband. You know what you did. (nudge. wink. fingerguns.)

Blessings to you all. I am forever thankful.

XOXO.

SUPRISE!

For the past few weeks my behavior has been a crap shoot. Inappropriate outbursts. Joyful celebrations. I've been an emotional pendulum.

I have recently found myself fuming at a lovely group of friends. For asking questions. And not being mind readers.

Weird, huh?

Turns out maybe it isn't my friends. Turns out, I have some repressed anger issues.

I'm very angry. Furious, actually. And not about anything that has to do with my friends. About how a moment can change your loved ones lives forever. About how my broken heart is never really healed, even after eleven years, one marriage, two kids, various jobs, cars, vacations, "Simple Abundance," therapy, bi-annual retreats, weekly womens' groups, time and space.

Nothing will ever heal it.

And for that fact I am enraged.

And I found out this week that the big company I work for has replaced my group with a "lower cost solution."

And I found out about this in an email from the new group soliciting me to apply for my own job.

LOVELY.

So that not smoking thing - it is off the table for the moment. I'll keep you posted. For now, I have to find a new job. Or bump off the entire replacement team.

I'm seriously torn.

Give me a light, will ya?

LOST MYSELF IN A SEA OF STUPID CRAP

Work stress. Clients will always want more. Stupid lack of time and energy. Missed girl child's first soccer game.

Fuck that shit.

I spent the weekend in my kitchen. I cooked myself back into myself. And I am feeling more whole right now than I have in quite a long time.

Friday night I baked up a huge pan of lemon bars for the boy child's soccer team snack.

Saturday I slept late and after the boy's soccer game I made a pot of beans (for refried beans), a lovely salmon dinner and a banana bread for Sunday morning breakfast. Today Rube and worked together to make a FANTASTIC smoked pork roast, these potatoes right here, and Madigan and I worked together on an apple crisp.

OK.

I remember this person.

I found her in the kitchen. Fewsh.

SECOND GRADE REMEMBRANCE

Levi just started second grade.

Which caused me to recall Madigan's second grade class's winter performance.

Between the third grade offering of a short (undetermined-holiday-themed) play, and a variety of festive songs (not specific to one holiday or religion) offered up by the first grade, Mrs. William's second graders performed:

A Music and Movement Interpretation of Piet Mondrian's Neoplasticism.

Complete with all-black beat nick outfits and brightly colored pool noodles.

The music was an energetic interpretation on Orff instruments; glockenspiels, xylophones and metallophones. Of course.

Remember those simpler times?

Sigh.

PURPLE HAZE, ALL IN MY BRAIN

My firstborn child just turned eleven.

She is a middle schooler.

She has a brand new patch of bright purple hair. (Subtly hidden below all of her other hair.)

And all of this means that I am feeling super fucking OLD.

She spent the weekend with a friend she has had since preschool. Up Until 3:00 AM. She was exhausted. So we spent the day at home today, until around 4:00 when I decided we should go to Trader Joe's for a few things.

On the drive to the store - both my kids fell asleep in the car.

I'm not feeling as old anymore.

BLOGGER'S REMORSE

Why did I post that?

What was I thinking?

Was I trying to get attention? Sway favor, play the "sister of a quad" card? Make sure nobody missed it? Make sure those who do know don't forget?

Why would I subject my brother to that? Why would I click publish? Writing it is one thing, publishing it is a whole 'nother story. And about the "writing" part - it's not even well written! I want to take it all back and reformat and re frame and ramble less and get to a fucking point and ... what was I talking about anyway? Why was it important for me to say those things, in that way, in this forum? Why can't I just shut my trap? GEEZ!

This is where I have been for the past week. Remorse. Regret. Reeling from myriad choices that led to that post. Stinging from the compliments. Why are they saying these nice things? How do I respond? What do I say? I just want to take it back.

So I've been sitting on my hands.

And though I'm still wishing I could have done it a little differently, I will say this: I'm not sorry I did it anymore. And no matter how hard it is to look back on certain parts of my life, it will never be as hard as living through them. (BTW - we all lived through that time. My brother, me, my kid. It's been eleven years and we are all alive and well. Honestly.)

So, why did I do it? Why did I share about that terrible day? I guess I share about myself because mine is the only voice like mine. No one else will share like I will. No one else will know what I have known. But maybe others will share if I do. So I share.

We all have wounds. We've all had tragedy. All of us have pain. It is such a brave act, this living in this world with our joys and our sadness.

Thank you for your kindness. It has touched me beyond words, even if I couldn't express that thanks in a timely manner.

*******************************

Three things happened this past week that deserve acknowledgement and thanks.

First, Annagrace of LoveDrunk awarded me with this blog award. She is a lovely and thoughtful mom of (now two) beautiful peanuts and her kindness took me aback. Thank you so very much. I am honored.

And then, because wonders never cease, my blogher roomie Lara (whom I adore) granted me with the very same award!

WTF? How can that possibly be??? Thank you so much, for this wonderful award and your ongoing support. I'm so lucky to have met you and I think of you and your new adventures every day (and HTG, too).

But wait, there is more! I won a blog contest! My winnings will be coming to me soon and I will be eating those delicious spoils for many minutes after the package arrives. I'll tell you all about it soon. When I am cleared to tell the world. I'll sing it from the rooftops with my mouth stuffed with treats. Seriously, it'll be super sexy.

So I'm living this abundant life over here. And I have to go 'cause I have to run out and buy a lottery ticket.

xoxo -
cc

"I want you to help me kill myself."

Sweaty, itchy, feeling too fat with my two month old daughter strapped to my chest, I had pushed my brother in his new wheelchair to the Starbucks about 10 blocks from my parents home.

"I already asked Mom but she said no. I'm not going to ask Dad. I don't think he would be able to."

"Well, I'm thrilled that I'm your third choice."

"I'm not kidding. I need your help."

And as I sat there with an iced chai and my new fussing baby I considered weather or not I would kill my brother.

All I could think was how the fuck did we get here?

Seven months earlier, at around 6:00 AM on Saturday, April 12, 1997, I was awakened by the phone. It was my Mom.

"Bumper has been in an accident. He's at Valley Med. They won't tell me anything."

I assured her, "They can't tell you anything. He's fine. He always is. I'll meet you there in a half hour."

Just a few months before that she had gotten a similar call that my brother Bumper had been in a snowboarding accident. He had bruised his ribs and spleen and hit his head. He'd temporarily lost his short term memory, his friend later explained to us.

The resulting phone conversations that my Mom and Dad and I had with him proved ridiculously funny. In part, I'm sure, due to our relief that nothing too serious had happened to him. But also because talking to him that day was an exercise in frustration. He could remember who we were, what our voices sounded like, but not what he had just said to us or us to him. He repeated himself again and again and we laughed and asked him questions so he would repeat himself once more. We were ridiculous. But we were laughing and really, you can get through anything if you can laugh, right?

That boarding accident proved to be relatively minor and he had recovered fully. He was a big strong strapping young man. At 21 years old and 6'4", his body was remarkable and resilient.

I felt sure everything was going to be fine this time as well.

We arrived at the hospital and asked at the admissions desk about Bumper. They made us wait. Then a nurse came for us and took us to the "Family Room," closed the door and left us alone. There I stood, four months pregnant with my first child, my mother and father looking confused and worried and overwhelmed. I tried to soothe them and comfort them. I tried to think why the nurses weren't telling us anything. I tried to hope for the best.

Then the doctor came. He spoke to my parents.

"Your son has broken his neck. He is paralyzed."

The doctor said a lot of other things. I heard none of them. I think I shook my head. I think I said "No. No. No. No." But honestly, I may have imagined that.

The following weeks were a blur of concerned friends and family, ICU, surgeries, Bumper's halo, recovery, ICU again, the rotating bed, endless batteries for the Sony disc man, my folks and I taking shifts around the clock to sit by his bed and then - when they would kick us out - to sit vigil in the waiting room with once hourly peeks in on him.

The hospital staff and management told us we should leave. Go home and let him face his recovery on his own. They told us that we weren't helping, being there all the time. That his adjustment would be easier if we didn't hover so much.

Over the weeks and months he had a number of roommates. Many of them had no family with them for days and weeks at a time. Some of them would leave the hospital and go "home" to a nursing care facility. No one who loved them would be caring for them. They were alone.

We did not budge. My folks and I stuck it out. We were there. With him every single day. If we couldn't trade places with him we were certainly going to do our best to know what brand new doorway of hell he was going to be "walking" through every day.

During his stay at that hospital I watched my brother move his arms, more and more with practice. I watched him get into the power wheelchair and roam the halls of the hospital after weeks of laying flat. I watched him do physical and occupational therapy every day and learn to tell the hospital staff about his needs. After a number of months he went home with my folks to their house. Ramps were built. A new bed was brought in. The front bathroom was remodeled to accommodate the shower wheelchair. Attendants were hired to help him with his daily needs.

While I was watching this, my little brother was living this. My parents baby boy was experiencing a life none of us had ever imagined. He was learning how to live a new way. Without the use of his hands and legs. Without the freedoms he had known his entire life. Without the ability to storm out on it all with a grand, "Fuck you!" letting the door swing behind him.

And, of course, I was pregnant. And let's be clear. I did not want to be pregnant anymore. I'm not saying that I wanted my baby to come out of me, here into the world. I did not want to be a mom. I did not want to hold my baby in my arms. This creature inside was, in my opinion, sapping energy and attention from me that I could not spare. I wanted this pregnancy to go away. I wanted it to end. I wanted God or the universe or whoever was in charge to know that I was not capable of giving any more of myself. That I was destroyed. Broken beyond repair and I had no business becoming a parent in the middle of this. But god/the universe/whoever turned a deaf ear to my desperate requests.

Because my daughter was born.

The OB nurse (phenomenal, amazing, wonderful woman) carried my minutes-old daughter over to Bumper and held her to his cheek, resting the weight if this new person on his shoulder. And things shifted.

Suddenly our tears were joy soaked. All of our sarcastic and surreal laughter that had helped us to survive the months of fear and misery gave way to laughter sprung from genuine delight. My new little person brought with her healing and peace and potential that none of us expected. She was an angel. Sent here with the daunting task of healing my whole family of our deep, open, painful recent wounds. And, apparently, she was up to the task. Who knew?

Hope springs eternal, or some shit like that.

So as I sat there at the Starbucks, with milk swollen breasts that I was resistant to whip out in public, I considered my brother's request.

If I really love him do I kill him or do I say no?

CUPCAKE FAMILY RULZ

Every family has a few rules that set them apart. In our family:

1. We don't keep caged animals
We can't reconcile being prison wardens of a living creature. This makes it easier for our kids to understand why we will always turn down offers from loving friends and family for rats and snakes and gerbils. Also, it makes zoos just a little more tragic.

2. We don't have video games
Our kids don't need them. We don't need to think that they do. This means no Wii, no Gameboys, no retro Atari from my own precious teen hood. Harder than you might think. Oddly, this is the family rule that causes surprising numbers of friends and family to say, "Just wait. You'll cave." Which is great.

3. You get to choose how you wear your own hair
Rube has worn his hair long ever since I have known him. I, on the other hand, have had nearly every length and color, Madigan has had fuchsia stripes and tips, and Levi currently sports a look I like to call, "The Shaggy D.A." It's a festival up in here.

4. Our bodies stay intact until adulthood
(With the exception of Maddy's pierced ears)
At 18 my children will get to decide for themselves about piercings, body modifications, circumcisions, tattoos, etc... I'm hoping they will do it all ON their 18th birthdays. Cause you haven't really lived until you've gotten a stupid tramp stamp that you are embarrassed for and that will take thousands of dollars to remove in your late thirties. Or... so I've heard.

5. We make food and buy ingredients
At times when my friends might think we had nothing to eat in our house it is likely I could make a semi-formal sit-down dinner for eight. Most meals start with recipes and cookbooks are legitimate reading material. Just last night I was rummaging around for a sweet treat and because I keep a stocked larder I was able to throw together a Boston Cream Pie. It works for us.

6. We will treat others and one another with respect
Beyond name calling, beyond table manners. People deserve compassion and kindness. Even the people we live with.

7. Letter grades are not the end-all/be-all
My grades never accurately represented my brilliance. And really, if I'm focused on the letter and throwing away the chance to show my kids how fucking amazing it is to be able to learn, then I really am missing the point.

Keep your eyes peeled for Cupcake Family Gray Areas (or "Topics on which Rube and I will always Disagree")

CUPCAKE KIDDOS

Happy early Independence Day.

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.