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Today He Can Buy Cigarettes and Vote. And Go To War.

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This is Devon, my first born. He was such a knobby-kneed, curly tow-headed baby. He was the light of my life and had my full attention for only about 18 months until his sister turned up, whining for bottles and diapers, which he willingly and happily fetched for her (me).

Devon has a brain in his head that can sometimes be a bit intimidating. He is just sharp, in the boy genius kind of way. Conversations with him and what he thinks are always informative, entertaining and sometimes I even learn a little something. Although I fear he is becoming a Republican, which I’m proud of at the same time because he has a mind all his own and isn’t afraid to use it and own it.

He was always in the advanced classes all going through school and figured out even before middle school that he could exert very little effort and glide by quite easily. The highlights of his schooling so far, to me, are those moments where I saw him really getting excited about something he was learning, because it happened so rarely. But when it did, that spark in his eye was so, so great. He starts to talk with his hands and then his arms and then his whole body, sitting on the couch, threatens to almost shoot up through the ceiling as he explains how some new computer program interacts with something else, which I have no idea what it all means, but frankly, I don’t care. I’m just watching him and loving it.

I home schooled Devon for the first three years of school while we lived over in Germany. His little sister joined us for most of our classes and got the benefit of watching him make an erupting volcano and combining chemicals to create the foulest smells ever to touch anyone’s nose. Ever. We went for walks around the neighborhood and learned German and got to know the Landlady and often went to pet her farm animals while practicing single digit timetables.

And then somewhere around his 5th grade year, my mind started unraveling at an alarming rate and Devon shouldered more responsibility than some adults. By 6th grade he juggled school and housework and babysitting and entertaining his baby brothers while his sister cooked them meals and did laundry. And then some months later I went away for a year or so and when I came back, he was older.

By the time I made it back to San Diego, his dad had moved the family north and it took me about 2 years to find a local job and move closer to him and the other kids. All through that trying time of driving back and forth and frustration, Devon would tell me, ‘It’s small steps, Mom. Each time it gets a little better.’ And he would give me a hug. And later, when I was alone, I would weep because my son had cause for so much wisdom.

Living close these past two years has been wonderful in so many ways but one of the most valued by me is watching him become a man. He’s a good man. Young, yes, but old in so many ways. This past year he’s poked his toe into the social aspects of high school. He’s learned a little about having a crush on a girl and making a best friend with a guy. Both of which he had never felt safe enough to do before. He has excelled in leadership and became the co-editor of the school paper, which he takes very seriously. He’s also got a great sense of humor and cracks my shit up. We’ve always been the best of friends but it’s been only the past few years that I learned how to be a real mom. And he’s let me be his mom, although he in no way had to and it must have been a very scary concept to trust me.

I worry about all the mistakes I’ve made while he’s been a part of my life. I worry about all the things I’ve put him through. I worry about the issues he’ll have to deal with someday.

And then I look at his face and in his eyes and remember that God and the Universe have everything under control and no amount of my worrying will do anything to change anything. My job is to love him. And I can do that.

Because there is no way to freeze time at 17.5 years old, Devon turns eighteen today. My baby is eighteen. When I was eighteen I had him wrapped round my leg and his sister about to be born. I had lived through years of drug and alcohol abuse and felt about 100 years old. Thank God that all he has to do is attend his last year of high school and prepare to go to college in the fall. Thank God he’s never smoked or done drugs and that his alcohol consumption is at a very age-appropriate level. All of that is hard enough. And he has to register with selective service and possibly get drafted at some point, which scares the crap out me so I don’t think about it very often.

I’m so proud of you, Devon. And I love you with all my heart. Thanks for everything you bring to my life.

Yours always and forever,
Mom

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Ask Leahpeah

Dear Leah Peah,

I watched Medium last night. Did you know it was back on? And Heroes, your Beloved, is off for a long few more weeks. I bet you are dying.
You watch too much tv. It’s rotting your brain.

Signed,
Anon.

Dearest Anon,

So nice to hear from you, Sunshine! I do so appreciate you keeping tabs on my television watching. Alas, you are a few weeks behind. I haven’t had time to watch anything, as my domestic handiwork has taken over. And yes, I was aware that Heroes was off and would continue to be off for a few more weeks. *sigh* But I’m never too busy to hear your updates and I thank you so much for thinking of me, Toots.

Although I had general aches and pains and flu like symptoms immediately following Christmas (it was NOT the fruit cake!!), I can’t image why you think I’m dying, Muffin. Who said that? Cousin Sally?? She’s always hoping she’ll outlive me for the inheritance but I’ve had my eye on that antique thimble set ever since I found out Great Gramma Thistle used it to darn President Eisenhower’s socks. I’m due, dammit! I’m due at least one happiness in this life.

Your gentle coaching and non-judgmental admonishment has shown me the error of my ways. From henceforth and ever more, I shall watch only Ellen in the afternoon three times a week. And never on a religious holiday.

Toodles,
Yours Truly

L.P.D. (Ed. Note: I’m assuming the D is for Dearest? Or is it Diarrhea? I’m not apposed. It happens.)

I just wanna say you rock. I read you. I like you. And I’m going a keep on reading you no matter what anyone says because you rock.

Anyways, that’s more than I said for a long time so I guess I’m done.

Rock on.
Don

Dearest Donald, (can I call you Donald?)

I’m so happy to hear that you read me and that you like me. The feeling is mutual. I’m going to reread this sweet letter each evening before retiring to my damask covered boudoir with tassel trimmings.

You mention that conversation may be one of your struggles. Forgive my boldness but I notice you have an affinity of the geological type. Have you considered going into that area as a means to stimulating a friendly conversation?

For example: ‘The Cenozoic Era seems to be my favorite as it was teeming with new life including flying animals and flowering plants. I find I prefer it to the Paleozoic, which was basically a bunch of slimy reptiles running around willy-nilly in a much less pretty fashion.’ This just might win you friends and influence people but I leave it to you to carve out the particulars.

Sincerely,
LP and yes, D (although not since I got over the fruitcake.)

PS. I’m not sure whom these ‘other people’ are that you allude to, but not being swayed by peer pressure is an admirable quality. I commend you for it.
PPS. If you want to tell me who it is, I’ll keep it a secret.
PPPS. Just kidding. Don’t tell me.
PPPPS. You can if you want.

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Two Blessed $@#*&! Years

One of the tragedies of 2006 is that my two year wedding anniversary came and went without nary an acknowledgment from me on this blog, which was scarcely more than I gave it in real life. It falls on the 21st of December, and if you’re keeping up, you know that this year that fell within the Dead Zone, or as we like to call it, ‘The Great Crochet Marathon of Twelve Ought Six.’

When I was freshly back from Seattle in 2002, I met Joe at a networking meeting. I didn’t like him and I didn’t not like him. Sure, he was very nice but I was recently divorced and very concentrated on getting my shit together. I sure as hell wasn’t about to start dating anyone, especially someone that was a Catholic, had no kid experience and was still technically married to his first wife. So, of course, we started dating right away and became exclusive within the first two weeks.

Something you might not know about me: when I know something, I know it and there isn’t much that anyone can tell me that will change my mind. I feel stuff in my gut and that is the end of it. My gut has been my only constant companion and seen me through all kinds of trouble. So, my gut and I stick together. Imagine my surprise when my gut let me know that Joe was not only the really great guy he seemed to be but that also, I would love him, he would love me and we’d be together. Immediately following that message I spent many months pretending it had never happened. However, I did seem to think it was a splendid idea to invite him to meet most of my family a scant 7 weeks after we met. Huh.

Joe has been to Utah eight times in the past few years. The first time he met most of my brothers and sisters and the next time he met my parents. They all, of course, like him and love him. He’s a likable guy. But, they love him no matter how much money he earns or what he looks like or what kind of car he drives. Frankly, the only thing they take into account is if I’m happy. And here it must be clarified that my family looks at the word ‘happy’ in the way that God might: if you are learning, then you are happy because it’s the people God doesn’t bless that much that don’t have the opportunity for learning. Joe and I are so blessed. In fact, these past two years of marriage, we have been blessed beyond what I thought possible. That seems to be always the way.

I think one of the reasons that Joe feels so comfortable visiting my family is because they accepted him so completely. Even before we were married, my parents had us sleeping in the same room. My very Mormon mom. The one that didn’t alert me of my private parts until I was married to my first husband, well after the point of her grandson being implanted in my uterus. I hope my mom doesn’t mind me telling the entire world that, but I just thought it was so great the way she trusted my gut on Joe and I being together. However, my mom still sends my ex-husband Christmas and Birthday cards (with the usual $5 included!) as well as his new wife.* My parents might just rock in that Love the Entire World kind of way. And the World can always use more love.

But, back to Joe. These past two years or so have been rough but great. We moved a few times. We tried, somewhat successfully, to get my daughter to quit glaring at Joe. We started a business together, which ultimately failed. We went to therapy to figure out why we were still married. Joe started a few different jobs and figured out what he likes and doesn’t like in a work environment. I got physically mostly better most of the time. We were pregnant (again) and lost the baby (again) but kept it for the longest amount of time yet. And I learned that I could listen to Joe at least as much as I listen to my gut because Dude is smart! I also learned that if I get out of his way, Joe will figure out a way to do anything he wants, his own way. Man, that sounds a lot like me. But most of all, we got a start on figuring out how to be a couple and take care of each other in a kind and loving way.

Life is always hard. It’s always going to be hard. It doesn’t matter who you are married to or how much money you have or where you live. And really, the only defense you have against the world is your family, those people who love you and who you love and with whom you create a buffeting wall against the hard knocks of the world. The people that will laugh with you, not at you, when you ruined the fancy dinner you made for everyone. And not be embarrassed when you can’t stop going up to strangers and asking them personal questions because you find them so fascinating. And stand by you when you take huge risks and decide to do something that could be a large potential mistake and don’t care how it ends up as long as you are ok, because that is what is important. I’m so happy to have Joe be my family and that we are in this thing together.

Here’s to many more years of being blessed, Baby. Thanks for being on my team.
xo

*My son asked me the other day why Grandma sends his Dad and Step-Mom birthday cards because isn’t that weird when usually people hate each other after divorce? I asked him if he wished she wouldn’t and he said, ‘Nope. I like that about Grandma. And you’d do the same thing, huh. You’re all ….. squishy like her.’ I’m not sure I have ever been so proud to be called squishy.

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Two Lunches

When I was up in Northern California I had the pleasure of meeting in person some awesome people that I’ve known only online. One such person is Rebecca Blood. She and her husband, Jesse James Garrett, (I believe they are the original Internet Couple) met me at Adaptive Path where they gave me the grand tour. The building all by itself is impressive (as you can see below) but I love their office for a lot more reasons. One being that they gave me coffee. For free. I know, right? And another is that when you walk in, it’s all open and friendly. They have moving walls, people! With white boards on them! If I had any reason to hire them, I would, as the creative energy running rampant in the room was palpable.

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Rebecca, Jesse and I then went to lunch where we ate delicious sandwiches and used our sharp minds to discuss Tivo non-stop for over an hour before we took Jesse back to work and Rebecca and I took a lap around the South Park area. I think. Unless I got that name wrong. But in any case, it was lovely.

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Same trip, different day, I met Judith Zissman at the nicest tea shop I’ve ever been to. She had a wonderful blossom tea. We also shared some fruit. My legs dangled to alarming depths under the table.

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Judith is smart, funny, has a beautiful smile and knits.

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After tea, she took me across the street to a yarn shop and Oh. My. were there some wonderful yarns. I hope we get together again sometime soon.

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New Year's Resolutions Suck

Greg texts me:
Happy New Year, Leahpeah! Any New Year’s Resolutions?

I text back:
Yes! No new resolutions!

I don’t mean to be glib. Far from it. I really, really mean it. I can’t count the amount of years I’ve set myself up for failure by promising to Quit Smoking by February 20th!* or Exercise 1.5hrs/day until I lose 20 lbs! or Keep my desk orgnizd! or Say 1 nice thing to everyone I meet! I mean, c’mon. That last one would get on everyone’s last nerve after two hours and that is before leaving the house.

One of my journals from around age 14 has a list of about 20 resolutions, which includes ‘not eating anything with fat ESPECIALLY chocolate’ and has twelve lines written under the word chocolate. The list also has ‘learn to like my family’ which everyone knows is a foolhardy wish at 14. There is some chemical imbalance at that age that makes your hair weird, your taste in clothes questionable and your affinity to family near non-existent.

Somewhere in my late-twenties I realized that the error was occurring in the making of the resolutions at the beginning of the new year. I am always on the path of finding better ways to be and live. I spend countless hours in my head figuring out how to do things in a more fulfilling and time efficient way, much to the detriment of many other things in my life including laundry and orgnizng my desk. So, I realized, that for me to put all this pressure on January 1 of any given year was stupid. My perfectionist personality is doing it 24/7 365 days a year already in every category including welding. The only way to top my natural state of crazy is to create even larger and more elaborate resolutions like Only walk in odd numbered steps or create one crocheted hat per 3 hour installment of free time, including those hours in front of TV in the evening but not including meditation time since my brain will be preoccupied with manifestation, internal healing and levitation, wherein ‘free time’ can include time on the toilet and time sleeping.

I don’t need any help being more crazy. I do it fine all on my own. And piling on New Year’s resolutions every first of the year only adds to the issue when not far behind comes the let down of falling short of my newly set outrageous goals.

I do well to just keep the main goals I’ve had for the past 5 years or so:

1. Do the best I can, all the time that I can.
2. Take good care of myself and others.

So, Hello New Year’s Resolutions! You suck and I will not be making any of you. At least until tonight around 3am when I’ll be hard at work figuring out a better way to de-lint the dryer.

* I did finally quit smoking a few years ago, but it was nowhere near a February.

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Pipe Cleaners and Googly Eyes

While I was traveling in November and December, I forgot about Christmas. As in, Christmas who? I was busy, absorbed completely in what I was working on and it just didn’t occur to me that I should be thinking about something other than interviews and rental cars and forgetting to take my vitamins. Suddenly, it hit me. It was 8 days until Christmas and I had done nothing to prepare. Not only that, we were not going to get any money in for presents, so if there was going to be something under the tree, I needed to make it. And that included everything for the kids and our families. No pressure.

I literally worked 20 hours a day for the next few days and then 24 hours straight a few times on books, hats, blankets, scarves and candles as well as anything else I could glue pipe cleaners to.

We left on Saturday morning for Utah and I took most of my unfinished projects with me. My mom wasn’t surprised to see me lugging in all kinds of equipment. She’s used to me bringing home projects. But, I do think she was a little surprised at the sheer volume of stuff.

While we were there, I crocheted 14 hats and 8 scarves for different family members. That didn’t really scratch the surface of the almost 40 people that came and went over the few days we were there, but it was enough. My fingers now ache and I have a new massive muscle in my right arm that goes down my back. I call it Ellen.

Christmas was lovely. I had helped the kids make presents for each other and all three of my boys sat at my sewing machine and Tony even crocheted a purse for his sister which he then sewed a lining for and THEN hand-sewed into the purse. Ty made a large quilt for Devon and Devon made a jean football-pillow that you can throw in the house for Ty. Until you knock over the lamp. Then stop, please. Alex made Tony a fleece blanket. And it was so much nicer than going to the crowded store, pushing our way through everyone and trying to find something to buy each other.

I think next year, even if we have more money than we did this year, I won’t be rushing off to buy things for the kids. I used to love making things for Christmas and this year really reminded me of that. I got to spend hours thinking about the people I was making the gifts for. The only thing I’d change is starting earlier, say, June.

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I'm Home!

Happy Holidays, everyone. We got home late last night after a wonderful trip to my parent’s home. Much more soon.
xo

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Brunch

Jen tells us she has decided she is going to get a new house using the powers of manifestation and winning a raffle. She bought one raffle ticket and insists that is all she’ll need. I am a believer in making things happen, so I agree to help out. I tell her I’ll keep mentally working on it when I get back home. We have until June, when the home gets raffled.

Grace says: Oh, I’m manifesting it right now. I’m also doing Kegel exercises and I’ll keep doing both all through brunch.

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