Mommy's in a Timeout

February 11th

2011-02-12T09:57:00.000-08:00

Last night on the way to a concert, Joe-Henry was nearly hit head on by a bus. He thought he was on the sidewalk (we were walking through a gas station lot and the driveway for it was huge). He was about three steps ahead of us, chatting with his dad. I had just had the thought "is that the sidewalk?", when we heard the horn. We couldn't see the oncoming traffic because there was a bus shelter blocking the view. The bus was doing thirty mph easily. Luckily, Joe-Henry was wearing a new white sweatshirt he had gotten from his grandma for Valentine's day and was easily seen. The driver slammed on the brakes, and honked, stopping less than five feet from him.

The blink of an eye in slow motion. Charley was yelling his name. His eyes got huge. His face was lit by the headlights. Suddenly, somehow he was in my arms and I was holding him so tightly. The twentysomething in the bus shelter said "whoa!". I didn't see the driver, but wanted to thank him/her for being so alert. The bus moved on.

Joe-Henry was so apologetic. He felt awful for the bus driver. He felt stupid for not noticing that he was walking in the street. We were all weak in the knees. While we waited in line for the venue to open the doors to let us in, we talked around it. Then Charley said "two years ago, I was nearly hit by truck" while riding home from work on his bike. It ran a red light, and clipped his front tire. He said, "I'll never forget the date. It was February 11th." He and Joe-Henry realized at the same moment that it was February 11th.

Until we were inside, watching the amazing band, enjoying the music, and being in each other's company, I kept having visions of my boy flying through the air out of my peripheral vision; of having to explain to loved ones that there had been a sudden tragedy; of living a life suddenly without him.

A long time ago, I had to find tools to deal with all those "what if's". I use them every day, in dealing with growing pains, tummy aches, headaches... They can be completely incapacitating. They can stop you from enjoying the moment, each and every one of them. But last night, it just came too close, and I am still shaking, although in my mind I am beginning to see more of his face at the concert, beaming, full of joy and lit by the colored lights from the stage, instead of the white headlights of an oncoming bus.

Catching Up, Growing Up

2011-01-24T06:46:00.000-08:00

Joe-Henry turned ten in November. He is ten going on forty. In fact, I took him to the walk-in clinic one Sunday for strep throat and we had a doctor we had used before and he said "Hey! I remember you! You're that kid that talks like he's forty years old!"

In many ways, like many boys, he is still not as mature as the girls in his class. One particular girl comes to mind. She is smart and bossy and pretty and he will do whatever it takes to make her laugh. She shhh's him in class (which cracks me up, because he's been known to do some shhh-shing of his own) and rolls her eyes at him alot. But when they come out of Marimba band practice together he makes her laugh so hard and blush so much, he is on the moon for the rest of the night. He told me recently he has dreams about her. But he also told me they're "just good friends". And I'm glad, because she's a good friend to have. His fourth grade class recently had their "growth and development" unit for science, which grossed him out, but "explained a LOT!" This unit also covered hygiene, so he now showers every morning (in addition to the bath every night - WATERWASTERS is the word you are looking for), and has begged me to get him some deodorant. I've said no for now, but I did cave and get him some Axe bodywash. He tells me his "balls hurt", and I ask him kindly to please use the word testicles because his mother is a delicate flower (and I tuck that little bit of information in my worry bag), but it's sporadic and I asked C who said that there is a lot going on down there right now, and not to worry too much. So I worry just the proper amount. I worry that it has something to do with the kt, because I know he has some involvement there. We need to go in for our yearly exam, so we'll bring it all up then. Unless of course it gets worse. Then I'll put my BIG worry hat on.

In addition to girls and testicles and Axe bodywash, he is all over the map emotionally. When I told him the other day that he needed to do a better job of washing his hair because it looked greasy, and explained that increased hormones meant his hair and skin would change, he wailed "I'm turning into a BEAST!" He gets really moody and upsets easily, and sometimes it seems like he's in hyperdrive. He had a friend over all afternoon yesterday and they called each other "Dude" 1,367 times. I'm kidding. I didn't actually count. Had I done that, I'm sure the number would have been higher. He has developed specialized hearing. Meaning, he completely ignores me when I tell him to do something. It drives me 100% crazy. He wants a skateboard. His dad says this summer, and I find myself tempted to go along, but also terrified. So, if I cave, he'll be the kid at the skatepark wrapped head to toe in bubblewrap. But because I'm crafty, I'll stencil some skulls on it, so it'll be cool. He picks out his own clothes, and, thanks to family who totally came through on his birthday and Christmas, he is ready to kick Justin Bieber's ass. (NOTE: I like Justin Bieber. I think he's adorable. I worry that he's being exploited and pushed around. But the only thing that makes it okay that he has a bio-pic documentary coming out is that it's in 3D). Volcom, DC, Quicksilver. Friendship bracelets, sillybandz, and a sterling silver guitar pick he wears around his neck. Duuuuude.

Still. He loves his stuffed animals. He is still polite to his elders (unless it's his dad or I). In fact, his kindergarten teacher just told me that he still speaks to her every afternoon, and I wanted to cry because he was just IN kindergarten, using those adorable little tiny scissors, and now we have to worry about his aching testicles. But he still wants a snuggle from me at night. I decided at Christmas that I would turn that time into something a little more age appropriate, so I got him To Kill A Mockingbird, which is my favorite book of all time. Every night I read a chapter, using all my rusty acting skills to pull off my best Southern accents, which seems to be working because he is all eyes and ears. He asks incredibly smart questions, and makes some very astute observations about the characters. We both wince at the liberal use of the "N" word, and I'm pretty sure Harper Lee would want it that way. (She's still alive, by the way. Joe-Henry looked it up on Wikipedia. When we're done with the book he plans to write her and tell her she "rocks".) I feel so lucky every night that we get to share this. I know he could read it himself, but I wanted to be able to answer questions that pop up and stop along the way to discuss the context of the book.

Last night when we were reading, he was mesmerized, taking it all in, then I noticed he was staring at me. I thought he might be mooning over my double chin again ("mom, it's sooooo soft!"), but it was my ear. "Mom, your ear is SO PRETTY. It's so round and clean and flawless! Like mine. Except for the clean part."

How on earth am I ever going to be able to say good-bye to this time?

It's Not Sophie's Choice, but...

2010-12-14T09:30:00.000-08:00

... it still sucks.

When I was Joe-Henry's age, I contracted Scarlet Fever. I was horribly sick for nearly three weeks. Because my mom had passed away two years before, there was no one to stay home and take care of me. My dad had just gotten a new job after the plant he worked for selling meat was closed so that the Army Corp of Engineers could change the shape of the Snake River, forcing businesses and homes to move to higher ground. Or close. It was during a terrible economic crisis (remember the early 70's?!), and he needed to keep his job, so he couldn't stay home with a sick kid. A neighbor brought me lunch everyday, but didn't stay long because she had two kids of her own, and didn't want to catch it. I don't remember the worst of it, just the last week - the loneliness, the jigsaw puzzle I finally finished and really, really missing my mom.

But I did it. I managed to get through it. I was a tough kid.

This year, due to the horrible economy and District Wide Budget Cuts, they have decided that when a parapro like myself gets sick (or their child gets sick), unless there are two other parapro's out, we cannot call for a sub.

I get that the District needs to save money. And I get that this is a move that is saving jobs. I do. It's still a horrible idea though. The kids I work with have some pretty significant behaviors (hitting, kicking, etc.), and in a room that can, on a normal day, seem like there isn't enough staff to go around, having a person out is, to put it mildly, stressful.

Yesterday, JH had a procedure done on his big toe. He'd had an infected ingrown nail since JUNE. We have been trying everything to get it healed, including two round of antibiotics, and it didn't work. So yesterday we had an appointment, and I thought it was just a first visit, that they'd decide what to do and we'd go back if anything needed to be done. But that's not how it went down. They gave him four horribly painful shots to numb the toe, then took out both sides of the nail. He did amazing. He cried when he got the shots, but tried soooo hard to be tough. After the procedure he did great.

Until the numb wore off, and then last night, he cried for three hours. I gave him tylenol at first, then ibuprofen, and he finally went to sleep around eleven. This morning, he woke up sick to his stomach.
So I called in sick, but I'm going in later, now that we're getting the stomach upset under control. But I'm feeling stressed and guilty and horrible and ANGRY for having to choose.

A voice in my head told me to calm down. I'd been through this as a kid. I didn't have a mom to get me through it - he'll be fine. It's just an afternoon.

Here's the thing though. He DOES have a mom. And he will remember that I made this choice.

EDIT 12/14/10, 1:00:

I went to school for about an hour and a half. Then, there was a severe weather warning, that quickly turned into a TORNADO WARNING. This was not anywhere on the list of things I would need to worry about if I left him home alone. Needless to say, I came home right away. The weather fizzled, and I felt silly for coming home, for about a minute. Then I realized I did the right thing, forgave myself and ate a bite of chocolate. All is right with the world.

In Sickness and In Health

2010-12-07T20:38:00.000-08:00

It's been a very trying emotional time for some dear friends of mine. Illness, divorce, financial woes.... it's an ugly list, and my heart feels so heavy as I think of these dear ones. Then today, when I heard of Elizabeth Edwards' passing, as two dear friends put loved ones in the hospital tonight, I was just overcome.

There was no weeping, but anger. And oddly, gratitude.

One of my friends is sitting by the bedside of her very ill partner. She is devoted, and caring, and loyal. Like my dear friend Annie and her partner Anita, this friend is showing the rest of us how to do it right, and that there are those that think they are less worthy than my husband and I to check the "spouse" box on the hospital form? It makes my blood boil. I don't get it.

I just. don't. get it.

Because clearly, that legally binding piece of paper you sign after the ceremony and the party you pay for for the first ten years of your marriage (if it lasts that long) doesn't guarantee squat. Sadly. I mean that. When a marriage is dissolved, for whatever reason, the ripple effect it has on the family, on the community that supports that family, causes stress and tension and heartache for anyone who cares about the individuals at the center of it. Still, it's worth the risk when you love someone. Because it's about hope and the belief in each other, in our promises to be the kind of people we want to be. Together. And that some are denied the right to have a crack at it, as faulty an institution as it is, seems petty and archaic.

And as pissed as I can get about it, there is not anything, outside of voting, that I can do about it.

Except this: make it worth it. Be kind to my husband. Be grateful for him - not just for his humor, intelligence, generosity and kindness, but for his faults as well. I meant it then, and now that we are getting to an age where it really means something, when we are no longer dewy young things, it means even more. I do not take his love lightly, I do not take his presence in my life for granted.

I am grateful.

Reasons why...

2010-11-20T12:05:00.000-08:00

There are a few reasons I haven't blogged: limited time is one, reconsidering my son's privacy is another. He's getting to an age (TEN if his birth certificate is to be believed) where my writing about his antics, or my reaction to them needs more consideration. A need for more, well, not privacy necessarily, just keeping my cards, my life, closer to my chest.

The main reason, though, I think is that this sense of time speeding past, like a bullet train, has me straining and squinting to trick myself into seeing it in slow motion. Or at least slower motion. Writing doesn't slow it down any, I need to watch closely, enjoy the view.

I ran across this poem today that sort of sums it up nicely:

The Size Of Spokane
The baby isn't cute. In fact he's
a homely little pale and headlong
stumbler. Still, he's one
of us _ the human beings
stuck on flight 295 (Chicago to Spokane);
and when he passes my seat twice
at full tilt this then that direction,
I look down from Lethal Weapon 3 to see
just why. He's

running back andforth
across a sunblazed circle on
the carpet - something brilliant, fallen
from a porthole. So! it's light
amazing him, it's only light, despite
some three and one
half hundred
people, propped in rows
for him to wonder at/ it's light
he can't get over, light he can't
investigate enough, however many
zones he runs across it,
flickering himself.

The umpteenth time
I see him coming, I've had
just about enough; but then
he notices me noticing and stops -
one fat hand on my armrest - to
inspect the oddities of me.

Some people cannot hear.
Some people cannot walk.
But everyone was
sunstruck once,and set adrift.
Have we forgotten how
astonishing this is? so practiced all our senses
we cannot imagine them? foreseen instead of seeing
all the all there is? Each spectral port,
each human eye

is shot through with a hole, and everything we know
goes in there, where it feeds a blaze. In a flash

the baby's old; Mel Gibson's hundredth comeback seems
less clever; all his chases and embraces
narrow down, while we
fly on (in our
plain radiance of vehicle)

toward what cannot stay small forever.

Heather McHugh

I'll be around once in a while. You just might have to knock a little louder for me to hear you.

Growing Pains

2010-08-07T09:17:00.000-07:00

When JH was little, he had nightmares about "the bad ladies". They were dressed in black, you couldn't see their faces, and they didn't talk. They came for him silently, and when he was awake, he was always afraid to go certain places, because in his dreams, this was where he'd see the bad ladies.

He sort of laughs about them now, although I know that while it might not be the bad ladies that make him scared to go downstairs in his own house, they started it. His deepest fears. The fears of the unknown, of change. And I've always felt in some mother's intuition way that the bad ladies have something to do with me. This is never anything he's said, but I fear the bad ladies too, and have told him a million times that I would move entire buildings to save him from them. We haven't heard from them in quite a while, but I know they aren't gone completely.

We had a very lazy day here yesterday. Charley's back went out at work the day before, so he's been taking some heavy duty motrin that puts him out like a light. Normally, we'd be out and about, but I think just the stuff emanating from his sleeping form made JH and I really sleepy too, and we didn't fight it.

He took a bath before bedtime, and was taking FOREVER to get out, so I jokingly told him if he didn't get out I was going to get a tattoo. Looking at me, so seriously, said "No you won't." He once told me that he was so grateful that I didn't have any tattoos, and I don't smoke, and I don't pick him up at the bus stop in my pj's and slippers, smoking a cigarette.

"I think maybe a BIG tattoo, of a flower with your name in the middle! Right here on my arm!"

"No you wouldn't! You're not serious..."

"Well, stay there in the tub and you can find out!"

He doesn't move, just looks at me with a strange smile on his face.

"Well, I guess I better go get my cigarettes!". This is the biggest joke of all, so I figure he's on to me for sure...

He burst into redfaced wailing tears, then choking sobs, while I tried to undo the damage. I was CLEARLY joking. I had been laughing when I said it, and we joke about this stuff all the time.

After I had him calm, and wrapped in a towel, his giant, heavy, gangly wet self on my lap, I asked him if he knew I was joking. He said yes, he did, but "I was afraid you wouldn't be you. And I love YOU".

I know just how he feels.

Lullabies on repeat

2010-08-05T08:10:00.000-07:00

Music has always been important to Joe-Henry. When he was a baby, he'd scream and cry on our two hour drive from Grandma's to home because a) we were leaving Disneyland and headed for the bootcamp that was home, or b) the sun was in his eyes and I'd sing "You are my sunshine" over and over the entire ride because the cd player wasn't working and it was the only song I could remember while being screamed at.

It must have been then that putting songs on repeat became the thing that calmed him, because ever since he's wanted to listen to music at night. Not a whole album - that's too distracting,he wants to listen to the same song, over and over. Nothing new to make him stay awake and think, just the same lyrics and melody, like ocean waves, lulling him to his dreams.

Lately he'll grab my old iphone and put a song on repeat. Usually it's a calm, soothing song, something from Alexi Murdoch, say, or Shawn Colvin. But last night, he chose this song. And I found myself staying in his room after he'd gone to sleep, remembering my freshman year in college.

Busy Little Bee

2010-07-28T16:24:00.000-07:00

It's been a fantastic, crazy, itchy, eventful summer here. I'm taking lots of family pictures (for us, of course, but also for other families), and I had so much fun taking these the other day. This is Joe-Henry's third (and FOURTH!!!) grade teacher and her amazing, beautiful family.

Enjoy!

The Summer So Far (in pictures)

2010-07-04T11:34:00.001-07:00

There's been the sibling road trip for our wonderful Aunt Ruth's funeral...

I love how it looks like I have devil horns in this picture.

And the graduation party for my amazing nephew who just graduated from COLLEGE.....
(I held him when he was minutes old. Just a few days ago, it seems)

There's been a few sunny days where we were lucky enough to be invited to a friends' house to swim...
(the pic with the chubby ankles? Cest moi)

We got to have friends over last week Monday through Thursday to play while their mom helped out at a camp. It was so much fun! (love the pic of her little pinky out while eating. It's not often we have little girls in our house!)

And last but not least, there's been tattoos. Lots of them. The rub on kind. The boy loves how fierce they make him look.

And I love that no matter how grown up he gets, when I look through my mama eyes, I still see my little boy.

Family Gathering

2010-06-23T09:02:00.001-07:00

Family Gathering
Originally uploaded by anniemcq

Heading out of town this weekend to say goodbye to my Aunt Ruth. It will be a quick trip, and I'm sure there will be tears. But the legacy of a life well lived is seen in the smiles of family, happy to be together, even for the saddest occasions.

Courageous

2010-06-17T11:34:00.000-07:00

This week has been an emotional rollercoaster. On Tuesday I took the boy to the doctor because he was having a lot of pain in his left leg. I had taken him in the week before due to a sinus condition and cough, but now I'm worried that somehow it's all tied together.

Mind you, I'm operating on less sleep than I'm used to having - I have been waking with JH in the middle of the night, helping him through bouts of coughing, administering medicine, reading poetry aloud to help ease him back to sleep, and then laying there wide awake trying to untie the worry knot in my brain.

Monday afternoon I got a note from his teacher saying that he was getting a leadership award, and that's when he also mentioned that his left leg was hurting. So Tuesday, after I managed to get out of work for an hour for the awards assembly, I brought him home, went back to work, and took him to the doctor when I got off work. They did an ultrasound on his leg, did blood tests, which he was very, very brave about. He was SO scared to have the blood test. His eyes welled up when they told him, and he was embarrassed. When the ultrasound tech had finished (after an hour and half, due to the fact that he has more than the normal amount of veins in his leg (something he thought was pretty cool!), she left the room to find the radiologist. The whole building was quiet - it was after hours by then - Joe-Henry told me he was ashamed that he cried and wasn't brave.

I told him that courage had nothing to do with tears. The bravest, strongest people cry. Tears are cleansing, healing things, and that there is nothing shameful about them. Putting on a brave face doesn't mean not feeling things. It means facing things through tears sometimes.

I had to leave work early today to pick him up at school again. His leg is hurting, a bit higher today, which scares me. We see the doctor at 1:30 and the ultrasound tech at 3:00.

I am doing my best to keep MY brave face on. To be his support and to keep my emotions in check. But if the tears flow, I'll try to remember the words I spoke to the bravest kid I know.

Verklempt

2010-06-13T09:21:00.000-07:00

Who would have guessed, ten years ago when I had a bebeh in mah belleh, that I would be a proud, benchsittin' loudyellin' baseball mom?! So much of this parenting journey has been a surprise. The dreams you have for your children before they are born are YOUR dreams. But when THEIR dreams come into sight, and they can work toward what THEIR passion is, there is not one thing in life like it.

Oh sure, you can guide them toward things, model behavior you want to see from them, expose them to things you think will make them the kind of people the world needs. But when they hit a certain age, and you need to start loosening your grip, finger by finger, if you're lucky you get to see who THEY are. It's a nailbiter at times, you watch them interact on the playground when they're little and wonder just how the hell they are going to get through this unscathed.

Watching Joe-Henry run when he was little, watching him chase his friends from far afield, trying with all his might to catch up, hearing him recount the gym classes when he came in "last, again", those are moments I have been bracing myself for since his birth. Knowing they were coming did nothing to stop the lump in my throat. It just helped me to hide it from him a little bit.

We've been pretty honest with him about his kt. There is so much we DON'T know. We've been good about not making false promises, or giving false hope, but we haven't ever said "you can't do this".

And he hasn't either.

Yesterday after the last game of spring baseball, when all the parents had packed up the kids and the trophies and JH and his Dad were headed to the car, his coach took me aside. I had thanked him for all his dedication to the kids, to helping them really learn, really try their best. He didn't sugarcoat anything for the kids, he got on them, with humor, when they messed up, and the kids all responded with their best efforts. The last game was a hoot, and the kids all made some pretty impressive plays. Anyway, he wanted to know about Joe-Henry's leg. He had heard me ask if it was tired earlier. I told him a bit about Joe-Henry's kt, that it was vascular, and his leg tired easily, and he had a hard time running and standing sometimes, and he just looked at me and took it all in. He said "Joe-Henry is one of the best players I had on this team. He has so much heart and desire, he always gets in front of the ball, he always know where it's supposed to go. I wish I had ten of him. Heart, desire and intelligence can go a long way towards making dreams come true.

I'll never forget those words.

The Parent Trap

2010-05-30T17:29:00.000-07:00

Joe-Henry is playing with a friend. They are playing baseball, like they do every time. This friend, who is three years older, is goading Joe-Henry, quietly, like he always does, because he loves it when Joe-Henry screams and yells and I tell him to stop.

It's going to get ugly, because my boy is tired, and has had some candy at the movies. He's bored. And this kid knows EXACTLY which buttons to push.

I am mowing the lawn. The mower stops and I hear Joe-Henry yelling to me from inside the house, "Mom, V just tried to hurt me!". I had seen the boy heading next door moments before, so I head in to check on Joe-Henry. He's crying and yelling at me to go next door and take care of things.

Calm down, I say, tell me what happened. He's yelling, I DID tell you, he tried to hurt me, he said "Oh, you want to get me? I'm not afraid of you!", and he pushed me down and hit me on the head with the ball.

Why, I ask, did he say "you want to get me?", because, he says I accidently threw the batting helmet and it almost hit him. But it was AN ACCIDENT, he screams, knowing he just told me the important part of the story that I need to know.

I know full well the scope and range of my son's anger, and this, I say is where the tantrums stop. He is nine and a half years old. It's time to find a new, better way to deal with being really, really mad.

I told him that I wasn't going next door, that tomorrow HE could talk to his friend. If he wanted, I could talk to him if he comes over again and tell him they can play something other than baseball, and be nice or go home. But this issue was his to resolve, and he'd better wait a day to do it, so that he's calm. He cried and yelled and told me I wasn't doing my job as his mom.

But I am, see? And that's the part that sucks.

What I don't tell him is this: As much as I want to go next door and tell the little shit to stop baiting Joe-Henry until he explodes because he thinks it's funny, and stop coming over here just because you're bored and want to play with my son's stuff, and just because you're big brother picks on you, you don't get to come over here and pass that crap down the line, stay away, you little weasel and quit picking on my son, I don't do that.

I took the Wii away for a day, because he was screaming at me. Someday he'll know that I'm not betraying him, or taking someone else's side, I'm just being HIS mom. Because that IS my job.

Simple Gifts

2010-05-24T07:15:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning. Music, NY Times, good coffee.

My camera, the garden the rain.

But mostly this. I'm just so grateful for this.

The Song In My Head

2010-05-19T07:04:00.000-07:00

This song, which has never been a huge favorite of mine before, has been rambling around in my head the last few days. Maybe it's my new passion for Walt Whitman. Or my past in the performing arts. or that I heart Glee. Or my brain is melting and I can only remember the seventies and eighties, because I keep misplacing my glasses and can't remember where I put that one thing.... whatever it is, now I just can't get enough of this song. I find myself humming it, and going back and digging those great a cappella moment where there are seemingly a hundred harmonies.

I hope you enjoy it. No matter why.

Walt Whitman - Laws for Creations

2010-05-17T18:13:00.000-07:00

I have never read Walt Whitman, but I'm going to change that. I have read bits and pieces. But sometimes I think we find what we need when we need it.

Found this today:

LAWS for Creations,
For strong artists and leaders—for fresh broods of teachers, and perfect literats for America,
For noble savans, and coming musicians.

All must have reference to the ensemble of the world, and the compact truth of the world;
And no coward or copyist shall be allowed;
There shall be no subject too pronounced—All works shall illustrate the divine law of indirections;
There they stand—I see them already, each poised and in its place,
Statements, models, censuses, poems, dictionaries, biographies, essays, theories—How complete! How relative and interfused! No one supersedes another;
They do not seem to me like the old specimens,
They seem to me like Nature at last, (America has given birth to them, and I have also;)
They seem to me at last as perfect as the animals, and as the rocks and weeds—fitted to them,
Fitted to the sky, to float with floating clouds—to rustle among the trees with rustling leaves,
To stretch with stretched and level waters, where ships silently sail in the distance.”

What do you suppose Creation is?
What do you suppose will satisfy the Soul, except to walk free, and own no superior?
What do you suppose I would intimate to you in a hundred ways, but that man or woman is as good as God?
And that there is no God any more divine than Yourself?
And that that is what the oldest and newest myths finally mean?
And that you or any one must approach Creations through such laws?

Funny Because It's True

2010-05-12T06:56:00.000-07:00

Jon Stewart is the funniest, smartest man in America. Right behind my husband.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

Release the Kagan

www.thedailyshow.com

Daily Show Full Episodes

Political Humor

Tea Party

They Totally Missed The Boat

2010-04-25T09:25:00.000-07:00

Of course, it doesn't matter. I originally thought I'd search out the statistics of who buys Victoria's Secret, who are they marketing to? I couldn't find it within a couple Google pages, but I did run across this article from Business Week about their brand marketing manager. He manages to fill the article with lots of marketing talk, but I couldn't get past this one sentence: "I cannot imagine a better position coming out of business school. And let's be honest, working in an office filled with pictures of supermodels definitely has its benefits."

I'd be interested to know if he is a) married, and b) has daughters.

Here's the link to the article. I'd love to know what you think.

In the meantime, I will tell you my favorite part of watching these commercials is when my husband does the models voices. It's hysterical. I married the right man. He's sexy and funny and loves my body as much (and at times, more) than I do.

Dogwood

2010-04-25T08:16:00.001-07:00

Dogwood
Originally uploaded by anniemcq

Every spring, we are amazed at the vibrant color and delicacy of our dogwood in the front yard. Our yard is small, but someone had the foresight to plant a pretty tree in front. We have a little octagonal window in our living room that fills with pink every year at this time.

I can't help it. Every year, I have to take a picture of it. Document it. Because when it blooms in all it's bright pink glory, it's such a gift. We endure months of grey skies and damp cold, and this is Nature's way of showing us that the skies will clear eventually and it's almost time to take off our sweaters.

This Must Be The Place

2010-04-22T06:14:00.000-07:00

Sixteen years ago, a couple in their early thirties pledged to love each other in front of a few dear, amazing friends and family in a modest back yard in Carpinteria, CA. The groom wore a seafoam green suit with a multi-colored tie, the bride wore an ivory silk tea dress that had layers that fluttered in the ocean breezes. The cake was late (and frozen), biplanes flew overhead during the groom's vows, drowning him out and causing the guests to laugh. The bride, a notorious sap, who cried at commercials (and still does on occasion) was uncharacteristically dry eyed, sober as she was, clear as she was that this was the biggest, most important decision she had ever made. To say yes to the complexity of marriage to this man. When the ceremony was over, they danced to this song.

And you're standing here beside me. I love the passage of time.

Happy Anniversary my Love.

If someone asks, this is where I'll be.

Let's "Hot Up" the Golden Rule...

2010-04-17T10:13:00.000-07:00

Sex sells. Isn't this what they tell us? Sell us?

Well, I've decided that we need to sex up some basic rules for living in civilized society, things that just make sense but we never really think about. Also to catch the attention of the younger generation.

When you wait on me, and don't talk on your cell phone, my panties get damp.

Politeness is HOT. Giving up your seat or place in line to an elderly, infirm or pregnant person? You can eat whipcream off my chest. (or straight out of the can if that doesn't do it for you).

If you are driving in front of me, or are stopped at a light in a car facing mine, I will TONGUE KISS YOU if you use your turn signal.

Being on time, good service, doing your job without an attitude make me MOIST.

Hey waiter, slow down with those menu specials.... yeah, that's it, baby. make it last.

Paying taxes hurts? Ohhhhh, bend me over and hurt me again! Roads, schools, hospitals, police.....

If you are trying to get through the express lane with more than the allotted amount of items, I will give you a lap dance if you get the hell out of my way.

Hey there, bearded skateboarder, you'd look SO MUCH HOTTER in a helmet on the sidewalk than plastered to the front of my car!

These are just a few ideas.... please feel free to add your own, and let's get this party started!

Transformer

2010-04-02T09:08:00.000-07:00

The rain beats the roof
announcing another wet day.
What's new?
I sit lotus in the big chair
making my lists
when my growing boy
in soft plaid pajamas
tiptoes out, eyes half-closed,
and folds himself
like an origami baby into my lap.
How is it possible?
Standing, I can rest my chin on his mop of
curly brown hair.
While I ponder the engineering marvel
of the human body to fold, transformer-like,
into the toddler he once was (a minute ago?!),
he rests his soft cheek against mine,
a gangly arm around my neck.
This moment ("you're soaking in it!")
is broken when he pulls back,
gazing up at me with his huge brown eyes
and croaks in his sleepy voice,
"You smell like tuna."

Peter Gabriel Big Time

2010-03-25T07:40:00.001-07:00

How much do I love it that this is my boy's favorite song?

So, so, so much!

You got Gold Inside of You John Prine

2010-03-17T06:55:00.001-07:00

In honor of St. Paddy's day, and the search for the elusive pot of gold, just wanted to let you know where you could find it.

What's New?

2010-03-16T06:27:00.000-07:00

Nothing to say.

We've gotten through a bout of strep throat, cellulitis, the stomach flu....or as we call it around here February and March.

There is nothing wrong, things are ticking along, we are doing our share of laughing and grousing and we are always running out the door trying to beat the clock. That's nothing new.

I have friends who are struggling now - marriages in trouble, jobs on the brink, grieving for someone. We've got none of that here. We chug along, like good little engines, grateful for the food in the fridge and the warming weather.

My job has settled into a new high-pitched whine of stress from 8:30 to 2:50, after which I've become pretty adept at forcing myself to let it go. I'm invested when I'm there, I'm present and accounted for, but when I come home, I'm present to my family.

I'm taking more pictures, which makes me sort of giddy. I'm putting together a little portfolio, hoping to be able to have a little side business this summer when school is out. I love meeting new families, and I love the challenge of finding those special sparks between them while I click away. I love the challenge of light and mayhem.

I'm the captain of my Neighborhood Watch. A less intrusive Gladys Kravitz, more interested in keeping the kids and pets and properties safe than making sure there is no witchcraft happening at the house across the street. I didn't want the job, but no one else would take it, so here I am. Someone should do it. Might as well be me.

Joe-Henry got a new bike, and a new helmet. His adorable polkadotted helmet is gone, replaced by a Gary Frank cammo-skull and crossbones affair, more suited to his nine year old badass self. He is excited to play machine pitch baseball again this spring. No, basketball. No baseball. No, BASKETBALL. Sigh, okay, I'll sign you up for basketball. After which he comes in from shooting hoops for five minutes with the kid next door and says "Mom, I've decided to play baseball. Basketball's too hard".

I just feel more like living my life, than writing about it. I'd rather be appreciating the mundane moments, soaking up the gut busting laughter that nine year old boys get when they talk about farting or the word "glockenspiel".

So thanks for stopping by. Sorry I've been absent. Hope you are well! I'm filling my cup, I'll be back when it's overflowing.

A Heck Of My Own Making

2010-03-01T06:02:00.000-08:00

This weekend I had wonderful experiences.

I got to take pictures of a gorgeous family.

I went with my boys and an added friend to a beautiful park.

The sun was shining and the air smelled fresh and sweet.

I ate ice cream. Twice, for goodness' sake!

So why is it that the comments of someone I don't even like got under my skin? So much so that I actually spent time with a frown on my face, heaving sighs loud enough that my son finally said "Mom, you are the best mom ever. You do so many nice things for people. He's just a grump, don't let him get to you!". I mean, honestly, I'm more angry with myself that I spent two minute even THINKING about what this guy thought of me.

And angrier still that I modeled that behavior for my boy, who I am always telling "don't worry about what people think, ESPECIALLY people you don't like."

Parenting Fail.

A Stroll Through Our 'Hood

2010-02-20T09:27:00.000-08:00

I've been drooling over karigee's Paris set on flickr. My internet friend is on her first trip to Paris, and she's a brilliant photographer, and her musings on life, art and all things cultural tickle my fancy. And my fancy? Is not easily tickled. My fancy is a big ol' snob.

I have no idea what that means.

AAAAAnyhoooo. Up before the crack this morning, I was oogling her photos, and while the sun was rising I thought, "Hey. Here's what you do. Go out and see the blue sky this morning. Take a walk, take some pictures. Find the beauty here in the 'Couve."

No easy task. Not that it's not beautiful here in the Northwest - it is. But our little hood? Is a bit run down. Worse for wear. But perhaps if I see it through the lens I can turn that shabby to chic! (My Pollyanna tendencies notwithstanding, I do love rust!)

So, while there are no golden statues in my neighborhood, I managed to find a few things that made me happy.

I have found that if you are having trouble seeing things, you need to look up. Or down. Just change perspective somehow. I don't mean just finding the beauty, but really seeing. It's a good way to get your bearings.

So I looked up. And hello, Spring. I see you just around the corner.

The Red Red Robin is here.

The corner of Grand Blvd. & Mill Plain is perhaps one of the most uninspiring corners on earth, save for the fact that on this corner you can get a) cheap gas, b) GREAT pizza, c) a quickie lube at Minit Man. Well, you used to be able to do c), but my favorite oil changer has disappeared, poof, and it hasn't been opened for months. This morning, I was pining for him just a little bit. I don't know where to go now to get the oil changed in my car. Well, there are dozens of places I can think of off the top of my head, but nowhere to discuss bluegrass music, and I'm pretty sure Jiffylube & Oilcan Henry's won't let JH go down into the pit to gaze lovingly up at the underbelly of our car. I miss you, Minit Man.

Further down the block you start to believe that collars don't get any bluer than this little patch of the 'Couve:

Inviting, no?

But make it to the end of the block, and here is the pot of gold at the end of the rusty rainbow: Paper Tiger Coffee Co. They roast onsite, they have a brilliant selection of books to read, the owners are lovely and you can chat and discuss and muse and wonder to your hearts content, all while sipping the most perfect cappuccino this side of the Atlantic.

As always though, the best part of any journey, large or small, is coming home:
The neighbor's flowering plum is getting ready to bloom, which makes me want to work in my garden.

And peeking in our window, I spy one of our sweet cats on the bookshelf, and my boy in his robe, playing Wii on a sunny Saturday morning.

It's not Paris. Only Paris is Paris. But still, how sweet it is.

My Valentine

2010-02-13T11:45:00.000-08:00

When we met, we were both in the arts, there were no strings, no mortgage, no expectations. Parenting and life have changed that.

We are moving into a new phase, and though there is so much uncertainty, the constant is this: He is my valentine. My history, and a very deep part of who I am. I am more myself when I am with him.

Some say that Valentine's Day is just a Hallmark holiday, invented to lure poor saps into spending money. That may be so, I'm just cynical enough to believe that story. But that doesn't mean it's not a great idea. Because sometimes it's important to have a date on the calendar that's about nothing but celebrating love, in all it's crazy, wonderful forms.

And about remembering beginnings and the love that's gotten us this far.

What I Want To Be When I Grow Up

2010-02-11T06:48:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was hit seriously hard by the Muse. I was getting ready for work in the bathroom, and (you think this is going somewhere funny, don't you?! But I'm deadly serious).

I have ideas for three different photo essays. I'm not going to tell you what they are. But I have to do them.

Don't get me wrong. Just because I have a decent camera, I still don't consider myself a photographer. I mostly just experiment until I get something I like. But I am starting to understand light a little better. And I'm realizing more and more what makes me want to keep clicking the button:

Narrative. I don't JUST want to see the pretty picture that comes out. I want the story behind it. I LOVE hearing people's stories. I want to know how they got from there to here. I want to hear what they are going to do next.

And I'm tired of telling myself I can't because I'm not this enough or that enough or I'm too old or too naive.

Here's the thing: no one has to like them but me. I'm not going to do it to be famous. I'm going to do it because I want to.

I'm inspired, and it feels so good.

The Title of This Photo Is:

2010-02-09T07:05:00.000-08:00

Nine year old becomes youngest CEO of major bank while wearing his bathrobe and pajamas.

My hubby brought home my Valentine's present a few days early - a Nikon sb 600 speedlight flash. I'm taking a group photo for a couple friends later this month and needed one. The weather here in the northwest is notoriously iffy and cold and rainy, so if we can't go outside, I needed to figure something out for an indoor shoot. Charley knew this, and called to ask if it would be "sweet enough" if he got me one for Valentine's Day. Lord, I love this man.

The boy and I were both sickies yesterday, but I got him to pose for me a couple times while I tried to play with the light. If you look close you can see the purple spots around his eyes from where he broke blood vessels dry heaving.

I only work with the most glamorous models.

Seriously though: I can't believe this beautiful, soulful kid is ours. How incredibly lucky are we?!

2:42 a.m.: Bosco's Benediction

2010-01-27T06:30:00.000-08:00

Laying, eyes closed
trying to focus my mind's eye on any random happy thought;
trying to figure out
how to pull the train of midlife with it's heavy cargo,
trying to understand the nature of the beast of life,
and coming up empty.
Sighing. Sleep is not simple.

My Saviour hops up on the bed.
Finding the sweet spot,
his body nestled above my right shoulder
and the pillow,
his nose nuzzling my neck,
he purrs his benediction:
"sleep, sleep, sleep,
you are loved
this is what matters
because you worry about everyone else
I will take care of you"
When my breathing slows, and calms
his purring quiets and he himself heaves a last
contented sigh.
His paw reaches across my chest and comes to
rest on my heart.
I am loved.
This is what matters.

the important stuff

2010-01-23T13:52:00.000-08:00

Joe-Henry has been hitting so many milestones lately.

Blowing his first bubble with bubble gum.

Driving me crazy by telling me to look at all the bubbles that have followed. And their greatness.

You know, the important stuff!

So it's only natural that he would tell me, upon first rising this sunny morning:
"I think it's time I learned how to make fart noises with my armpit."

To which I replied: Let's concentrate on tying your shoes, using a napkin instead of your sleeve/pants/furniture, and advanced butt wiping first.

Then I'll teach you how to make fart noises with your armpit.

Inspiration

2010-01-19T20:23:00.000-08:00

Aimee, over at Greeblemonkey is having a photo contest, like she usually does every month, but THIS month, for every entry she is donating $1 to Unicef for Haiti relief. I couldn't pass up the opportunity.

The theme is "inspiration". I wracked my brain and tried to think of my favorite pic of JH, because he is a constant inspiration to me. I thought about finding one of Charley, because I'm constantly inspired by his music and love. I looked at pictures I've taken of cats, of flowers, of beaches.

I finally came up with this. I love these little tiny flowers coming up through the cracks in the sidewalk. They persevere, they grow despite the odds, even when it's cold. They keep coming up, keep growing in a harsh place, and bring a little beauty to those who take a minute to stop and look.

Heading South

2010-01-14T07:25:00.001-08:00

We're heading down to see the in-laws in California this weekend, and even though I woke up with "Here Comes The Sun" in my head, I'd already used that here before, so this is my second choice. And HELLLOOOOOO, it's Lesley Gore! It doesn't get any peppier than this!

"Best Haircut To Hide Jowls"

2010-01-12T07:31:00.000-08:00

Someone typed this into Google, then wound up at my blog.

Of course, someone else typed in "I'm juicy inside" and landed here too. So, uh, yeah....

Older moms, UNITE!

So Cool

2010-01-09T07:47:00.000-08:00

Last night, as on many nights, Joe-Henry and I had some iPhone time together. He has my old phone (which was Charley's old phone), and I had my phone, and he played one of his thousand games, and I played Bejeweled Blitz because yes, Mr. & Mrs. Internet America I'm an addict. In the old days, everyone gathered in front of the radio. This is our radio.

Anyway, instead of Madden 10, or Jelly Car, or the horrible and entirely inappropriate New York Nights (another post on it's own, for now I'll tell you that the age guidelines are WRONG), he played me a concert on RealPianopro. It was soothing and beautiful, and even though I have to BEG him to practice piano for reals, he enjoyed making music. Relaxing, creating, entertaining his mom.

I give myself a hard time about not being better at a whole laundry list of things. I don't engage him enough in this or that, I'm not more positive in the way I try to guide him to do things on his own. Don't get me wrong - I'm not laying awake at night beating myself up for this. I think EVERY parent does this to a certain degree. And since I"m in such good company, I sleep pretty soundly most of the time, thankyouverymuch.

He's discovering great music every day too - through games. The last song we downloaded was Little Eva's The Locomotion. He has great taste in music, and I love hearing him sing along. We give him coupons to be turned in for things he wants, and he can spend them any way he wants, but when they're gone, he has to wait until the next time he gets coupons. (Of course, we can "gift" him if we want.)

As we both started to feel tired, he opened up Bloom. I'd seen it once before, Charley had shown it to me a long time ago. But last night was an epiphany. Created by Brian Eno and Peter Chilvers, it's an ambient, interactive music box. It's visually simple but hypnotically beautiful, and sooooooo relaxing. I think it should be a required app if you have trouble sleeping or are under stress. I begged him for a turn, told him to close his eyes and he was asleep within two minutes.

I HATE paying for apps, but this one? Completely worth the 3.99. I think I'll even be able to use it at work. I'm excited to see what the students I work with think of it.

HeadSong Friday: Loves Me Like A Rock

2010-01-08T07:10:00.001-08:00

Haven't done HeadSong Friday in a while, but I woke up with this song loud in my head this morning. When JH was little, he's sing this song so loud, and my favorite line he'd misquote, was "She loves me like a rocka pages!".

Saw this a while back on PBS, and loved it. Paul Simon is a National Treasure. And Stevie Wonder?! With the Dixie Hummingbirds?! PERFECTION.

To all you Mama's out there: Go Mama Love!

Seriously

2010-01-07T06:35:00.000-08:00

Last night, I had one of those "aha" moments while talking to JH. Not the good kind of "aha", but the "HELLLOOOO?! have you not been listening to him?!" moments.

About a year ago, JH developed a mad crush on a girl in his class. He told a friend. The friend told the girl. And ever since, the girl has treated him differently. When he talks about her, he says "she hates me now", or "she's really driving me crazy".

But last night, getting ready for bed, he said in the most serious voice, "Mom. Please help me. I don't know what to do. She is really mean to me, and I'm trying to be nice." Then he burst into tears.

"She doesn't like me because I'm different. She's seen me in shorts. She's seen my bumps on my leg."

I navigated us away from that place, knowing in my mother's heart that it wasn't true. I know this girl, and I'm pretty sure that she just doesn't know what to do with the fact that he had a crush on her. And now he doesn't.

Anyway. I got him to the place where he could practice saying what he needs to say. He came up with the perfect little speech, and he wrote it down.

"Please stop following me at recess. I don't like it and it hurts my feelings when you say mean things to me. I can choose who I want to play with, and I don't have to say I'm sorry for that. If you don't stop following me and saying mean things to me, I'll have to tell a recess teacher, because you aren't listening to me."

He wants to wake up early to draw her a picture of flowers. Because he really, really wants to be her friend.

Sigh. And it only gets more complicated.

Nyuk Nyuk Nyuk

2010-01-05T06:13:00.000-08:00

Do you know what I love about being the mother of a nine year old boy? Besides nagging him to do every little thing? Because yes, I complain, but also, I love doing it. I must. (sshhhhhh.... I'm "acting as if", because then maybe if I actually DID love nagging, I'd become more effective at it. or something.).

I love the quality conversations we have. The state of the world is discussed, along with the state of, well, everything else. All topics are covered. The kids in his class, the best vs. worst brands of bubblegum, how to build the most perfect interactive video game, and of course my favorite topic, Ways In Which I Can Be A Better Mom.

Way #1: stop being so grouchy

There is no Way #2, because if I stopped being grouchy I would be perfect.

A typical example of our discussions is as follows. This is the first conversation I had in the New Year, and I think it bodes well for my intellectual growth in 2010.

JH: Mom, who's your favorite Stooge?

Me: My favorite Stooge?

JH: Yeah! Larry, Curly or Moe?

Me: I think Larry does lovely, understated work, and has always been under appreciated. I'll go with Larry.

JH: But Moe is the leader, and he's so funny! And Curly makes those hysterical noises!

Me: Yes, but without Larry, Moe and Curly would probably kill each other. Also, I like Larry because he's pretty quiet.

JH: But he's not the funniest.

Me: Nope. Not everyone is funny. And that's okay.

JH: No it isn't.

and.... scene.

Do you see why my brain is in danger of melting and running out both my ears?

So this is why I vow to get out more in 2010. To seek the stimulation of grownups and talk about important things. Like politics and melting ice caps and OMG The Bachelor...

on the other hand, we haven't gotten to Shemp yet. And what about the Marx Brothers? I can't wait to find out what he thinks about Harpo!

the hat

2010-01-03T09:29:00.001-08:00

the hat
Originally uploaded by anniemcq

We got this hat for JH because they came with those cool fingerless gloves that have the mittens on the end. He really wanted those. He wasn't crazy about this hat because it has PINK in it. He wanted a brown one that had fringe running from front to back right down the middle because it looked like a mohawk.
Because he's a badass like that.
But it didn't have gloves that came with it, so this is what he got.
Because I'm a mom like that.

I caught this pic after a recent snowstorm when he and some neighborhood friends were building a snowman in our front yard. I LOVE the color, and I love, love, love that boy.

A Nook of One's Own

2010-01-02T16:44:00.000-08:00

With Christmas behind us, I continued to Feng our Shui. We moved the tree out of the corner of the room, but I didn't want to put back all the mismatched boxes, and DEAR GOD THE TOYS, so I decided to try to make a cozy space for the boy. Of course, since the advent of the Wii, I despaired of ever getting him to play with anything else, but over the past couple days something miraculous has happened: while helping me clean his room, he's discovered some old toys. He thought it was okay for me to move his Thomas Trains (really? Nine is too old for Thomas?! Okay.... sniff...) into a less accessible spot, but he was having a blast playing with his airplanes, busses and cars. We had this ugly white shelf downstairs, so I moved it up, put a runner and a lamp on it, and threw some old pillows I found at goodwill in the corner. I got some cool recycled magazine baskets at TJ Maxx, filled them with some legos, some paper and art supplies, some cars and planes, and the boy was so excited to have a cozy little nook all to himself. There's a little empty spot there for a few more books, so who knows - maybe he'll even READ!

Bonus: The cats love it!

Time - Tom Waits

2009-12-31T11:04:00.000-08:00

Tom Waits is an acquired taste. Luckily, I acquired the taste some time ago, and while I don't play him often, I do play him when I need to feel: to release, dance a goofy dance or cry a river. Kari said this morning that she just discovered him, so I put all my Waits on play, made pancakes, padded around in my pj's while the boys tinkered downstairs. This song came on, and I began to leak from my eyes. Here's to Time - the good and the bad. Love to all.

2010 - Welcome. Bring it.

A Solemn Vow...

2009-12-30T20:06:00.000-08:00

JH spends so much time avoiding chores, it's becoming an art form. So I took this video of him promising to clean his room first thing tomorrow morning. He made me vow not to put it on Facebook or Twitter.

But he said nothing about my blog.

So here it is:

I'll let you know how it turns out.

Kitties keep us safe from falling snow

2009-12-30T11:01:00.001-08:00

Download now or watch on posterous

IMG_0470.MOV (4761 KB)

Sent from my iPhone

Posted via email from Anne's posterous

Looking Forward...

2009-12-29T09:45:00.000-08:00

2009 saw so many blessings, and I count them all in my heart, I surely do. But it also brought so much loss. Death, divorce, anger, sorrow... they all payed a visit, as they do every year. As I try to keep in perspective that these things are part of life, and we shall all feel sadness sometime, I can't help but hum along with this song.

My New Year's prayer for all of us.

Be kind, 2010

I have a little project

2009-12-29T09:29:00.001-08:00

When we lived in Seattle, we loved these commercials with Edgar Martinez. And this morning, as I set out to make my little tv riser and my little desk riser that I got in the ikea used bin, I'll be thinking of Edgar.

I eventually want to make our attic space liveable. So I'm going to start small.

Redo

2009-12-28T08:16:00.000-08:00

Woke up this morning feeling less shaky about the past days events. My son is in a better mood today too. I let him have unlimited time on the Wii yesterday, just as sort of an experiment. Yeah, it turned out like you'd think. A horrible temper tantrum, and an early bedtime.

He woke up very snuggly this morning, and today there are rules to butt up against, so I think he feels better. Also, he gets to have a friend over today (one that I totally approve of and adore), so I think that sunshine out there is trying to tell me something.

As I said in my post yesterday: feelings are not facts. They come and go. Today is a new day, and I'm keeping this person in my thoughts, feeling less judgmental and more gentle. Hoping she finds the kind of love and support she needs in her real life.

Because as messy and fighty and boring as it can be, nothing beats real life.

Social Media and The Kindness of Strangers

2009-12-27T08:58:00.000-08:00

I started blogging to have a creative outlet. I was new to the town I lived in, I missed my friends. I was a mom who used to have a career as an actor, and my audience, while appreciative, was much smaller. I wanted to stretch my creative muscles as a writer. I wanted to reach out and see who else might think the same crazy thoughts as me.

The first person to comment on my blog was my dear pal suttonhoo, she of the gorgeous photos and amazing stories. She had inspired me to try blogging by sending me a link to hers so that I could keep up with her life in Chicago. The second person to comment was someone I didn't know, but she left me such a lovely comment, and I felt so giddy knowing that someone out there had found me and liked what I had to say, and felt, as I did, that this parenting trip was just the most amazing thing on earth.

Over the next three years, I was fortunate enough to develop more of an actual real-life friendship with Amy, and her Dallas Posse, and last spring, my hubby surprised me with a weekend trip to Dallas. Just me. Gulp. I'd meet these people in person, and what if, what if, what if? It turns out these people were the real deal, they were true friends to each other, and the Fabulous Franklin family opened their home and their hearts to me over the weekend. I felt completely at ease and at home and I carry them in my heart every day now.

Once, reading a comment on one of Amy's blog posts, I laughed at something someone said, and asked Amy about the commenter. She said that this person was someone I should know and I should follow her on Twitter. I swore I wouldn't ever join Twitter. And you know how that turned out. Now I'm just a social media addict like that. It's easier than blogging, and since life has gotten more hectic since I started out here: an emotionally demanding job, managing my little family, etc., Twitter has become my default. And Facebook. But mostly for people I know in real life and Bejeweled. Who am I kidding. So, anyway, I began to follow her, and I don't know about you, but I only read about half the stuff on twitter. It sometimes makes me feel like I'm reading People Magazine: like I should get up off my ass and get a life. But I can't stop. I'll go for weeks without posting, or even looking at it. But every once in a while, I'll pop on and say "hi", or leave a link to something interesting, or leave a bit of Joe-Henry wisdom.

Yesterday, I popped on to check on how everyone's holiday's had gone, and report that I had gotten back safely from Costco without having a nervous breakdown, when I read an alarming tweet from Amy's friend. She had taken a bunch of pills with alcohol. She was asking people to find good homes for her cats. My hands went cold and slick with sweat. What? WTF? Goddamn it. I still had to unpack my groceries from Costco. DAMN it. I don't know her. Is she joking? I sent Amy a direct message. No answer. I call Amy, she just read my dm, and she's worried too. She's actually never met this person, but has a cell number and a po box. She lives in New York. I call 911, they link me to Utica, they send me to another county, I tell them, uh, I was on Twitter today and uh, I don't know this person, and she posted some alarming things. I'm feeling like and idiot - it's not like I'm standing on a bridge next to someone ready to jump. The dispatcher I talk to actually takes me seriously, despite the fact that I was using the words "Twitter" and "tweet", and takes all the info I give her. She says they'll try to find her and will get back to me. I apologize and tell her I don't know if it's a hoax, but I'd rather be wrong than feel so hugely responsible for the rest of my life if I'm right. Amy and I call back and forth, she's trying to contact her, trying to reach others she knows who know this person. They are all concerned too. About fifteen minutes go by when the Dispatcher calls me back to tell me that they have located this person and are sending medical to check her out. I think they must have heard from others as well, and luckily they found her in time. She was in the hospital at last report, and was alert. She must have a hell of a headache. I hope she'll be okay. I hope she'll find help for her hurting soul.

And while I'm glad that I followed through with my instinct, I'm also feeling like it was just too much. Too much responsibility, too much drama. I don't want to be a part of it. What if this person hates me for making that call? Many of the people who know her better are sending her love and hugs, and I am too. But I'm also angry. My opinion of suicide is that it's selfish, dramatic and mean. I know that people sometimes just can't bear the pain. I get that. I do. I have a family member that valiantly struggles with deep depression every day, and he's my hero. And he would never, ever be selfish enough to leave us that way. What a horrible legacy to leave to those who care about you. Even if you're mad at each other. Even if you hate your life. But you know what? Change is possible, but only when you're alive.

Love to all. Hug your family. Even if you're mad at them. Especially if you're mad at them. Feelings are not facts. They come and go, and tomorrow will be a new day. Take care, and love the ones in front of you.

A New Tradition

2009-12-13T14:34:00.000-08:00

The other morning, we were rushing like crazy to get out the door to school & work. I was getting crabby, wondering why it's the same EVERY morning. Why it's the same EVERY holiday season? WHY do I feel so much STRESS???!!!! WHY?!!!

Then Joe-Henry started to sing this very silly version of Jingle Bells. I started to sing along. And suddenly the here and now came into focus. I was driving. He was in the backseat. The car was filled with noise and laughter.

And all was right with the world.

Thought I'd share our really silly version of Jingle Bells with you. If you're feeling a little grumpy, sing along. You'll be in the Holiday Spirit in no time!

Joy, Wonder, Delight.

2009-12-02T23:36:00.000-08:00

I was getting nervous for the Holiday Season this year, because I thought it might be the year that JH figures it out. I mean, we've already had our first conversation about sex (he asked, and I kept it brief and honest and then he asked if Daddy and I do that and if it's when he's asleep and I said "mind your own beeswax". ). So I figured that this year for sure he'd be asking about Santa.

I was right. And I didn't lie about it, I just said "well, what do you think?" He hemmed and hawed and went on about why do some of his presents have bar codes, etc. But tonight, we looked at this magical book together. Santa brought it to him last year, and he was so overwhelmed with everything else that it got overlooked. But tonight, oh my. We spent a good twenty minutes on the first two pages alone. He was telling me that Santa has a room of his own where he can go and have his own private feelings, even cry if he needs to. (Can you imagine Santa crying?!) I asked why he thought Santa might need to cry, and he said "well, if someone has to get put on the naughty list. He's a person like anyone else. Even though he never dies. But he still can get sad sometimes." Then he went on to tell me that Mrs. Claus was the best person on earth, even more than Santa because she has to make sure he's okay and she's really nice. "She'd have to be. Santa wouldn't have married a mean woman!"

He wants to go see Santa now. And I don't think he wants to ask for toys as much as check in and make sure Santa's okay and ask him questions about how the mail gets to the North Pole, and find out what makes him tick.

I love him so much. His innocence and wonder amaze me. And he makes me feel like an elf.

I'm Thankful for Moments Like These

2009-11-26T07:43:00.000-08:00

Joe-Henry: WHY can't I have a tv in my room?
Me: Because I want you to grow up smart. So you could be president, or an astronaut...
Joe-Henry: I just wanna grow up to be a guy who plays video games. (pause) And drives a bus.
Me: aim a little higher, please
Joe-Henry: Don't worry mom. I won't be a hillbilly in a tank top.

Who needs Hallmark, when I've got this kid?

Feeling thankful for conversation and communication. I think I'll make a turkey to celebrate!

not enough to go around

2009-11-18T17:04:00.000-08:00

I love my job. I do. There is nothing more satisfying than seeing a child "get it". Or make unbelievable eye contact. Or manage to contain their behavior to do just one more thing.

And I know I'm going out on a limb here when I write about my job in a public forum. I don't write about it often. But I'm finding myself keeping a lid on things so much that sometimes I feel like this:

And I have a feeling that this is what the kids I work with feel like a good deal of the time. I know it's what they've been feeling lately, because it feels like we spend a good part of our day just putting out fires.

There is a simple reason for this: we do not have enough people to deal with the students in our room. Most of our kids qualify for a one on one staff. But very few have them. Budget cuts, don't you know.

Add to this the absentee rate in the room, and dealing with one new sub after another, and it's gotten to the point where a good day is just a day that isn't horrible. Or a day where someone doesn't get hurt.

Don't get me wrong: the staff we have? ROCKSTARS. But there just aren't enough of us. There just aren't.

And most of today I felt completely on edge and helpless. Like when I saw one (LARGE) student at one end of the playground and another (LARGE) student at the other, both doing something they shouldn't and I'm supposed to be dealing with both of them at the same time. My fear, my deep gut fear is that someone is going to get hurt. Someone that just might be in the way, or a student, or a staff member, or a volunteer. And then it's going to go sideways and I'm going to lose my job, or worse have to live with the fact that I was responsible for the rest of my life.

I Am A Mom

2009-11-15T18:39:00.000-08:00

There is an iconic picture of me that Charley took the night we went to the hospital to give birth to Joe-Henry. It's taken by him, and in the picture I'm in the bathroom, drying my hair, and getting ready to become a mom. We both looked high and low for it today, and couldn't find it anywhere. But in the midst of trying to find it, we found all kinds of old photos and were washed with a whole parenting lifetime of memories, as well as dim reminders of lives we had before Joe-Henry. I know. Unfathomable.

Why, you might ask, were we so determined to find this one particular photo? Because we took a very similar photo today.

I'm not pregnant, but it's a side view, in the bathroom, and I've got my hands in my hair. But for very different reasons. This time, there is no mistaking: I am DEFINITELY a mom.

For those of you perhaps unfamiliar with Star Wars toys, this is the Republic Gunship that flies by remote control. That we got him. For his birthday. That landed in my hair and had to be cut out.

The end.

Secret Agent Birthday Party

2009-11-14T16:42:00.000-08:00

Joe-Henry turns NINE tomorrow, and because we just had a huge trip, we decided to keep his birthday costs down by doing it at home. I was nervous about it because last year we went to the super cool bowling alley arcade, and he kept saying initially he thought it might be - what was the word he used? Oh yes - STUPID. But I planned and plotted and schemed and it turned out to be a truly memorable, hugely fun, and most important - COOL party. I had to come up with something that both boys and girls would like, and we had kids ranging in age from 4 to 6th grade, so I wanted everyone to feel good about being here.

We decided on a "Secret Agent" Theme. The invitations went out inviting friends to help with a secret mission. And instead of giving out goody bags at the end, we gave them at the beginning of the party because they had things they might need to complete the mission - black sunglasses, little magnifying glasses, notebooks and pencils, compasses and whistles and tiny flashlights. I just used plain brown lunch bags and found these cool little clipboard notes at The Dollar Tree. All the goody bag stuff I got at either Oriental Trading Company, Dollar Tree or Office Max.

The kids were given a password (NINE), and then taken into Joe-Henry's room where they could choose a disguise if they wanted one. They all loved dressing up in all kinds of stuff - a witches hat, a football shirt, an apron, etc. I had downloaded a bunch of "spy" music: Theme from James Bond, Get Smart, Mission Impossible, etc. which played throughout the party. Then I took them all into the living room, where they were told they were on a mission to help with a birthday mystery. We would be doing several "training exercises" before we could look for clues. The first exercise was to help their powers of deduction. They were all given a secret identity taped to their backs and had to figure out who they were by asking a partner questions.

Then we did a memory boosting training exercise. They took out their notebooks and pens, and looked at fifteen items on a tray for 30 seconds. They then had to write down as many as they could remember in two minutes or less.

The next exercise was "pin the sunglasses on the secret agent". I had drawn an outline of Joe-Henry on a big piece of paper and cut out black paper sunglasses. They all had to put on a blindfold and who ever got closest won. Later on they could write messages to Joe-Henry on the outline.

Then we went to the backyard to do a disguise relay. The kids were divided into two teams and each team was given a backpack with a disguise (a big t-shirt, a hat, gloves, glasses, and a lei), a nerf gun and darts. Each person had to put on the disguise, run to the line and shoot a dart at the targets, run back, repack the bag for the next person, who would do the same thing, the first team done wins.

Then my FABULOUS niece Heather, who had been helping the WHOLE TIME (and truly, the list for all the things I owe her for is so long I don't know how I'll ever pay her back) donned her black trench coat and sunglasses and delivered a secret message for Agent McQuary. It was the first clue in a scavenger hunt to find all the goodies for a birthday party. The last clue was next door at the neighbors, and it was my brother's cellphone number. They had to call and tell Bugsy to "deliver the package". He had parked across the street with two dozen Krispy Kreme donuts. We have the best family EVER.

After they were all jacked up on donuts, we played one last game called "Diffuse the bomb". Two people with one badminton racket each had to take a black balloon to the next two people who had to carry the balloon between them without using their hands or arms to the last person who was in charge of the diffusing box (a box with toothpicks sticking up inside it). When they closed the box the balloon popped. We went through lots of balloons and they got lots of that sugar out of their systems on that game!

They then had just under a half hour to just play, and it was so much fun to hear them laughing and screaming. It was even more fun to hear how quiet the house got when all the parents showed up to take them home! But it was such a blast and for some of the kids I think it was the first time they went to a party without their parents. Judging by the smiles and how disappointed they were when their parents came, I think it was a success.

After it was all over, we let JH open a present from his Aunt, because we knew it was a video game he desperately wanted. And then Charley and I took a big, drooooooly nap.

Happy Birthday, Joe-Henry. You're my favorite secret agent ever.

Rickie Lee Jones - Stewart's Coat

2009-11-07T11:46:00.001-08:00

I walked down the aisle to this song in April, 1994. Charley just found the cd and went on a Rickie Lee binge, brought it into the living room, where we danced with each other and Joe-Henry joined in. Such a rainy day, and our house filled with so much love.

Your First Wife

2009-11-06T04:31:00.000-08:00

I dreamt that I read your obituary
while sitting in my father's recliner
in the house I grew up in.

You were celebrated in bold face type,
you would be missed.
And they spoke of your first wife,
from whom you had been separated
"it was amicable" they said.

You had been living the life you were "supposed to live"
when you passed,
(but they gave our marriage the first long paragraph)
They quoted a statement you had made
regarding our marriage:
"It was good to be known"

I put down the paper and wept
having only just learned you were gone,
and that we were no longer married.
I buttoned my grey wool coat to the top
opened the rickety screen door of my father's house
to go sit under the Hawthorn tree

"It was good to be known"

Like a cup to catch my tears
it was oddly useful and practical
but not enough to hold my sorrow

Then your voice cut through the dream
like groggy thunder
muttering at the cat
"Bosco, stop"
I squirted him with the bottle
to keep him from scratching at the raindrops
sliding down the windowpane
and touched your sleeping shoulder.

It is good to be known.

from one day to the next, or a few questions

2009-10-23T14:22:00.000-07:00

do you suppose
that the falling leaves
fight the inevitable
as much as we do?

and should I feel
ashamed of how much
I appreciate their beauty
as they flutter to their end?

I wonder if anyone
will appreciate
"her delicate grace"
when I meet my demise?

Full Circle

2009-10-20T06:01:00.000-07:00

Last night I was "helping" Joe-Henry with his piano lessons. I put it in quotation marks because it's only my perspective. From his perspective, it's more like torture. I make him go back and try things again when he doesn't get the timing right. My note reading abilities are rusty (lucky for him), but DAMN I'm good with a beat.

We were about ten minutes in when we got to the part where he had to write a four measure song, so I was going to help him by getting the notes down in the book. I asked him a question about what the first note was, and this is what he did:

He turned very slowly to look at me, sighed, and said in a very patronizing tone"Mom that's not it, why don't you just let me do my work?"

Then he sadly shook his head. AND ROLLED HIS EYES.

Being the grown up that I am, I took it well. I raised my voice a couple octaves and curtly squeaked out "fine. I have lots of other things I can be doing. you can just finish this by yourself." Then I quickly walked off IN A HUFF and got the laundry.

He came to find me slamming wet clothes in the dryer and apologized for hurting my feelings, and I hugged him tight and said it was okay.

But somewhere my parents are nodding and smiling at the sweet feeling of payback.

I wonder if revenge is allowed in heaven?

How To Throw Your Back Out: An Instructional Manual

2009-10-17T08:09:00.000-07:00

So you heard (and saw) all about our trip - the highlights. There were many, many highlights. But you haven't yet heard the tale of How Charley Strained His Back and Started Mooing Like An Angry Angry Cow. There is also a lot of grunting and hissing.

It started in Edinburgh, our first day. We'd had a lovely time in Glasgow, spending an extra day there because it was so much fun. But Charley had been helping Joe-Henry with his backpack, because he's a great dad. He was carrying his own backpack, and taking the weight off of JH's so we could hike the several blocks to our hotel in Glasgow. Oh, and of course there's attempting to sleep on an airplane in seats with no leg room. Anyway, in the middle of the night our first night in Edinburgh, Charley had a back spasm. He didn't sleep well, but we didn't know it (how I'm not sure - we were all three sleeping in the same bed due to a lack of rooms at our hotel). He managed to get some ibuprofen in him, and we took a long tour (12 hours) of the Central Highlands that day and he did okay. It seemed to be getting better.

But then we had to travel home. And here is where it got nasty. Our flight out of London was an hour late, and we had an hour and a half layover in Philly. So basically we had an eight hour flight, where limited leg room was even more limited by the people in front of us who put their seats back the entire way for the whole flight. I hated them by the end of the flight. I would rattle their seats a lot when I had to get up to go to the bathroom.

We landed in Philly, and we were the last people off the plane. We were met at the end of a long hallway by people at a table who were yelling "if you have connecting flights in less than an hour COME HERE". So we did. They had hotel vouchers and meal vouchers and new boarding passes for a flight in the morning. "if you DON'T make your flight, you can use these. " But we were determined to make that flight. Never mind that we had to go through customs and security. Never mind that the security guy who was dealing with Charley was a very mean, tiny man of Foreign descent who wanted nothing more than to piss Charley off by making him go through every pocket of his utilikilt (of which there are many) and made JH go through THREE times and take his shoes off (getting shoes off and on my boy is not one of the easiest things on the planet) before we could pass through. Never mind that our gate was the equivalent of a mile away. Charley picked up his backpack AND Joe-Henry's and we all three sprinted (it must have been hysterical to see). Joe-Henry had one shoe on and was carrying the other, running his heart out. We got to the gate and the gate agent told us they had just. closed. the doors.

Sweaty. Pissed. Out of breath. I was taking over at this point because Charley didn't have any words at his disposal that didn't blow your hair back. I was doing my best polite but firm Lutheran Sunday School Teacher (Missouri Synod!!) to talk to the gate agent, and later the customer service gentleman who looked a bit afraid that Charley might come unglued and begin to rip some of those airport seats right out of the ground.

There was nothing to be done except catch our breath and go to the hotel and get Joe-Henry one of the coolest Philly's Jerseys we could find. But as we were walking past our gate, I noticed that it still had the Portland flight listed. It was at least 20 minutes past when we had tried to board - what was the hold up? The gate agent motioned us over and said they were still on the ground and having an issue with one of the bathrooms, we might be able to board after all!

Hallelujah!!!

So we did. We weren't seated together at first. Then we were. So we joined the very crowded passenger list and buckled up and waited for the plane to take off.

And then we waited a few more minutes.

The captain then came over the intercom and told us that we would all have to get off the plane because the problem with the bathroom couldn't be fixed and they were going to try to get us a new plane. At that point we gave up. We made sure we could board the plane the next morning and went over to the Hilton where they generously put us up and fed us and were nice to us, and we talked baseball with the waitstaff and then slept for 5 hours like the dead.

We came home and were catching up on sleep, we all went back to work and school and then in the middle of the night a few nights ago, Charley woke up with back spasms again. He's been to the chiropractor and the doctor, and has about a three hour window with the drugs where he doesn't sound like a dinosaur giving birth. We're hoping he can truly recover this weekend. He's gone through most of his sick time. He's worried about missing work. Joe-Henry cries every time he sees his Daddy in so much pain.

But still, even with all of that, we are still basking in the glow of the trip (although he basks better on drugs). And it was so, so worth it.

Highland Fling

2009-10-11T14:41:00.000-07:00

My man had a birthday. And he took us to Scotland to celebrate.

The stories, oh, the stories.

The massacre of Glencoe. The battle of Killiecrankie. The true meaning of The Bonnie banks of Loch Lomond that our tour guide Dan told us with his beautiful lilting brogue...

The people are the warmest, friendliest, truest people. And when they talk, you feel instantly as though you are hearing the language sung rather than spoken. I felt at home at once. And I even liked Haggis.

Here is a big, fat, juicy slideshow of our trip. I'm not kidding - it takes a while to watch, so if you have the time, lovely, if not be warned.

Hope For The Best, Prepare For The Worst....

2009-09-27T20:07:00.001-07:00

.....or pack for a trip abroad with an eight year old. We are heading out on a trip to Scotland to celebrate my fantastic, sexy, amazing husband's "significant" birthday, and I spent the whole day packing. And while I was packing, Joe-Henry seemed to sound more miserable, more stuffed up, and then, oh no, he actually took a nap.

Which is shorthand for "he's sick".

So - hubby stays home from work with him tomorrow to take him to the doctor - his throat is so swollen and bright red, and he's running a slight fever, and feels "heavy". The hope is that he gets it out of his system before we go.

In the meantime, I have packed all the "remedies". I've followed my list to the letter, and I'm drinking Emergen-C until it's coming out my ears.

"No cold approach, no altered mien,
Just what would make suspicion start;
No pause the dire extremes between,
He made me blest-and broke my heart.?

Robert Burns

An Enigma Wrapped In A Riddle

2009-09-23T06:31:00.000-07:00

Joe-Henry has been asking us to download music he hears onto his iPhone (my old phone minus the phone part, lest you think we're spoiling him rotten.) We have a deal with him: for every song he downloads, he must play 30 minutes of music on piano, drums, guitar.... so yeah, we're bribing him, basically.

So far the music he's chosen has been stuff he's heard on Madden 09 (heading banging rock, with some rap thrown in for good measure). We listen to it first to make sure there are no bad words, which is really his rule as much as ours. But the other day, he asked for two songs. I loved how different they were, and I loved that I discovered some new music through my boy. I'd heard of Joe Satriani before, but hadn't ever listened to his music. This was his choice, which I dub to be "awesome" (and he rolls his eyes at me every time I say it):

The other song he wanted was this:

Oh, and a ps: remember his "girlfriend"? Last night at dinner, after really hearing nothing about her for a long time, he said "Oh, and Jordan broke up with me at recess today. She said if I didn't play with her for at least 10 minutes every recess, 'we were through'*. It's okay though, because I always had to be the "daddy". Ugh. Girls play weird."

*he actually used air quotes here.

I love that I never know what's coming next.

Beautiful Protest

2009-09-18T06:27:00.000-07:00

I miss the 60's. There was so much to protest, and people sang about it.

Thanks so much, Mary. Your passion and voice made the ugly truth go down so much easier.

It Explains So Much

2009-09-14T06:46:00.000-07:00

From the New York Times article "Thousands Rally in Capital to Protest Big Government":
"The atmosphere was rowdy at times, with signs and images casting Mr. Obama in a demeaning light. One sign called him the “parasite in chief.” Others likened him to Hitler. Several people held up preprinted signs saying, “Bury Obama Care with Kennedy,” a reference to the Massachusetts senator whose body passed by the Capitol two weeks earlier to be memorialized."

From President Obama's speech:
"Right now, three-quarters of the fastest-growing occupations require more than a high school diploma. And yet, just over half of our citizens have that level of education. We have one of the highest high school dropout rates of any industrialized nation. And half of the students who begin college never finish."

There is much work to be done.

An Open Letter To My President

2009-09-06T12:14:00.000-07:00

Dear Mr. President,
I am writing you today because I read something that made me fear for the soul of our country. I'm writing because I felt that if I didn't, my silence would be one more nail in the coffin of this amazing country of ours.

You inherited a country situated squarely in the crosshairs of disaster from so many sources: the economy, war, health care. You were elected for your ability to speak sensibly. So many of us were thrilled just to hear a president speak in full sentences again, but the fact that you seemed to have common sense, and better yet, common DECENCY made many, myself included, feel hope stirring in our dormant souls. You made us believe that we could once again be great, that we would be heard. You made us feel that even dissenters would be listened to.

Mr. President, there are those who would put fear into our hearts about healthcare reform. But when I read this on the front page of the New York Times today, my blood went cold. If this isn't call for reform, then we have lost all hope. Here is a portion of the article, because I know you're a very busy man:

The bankers plan to buy “life settlements,” life insurance policies that ill and elderly people sell for cash — $400,000 for a $1 million policy, say, depending on the life expectancy of the insured person. Then they plan to “securitize” these policies, in Wall Street jargon, by packaging hundreds or thousands together into bonds. They will then resell those bonds to investors, like big pension funds, who will receive the payouts when people with the insurance die.

The earlier the policyholder dies, the bigger the return — though if people live longer than expected, investors could get poor returns or even lose money.

Either way, Wall Street would profit by pocketing sizable fees for creating the bonds, reselling them and subsequently trading them. But some who have studied life settlements warn that insurers might have to raise premiums in the short term if they end up having to pay out more death claims than they had anticipated.

If this doesn't call for health care reform, or doesn't at least call into question both the banking and insurance industries, then what? This ghoulish idea reminds me of the old B movie "Soylent Green". Billions would be made from the deaths of our fellow citizens. To simplify even further: Death = Profit.

We didn't elect you for politics as usual. We elected you because we believed that you would do the right thing, not just the thing that would get you elected next time. Please, Mr. President. Shake us up, bitch slap us out of our zombie-like state and LEAD us.

Please. Please.

You CAN Go Home Again

2009-09-05T16:24:00.000-07:00

I spent so much of my growing up time tapping my foot, waiting to blow the small town dust off my britches, and then spent the NEXT twenty years looking over my shoulder heaving a sigh of relief that I HAD escaped. Last weekend, I roadtripped with my sister and Joe-Henry back to the old stompin' grounds to hang with my brother, his daughter and her sweet family, and to catch up on the lives of friends, some of whom I hadn't seen in at least 30 years. And I realized how much I had missed it - this town where I grew up. It seems more beautiful to me each time I visit.

We packed baseball gloves and ice cold pops and I took my camera. I burned some cd's for the road, and both coming and going we sang and soaked in the gorgeous scenery. The Columbia Gorge is one of the most beautiful places on earth, and just outside the Dalles, we saw a herd of Big Horn sheep grazing the narrow rock wall above us. There was no stopping to take pictures, the road was too narrow, but suffice to say that we were all in awe. I did manage to get some pics once we hit the Palouse, but mostly the camera was used to take shots of sweet Isaac, my nieces two year old boy.

Joe-Henry fell in love with Isaac, and although they'd met before, Isaac is more mobile and talkative now, and Joe-Henry really relished being like an older brother. It's a role he'd be very, very good at, and I loved seeing him have the opportunity to be a good role model. He also wore out all of our arms playing catch, and one evening he was just so close to driving me crazy that my brother suggested a drive. I took my camera, and we went up to a big ball field and while Joe-Henry and my brother and sister played and JH ran and ran and ran, I managed to get some shots of the most amazing sunset I've ever seen. The hills surrounding the valley I grew up in are so luscious and voluptuous. I never saw them that way before, but this time they just took my breath away.

We played a killer game of Monopoly, and now I'm convinced that my fairly quiet, sweet brother has a secret cave of money somewhere. He truly has a killer instinct at that game, and should he ever decide to do so, he'd be an EXCELLENT land baron! We also laughed so hard we all leaked from somewhere. Drooling, weeping, peeing - we did it all. My stomach hurt the next day from laughing so hard.

Our last night there, Joe-henry and my sister watched Isaac while my brother went to his Fantasy Football meeting and I went to have dinner with friends I hadn't seen in forever. These were the people that started me on the path to the Theater, people that even all these years later I feel completely comfortable with and truly love being around. We met doing Babes In Arms at Lewiston Civic Theater in 1977, and even though the years have taken us all in different directions, it took no time at all to feel as though no time had passed. It filled up my heart to the brim and over just to sit around the table and tell stories and laugh. My fondest hope is that it won't be another 30 years before I see them again!

Coming home that night, I was swinging on a star, and I guess Joe-Henry was a big help to my sister, because as you can see, Isaac pooped out before his mom came to get him!

We made the drive back the next day, taking our time stopping to stretch and take in the charms of the small farm towns along the way, marveling at the changes in the scenery, what with the wind turbines and the millions of wineries populating what used to be miles and miles of nothing.

But the best part of going away is always coming home, and my husband, who should win some sort of prize just for being a sexy kilt-wearing beast, surprised me by painting the dining room while we were gone. He had two whole days to himself, and he chose one of those days to do something he knew would make me smile. I love that man to the moon and back again.

And now the countdown to our next trip begins. Less than a month to go, then SCOTLAND! My traveling shoes are so happy.

O Captain, My Captain.

2009-09-05T10:59:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, JH was trying his best to entertain himself while I attempted to file away months worth of crap on my desk. He decided to put on his nice jacket, shirt and tie (which he's nearly outgrown!) and his captains hat, and walk sentry in front of the house with his nerfgun. After he did this for a while, he went to his computer downstairs and just did some typing while he "took orders" from an imaginary leader.

I used a sepia treatment on this one because it was sort of blown out, exposure-wise, but I loved how serious he was. It looks like he's my great-great grandfather who was in the Russian Army.

Eight years old is really, really fun.

Road Trip!

2009-08-28T06:50:00.000-07:00

Heading to my home town with Joe-Henry and my sister today. Charley can't make it because he has to work, but will get two glorious do-nothing quiet days in the house to play guitar and watch entire seasons of Battlestar Galactica.

I love taking the drive, and I love seeing my brother and his daughter and her sweet family.

I'll bring back lots of stories, and pictures I'm sure!

Until then: love your life, sing your song!

things I love

2009-08-22T09:42:00.001-07:00

things I love
Originally uploaded by anniemcq

my boy; his big finger; his thoughtfulness; his feet; his rub-on tattoos; the way he curls up into a little snuggly ball in the morning; the little octagonal window that casts an octagonal beam of light onto our beat to crap wooden floors. My heart is full. To bursting.

That popping sound you hear? Now you know what it is.

Summer 2009 - free association

2009-08-21T14:48:00.000-07:00

baseball
laundry
catch
grass
mowing
broken
trimming
raspberries
eating
tomatoes
blackberries
baking
cobbler
cats
crazy
iCarly
boredom
Wii
friends
grief
beauty
sunsets
pink
gold
breathtaking
camera
snap
whir
satisfaction
sex
laughter
tears
gratitude
happiness

aging
perfection
love

Our Summer of Baseball

2009-08-17T08:07:00.000-07:00

The song is "Pop Fly" by Justin Roberts

Heaven's New Guitar

2009-08-13T19:03:00.000-07:00

This was in 2006 when he was 91. Thanks, Les. You changed the world of music, and we are richer for it.

You MUST Check Out This Blog

2009-08-13T08:17:00.000-07:00

Last night at baseball practice, a mom friend mentioned this blog. It's by a local mom, one I see every day at the school I work at. I LOVE this blog. During these tough times, when stress seems to be a constant companion, it's a gift to see someone looking at the brightside. I'll be visiting daily:

See for yourself

Taking It Literally

2009-08-05T07:55:00.000-07:00

The title of my blog, that is. Man, I've been lazy about posting. Probably because I'm too ~~addicted~~ busy playing Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook. But it's been down since yesterday, so, hey, why not catch you up on the ~~insanity~~ fun here at our house.

Joe-Henry is growing like a weed. A sassy, lazy, back-talking, mood-swinging weed. With gas. I could set my clock by the tantrums he's having. Every day at 5. Whether he's had a day chock full of playdates and fun or he's bored out of his mind. I'm finally catching on that I need to give him a really good snack at 3:30. So his stomach isn't empty for the knock out drops.
He has trouble falling asleep at night, and it's the only time of the day he really wants to talk to me. "mom, wasn't that funny when...." Needless to say, I've been falling asleep on my feet. I miss the newborn days when he cried every hour on the hour, because then I could just pop him on the boob and he'd quiet down and go back to sleep.

Yesterday, I finally met his elusive "girlfriend". I call her elusive because we've been trying to set up playdates that she doesn't show up for. We managed to bring her over to our house yesterday, where she immediately wanted to take him into his room and shut the door. She's six. AND adorable. So, I told them they needed to keep the door open, and while they played in his room, I found it a convenient time to scrape all the caulk from the adjacent bathroom tub. A job I'd been meaning to do, and it's easy to listen in and make sure there's no funny business. But apparently I wasn't hawk-like enough, because JH informed me that there was a kiss, "but just on the cheek". He cannot lie to me, though, because as the words came out of his mouth, his eyes fell to his shoes and he melted into a puddle of goo. "OKAY. It was the lips, but really quick. Not a long kiss. I hardly felt it."

I was really hoping this wouldn't happen until his teenage years.

Anyway, I took a picture and would post it here if he hadn't been explicit in his instructions "OKAY. You can take our picture, but DON'T POST IT ON YOUR BLOG." I will leave you with this visual description: she's a full head shorter than him, she's beaming like a blushing bride, she has her arms around his waist, and he looks like he's about to burst from happiness. Oh, and he also looks about 30.

What else: Charley is continuing to plan like a demon for our Scotland trip in the fall. I have been looking up primary schools in Edindburgh in order to have a class project exchange for JH's third grade class. It should be the trip of a lifetime.

Swimming lessons go along with JH thrashing like he's mad at the water, baseball is a blast (the one shiny bright spot right now for all of us!), and the weather has blessedly cooled down. For about a week it felt like someone left the door to hell wide open. It was in the 90's at night, and we have no airconditioning. You aren't supposed to need it in the Pacific Northwest.

So,that's about all she wrote for now. If you're still reading, I imagine you're yawning from boredom, and I'm starting to twitch, so I'm gonna head over to Facebook and see if Bejeweled Blitz is up and running yet.

Nope. Still down.

Well, I guess I could always do laundry or dishes. MWAH to you all! I'm off to make more scintillating memories!

Dear Sweet Baby Jesus, It's Hot

2009-07-27T22:55:00.001-07:00

Triple digits. No air conditioning. Visiting in-laws, who I worry are miserable and wilting in the heat. Trying to figure out how to rectify it.

But... but still there is magic. We went to a Mariners game yesterday in Seattle. It was hot, but our seats were amazing, and in the shade and breezy, and even though the Mariner's played horribly, Joe-Henry, they had a Mariner's jersey giveaway for the kids (sweet!), Joe-Henry got to have cotton candy, and the kids got to run the bases after the game, and we had a great time.

After that we headed to Charley's cousin Sam's house for a mini family reunion. It was amazing - their home is so beautiful and homey, and sitting in their backyard chatting was so relaxed. Some of them we hadn't seen in years, and some I'd never met. Stories told of childhood memories, while our children made memories of their own. Just an incredibly special time.

A bit of sight seeing in Seattle today before we came home to the hottest house on the planet. (Have I mentioned that it's hot here? )

Tomorrow is sort of a relaxed day - JH has swimming lessons, and then tomorrow night we're supposed to go to a Portland Beaver's game, where we have really good seats in the setting sun, where I'm sure we'll be slow roasted like spinning pigs on a spit, but then WEDNESDAY, we go to Astoria, OR, my favorite seaside town in the Northwest to cool off for the day. Wheeeeee.

Then my in-laws will head out on Thursday. At which point the heat spell is supposed to break. I'm sorry, Mom and Dad. If it's not too cold here when you come, it's too hot. I promise we don't arrange it that way on purpose.

Summer Memories

2009-07-21T06:37:00.000-07:00

At bedtime the other night I was telling Joe-Henry about things I did during the summer when I was a kid. Every summer we'd go to my Aunt & Uncle's cabin at Hayden Lake, ID. It was a one room affair, with beds stashed in the corner, a sink for doing dishes, a pot bellied stove for warmth (an electric range for cooking), and an outhouse. No shower, no phone, a teeny black and white tv that got crappy reception, and every few days we'd drive to get drinking water from a freshwater spring. (The running water for dishes was pumped directly from the lake) At night, I'd fall asleep on the couch, listening to the adults playing poker and laughing at the crazy names they came up with for each new hand. During the day, we'd swim in the lake, get out on the dock and warm up, and get back in the water again. All day long. If it was too cool or too early to swim, I'd hike around the property (by myself!), or walk the dirt road to my other Aunt & Uncles' cabin half a mile away. At lunch time we'd come up and eat tuna sandwiches and Ruffles potato chips on the porch (there were two, which could both be used for accommodating extra sleepers) and listen to the radio. I remember this song playing a lot one summer, and every time it gets uncomfortably hot, I play this song and remember a time when the heat didn't make me crabby.

Small Town America

2009-07-19T09:36:00.000-07:00

Growing up in a small town, there were things I couldn't wait to shake off when I left. The gossip for one. I hated the feeling that people just didn't have anything better to do than talk about everyone else. The conformity for another - the most important thing to be was just like everyone else. The older I got, though, I realized that those things happen in the city, too, just on a bigger scale.

So now I'm a grown-up, and by some circuitous route, I wound up back in a small town. I loved the big city, I miss the big city - the pace, the culture, the friends I made there. But I've fallen for the charms of this little burg we call home. I've got some wonderful family here, and friends that I love, and my son is enjoying the charms of a small town - riding his bike around town, playing baseball, and excelling at a public school where everyone knows his name (and not because he's in trouble!).

Yesterday was one of those perfect days. There was a baseball game, first of all.

He's been playing machine pitch baseball this summer and LOVES it. The first three games there are no outs, they don't keep score, and they keep pitching until the kids get a hit. The coaching staff is fantastic, and the emphasis is on learning, teamwork, and most of all, having FUN. It was the second game yesterday, and the thing I love most about watching these kids is that they are all heart. They cheer for each other from their toes, and it's magic to see the looks on their faces when they get a hit, or catch a ball. The field staff always acknowledge a job well done, a good effort and encourage them when they are struggling.

After the game, there was a nap on a big bed by a breezy window, and then we hopped into a car loaded with instruments and headed for Pop Culture, our little mainstreet soda shop hang out for an open mic.

Joe-Henry hasn't performed at an open mic by himself in almost three years. He's going through a serious perfectionist streak, and it's breaking my heart. But he decided he wanted to perform on his yamaha electric piano. He practiced some songs he composed, and he killed. He had his own cheering section - my brother and his girlfriend came, as did two of our good friends. A kid couldn't feel more supported. But it was the rest of the crowd, the ones he didn't know that really made him feel proud. It was a pretty eclectic group of musicians and they all cheered and high-fived him, and his smile couldn't have been bigger when he was done.

Charley performed two of his original songs, too. His songwriting and performing skills are so amazing, and I love hearing him in front of a crowd.

Afterward we stepped outside to see our little mainstreet packed with people watching beautiful vintage cars "cruising the gut".

It was a step back in time, and it made me remember and appreciate all the truly GREAT things about growing up in a small town.

Hello, I Must Be Growing Now

2009-07-16T06:09:00.000-07:00

Well, it finally feels like summer here. The temperature is heating up after a lovely, cool, breezy June & early July; swimming lessons & baseball practice have begun; the berries are ripe. And my son is either a) exhausted, b) sobbing, c) screaming, d) hungry, e) bored, f) growing like crazy so all of the above. He is also incredibly sweet and snuggly at times, like this morning. This morning at 3:00. Until 4:20.

Seriously, sometimes I think there must be something wrong with the way I'm parenting. Surely other parents don't have to deal with such an argumentative child when telling them to turn off the tvcomputerWii? Surely other children are eager to help around the house and takeouttherecyclingmaketheirbedpickuptheirtoyscleanoutthecatlitter? Surely these children would be thrilled to playa game or go to a movie and not just want to layhereandwatchtv? (Yes, I'm being facetious. I know other parents go through this.) I feel like if I look closely, I can see everything he's learned melting out through his ears.

But oh, when I step back! I can take in how HUGE he is. His legs are SO long. Which makes me laugh, because my husband and I are not known for our supermodel gams. He has our short-ish torso on top of these STILTS. He doesn't have any growing pains, but his KT leg is giving him more fits than usual, getting tired and heavy. I know that it drags him down at times, but I also know he will use it as an excuse if he doesn't want to do something. Going to the grocery store?! "Mom, my leg gets too tired! I can't!" But he can manage to stand in the outfield playing baseball for an hour and a half just fine.

It doesn't help that he has developed a crazy sweet tooth. Not that I let him have all the sugar he wants - I'm no fool. I know that pouring sugar down his throat when he is going through these growth spurts is the equivalent of pouring a tanker of gasoline on a campfire.

Yesterday, I think I saw the worst of it. It started in the usual way: time to get off the Wii. It's a lesson you'd think he'd have learned - he had to go 5 days without Wii, computer and tv because he was disrespectful and not listening when I told him to stop. He'd been on for over an hour, he was turning into a robot. When I gave him 5 minutes to finish his game and told him to come outside with me and read a book, he went sort of nuts. "MOM - there are BEES out there. WASPS!!! I'm NOT going out there". When he made it outside, he cried like crazy. When we came inside, he cried even more - screaming, yelling, SOBBING. I walked away to the dining room, where I tried to gather myself, stacking the mail, trying to breathe. Charley called, and when I tried to tell him what was going on, he said he'd let me go so I could deal with it. I misunderstood - I thought he was giving me the brushoff instead of actually letting me go so I could deal with it. It was my last straw. As I stood there stacking mail, and JH continued to yell at me from his chair in the living room, I said "I quit". As I turned to head downstairs for some peace and quiety, JH turned up the volume, and the sobbing started in earnest. "MOM!!! I LOVE YOU - YOU CAN'T QUIT! YOU'RE THE BEST MOM EVER!"

You know, that shitty parenting sundae just isn't complete until you top it off with a nice, juicy guilt cherry.

But lest you think I'm wallowing, don't worry. I think we're through the worst of it. We actually had a great afternoon after all the sturm and drang. I think maybe he just needed to let it out. He hasn't really cried like that in a long time. And I've noticed since our friend Annie's memorial service, he's been extra clingy, so I think, in addition to all the crazy growing he's doing, he's processing some pretty huge emotions as well. We all are.

Daddy's off today, so JH will get some quality time with him while I go to work this morning. And hopefully, he'll sleep in. So far, so good.

transformation

2009-07-11T19:43:00.001-07:00

In Flight I
Originally uploaded by anniemcq

Stay
open
to
seeing.

Because,
oh,
what
you
will
see.

for dayna

Strictly Ballroom

2009-07-10T10:49:00.001-07:00

For Robin. Have a great day, my friend.

Cheers!

Raspberry Chapeau

2009-07-07T15:05:00.001-07:00

Raspberry Chapeau
Originally uploaded by anniemcq

it's summer. the raspberries are huge. also, I'm going a little nutty.

The Results Are In...

2009-07-03T10:37:00.000-07:00

I love it. It's totally wash and wear, although Brittney did use a curling iron on three pieces on top that are stick straight, but I can handle that.

She's phenomenal that Brittney. If you are in the Portland area, give her a jingle at Parkwest Studio.

A New Me

2009-07-02T09:14:00.000-07:00

Ladies and Gentlemen. I am bored with my hair. I'm bored with my shlumpy body. Yawnyawnyawn. So the first thing I'm going to do when I get my ass up out of this chair is take a shower and go pick raspberries. And ride my bike. And workout with a superhunky personal trainer. In my mind.

But first, I need your opinion. It matters to me. I'm getting a hair cut tomorrow. I always go in and give her sort of a vague description of what I want, and she always does a great job. Honestly, she makes me look better than I should. Or actually do. Then when I get home, it all goes to hell. And I'm yearning, as I always do this time of year, for something short and easy to care for. Something I could just run my fingers through and be done with. The cut I have now is a really good cut, and when I leave the salon, it looks fantastic because she actually styles it. With a flat iron and everything. But here's the thing: I have a great natural wave in my hair and I NEVER use the flat iron. Well, maybe I'll use it twice in between haircuts.

And the thing I've noticed is that my hair texture has changed. It's straighter and heavier on top (meaning flat) and wavy on the bottom. Kind of like my body shape. Also, I've got jowls now. I'm really hoping that someday soon, jowls will be in fashion. Like super-puffy collagen lips. I fear, though, that it won't happen.

I"M TRYING TO AGE GRACEFULLY, I REALLY AM. IT'S NOT WORKING. So help a girl out. Help me pick a hair style. I don't know how to put a poll on my blog, so just leave your comment and I'll do the math myself. MWAH. You are all such lovely, beautiful, young people.

Here's me now: notice the gigantic forehead. The angle really detracts from the jowls, but look at the lovely EYEBAGS! And yes, I know, a haircut cannot do anything to take away those eyebags. but still....

We'll call this one A.

So here are some other options:
Option B. This pert and adorable Meg Ryan do.

Option C. Lithe & Lovely Mandy Moore hair

Option D. Spunky Martina McBride

Option E No One I Know

Option F No One I Know 2

Our last hope, uh, option G

OH!, and if you have a minute you should run over to my friend Robin's blog, because not only is she an amazing writer, she has super cute hair, but I'd be afraid to go that short, so just go and read her blog because she's a lovely person and an amazing writer!

If you have more important things to do with your time, I understand, but you SHOULD REALLY TRY TO CONSIDER THIS BECAUSE I'M GETTING MY HAIR CUT TOMORROW MORNING AT 9:00.

Big hairy love to all of you.

Summer. It's official.

2009-06-28T16:00:00.000-07:00

Do you remember when you were a kid, and summer days went on forever? There wasn't a time to wake up or go to sleep and days unfolded with a delicious, lazy richness? That's how our last couple days have gone. Charley was off yesterday and wanted to paint one of his kilts. He had a serious wild hair, wanting to have everyone in the family contribute to it, making up a sort of family tartan. I couldn't really picture it, but I trusted his idea and went along for the ride. It was a balmy, breezy eighty some-thing degree day, and we had a blast being all crafty. You can see the results of it here.

Then we needed to catch a bite to eat, so we hopped in the car and headed for our favorite local burger joint, Burgerville, and there, standing in line was my brother! He'd taken a bike ride and was going to call us but had forgotten his cell phone.

So we convinced him to ride down to our picnic spot: across from Pearson Air Field.

It was a gorgeous summer evening, and there was a run going on,

so we ate our burgers and then cheered on those who were chugging along in the heat.

Charley headed back to work today, and JH has a friend over for a playdate/sleepover. I was cleaning out my closet, when I happened to look out the window at our garden. The raspberry bush looked like it was on fire, there was so much fruit!

So after I snapped a few pics, I grabbed a bowl and filled it up with a bumper crop of ripe, juicy raspberries.

Now, I guess it's back to the bedroom to finish the project I started. But I just had to share. If you ever happen to make it to Vancouver, USA, meet me here,

and we'll have a picnic! I'll bring the raspberries!

The Farm Boy

2009-06-25T07:46:00.001-07:00

The Farm Boy
Originally uploaded by anniemcq

road trip. road food. smackdab in between Vancouver, WA (where we are) and Seattle, WA. It's right off I-5 in Littlerock, WA. The atmosphere is authentic 70's chic, with posters of kittens and a mural of some foresty looking place. There's a giant American Flag flying outside, and inside you'll see locals having lunch. They could be props in their John Deere caps and overalls, but I'm pretty sure they're just hungry guys who work really hard and then reward themselves with a handformed burger and honesttogod milkshake.

It's the real deal. And if I didn't have such great friends in Seattle, I'd come up with other reasons to take the trip, just so's we could stop here for lunch on the way.

Happy Father's Day 2009

2009-06-21T10:27:00.000-07:00

Love you madly, sweetheart. You're the best Dad our boy could ever have.

Love You All

2009-06-13T21:30:00.000-07:00

Thank you all for your kind words. It helps so much to know that there is such goodness in the world. I'm so grateful to all of you, many of whom are going through so much right now. I was thinking recently that Death is no mystery. It's as certain as Sunrise - even more so. It's LIFE that can be so damned confounding.

I heard this song today on a cd I had burned for Annie to listen to during her chemo treatments, and I thought, that's just the plain truth. We're all in this together. Sometimes we're not that wild about all of our traveling companions through this world, but if we're lucky we meet a few like minded souls who make the trip fly by.

Thank you again for sharing your love, for sending healing thoughts to my friend and her family. I know that it meant a great deal to her.

The Good Fight

2009-06-12T15:53:00.000-07:00

Our amazing, brilliant, beautiful friend Annie passed last night. We were able to see her on Wednesday, to hold her and tell her we love her, and we shared both tears and laughter. She fought this battle with everything she had, and loved her life so much. She was fierce and glorious in her fight to stay with her family.

She had so many gifts - she was a talented actress; a generous, wise friend; a homeopathic physician; a loving wife to her partner Anita; a caring, devoted daughter and sister, and one of the best moms I've ever met.

I'm so grateful to have known her. And I'm so thankful her weary body is finally done with the pain.

My throat is tight with tears that can't come right now. I want to cry. I need to. I just don't think I can wrap my brain around the bigness of this loss.

As Anita said to Charley recently, "Love is all".

Accept No Substitutes.

2009-06-09T06:07:00.000-07:00

Well, there are actually one or two substitutes who have worked in our room who are really, really good. But this past week has seen two subs who should just do something else entirely.

Let me start by saying that the room I'm working in is a zoo. Loud noises, crying, and things can get physical when someone escalates. And that's just the other staff members! Ba-dump-bump. But seriously folks...

Most of the kids I work with have an autism diagnosis. Many of them are non-verbal (but very vocal!), some of them are very verbal and therein lies THAT particular challenge, and all of them get frustrated with their challenges. Can you imagine trying to communicate something as simple as "I need to pee" or "I'm thirsty" and not having anyone understand? Not to mention "Man, I wish you'd just SHUT UP AND STOP BOSSING ME AROUND!"

Many of our kids work with one person only, some are in small groups, and a couple spend some time in general ed every day. So here's the math: there are fifteen kids + twelve staff assistants + two teachers = a daily dose of "what's gonna happen next?!" But for all the chaos, there is such a level of commitment and trust and we're-all-in-this-togetherness that going to work every day is a gift. Sometimes, I won't lie, it takes more than coffee to get my ass out the door and in to work. No, I don't put anything IN my coffee, I mean I have to give myself a pep talk. But most of the time, it's a joy to walk into the school and greet our kids and see the faces of the amazing staff that I work with.

This past spring has been more challenging than ever, though. One of our two amazing teachers is on maternity leave, so we have a long-term substitute (who is amazing) AND a student teacher, who has had to learn things so quickly on her feet, not just about teaching kids with lots of challenges, but about managing and juggling a staff as huge as ours. It is no easy task, and I don't think there is another program in our district as large as ours. Our other teacher has stepped back a great deal to let the student teacher have at it, and most of the time it goes smoothly, but there are days when it's just a clusterf*ck. People snip at each other, nerves are frayed and everyone is so ready to put this year to bed and get back to normal.

On Friday, we had four staff out. FOUR. On the same day. Luckily, we got three substitutes. I say luckily with great amazement and a slight tinge of sarcasm, because finding subs who will work in our room is not the easiest thing in the world, but trickier still is finding subs that we will allow to come back. Our checklist of do's and dont's is long and strange:
Do be quick on your feet.
Don't wear a dress and heels. Or anything you care about getting dirty or torn.
Do have a good sense of humor.
Don't wear too much perfume.
Do ask questions of other staff.
Don't ask questions of other staff when they are running down the hallway after a student.

The list goes on, and luckily we actually do have a few subs that we are always happy to see. They meet all the above criteria and more. In fact it's more likely that we will get the good than the bad. But in the last two working days we have seen two for the record books.

On Friday, one of the subs fell asleep. On her feet. While nearly two dozen people sang and danced around her. I'm not making this up. All the staff silently looked at one another with alarm on our faces, worried that she might topple over at any moment. Apparently she was on medication. So here's another for our list:

Do not take medication that makes you fall asleep on the job.

And yesterday we had a substitute who didn't meet the most basic criteria:
Do have a heart.
After silently following her student all morning (a student, I will add, that is easy and fun), she announced at the lunch table in the cafeteria that she was leaving at lunch time because she was told the job was learning support, and she NEVER would have accepted it if she'd known she had to work with "THIS classroom." The words came out with such disdain, I'm surprise she didn't spit on someone. One of my co-workers told her "well you should leave now, then. Not everyone has what it takes to work with these kids."

And don't let the door hit you on the way out. Bitch. Her loss.

My co-workers are the most amazing group of people, and the kids we work with are full of so much heart and courage, it is an honor to go there every day. Even on the hard days. Especially on the hard days.

UPDATE 6/9/09:
As I walked into school today, I saw Sleepy (as she has come to be known in my head) walking out with an orange safety vest and flag. SHE WAS BACK subbing in another part of the school, where I'm told, she sharpened pencils and did nothing else.

Except draw a paycheck.

THAT IS WRONG.

A Good Life

2009-06-07T10:02:00.000-07:00

Our dear friend Annie has been moved to Bailey Boushay house in Seattle for palliative care. They are doing their utmost to keep her pain under control, and to love and uphold her and her family during this time.

We so want to be with them, but physically that may not be possible. We don't want to intrude on this precious time, but we are with them in our every breath and thought.

I've been thinking about this recently. I've been feeling overwhelmed with love for this life of mine. It's not perfect, it's not what I expected, it's sometimes challenging or annoying. But it's the only one I have and it's beautiful to me.

Here are my essentials: I have good people around me. People I love. People who are as imperfect as I am, but who attempt every day to do their best, to give the world the love that is inside them. To channel goodness, to laugh at the way the world sometimes works, to challenge untruth and to let go of the rest. I love them with everything I have.

I have good strong love to give. I do my best to give it freely, without condition. I don't always succeed. Sometimes I am judgmental and I mutter in my soul. And in my car. I am working on this.

I have work that I love. The people I work with are challenged in many ways. They may not be able to process or communicate the way the rest of the world does, but there is so much light in their eyes and hearts, and I'm honored to be with them.

I have the most amazing family. The family I was born to, and the family I have chosen. My brothers and sister are dearer to me with every day that passes. My love for my husband goes so deep and we are so connected. I am grateful to have this life with him. It's not perfect, but it's the imperfections that make me treasure him and our marriage all the more.

My son. I look at him now and wonder how we wound up with him. He's listening to headbanging rock music and he loves hockey and he's sometimes sassy and disobedient and lazy. He's also kind and brave and silly and beautiful and whipsmart and wiser than most forty year old people I know. He's only eight. I treasure seeing his darkness as well as his light. I honor who he is, and realize my hopes for him need only be these: that he is as happy in his life, that he is a good, kind person, and that he contributes his best self to the world. Of this last, I have no doubt that he will.

My goal is to see just some of it come to fruition. I have no idea what the future holds, or if I will meet that goal. But I know in my heart that he carries my love for him like a force and a shield, and I believe that is the best thing I have ever done with my life.

heartbroken

2009-06-06T12:22:00.000-07:00

I don't even know where to begin. My friend Annie has been moved to hospice. Please keep her and her beautiful family in your thoughts and prayers.

Pretty things

2009-05-31T13:02:00.001-07:00

Quatro Stagione by Alessandra Baldereschi for Skitsch
Originally uploaded by b.fichtner

I want these cabinets.

And this chair:

And this cabinet:

All seen here this morning.

UP

2009-05-30T06:13:00.000-07:00

I've never reviewed a movie here, mostly because I think seeing art is such a subjective experience, and I don't take my opinion that seriously so why should anyone else.

Well, I'm making an exception for UP. Because I think it is the best movie of all time. It is certainly the best Disney/Pixar film ever, and that's saying something. It seems that with each film, they just get better and better and better, and with Up, they have exceeded all expectation.

When I saw the previews, I thought it was cute and visually appealing. The previews will draw people in, no doubt. The idea of a house being carried aloft by thousands of helium balloons is so whimsical, so much fun to think about, you have to go see it just for that. And the visuals don't disappoint. It's eye candy from beginning to end.

But the thing that Disney/Pixar excels at, though, in my humble opinion, is the heart of the story. Remember Jessie's musical montage in Toy Story 2? The basic human story line of The Incredibles? Wall*E when he first sees Eve? Somehow they take animated characters, most not even human, and hook us in the heart and make us cheer and cry and RELATE in ways that so many other films just can't.

"Up" does all of that to the nth degree. First of all, it's one of the few films of theirs that has humans as the central characters (the only other being "The Incredibles" and they were superheroes). As adorable and irascible as Carl seems in the previews, it truly doesn't do justice to the character. What you don't see in the previews is the backstory. It feels ridiculous calling it that, because it never feels like it's "back". It is ever present in every moment of the film - the REASON this person does what he does. It is so rich and so full and so beautifully told, that you by the end of the film it is so hard to say goodbye to these characters, these people you've come to know. You want to hug them, congratulate them for a job well done, and wish them well. And make them promise to send you a postcard the next time they go on an adventure.

I need to say one last thing: This is not a film you need be a parent to see. If you must, take some kiddos if you feel it's the only thing that legitimates your attending an "animated" film. But if you're a parent and your children are tinys? And you will spend a lot of time shhhshing and going to the bathroom and explaining? Give yourself this treat: see it with your honey first. Go on a date. Hold hands. Snuggle up. Or go with your best friend. Or by yourself. Just GO!

And take some tissues.

Goodnight

2009-05-29T06:35:00.001-07:00

Goodnight
Originally uploaded by anniemcq

Last night, laying on JH's bed, talking about his day, when we looked out the window and caught this magnificent streak in the sky. By the time I grabbed my camera ("what are you waiting for, Mom?!"), a tiny jet had joined it in making a pretty show.

Lullabye

Goodnight, goodnight,
Sweet baby
The world has more for you
Than it seems
Goodnight, goodnight
Let the moonlight take the lid
Off your dreams
We took a small flight
in the middle of the night
From one tiny place
To another
And my parents they remain
At the shack with Lorraine
And my aunt and my grandpa
And brother

We walked past the tarmac
And boarded the craft
The rain had me chilled to the bones
Just the three of us
Took flight that night
Uncle Richard, me,
And James Earl Jones

And the pilot
He gave me a blanket
And the tall dark man
Sang to me in deep rich tones

Goodnight, goodnight
Sweet baby
The world has more for you
Than it seems
Goodnight, goodnight
Let the moonlight take the lid
Off your dreams

Ben Folds

Family Gatherings & Falling On My Head

2009-05-28T17:15:00.000-07:00

Two things that don't have anything to do with one another. Luckily. Because had I fallen on my head at a family gathering, as much as they love me, I'm sure it would be hard to live down!

Actually, the family that gathered on Saturday was not even my own family! I was honored by my friend Shannon to take pictures of her family gathering. She and her siblings threw a surprise birthday party for her fabulous mom, and it was one of those events that you just pinch yourself because you can't believe you get to hang with these people. So much talent, so much love and in such a gorgeous location. The birthday guest of honor was feted in song and poetry, toasted and only slightly roasted, because she is completely beloved. Family came from all over the country to surprise her, and I got the feeling that she was more than just a bit surprised. There was fantastic food and a live marimba band and a view of the lake. Sigh. Perfection. Here are just a few of the bazillion photos that I took.

On Sunday, I had some of my own lovely family over for a barbecue, and there was much playing of hoops. A couple days before, Charley had picked up a full-sized hoop that we'd gotten on Craigslist. Many games of horse, and just shooting and dribbling seemed to keep the party hopping. I was too busy running the grill, because Charley had to work, so I just got to hear the happy shouts from the driveway whilst I turned the chicken. It was so lovely to just hang in the back yard. The weather was gorgeously perfect, with enough breeze to keep it cool.

On Tuesday evening, after piano lessons, after dinner, we were hanging out in the back yard, and Charley & I were entertaining JH with our hoops prowess, when I tripped over the base of the hoop and fell with such force it's a wonder I'm able to write this. I have NEVER fallen like that, and I never want to again. I braced myself by putting my hands out, landing on my left knee, my hands sending a shock up my arms and cracking my neck so loudly in my head I saw stars, with my head following through and planting itself fully on our cedar fence. I didn't move, or rather I couldn't move for a good 20 seconds. I could see JH's ashen face from my spot on the ground, and for a moment I thought: I'm paralyzed. This is it. But then my hands started to tingle and I could move my legs, so with Charley's help, I twisted my body back into alignment and slowly got up. My hands were the only thing to hurt for two days. They tingled, like tiny needles were sticking into the tops of my hands and under my fingernails. I've been icing and dosing up on ibuprofen for a couple days, and I'm happy to report that I finally hurt in the places I'm supposed to. My knee aches, my neck is tender, my head is sore (and sporting a really cool scab on my forehead) and the only thing hurting on my hands are my thumbs. Oh, and my dignity is a little ouchie as well. But my nerves are sort of back to normal. For at least a day I was worried that if I turned my head the wrong way I would fall down.

I didn't make it to the doctors office, but I did call a good friend who is a nurse. She's been checking up on my the last day or two, and I think honestly that I'm fine now.

But that row along the fence where I was going to plant tomatoes? I'm planting pillows instead.

OH! And I completely forgot to tell you: I'm meeting the first grade floozy that has been trying to talk my son into kissing. Tomorrow at 3:30 at the park. Both Charley and I are going. All I can say is she better not try any funny business with me around!

They Grow Up So Fast. But This is Ridiculous.

2009-05-20T19:10:00.000-07:00

I was planning on writing this blog post, in say, four years. When I'm ready for it. But my boy is not going by my timetable, and I am having to bring my A game way early, and I'M NOT READY FOR IT.

It's been happening in fits and starts this year: "A. was kissing M. in the boy's bathroom". "A" is the delinquent that lives down the street that JH occasionally played with until I decided he wasn't the kind of kid I want him hanging around with and I'm the mom so there. So we talked about how inappropriate it is to kiss a) at school, and b) in second grade and c) the bathroom is just tacky. I didn't say anything to the teacher at the time, because "A" is full of baloney and I didn't really believe it.

Then JH developed a huge crush on a girl in his class. I know her mom (he goes to their house once a week after school while I work late), and they're pretty straight arrows, so I just sort of listened while he pined about how pretty she was and how she didn't like him and bossed him around. He said he really wanted to kiss her and marry her someday. I said "well, someday, when you're older..." and left it at that.

A few weeks ago, he started talking about a little girl in first grade. She was new to the school, and took a shine to Joe-Henry. She followed him around every recess, and he talks about her all the time now. Today when I picked him up after my late work day, as soon as I started the car and pulled away from the curb, he declared from the backseat, "Mom, "J" says she wants to be my girlfriend, and that I am her boyfriend. I really want to kiss her, so I'm going to, I don't care what you say!"

Ahem.

And, I'm breathing, innnnnn annnnnd ooouuuuttt, slowly, evenly, while my eyes get all blurry and I struggle to keep looking straight ahead with my hands on the steering wheel.

"No, that's not okay, Joe-Henry. You are both too young. Kissing is not okay in second grade. She can be your friend, you can play with her, but no boyfriend-girlfriend stuff until you're older."

A tantrum ensues, and I wait to re-engage until we get home, and I can sit calmly and look him in the eye. So I encourage him to tell me exactly why he wants to be able to kiss her and this is what he says.

"Because Mom, she's really nice to me, and she accepts me, and I want to be able to express myself." Then he started to cry.

That answer, in and of itself is brilliant, and I'm grateful for my son's soul and intelligence. But second grade is still too young. While he was doing his homework, I said "We'll talk to dad about this later and see what his take on it is." Not to pawn the issue off on Charley, but I know JH is doing a better job of listening to his dad right now. And this is something that we need to take on as a team. He finally said "so how old do I have to be to kiss a girl?" "At least 13 or 14" is what my lips said, but my brain is thinking even two years older than that, but I'm just trying to put out this immediate fire, so there you go.

I told him he could give this girl his phone number and she could call and we could set up a playdate at the park.

But there will be no kissing.

And I'm emailing the teacher tonight.

5/21/09 UPDATE: Charley came home last night in time to tuck him in with me. They chatted, Charley listened and when he spoke he was brilliant and sweet and perfect. He handled it so well, and gave me the backup I needed, but in a way that made JH feel validated. I love this man of mine. I love these men of mine.

raindrops & spider threads II

2009-05-19T06:39:00.001-07:00

raindrops & spider threads II
Originally uploaded by anniemcq

my garden has been calling me out with my camera first thing the last two mornings. My neighbors think I'm a little off. This was taken while wearing blue polka dot pjs, sitting on the rain wet ground with my camera.

It feels so good to start the day this way.

What Happens In Dallas, Stays In Dallas

2009-05-11T06:24:00.000-07:00

I kid. Of course I'm going to tell you all about it.

I had some anxiety last week before going, but not enough to keep me home. I hadn't given going there a second thought. I knew I would have fun, I knew these women would be amazing, and I knew that for me, the joy was in the adventure itself. I was just nervous.

First of all, "The Posse" is just an incredible group of women, who are as lovely and complex as they seem to be. They are all deep wells of goodness, and together they are a force. And many of them: much taller than I am. Except for Debbie. Who I think might be taller than she was this weekend, but she was just so gracious that she stayed lower to the ground for me.

I hadn't even taken off before Charley called and told me that I had left the iPhone charger and my stash of Excedrin Migraine, tylenol, vitamins and my "medicine" on the bed. They must have fallen out of my bag when I was packing the last bit.

No problem, I wouldn't need them, right? I could probably borrow a charger from Amy, and I wouldn't need the pills. I'd be just fine. Right?

The first thing we did was go to the home of the lovely Jennie, who welcomed me so sweetly, and showed me her home, pictures of her sweet angel Allie and introduced me to her adorable little sprite Maggie, as well as most of the rest of the gang. Plus husbands. Plus kids. It was love at first sight - here were all these women that I had "known" from their blogs, and we picked up pretty easily. We had burgers and beer, and Debbie's husband Brandon fixed us some sort of crazy concoction called a chocolate covered cherry. After that some of us went to a place called "Happy Feet", where we met up withTracey, Jen & Megan, who couldn't come to Jennie's. This place is sort of the stuff of legends. And maybe some happy endings, if you play your cards right. Which I didn't. They just beat the shit out of my feet and my back (apparently the reason your feet are so happy is because after your alloted time is up, they stop.) It did feel good, in a masochistic sort of way. And I'm sure the giant bruise on my lower back will go away eventually.

We headed home soon after that, and I guess I didn't drink enough water, because I woke up with a migraine. Amy's husband Trey, who might now be one of my favorite people ever, went, with three kids in pjs to get coffee and muffins before I rolled out of bed. I had a few sips of coffee, then wrangled an advil from Trey. Five minutes later, I horked. And do you know the best thing about that? I didn't even for a second feel awkward about throwing up in the bathroom of someone's house that I'd met less than twentyfour hours before. After I woke up, I got to spend some time with Amy's kids, all three of them just scrumptious little people.

There was a Mother Daughter tea benefiting Jennie's Heroes For Children that afternoon, but I needed a little alone time. And I didn't have anything to wear.

Mostly though, I wanted to stay true to my original purpose: to see what it feels like to navigate in a new city all by myself. So I took myself to the Dallas Museum of Art, and my favorite - The Nasher Sculpture Center. It was soooo serene and lovely, and there were so many wonderful, interesting things to see there.

Then it was back to Amy's to get ready for a girl's night out with the Posse. We headed over to Jen's house, where the menfolk looked after what seemed like a hundred kids, all of whom were beautiful, and full of laughter and light. With most of the girls gathered, we headed out to... I don't even remember the name of the place we went, but I know it had the word "Cuba" in it, and the food was fantastic and the margarita I had was sooo yummy, and the giggles were plenty. After that, we went to another bar, and it became pretty clear to me that my years of partying this hard were behind me. And I had to be up at 5:00, and they were going dancing, and I was very, very short. If I tried to keep up with these girls, my neck would be killing me from looking up all night. Debbie & Deanna graciously drove me back to Amy's, where I packed my bag, and charged the iPhone on a borrowed charger, and got ready to turn around and come home.

I snuck out before daylight, missing these new friends before I had even pulled out of the driveway.

It was mostly an uneventful flight home, and with every minute that passed, I got more and more excited to see my sweet boys. They were there to meet me, Charley freshly shaved and kilted, and JH beaming from ear to ear as he hid the Mother's Day flowers behind his back. There was much kissing, and laughing and hugging.

It's true what they say about travelling. The best part is coming home again.

To my lovely new friends and their amazing families: Thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping me have my adventure. I so loved meeting each and every one of you. I admire your friendship with one another, and think you are all heroes in your own right. Our door is open if you happen to be heading to the Northwest. Let me know. The coffee will be strong and hot, the beer will be cold, the food will be delish, and the laughs will, no doubt, be plentiful.

Until we meet again.

I Am Game

2009-05-08T05:26:00.001-07:00

When I started blogging, it was as a creative outlet, and also a way to connect. We had just moved to a new town, and the only people I knew were my family. I LOVE my family, but I really missed my mom friends. I missed connecting over coffee or a glass of wine, and sharing tales of woe (or joy) from the parenting trenches, comparing notes. I missed laughing so hard I couldn't breathe.

The blog was pretty lonely at first. And even now, three years later, I'm lucky if I get a few comments on a post. I don't do it for money ("that's what SHE said" ba dump bump), but I feel rich anyway, because I've come to think of the few people who regularly comment here as friends.

This weekend I am going to meet a good portion of you in real life. I'm nervous and giddy and, well, nervous. What if, what if, what if? I'm about to find out, aren't I?

Mostly, I'm just thrilled for the adventure, thankful to my hubby for arranging it all behind my back, and so looking forward to a weekend spent hanging with the Posse, and going out solo on a little adventure of my own.

This is taken from Kari's blog, another friend I've never met, but surely will one day. It's been running through my head for the last two days, and I've come to think of it as my theme song for the upcoming weekend.

Here we go - I am game.

Tough Kid

2009-05-04T07:03:00.001-07:00

The Many Faces of Joe-Henry
Originally uploaded by anniemcq

Joe-Henry has always been a bit of an old soul. He'll spout poetry at the drop of a hat. Not poetry he's learned (although he loves to read poetry), but stuff just comes out of his mouth that makes his Dad and I drop our jaws and rush to write it down. He used to do that with his music, too. He'd make up songs on the guitar with lyrics that went deep, deep, deep (and not just deep "for a kid"), but lately he refuses to pick up an instrument. Except the piano. I force him to practice. But I don't make him pick it up, because that would just be cruel.

Yesterday, we had a few errands to run. First stop was The Barber, because a) I needed a second opinion to find out if he just had crazy bad dandruff, or a fantastic colony of headlice, and b) he needed a cut anyway. On the way there, he BEGGED me for a mohawk. "PLEASE, Mom! I want to look tough! Your rules are stupid!" I told him to chillax, because until we found out if his head were home to the largest infestation of bugs since the dawn of time, his hair was going to stay longish. Luckily, the barber we had gave us the good news that he had cradle cap, and just needed some oil on his scalp, so a hair cut followed. He decided that throwing a big tantrum in front of all the hot ladies at The Barbers (this place deserves an entire post of it's own) was a bad idea, so he said nothing about a mohawk, and instead came out looking like the Joe-Henry I know and love. I realize that the time will come when I have no say about whether or not he gets a mohawk, or dyes his hair, or pierces and gauges every loose flap of flesh on his body, but until then.... Many parents will say that they let their kids do whatever they want to their hair, that it's a battle not worth fighting. I may change my mind at some point, but I don't think he's ready yet for the awesome responsibility of a shitty haircut.

Later, we were at Fred Meyer, buying a few groceries and I was looking around for some pants for him because he's growing so fast his ankles are sticking out of his jeans so far that they could technically be capris. But while we were looking, he spotted some t-shirts with graffiti on them that came with, gulp, skateboards. Not full size skateboards, but big enough to do some damage. He begged, he pleaded, he threw a full size fit: "MOM! I WANT THAT! WHY WON'T YOU LET ME? YOUR RULES - AAAAAGH! I WANT TO BE A TOUGH KID!! TOUGH KIDS HAVE MOHAWKS AND RIDE SKATEBOARDS!" It was one of those tantrums that you realize that no matter what you say, it just needs to run it's course. The time to talk about how special he is? And how throwing a fit is the perfect way to lose privileges? That time is later. Now is the time to ignore him and let him exhaust himself. Which is great for two reasons: 1) it's the right thing to do, and 2) I could pretend he's someone else's kid. I stayed in the area, just to make sure no one would make off with him, because doesn't everyone want an ranting, flailing eight year old? A moment later, he brought the t-shirt with the skateboard to our cart. He had managed to get it down, although I'm not sure how - the display was almost too tall for me to reach. He threw it dramatically in the cart, and I calmly took it out and put it back. He had just about exhausted himself at this point, and he started to cry. In part, because in getting the t-shirt down, the skateboard had bonked him pretty hard on the head, but mostly because he wanted some control over his life.

Two things I've learned from yesterday: Never, ever take him to do errands without feeding him first. Big mistake. The second thing is much harder and more complex. My boy is really struggling with who he is. So much of his syndrome is benign. He is so much better off than others who have it. He's able to walk, he's mostly pain-free. But his feet are really large, he's self-conscious about his birthmark and his fingers, he can't run as fast as other kids in the class, although he tries so, so hard. More than being bothered by his syndrome, though is the fact that he's just incredibly smart and sort of beyond the other kids in his class. I don't say this as a competitive, doting mom. I don't. It's just a fact. He's a really deep well of complexity and he's beyond most of the kids in his class in that regard. And while I know that's a great thing, he can't see it that way. He just wants to be a tough, running, cussing kid who laughs in the face of danger. Or at least at Mom's rules.

I get it, because I wanted to be that way too. For most of my life, I wanted to be someone else. Someone sexier, smarter, taller, faster. Don't we all? But with age comes some kind of acceptance, and at this point in my life I really like who I am. The only thing I'd change is this:

I'd like to be better at helping my kid see what I see in him. Last night at bedtime, he apologized for throwing a tantrum, and when he was going to sleep, as we were talking and our heads were close on the pillow, he said this: "Mom, your sweet face is the home for all my kisses."

Tell me how to make him see the treasure in his good, sweet, brave heart.