blessings

July 31, 2007

Somethin' Funky Up In Here

After every time-consuming or effort-extracting event, I go through a letdown. I’m not sure if it’s organic, chemical, physical or psychological or probably a combination of them all, but it’s as if my body says, ‘Whew! Ok, let’s hibernate and possibly get sick for a bit!’ after which I cry for a few days and endure a cold or other illness. Is it possible I actually DO catch a cold or other illness? Or am I just incredibly spent and want to sleep so my body invents an ailment? Inquiring minds wanna know.

Warning – this may be one of the most painful entries ever as far the segue goes. My brain is cloudy and I can barely remember how to speak ACTUAL WORDS such as CAR and PAINT and CLOSE WINDOW when someone comes to the door. Leave now or forever hold your peace.

In the airport coming home, when for some strange reason I decided my hands were invisible and therefore not functional, I neglected to take out my camera so you could all see Miss Arizona USA (not to be confused with the ol’ regular Miss Arizona) sitting and waiting for the flight to, you guessed it, Arizona. Do you know how I know? She had her sash on. Her required sash for all the free airline travel she gets. And if I heard her say it once, I heard her say it a million times (or at least the actual 6 times I DID hear her say it), she is NOT dating Bill M., Preston C., James F., Tony S., Tony L. or Tony Z. I don’t care what those silly men say, she is NOT. (smiling SMILING smiling)

There was a youngish man, guitar out on his lap, sitting next to her and, I kid you not, playing and picking those strings for the entire 90 minutes we waited for the flight. 90 minutes of Johnny Cash and Waylon Jennings songs, a few of which he hummed along with, not so badly. He was so earnest. So very, very earnest and I wanted to stop reading my book for a minute (yes, my hands reappeared and functioned for my book) just to tell him I would enjoy his music more if he would only play a little Dave Matthews or even Patsy Cline, but he would never have heard me, so completely wrapped up in her he was. His adoring eyes never left her face, not even for the Gypsy Kings segment.

The friend referred book I was reading is called God Is Not Great. I’ve struggled with religion since I was a child and it’s only now that I’m realizing it’s alright to say out loud that I might not believe in God. At least not the type of God I was instructed to love and obey as a child. In the scriptures is says ‘By their fruits ye shall know them’ and my problem has always been that what I mostly see is hypocrisy and ways to keep people out in every religion I’ve studied. But not in all my 36 years and not until I read this book did it dawn on me that I didn’t have to keep searching to find the one I wanted to belong to. Because I don’t want to belong to any of them. And man, I’ve had such a sense of peace and relief with that realization.

Speaking of politics (weren’t we? I did warn you…), I’m trying to figure out how to support any candidate that is Christian. After all the wars done in the name of different Gods, the number of people persecuted for being different and the (what I consider to be) faulty reasoning behind it, voting for someone that I know holds those beliefs would be just plain wrong, wouldn’t it?

A number of people I know are having babies, just had a baby or actively trying to have a baby. (Still with me?) I’ve been trying to have a baby. So much so that it took medical intervention to get me to give it a break already. So many miscarriages in so little time are not a good thing and there have been a few not mentioned on this blog. Today, after reading Schmutzie, who I realize had a totally different reason for writing what she did, I had the sudden realization that maybe The Universe has been trying to tell me that maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t be trying to have another child but I couldn’t hear it yet. And then I thought maybe I’d get my tubes tied. And then I almost cried because it sounded like such a wonderful idea. I’ve not ever considered this option before and I’m not in any hurry to go and get it done, but it’s an interesting turn of events, is it not? Life is so fascinating.

My sister comes out with her husband in a few weeks for an entire glorious weekend of nothing to do put poke our toes in the sand. If I tell her I don’t believe in God, will she still love me?

My daughter is 16. (Did your brain just crickety-crack trying to keep up?) Completely and utterly 16 and everything it entails. I would not go back and be 16 for every, single, solitary fat-free and guiltless cheeseburger in all of China, of which there are none, but even if there were. She routinely hurts my feelings to the very depths of my soul as only your daughter can and it’s continually my job as her mother to love her just like she is, right where she’s at, and not make her feel ashamed. Being a parent is one of the frackinist jobs of all time. And yet, I wouldn’t trade it for anything and actually went through hell just to be in this position but I’ve got to learn to give myself permission to have a bad day without self recrimination. Wow, that was an awfully and probably unnecessarily wordy paragraph. Sorry, Mrs. Beasley.

This freelancing and doing the stray article now and again has not brought in the amount of cold, hard cash one might expect. Or, maybe it’s exactly as much as one might expect. All that to say – not much. And I’m feeling the itching in my fingers and in my brain to do something more substantial. There was a job a few months ago that I was excited about but ended up not getting and ever since then, I’ve just not really looked. But I think it’s that time, friends. It’s THAT time. So, Hello Universe – I’d like a winner job, please. Oh, and thanks.

My husband is awesomer than I ever imagined or dared hope.

And also, mashed potatoes with tiny bitso cheddar cheese just might be the best thing since Kindereggs. (Thanks, Jen.)

July 25, 2007

Family At The 50th

It can be rough hanging out with family. I get excited and nervous. I look forward to it and dread it at the same time. I’m sure I’m not alone in having mixed feelings. Everyone’s childhood was a mixed bag and along with the happy memories, there are usually things you’d just as soon forget entirely.

While I anticipate getting to reconnect with my siblings, the mere fact that there are 7 of them makes it hard to fit it all in. And you sometimes end up with these little rushed Howareyous, I’mdoingfinethanks and Whatareyoudoingnow-s that can start to feel a little less than genuine by the 4th or 5th time. Add to that the fact that not many of them understand the whole internet-blogging-writing thing and it strains the conversation a bit. Or brings it to a startling halt. Whichever.

I love them all to pieces but I find that I don’t have a lot in common with many of them. We can talk about parenting to a certain point but then it starts to break apart since I’m part of a divorced/remarried couple and the only one of my kind among My People. I don’t have the luxury of feeling free enough to complain about the strains of parenthood since part of me feels like if I dare to utter anything along those lines, I’ll jinx the time I get to spend with my kids. Like, I should be so grateful that I have them as much as I do, complaining about anything would show a distinct lack of gratitude. So when another parent starts to roll their eyes a bit and vent about so-and-so at a certain age, I try to identify with it but really, in my head I’m thinking about how lucky I am if I get to see that particular personality trait at that certain age or I’m thinking about how sad I am that I missed that when it was happening with my child.

And of course, religion. Some of my family feels like I must still be mentally ill because if I was really well, I’d have rejoined the Mormon church. They can’t fathom not wanting to be Mormon. This subject goes so deep that it’s sometimes hard to figure out where the emotional part ends and the factual part starts. I don’t believe I’ll ever join any organized religion, least of all the Mormon church, but that doesn’t mean I can’t understand why they want to belong to it.

Politics are most definitely out.

Which really leaves nutrition and diet. You might say my family has a slight obsession with talking about those subjects. Fiber, sleeping habits, blood results and breakfast. Oh yes, we know how to have a good time. At some point, one of us should write it all down and sell the book.

There is one part of every family get together that I truly do look forward to and that is the singing get-together. We have a folder thick with old sheet music and almost everyone knows the words or at least the tune and can hum along. They are the songs we sang on long car rides from our home to my grandparent’s home every summer. I have the best memories of my father’s voice singing tenor and my older brother singing bass, my mom and sisters singing soprano and alto and me trying to figure out where my voice fit. The Green Eyed Dragon is one of my favorites as is I’m Gonna Sit Right Down and its counter harmony It’s A Sin To Tell A Lie. Singing with my family always makes me teary and emotional. Sometimes I’ll just have tears streaming down my face and no way to control it. I’m not sad, exactly, but nostalgic, maybe, for what I wish my childhood could have been like and thankful for this small way to connect with all of them. It’s hard to always feel slightly on the outside.

This year for the family talent show, Alex sang Fever and the boys and I sang backup. We had a good time and no one in my family had a heart attack from the explicit meaning of the song. Here we are in all our glory:

We ended the evening with a dance. We try a dance every few years and my boys never fail to suddenly disappear. This year, my mom was the MC and she did a great job switching things up. We did the Broom Dance, a Two-Step Cakewalk and the Virginia Reel with her calling out the steps.

Even with all our issues, I wouldn’t trade my family for any other. Especially now since they said we’ll never go camping again. I’m voting 5 star hotel with masseuse and basement arcade complete with soundproof walls.

June 15, 2007

Graduations, 2007

Full Set

June 14, 2007

Can't Wait For The Movie

My friend Susan and I play this game sometimes. It doesn’t really have a name but the basic rules of the game are – have the worst life/circumstances of everyone around you. But you have to laugh about it. Ya, I think that’s it in a nutshell.

For example, if I got a ticket for illegal parking but she broke her arm, she wins. If she got stung by a bee but I broke the heel on my Manolos, I win. Actually, that might win a lot of stuff. Unless she is allergic to bees and has to go to the emergency room and almost dies, then I guess that would win. Maybe.

In any case, Susan’s mom died recently so she totally won, for like, days and days and maybe weeks. I mean, you can’t really top that, right? The things that could happen to trump the death of a parent are pretty far and few between. Except now. Now I think I might win for a bit.

But the second part of the rules, the laughing at the situation part, I’ve been unable to do until today. Today it just seems hysterical in a sad, yet funny way. I mean, imagine this last chapter of my life as a movie. Mom goes to mental hospital. Kids and father move. Mom spends the next four years job after job and house after house inching closer in a very dramatic and pragmatic fashion, always repeating some mantra like, ‘This will all be worth it someday when my kids are living with me again!’ and throw in some arm shaking and maybe background music. Oh, I think Climb Every Mountain or Ain’t No Mountain High Enough would work great. There would be close-ups of sweat falling from my temples, little ringlets of hairs coming out from my bun all misty and dewy over the kitchen sink.

Hey, I know! Let’s put me in a covered wagon – the preferred mode of transportation of My People. I can wear the Bonprons I made and some bloomers made of scratchy, low-grade cotton so my knees will get irritated as we go along. I’ll walk and walk and walk and walk aaaaaaand walk. I think there better be falling down in crevasses and storms of many kinds.

And then, as the smoke clears and a slight wind rustles my hair, you’ll see the determination set in my jaw line as I go those last few feet on my hands and knees. My fingernails packed with dirt from pulling my limp body (did I forget to say I got paralyzed from the waist down somewhere along the line? Probably a freak accident with an Emu.) along the muddy grassland, clump by clump.

Then let’s fast forward past the part where I built the cabin after wrastlin’ the miners for the plot of land that was my great grandfathers and rightfully mine. And past the part where I spin the wool and make fabric and then sew curtains for every room. And past the part where I planted the garden, toiled in the fields and then bottled 1,364 bottles of corn for the winter. And past the part where I send the telegram to the children and tell them the homestead is finally, FINALLY ready for them.

Let’s just go straight to the part where they get the telegram and go, ‘Meh. No thanks!’ because that, my friends, is comedy gold. And I do believe it’s a comedy. Anything that depressing has to be a comedy just to sit through it.

I know I’m winning more than just Susan. The past few days when people call on the phone I’ll say, ‘Hey – I heard about [whatever-I-heard-here] and how are you doing with that?’ And they’ll say, ‘Oh, Leah, no biggie. We didn’t lose the farm and no one got hurt and my kids still want me to, you know, be their mom…’ at which point their voice kind of trails off.

Thanks for the kind emails you’ve sent. Mostly they were very thoughtful and I appreciate you taking the time to write me. However, I’d like to point out that, as one friend said, teens are in the height of their asshole stage and I have four of them and I know this. I was the Queen of Bitch during my teen years. I realize this and recognize this and being their mom, I’m allowed to say it. But please refrain from expounding on that idea in emails or comments. No matter what they do or say, they are my children and I love them with a fierce passion that will cause me to cut you if you attack them with your words. Personal stories of how YOU were an asshole are fine, though. And, please feel free to send love and candy! I like candy. And yarn. And tiny dogs.

June 5, 2007

Wherein Katie Plans Her Uganda Trip (and sends me a surprise!)

I have this friend Katie. Katie sent me a present in the mail a few weeks ago. I guess she thought I would like it or something.

It just so happens that Katie is planning a second trip to Uganda. When I went to the fabulous PD weekend, she told me all about what she was trying to accomplish. And far from being the normal, ‘but it’s for the children! The CHILDREN!!‘, she had a very well planned out idea of how things were going to work. Being that this is her second trip, I have no fear that she knows what she’s getting into. Also, the fact that she had to figure out how to send herself shows how committed she is. But, I really felt like she could use some help getting all the components together to make her idea come to life.

I sent an email out to some friends to see what reaction they might have. So far, it’s been resoundingly positive. Heather donated $100, an anonymous donor matched that $100, KristyK sent some really great supplies that she had her kids help decorate (so great!):

And the other day, Tracey called and told me she had lined up a point-n-shoot camera with direct portable printer to be donated to Katie from HP. Such great news!

Here is an excerpt from an email from Katie earlier today:

I had a meeting with the people I’ll be going to Uganda with on Sunday and a group of four of us are in the planning stages for how this will look when we’re there. So now it looks like this will be my main focus while in the country and there are SO many good ideas being tossed around. I can’t wait to see how this will all unfold: 1) being able to tell the story of what’s going over there when we get back, and 2) giving people the chance to express themselves and see a picture (no pun intended) of hope as they realize dreams for the future.

I was talking to one of the counselors who is working there and she said the great thing about this idea is that people don’t often do that where we’ll be going. With what they’ve lived through, seeing so much death, and living in such extreme poverty, they only see what’s right in front of them, not really giving thought to what the future could hold, or even what tomorrow could hold for that matter. So giving them the chance to dream and see the possibility of a better tomorrow and simply express themselves in a way they wouldn’t otherwise is extremely exciting for me.

Katie still needs more donations if you have $$ or Polaroid cameras etc. to donate. Let me know if you want more information. We have about 4 weeks left to get it all to her.

May 24, 2007

Boys

May 6, 2007

Karaoke Etc.

Alex and her friends have been trying to go to this karaoke place for weeks. Something always happens like boys, other friends, family or bad hair. But, last night at 5pm, Alex said, ‘We’re going!” At 6:15, she said, ‘We aren’t going anymore.” At 7:00pm, she stated “We’re SO going!!” Then she went over to her dad’s for a couple of hours, called to say she changed her mind and they were staying in. At 9:05, she came over, all dressed up and announced that not only were we going, we were going NOW.

The karaoke SLASH pizza joint was almost empty but for the people that worked there, the woman (who sang a lot of Melissa Etheridge*) with her two girls (Who sang a lot of obscure-to-me Disney music from Mulan and that native American one with the river in it) that runs the karaoke machine on Saturday nights, and a lady who watched her daughter sing Don Quixote three times with such admiration that it makes me really wonder what’s wrong with me. If Alex sang Don Quixote more than once I think I might have ripped the microphone out of her hands. I think even once would have been too many times. The screaming and AyAyAying at the end……I prefer Like A Virgin. To counteract all the Don Quixote and angry lesbian songs in the air, Alex and I sang Love Will Keep Us Together and I tried to eat the microphone.

There is so much more I could say about Saturday night and the odd peoples that populate that pizza place, but instead let me just say that we’ll be going back at our earliest opening. It was that much fun.

Also, our new place came with these:

And I brought one of my own:

And there is a lawn of sorts:

*Isn’t it weird that the entire staff and the lady running the machine were all in the singing rotation? It just seemed like, as we were running out of time and there was no more room on the list for new songs to be added, that they would have let the paying customers have more turns. Or is that wrong? Who am I to get in the way of more Don Quixote?

May 5, 2007

Dinner With Grace

Grace told me a few weeks ago she was going to David Sedaris and I begged and pleaded to go with her. Mr. Sedaris was going to be appearing in Santa Barbara with the wonderful Sarah Vowell and it was all just too much to bear: Grace, Sedaris, Vowell, all within my grasp only a hop skip and a jump away. The wonderful woman that she is, Grace graciously (get it??) allowed Joe and I to come along. Eden was there as was her friend Jennifer. Also, Grace’s daughter, Jenn, and her boyfriend, who’s name I’ve forgotten. (That’s how great of a friend I am. Invite me again!)

Dinner was lovely. There was wine.

Sedaris and Vowell were hysterical but dinner was better.

May 2, 2007

New/Old, Whatever. Just Get Me Some Coffee.

In case you were wondering, downsizing from a huge house to one half as big sucks. Now you know. You’re welcome.

Here is the old entry way:

And here is the new entry:

Tiny new living room:

Here is the old kitchen:

And the new one:

I’m going to miss our old huge bathroom. But being a few blocks away from where my ex lives saves everyone a huge amount of time and gas. We’re also close to their schools. As soon as I find my makeup, the iron, my comfortable shoes, the coffeemaker and my anti-psychotic medication, things are going to be fine.

April 19, 2007

Poser

Tony is at a really fun age right now. You say, ‘Tony, get over there and let me test the light.’ And this is what you get:

I love his sister’s face in some of those. I think she was wondering how far away she could get and how fast.

April 19, 2007

The Fantastic Four

April 17, 2007

Four Conversations

“Why did he do it, Mom? My teacher at school said it might be because the kids at school were mean to him so he got them back.”

“Maybe. I don’t think I like that line of thought because it somehow justifies what he did. Like, if you are mean to me, I’m going to kill you and that’s just the way it is.”

“Ya, I didn’t think it sounded right, either. You don’t pull out your Tommy gun just because someone called you stupid. But, if I did call someone a name, do you think they would get mad enough to shoot people at school?”

I want to tell him no. No way. Kids aren’t going to bring a gun to school and shoot you or someone else. That kid you were mean to last year won’t come back this year and plot how to do it. That’s ridiculous! Don’t worry about that at all. Kids are sometimes mean and say things they regret. Tell him you’re sorry and be nice from now on. Just worry about learning where all the states are and remembering the history of the Civil War for your test on Thursday. Spend your in-between class time walking to the next building and giving everyone a high-five. Throw your backpack over your shoulder (don’t squish your fruit snack!) and make the most pressing thing on your mind whether that girl that sits two seats to the right of you in math class thinks you’re cute and spend lunch talking about the band you and your friends are putting together. Middle school is hard enough without worrying about if you might actually die or not. Instead, I say, “I hope not. I’d miss your freckles.” And then I sock him in the arm. He laughs and turns up the radio.

—

“Did you hear about those shootings, Mom? Some crazy kid at college went around and shot a bunch of people. Like, a bunch! My friend said they think he was insane or something. It’s so sad.”

“It is so sad. I’ve been sad about it all day. Did they talk about it in school?”

“Only for a sec. We had to finish getting ready for testing next week. But everyone was freaked out about it at lunch. I mean, how do you know that isn’t going to happen at our school? How can you tell if someone is about to go totally insane and start shooting people?”

“Well, I think that is the problem. You can’t. You just have to keep going through your day, doing your best, treating people with respect and hope that if someone was showing signs of being about to hurt people like that, that you would notice and get out of there. But probably, you wouldn’t notice unless they were actually holding a gun up. I wish I could tell you something more reassuring because I don’t think living every day being afraid is going to be the recipe for a happy life.”

After a long pause: “Someone like that wouldn’t be in my group of friends. Everyone that I hang out with is stable, I think. At least, too stable to take a gun to school and shoot people.” After another long pause: “I hope.”

—

“Mom, some dude shot a bunch of kids.”

“I know. I heard about it all afternoon on TV.”

“It just – it just – makes no sense, you know? Because if you are mad at someone? And you want to hurt them? Why kill them? You’d want to do something like ruin their reputation and make them live with it, you know? If you kill them, they are just dead. And if you kill yourself, you aren’t even around to see what happens. It makes no sense!”

“So, if you were really mad at someone, you’d just ruin their school life and make everyone hate them so they have a terrible schooling experience?”

“Right. I mean, that is really revenge, you know?”

“Do you have any theories about what might happen to a person who enjoys getting revenge like that? Any thoughts as to what the rest of their life looks like or feels like carrying around the responsibility of knowing they ruined someone’s entire year or most likely, years?”

“Well, no. I mean, I wouldn’t do it. But, there was this guy in 3rd grade that was mad at me because I did something that pissed him off and I don’t even remember what it is but he was so mad that he got all the other kids in our class to hate me and for the entire last half of the year, no one in my class would sit by me at lunch or be my partner for stuff. I hated it. And I wondered what it would be like to get him back.”

“What happened the next year? Was he still mean?”

“Actually, he’s kind of my friend now. We played football together a few years ago and now, I mean, he’s ok.”

“Do you still think about getting him back.”

“No. Sometimes. No.”

—

“Do you think stuff like that happens for a reason? If you believe in God, then don’t you have to believe that it happened for some reason?”

“I believe in a Higher Power. I do not believe that said Higher Power would condone what happened or want it to happen so that some good could come out of it.”

“But, some good could come out of it.”

“I’m fairly positive that some good will come out of it. Usually, some good comes out of tragedy. Most of the time it is quiet bits of good. Internal good. It hopefully changes one to be a softer, better person that watches out for others with compassion. But saying that those quiet bits of good were so necessary as to require a tragedy like this one is misguided, I think.”

“Maybe we can only learn to be compassionate after we experience a tragedy.”

“Let’s just go with your theory for a minute. What do you think happened to this kid at the college that shot everyone? What do you think happened in his life to make it seem like a good idea to do what he did? Did the preceding year of his life contain good and nurturing things, great experiences? And then suddenly, one day he woke up and thought that shooting up the school sounded good? Or was it a terrible year for him? A year full of tragedy and hurt of some sort? And if so, why didn’t it turn him into a more compassionate person? Why didn’t it turn him into someone that could never hurt someone else?”

“Good questions. I can see what you are saying. I guess I just want to make it make sense because if it doesn’t, then I don’t know how to think about it. But what you are saying means that there isn’t really a formula like I want.”

“Life experience definitely helps mold us into who we are. But every person has within them the ability to be nurturing and ‘good’ or harmful and ‘bad.’ Sometimes people learn to be bitter and angry, instead of loving and compassionate. I wish there was some way to come up with a formula that would work across the board. I think religion does that for some people.”

“Which is what I was saying. Then you can say there was a reason for it and feel safe again, like, right then, instead of having fear on your back for a long time. I think I need to come up with some kind of belief system so I can have that. What’s yours?”

“My belief is that everyone should try to live their life in a way that is centered in Love and that makes them feel Happy and that causes the least amount of pain and hurt to others and themselves because everyone is just as important as everyone else.”

“Ya. That sounds like you. Mine might be something like that but I’d throw in ‘except when I’m hungry, and then I’m more important that everyone else. Bring me some bread!”