Jon Susan Marin

Christmas - Tulum and Cancun

2011-12-30T12:30:00.002-07:00

Human Nature

2011-11-29T13:30:00.009-07:00

Last night after dinner, I was doing dishes and Marin asked if she could use my computer to get on YouTube to watch funny cat videos. I said yes, so she began hunting for any kitty that would make her laugh. She watched "Oh, Long John", and then one click lead to another, and I heard her say "Mom! There is a cat dancing to Thriller." She loves that song, and was cracking up at the special effects designed to make the cat appear to dance. I heard the song play for a few minutes and then I heard an abnormally long silence. All of a sudden, Marin gasped loudly, the choking kind of gasp, and screamed "WHAT WAS THAT? WHAT AM I LOOKING AT? MOMMY! MOMMY!" and with total abandon, she threw her body under my desk like she was on fire and slid the chair in front of her as protection. I put the dishes down and went to aid my shrieking child, who was too terrified to even tell me what she had seen that put her in hysterics. "I don't want to talk about it, Mom, because then I might see it again in my head. I am NEVER going on YouTube again. Never." I coaxed her out of her hiding spot, but as soon as her feet hit the ground she took off to the family room and hid between the two couches, screams vigorously renewed. Perplexed, I sat down on the couch and she curled up under my feet.

Me: Marin, will you sit up on the couch with me?

Marin: No, Mama, I might accidentally see your computer with that thing on it.

Me: My computer screen saver is on. It's just our own pictures now. It's fine.

Marin: No. I'm hiding here for the rest of my life.

Me: What did you see?

Marin: I don't know. Something scary. A picture of something. I don't think I can get that picture out of my head, even when I'm 88. This is even more scary than a warning sign.

Me: Tell me what the picture looked like.

Marin: I don't know. Maybe a person, but not really.

Me: I'm going to walk over to the computer and see what you looked at. Maybe I can help you if I know what you saw.

Marin: (sobbing and staying crouched) Ok, but I'm STAYING DOWN LOW.

I went to my computer and activated it. And do you know what it was that put such terror into my six year old? A picture of Michael Jackson, post plastic surgery. The one where the tip of his nose was starting to fall off and his eyes looked like something out of Planet of the Apes in make-up created by a twelve year old. He had weird facial hair and a strange little smile on his face.* It must have been at the end of the video of the cat dancing to Thriller. I walked back over to the couch and tried not to, but I could not help myself. I laughed. I laughed so hard that I couldn't breathe. I laughed so hard that tears ran down my face and the cat jumped off of the couch and ran away. I laughed so hard that even Marin, sobbing at my feet, finally said "What's so funny? THIS IS SCARY, NOT FUNNY."

Trying to explain the correlation of plastic surgery and misery, I basically told her that Michael Jackson was a real weirdo. Ultra talented, but not ok in the head. Tried to explain the problem of fame and fortune. That yes, he was human, but no, I don't know why he intentionally did that to himself.

Marin: (firing questions) How could a person be that scary? Do you think Michael Jackson's doctors thought he looked weird? If they thought that, why did they make him look like that? If I saw him in real life I would be scared, in this weird way that I am now. If I become famous, would I have to change myself like that? I WILL NEVER BE FAMOUS THEN.

We talked some more, her sobs turning to hiccups, and she moved up from the floor to my lap.

Marin: Do you forget things when you're dead? I hope you forget things when you're dead because I need to get that face out of my head, if it takes me the rest of my life.

Me: I don't know. I don't know any dead people that I can ask.

Marin: Will you find out? Look up if any dead people have forgotten things like Michael Jackson's face. Oh. I guess you really can't. (long silence) Mama, how could a person be that scary? Are you sure that was a face? A real face, not a mask?

She did ask me to get the ipad and show her pictures of Michael Jackson before his multiple surgeries, to which she said "Mom, he looked really nice and really normal. Why would he have wanted to do that? Was it to make Thriller a REAL scary video? Because that would make it scary and I WOULD NEVER WATCH IT. In fact, I will never watch it again. I will never use your computer again, I will never be able to forget how his nose was about to fall off and - why did he have girls hair? Do not ever turn your computer on again, don't ever make me look at it, I will never....

And that was the rest of the night's dialogue. This morning's, too.

*I would post that picture here, but I don't think Marin would speak to me ever again.

*Human Nature is a song from the Thriller album.

Cavities

2011-11-18T13:42:00.011-07:00

This Thanksgiving, Lisa and Dwayne are coming to our house for dinner, and I'm really excited about that. If there is one thing I never have trouble being thankful for, it's the friends who grace my life. Among other things, Lisa and I share a love for cooking, kitchen gadgets, wine, and the belief that Thanksgiving should be kept traditional. The protein should not be something you swim with, the potatoes should be mashed, gravy is the key to a holy meal, and the stuffing should not be wild and crazy. It didn't occur to me to mention to her that I don't technically use the stuffing properly, meaning I don't stuff it anywhere. (then call it dressing, my mom said.) By the time I did communicate that to her, which fortunately didn't send her running to make new plans with normal people, I was left thinking about why I don't participate in this weird ritual.

I've never put the stuffing in the turkey. Meaning I've never used stuffing as actual stuffing. I make the stuffing separately because animal innards gross me out. The word "cavity" in reference to anything other than something wrong in a tooth turns my stomach. So shoving my hand into a cavity - or poking foreign objects into a cavity - with something I intend to eat later has never actually worked out well for me. (remember... all those years I was 98% vegetarian... some things never go away.) I do all kinds of other things to keep the turkey full of flavor - like surrounding his roasting pan with nice, gentle, non-violating items like aromatics. I think it's like aromatherapy for the turkey in that it relaxes him, enabling him to bring out his juices, as opposed to having something shoved up his ass while he tries to get all moist and tender for us. That would just make him uptight, if you ask me, leaving him stingy with the juice.

A couple of months ago, Jon was going through just a bit of stress when he was interviewing with the CIA wanna-be's, and I worked double time to be a good wife. It doesn't come natually to me, being an extra good wife, so it is actually something I have to plan out. On one particular stressful night, I think he was in the garage obsessing about the Yeti, so I pulled out a whole chicken, knowing he wanted Beer Can Chicken for dinner. I hovered over the dead bird for a few minutes mustering up the will to touch it's raw flesh, and then slowly, carefully, inched my hand into the chicken's cavity and pulled out the unmentionables from inside of it. Awful things came out of it. Awful. While my dog and my cat were scurrying about at my feet wanting to snack on the unmentionables, I focused on surprising Jon with something he never, ever suspected I would do. It would be like me coming home and finding that he had cleaned a bathroom, toilet and all. As much as we don't like to admit this, we have our roles; I pay Marin to clean the potties and he sticks his hands into a chicken's cavity. But there I was, my hand up (or was it down?) a dead piece of poultry and I wasn't passing out! Total victory for me. Feeling inspired by my own guts while throwing the chicken's guts away, I even peeled some garlic to insert in the beer can, massaged the chicken with olive oil, and tied his legs up with butcher's twine. But when it came to the beer can and where I was supposed to shove it - I just couldn't. And when it came to eating later that night, I couldn't really do that well either. The chicken and I had just had too much intimacy for me to carve him and chew him. But the whole preparation thing - Jon was very happy with me.

I asked my mom why she doesn't stuff a turkey either, and she mentioned the problem of food poisoning multiple people have with stuffed turkey. Apparently it messes with the temperature somehow and has given a lot of people some very bad Thanksgivings as a result. As for me, I'll just rename the stuffing "unstuffing" and call it good. And I'm happy to cook every single item on our Thanksgiving menu, just as long as someone else's hand goes up that turkey's cavity to clean out the frightening things left in there. (or is it down?)

You Can't Make Me Look At You

2011-10-28T13:55:00.006-06:00

Yesterday, Marin donated her lunchbox to her kitty. She put it on the floor in Sammy's favorite sunbeam and put a toy near it. How did the cat thank her? By picking Marin's backpack to lounge on. Marin ate breakfast, loaded her homework into her backpack and we went upstairs to dress for school. When we came back down, Sammy was settled. What made Marin laugh so hard was that no matter what I did, Sammy refused to make eye contact with me, as seen above. So much for the cat not having thoughts.

I love cats. They are endlessly awesome.

Options

2011-10-28T13:41:00.006-06:00

Knowing that cats like to curl up in places they don't fit, we gave Sammy some sleeping options beside Marin's lunchbox to see if she would prefer them instead. I really don't think it helps Marin socially to open her lunch at school and have a puff of hair burst out of her bag. Sammy considered each of them, (We think. We don't actually have evidence that Sam has much brain activity) but never actually set a paw in them. In the end, we wasted our time. The lunchbox is insulated, after all. Marin officially gave the cat this lunchbox and we are going to cease setting the others out at night.

Frightening. I don't know what's more alarming - the house and its creepy things or that we did this purposefully.

2011-10-27T08:51:00.009-06:00

A Cat Where It Doesn't Belong - Again.

2011-10-27T08:37:00.007-06:00

And what could be more frightening than finding a kitty in a lunchbox not just once...but three times? Actually, there is something. It involves the dog, but Marin told me I am never allowed to talk about it to anyone ever. Marin didn't need yet one more reason to dislike Belle, and I usually defend my sweet hearted golden retreiver, but I have to say I'm on Marin's side on this one. Even I had a hard time looking at Belle for a day or two.

The Most Annoying Facebook Posts

2011-10-25T15:21:00.005-06:00

I'm not really this grumpy, I promise. But being nice has it's limitations. Over the last few days I've been noticing a few repetitive posts that always make me pause and think "now, why did you just post that?" Maybe it's just a problem I have with my Facebook friends, which then points the problem right back at me, but it annoys me nonetheless.

Annoying Post #1:

"I'm so bored." And after reading that post, now so am I. Thanks for spreading the boredom around. What we are really reading when you say you are so bored is that you are a very boring person who is now expecting something from your Facebook friends.

Annoying Post #2:

"I'm so busy. My life is so crazy." Here's a suggestion: get off Facebook and that will free up ten minutes of your busy life. If you're so desperately busy, what the heck are you doing on Facebook, anyway? Truly busy people don't have time to Facebook. What we are really reading when you say you're so busy is that you are feeling very, very important and want us all to know about it.

Annoying Post #3:

Go Raiders! or Go Broncos! or Go Colts! I don't care who the team is. Now, I love sports, especially basketball. And I don't mind a celebratory "we won!" comment. But I definitely don't want a play by play analysis of a football game I just watched. I can go to ESPN for that; I don't want it on Facebook.

Annoying Post #4:

Posts that only a few people will understand the meaning of or posts that require explanation. I get baiting your friends playfully to ask more questions - that can be fun, but posting without intention of explaining? No.

Annoying Post #5:

Vomiting on Facebook. This annoys everyone and makes everyone feel sick, too.

Annoying Post #6:

"Joe Jones is at the movie Moneyball!" I have a hard time visualizing why this is even slightly appealing to either the person adding this to his status or to anyone reading the status. So Joe got his popcorn, his drink, got seated and while the previews were playing, took the time to update that he was at the movie? The only way it's plausible is if Joe got to the movie 25 minutes too early, but if that's the case, play Angry Birds and save us the snooze fest.

Next week, I'll list my all time favorite Facebook posts.

2011-10-13T22:17:00.001-06:00

This will go on "The List of Things That I Will Always Like".

2011-10-13T22:14:00.000-06:00

2011-10-13T22:05:00.004-06:00

My family tells me I'm Claire. But here, it's a little more like Gloria learning to ride a bike. Minus a few assets.

Here Is A List of Things That I Will Never Like: VOLUME I

2011-10-07T13:23:00.024-06:00

Many years ago, I was reading one of my Calvin and Hobbes collection books. Calvin made a list titled “Here is a list of things that I will never like.” The idea stuck with me, as great ideas tend to. (Really, in terms of “great”, Calvin and Hobbes falls just slightly below Shakespeare, Lost, Ryan Adams, David Sedaris and Van Gogh.)

I was reminded of how important it is to have a list like this when Jon asked me today: “Do you have any stamps?” To which I replied “No.” He said “No? You don’t?” Again, I said (and I really hate repetition) “No.” Jon asked “Well, what happened to them? You had some a while ago.” I replied “The usual thing happened to them. I put them on envelopes and sent them out.” “All of them?” And I replied “Again, that is what I implied in answering NO when you asked if I had any stamps.” He appeared dumbfounded and then asked “Why are you laughing?”

Because stupid questions always make me laugh? It was a real problem of mine when I was teaching 9th grade.

Here is a list of things that I will never like: (not in order, because... who has the time to do that?)

Stupid questions.
Whistling. Does anyone like other people’s whistling?
When Marin says “I know a noise that everyone hates!” And then she makes the noise.
Watching a horse/dog/cat/tiger/bear/dolphin die in a movie.
Hearing someone tell about the time their horse/dog/cat/tiger/bear/dolphin died.
Melon fake-flavored anything. (candy, gum, shampoo)
Words that end in rrhea (diarrhea, gonorrhea, seborrhea…)
Drying off with a cold, wet towel. Or someone using my nice, clean towel as their own.
Cat litter. The cat box in general. I do not have good feelings about this box.
Goat cheese. It tastes like goats smell - pungent, sour, ripe.
Retail workers who answer the phone while they are “helping” me.
When women let their toes or heels hang over the edge of their shoes, namely because their shoes are a size too small.
Going into a bathroom stall after someone three times my age comes out.
Sweet potatoes with marshmallows.
I don’t have superpowers.
Any TV show like Toddlers and Tiaras, Dance Moms... I would rather eat sweet potatoes with marshmallows than watch those shows.
Wal-Mart. Unless I’m looking at the site www.peopleofwalmart.com, and then I'm deeply thankful for Wal-Mart.
Cat hair on my pillow.
When my cat sneezes on me in the middle of the night.
The smell of unwashed hair. (I’m talking to you, Mr. Stringyhair from the card isle)
Making small talk with weird people.
Crazy grammatical errors like “I could of done that.” or “Don’t take that personal.”
Someone talking to me while I’m on the phone with someone else.
Loud breathers. Nose breathers, too.
Trying to sleep in a hot room.
A great book coming to an end.
Sticking a hook through a minnow.
Taking Marin to a public restroom.
When the dryer beeps at me to indicate it’s finished but the clothes are, in fact, not dry.
The incessant itch of Mosquito bites.
Loud popcorn eaters in a movie. (crunch, cruch, crunch, dig, dig, dig, crunch...) On that note, people who take too long to open their Twizzlers, too. Cellophane and auditory entertainment do not mix well.
Small creatures (namely my child, my dog, my cat) running in front of me while I’m trying to get somewhere quickly.
James Taylor. Actually, I don't think of him enough to put him on this list. But I heard his grating voice yesterday, and I'm still getting over it.
Applebees.
Sweetened iced tea. (In the south, it's called Sweet N' Nasty. Say it quickly a few times and you'll see why...)
That I don’t live beside an ocean.
The way gum feels after it's been in my mouth for longer than three minutes.
Peeps.

Shoe Shopping

2011-10-02T21:22:00.006-06:00

Fall is here once again, and the cooler weather means that it’s time to do some fall shopping. I need new jeans, a few new shirts, and definitely some shoes. While I adore shoes, I find it kind of a frustrating shopping experience because there are so many types of shoes that I love and were I a gazillionaire, I would find it easy to drop insane amounts of money on shoes. (either that or I would just wear flip-flops every day... I could go either way) But I am not filthy rich, so I am selective and careful about what shoes I buy. Before shopping, I always take inventory of what is still wearable from my closet and assess what needs I have for the season. Currently, I’ve got a sturdy pair of Dansko’s, quite a few ballet and/or flat type shoes, boots galore, and plenty of athletic shoes, but other than the Dansko pair, nothing much in between fancy and casual, at least in the color black. (How did I get so many pairs of silver shoes?) With that in mind, I began shopping. Almost all of the shoes I love are shoes I don’t need even a little bit - heels, wedges, shiny heels, shiny wedges, and light boots. I don’t wear heels anymore after the unfortunate sprain incident from a year and a half ago, so with heels I can look but not touch.

That refined my search to practical. As much as I hate that word, that was the type of shoe that made the most sense. If I bought the pairs that I really wanted, where would I wear them? I am a stay-at-home mom and a part time editor/writer; I do 100% of my work from home. I can’t see myself sitting at my computer all day only to leap up and get Marin from school in the perky wedges that I adore, then running home to help with her homework and cook dinner. So I’m left with practical. Is it weird that I want an office job just to be able to buy less practical shoes? Who am I kidding. I sprained my ankle in a pair of wedges in my own home. I'm stuck with practical.

At the shoe store, I talked with the salesman and told him what I wanted, now that I had my head firmly wrapped around practical. He listened and brought me a bunch of boxes. Most of what he brought me was either approaching the $200 mark or well above it, and I needled him a bit for that. (don’t let my compete lack of jewelry and $9 flip-flops fool you, buddy. I really won’t pay that for shoes.) Then he revealed this much less expensive pair, pictured above.

I did not get excited when I saw them, (except for the more gentle price tag) but I wasn’t repulsed either. But then I put them on and oh holy comfort, they were like walking on a cloud. There was no pinching or squishing or weighted feeling, just soft billowy shoes. I bought them.

When Jon got home that evening, I showed him the clothes I bought (not for his approval necessarily, I just like to play with my new things). There was some eyebrow raising, but not too much; he liked my purchases for the most part, though I do think he always sees my clothing as too practical and relishes the idea of a modestly slutty housewife, a Betty Crocker Pamela type. But gliding on approval, I pulled out my shoes. He stared at them for a while, and - a true phenomenon in the opinion department - said nothing. “You don’t like them.” I said. He laughed. “No. They are so ugly. Horrible. Awful. They are shiny and strange. I hate them.” Surprised, I talked about the comfort, showed him a few of the shoes I currently own, and explained my reasoning. He stopped me and said “Seriously? You should probably be asking one of your friends about this. I don’t claim expertise on women’s shoes.” Good advice. (And, as I would soon discover, a greater truth had never been spoken) I took a picture of my shoes and emailed them to Corene and Lisa. Corene said "Not only are they cute, they look comfortable!" Lisa said "UGLY. So ugly that my reply was forced to be bolded and larger font."

A true dilemma! Two friends whose judgement and taste I totally trust! What to do! When I finished laughing after reading Lisa's reply, a brilliant solution came to me: the next morning, I would drop Marin off at school and make Jon go shopping with me. He didn't have anything to do anyway, is by far the worst bored person I’ve ever known, was at a stand still with the Yeti, so he agreed to go shopping with me. We went to Nordstrom and he starting looking around at the ladies shoes. First he picked up EXHIBIT A. (See below. blogspot won't let me incorporate the pictures into the text. Very annoying.)

I giggled a little and explained that while yes, I do want casual, I needed it to be a little more fancy and feminine. So he brought this to my attention, (see exhibit B.) which just said “little old lady” to me.

"Then this one." He sounded firm. “Put that down.” I whispered. (exhibit C)

He was getting irritated but he kept on. “This?” (see exhibit D)

I gagged. “Jon, old ladies those shoes. Not only do they not have even a slight youthful air, they make toes look like overcooked sausages that would burst if you touched them”. Gross, just gross. Why, why, why did I bring him shopping with me? He put the fancy farm shoes down while I only said one or two more rude things and then reminded him that we were shopping for colder weather. He was back on the hunt.

After more shoes like the examples below, I got it. (see all remaining exhibits) He likes his girls butch. In fact, based on the shoes he presented to me, I think he was harboring a fantasy about me being a butch little old lady. A lesbian Betty Crocker Pamela in butch shoes! I said this to him, and we simultaneously called off the shopping spree, agreed that the original shoes were keepers, and decided to get lunch. He just asked that I not wear my new shiny shoes on a date with him.

I think that’s fair.

EXHIBITS

2011-10-02T21:09:00.010-06:00

Yes, I know the pictures are off and not well labeled. (Blogspot, you annoy me sometimes.)

exhibit A

exhibit B

Exhibit C

Exhibit D

The rest

These Stories

2011-08-26T21:34:00.005-06:00

"But these stories don't mean anything when you've got no one to tell them to..."

Joy. Loss. Grief. Laughter. Worry. Love. All bound together with hope. What a wild ride life is.

Rule Follower

2011-07-26T22:13:00.009-06:00

Me: Marin, what is 24 + 5? (I show her a math problem from a book)

Marin: I don't know! (screaming begins)

Me: You can use your fingers to count. (I demonstrate on my own fingers)

Marin: I can't. I can't. I can't. (head drops down to table, tears begin pouring out and over, awful noises from child follow)

Me: Marin, please don't let your frustration take over. (I close book to try to follow my own advice)

Marin:

Marin: ...very long silence...

Marin:

Marin

5 minutes later, after watching her stare out of the window while I chopped celery, I asked her if she was ready to try again. Silence from the child.

Me: What is 24 + 5? (this time without showing the problem in the book)

Marin: (dismissively) Oh. That's 29.

Me: You knew the answer the whole time? Why didn't you just say so?

Marin: You said to use my fingers. I didn't know I could use my mind.

Visiting Grandpa and Norma at Their Canadian House

2011-07-14T17:47:00.000-06:00

Kellie and Kids Visit

2011-07-14T17:44:00.000-06:00

Reunion

2011-06-11T18:31:00.009-06:00

"You haven't changed a bit!" was the phrase I heard repeatedly at my 20th high school reunion. Really? I feel changed. Both deeply and superficially changed. But coming from people I haven't seen in twenty years, this was a comment I did not mind hearing. It meant they didn't see the gray I cover up in the salon, the lines I smooth over with retin-a are actually softening, the workouts I mentally and physically push through have kept the ever ready pounds at bay - how nice to hear.

This reunion was delightful. I saw friends I actively keep in touch with and miss desperately since moving and some that I have connected with through Facebook, and some that I have not seen since grade school. I've heard stories about reunions - people trying to prove themselves etc, but in my opinion, the SME '91 reunion was warm, embracing, and full of hugs and stories. Amy's fiance asked "How do you all not run out of words?" as he checked his watch over and over again. My own husband called a cab at 11:00 when he realized I might just be getting warmed up. Amy laughted and said "We never once ran out of words." She and I smiled at each other and remembered sleep overs where we fell asleep talking and woke up talking; for sure, we never ran out of words and to this day never have enough time to say it all in our brief visits. The night ended appropriately - Kellie and me sitting in her driveway talking deep into the night, crying, missing her mama deeply, giggling, belly laughing, and sharing like we've done as long as we've been alive. How is it that someone I became friends with at age 2 is still someone I would gravitate towards if I met her today? Reunion indeed.

Another friend jogged my memory with my very strange - and young - obsession with rock "star" Stephen Pearcy from Ratt. He remembers a day I was on the playground in 6th grade crying with Kellie over the fact that I would never meet the singer. I remember the day well. Kellie started the crying spree with her own wailing that she would never meet Peter Cetera, and I felt weird because I could never cry and she could cry on command. Crying really never has been my thing as I've mentioned a time or two on this blog, and to fit in with the crying crowd, I would have to force the emotion. The saddest thing I could think of, or was willing to confess to, was not meeting Stephen Pearcy, which should have been a testament to what an easy life I had; on the contrary, I had just found a letter my mom had written to my dad asking for a divorce. Me being me, I didn't mention to my mom that I read the letter she had stowed away in her purse - I was supposed to be fetching her wallet from the car when I found it. Since I was a little sister and highly trained in snooping, I sat in the driver's seat and read the letter word for word, placed it back in the purse, said nothing to my mom when I handed her the wallet, and went to school later and fake cried about not getting to meet Stephen Pearcy. The conjured cry was probably therapeutic and most certainly dramatic. And oh, the irony, when as an adult I did meet Stephen Pearcy, perfectly on accident in Olathe, KS. My shock at seeing him wasn't so much that I was finally meeting him but rather by how grotesque I found him.

You haven't changed a bit. How nice. I have though, far beyond finding Stephen Pearcy unattractive and wrinkled. Some of it makes me sad, some of it makes me proud, but I have changed, and more than a bit.

Off With The Training Wheels!

2011-05-21T15:24:00.002-06:00

Sure, she's a little old for this to be really awesome. But Marin is always a little slower than the average kid with physical feats. To Jon and me, this was a special triumph. It was her idea, first of all. After soccer this morning, she announced that she was ready to take the training wheels off. She had been calculating this move all week long and was mentally ready to make it happen. We took the trainers off. We strapped her helmet on, knee pads etc. and talked to her about what it might feel like to fall off her bike (It's ok, Marin, even Papa Lew falls off his bike.) She got on and took off with Jon holding her body just a little and me jogging beside her. Typical of Marin, she screamed. Then she apologized for screaming. Then she screamed some more. "I'm so scared, Mom. I'm so scared." she said when she stopped. But then her little legs kept peddling and Jon let go. A few neighbors came out to cheer her on and she became the poster child for determination. Within the hour, she had lapped the island too many times to count all by herself and was feeling like a pro, tossing her training wheels and fear behind her like it was an old hat.

Marin's occupational therapist told us a while ago that bicycle riding and eating are the two most difficult things for kids with sensory processing disorder to conquer. With a bike there is the proprioceptive (how to lean) the visual (the world around her keeps moving) the auditory (the wwhhhiiirrr of the air around her) and the tactile (hands life gripping, feet working simultaneously on the pedals.)

Today was a big day. With one of the two major hurdles out of the way, perhaps I can even attempt to put something green on her plate tonight?

Ko Olina

2011-04-19T10:10:00.007-06:00

Ko Olina was quiet, luxurious, perfectly manicured, sculpted and easy. We ended our trip here - spent two nights. This was a place where it is easy to relax and let go, which I did. My only worry was whether or not there was enough time in the day to get all my sitting in. With so many beautiful sights to take in, I wanted to make sure I sat and absorbed them all. I didn't quite make it, but darned close.

Waikiki

2011-04-19T09:43:00.005-06:00

Waikiki, to me, is a fun place to go. Once. We had a free vacation there - were it not for that, I would probably not have chosen it. I am not at all sorry we were there and I had a fantastic time, but the crowds and the street noise that overruled the sound of the tide knocked it down a bit for me. Plus, being that I am a world class beach bum, I was dismayed to find that there were no lounge chairs on the beach unless you paid for them. There was little shade either, and while I love the sun, have no desire to ruin my skin any more than I already have. (In my youth I sunbathed in baby oil.) This is really a city that happens to have a beach, and I would just prefer a gorgeous beach.

My favorite things about Waikiki: 1) The cup of Kona coffee I had each morning from Honolulu Coffee Company. It was the best cup of coffee I've ever had. That's saying a lot. 2) The shopping in certain places. 3) Orchids restaurant, which served amazing food and one amazing mojito. 4) Waikiki may be the best place in the world to learn to surf. 4) It's easy to rent a car to drive around the island and see stunning scenery.

My least favorite things: 1) One morning, I was swimming in the ocean when my zen state of mind was disrupted by a homeless man beginning his morning bath. And he wanted to chat the whole time. Admittedly, I am a poor conversationalist when watching a filth ridden man walk in to the water with his socks on, then later use those same socks as a wash cloth on his face. The words simply were not there. By the time he unzipped his pants, I made sure the tide took me away. 2) The shopping. I both loved it and hated it. There is something great about all the options there, but also something sickening about walking down the street in a bikini/cover up and passing the Hermes store, with a $4,000 bag in the window. I guess I like to fully embrace the bum in me while slathered in sunscreen. 3) The expense of the entire place. It's just silly. 4) The noise from the streets - buses and motorcycles especially.

The weirdest things said to me:

1) When returning to my hotel, I had on my suit and my cover up. A woman stopped me and started screaming at me for showing so much cleavage. "You cannot show so much cleavage! A man will see you and follow you to your hotel and RAPE you." There were hundreds of women showing far more cleavage than I was... not sure why I was accousted. Perhaps she thought it her calling to make women aware of their chest exposure. What to do when two people's callings are in conflict...

2) Some sweaty catamaran salesman approached me with this opener: "Are you over 21?" Anxious for the water and sand, I replied "No." This smooth sales guy replied "You look over 21. You look a lot over 21." "Thanks, Buddy!" I said. "You're once heck of a salesman." And he actually followed me around arguing with me about my age, saying "Nice try... nice way to get out of a sales pitch" etc. There are times in one's life that I truly believe it's ok to let your inner bitch out and this was one of those times.

Lost in Hawaii

2011-04-19T09:26:00.002-06:00

The first full day that we were there, we rented a car and drove around most of the island. We stopped at multiple beaches, ate the obligatory and inexplicable Matsumoto's Shave Ice. (why is this popular?) Unbeknownst to Jon, I lead him to multiple Lost locations - the Byodo-In Temple where Jin and Sun were married, the waterfall where Kate found her case, one river, the valleys, Hurley's golf course etc. They were all worth seeing on their own, but by the third time I said "This is where... (fill in Lost reference)" Jon clued in to what we were really doing. And I got called a geek.

Marin's 6th Birthday Party

2011-04-19T09:21:00.001-06:00

Unbroken

2011-01-30T18:52:00.004-07:00

There are some books that I race through, desperate to know the ending. Upon occasion, I have been known to read the ending first so that I can actually enjoy the book without worrying so much about how it will end, which allows me to properly pace myself. (My book club gasped in horror when I confessed this.) Then there are some books that I intentionally creep through just to spend a little more time in the world in which I have buried my nose. Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand is the third sort of book, the kind that, upon turning the last page, I was not ready for it to end, not ready to leave the world of one of the most resilient men I have ever heard of.

Louie Zamperini. I talked to my grandpa today and asked him if he remembered hearing about him - a 1936 Olympic runner who was not able to go to the Olympics - in Tokyo - because he found himself fighting the Japanese in WWII. One unfortunate day while searching for a lost plane, the B-24 Louie was in went down in the ocean itself, killing all but three men. One of the three eventually died, but Louie and his friend Phil drifted for 47 days. After weathering little food (except shark livers and albatross - raw) and almost no water, they finally spotted an island. And what did they find on the island? Japanese men, waiting to take them to a POW camp where the real trials would begin. There, Louie met one of the most sadistic men in the Japanese military, who was determined to break Louie. Of course it didn't happen, or the book would not be called Unbroken. (My grandpa, one year older than Louie, couldn't recall hearing about him, but perhaps that's because he was stationed in the Aleutian Islands and upon the war's end went home to meet and marry my grandma and adopt my then four year old dad. Things got busy for him.)

Read this book. While I would not call it life changing, it is as close as you might get to that on a printed page. Cruelty meets forgiveness, desperation meets hope, starvation meets gorging, nightmares turn to peaceful dreams upon an encounter with Billy Graham, it's all there. I have read so much about WWII over the years, but most of my focus, whether fiction or non-fiction, has been on Nazis and Germany. Ironically, my dad's biological father was killed on a Japanese ship after being taken as a POW, so this book resonated on a personal level as well.

What I wouldn't give for a fraction of Louie's resilience and spirit.

The Best and Worst of 2010

2011-01-04T14:29:00.019-07:00

A few nights ago, I sat down on the couch next to Jon and asked him what he recalled about this past year. We do this every year, talk about the last 12 months, make a best and worst list for the year and laugh, eye roll, talk about what things we can actually write about on this blog, and have a few moments of grief thinking about the not so good things that came to pass. This year, though, Jon said "I don't remember a thing. Not one thing." I prodded him a little, saying - best thing that happened? He shook his head. Worst thing? More head shaking. "Ok, let's start easy. Your favorite movie that came out this year?" He said "I don't know, Dark Knight?" I threw my pen on the table and he asked me what was wrong. That Dark Knight, his favorite movie, came out two full years ago had completely escaped his attention, so I could only assume that some larger moments of the year had as well. I reviewed some basics: Marin started kindergarten, we finished the basement and he nodded, as though pulling a string with a knot through a tiny hole. I don't complain about Jon much, but I do frequently rail on him for not listening to me, for forgetting monumental things I have told him - dates, times, people coming to visit etc. Now I know for sure that it has nothing to do with me, that the guy has been overloaded to a point where everything has just started to blend together. He travels constantly and always stays in Marriotts, so every room looks alike. When he wakes up in the night, he said it takes him forever - frequently has to check the hotel phone - to remember where the heck he is. I think he lives so completely inside that mad scientist brain of his that some of the present moments pass him by as he is inventing a new cryptex or fountain or something.

So this list, unlike the past lists, is compiled by me alone, which will account for it being less diverse than it used to be. Marin helped a bit because her memory is a scientific freak of nature, but her attention span is a tad brief.

This year was significant for me in many ways, but mostly so in that I realized that I have been waiting for years for things to slow down, for stress to ease up, but that hasn't happened. This year I was able to shrug my shoulders and say on with it then! It has been a time of looking back, letting go, and moving on. My grandpa died this year; Jon's did too. I continue to struggle with Meniere's Disease and have embarrassing balance issues that would lead others to make incorrect assumptions about my alcohol consumption. (Yes, I did just slam into that wall. No, I've only had a sip or two of this wine.) We visited a friend in the hospital who was lying in a coma, his life hanging on a fragile balance of hope and prayer, medicine and luck. Our friend played one of the most significant and important supporting roles in my life, for years ago, when I was 25, he introduced me to Jon. Were it not for him, I would not have this life, this marriage, this beautiful child and I am thankful for him. The impact, the sometimes careless, sometimes deliberate impact we have on one another continues to impress me.

And finally, this year, I think I am beginning to grow comfortable in my own skin. Sure, I've had days, moments, even weeks of it at a time, but I've found myself over the years trying on and taking off varying attitudes and personas to a small extent. Now, I'm finding it easier to say this is who I am. (If I could just get that comfortable saying this is what I believe, I would really be making progress. How are so many of you so stinkin' sure of your opinions? I both marvel at that and recoil from it at the same time. ;) I had a teeny tiny revelation about my discomfort in being me watching, of all things, Glee. The battle between Will and Sue - watching Will try so many different things as a teacher, as a person etc, some with success, some with failure and I completely identified with him at times that I didn't want to because he has no idea who he is. But I wanted to be more like Sue, just a nicer, less heinous, more human Sue. One thing you cannot say about her is that she doesn't know who she is and that is why I love to watch her.

On with it then...

Best: All of our travels. (Akumal, Disneyland, San Diego, Kansas City, Dallas twice, Wichita Falls, Canada, North Dakota, Vaughn Lake in Colorado, Breckenridge and Jon hiked into the Black Canyon.)

Worst: Two things: 1) Seeing Steve in a coma. 2) Landing myself in the hospital after I threw up uncontrollably all over the Ritz Carlton. As Marin would say, gross and scary.

Most Significant: Marin started kindergarten. Yes, I was one of the mom's crying quietly behind my sunglasses as she walked in line into her classroom.

Most Delightful Realization: Marin laughs in her sleep. Constantly.

Thing I Want Most: A memory chip installed in Jon's brain.

Most Proud Of: The way my family celebrated my grandpa's life. We put our kids to bed and sat in a tiny hotel room for hours laughing, talking, and laughing until we had cramps. (My mom picked up her camera and said "Hello?" after her phone rang.) I cannot believe we didn't get a phone call from Hotel Management. My grandpa would have been proud.

Most Challenging: Marin's Sensory Processing Disorder diagnosis. She's a sensory avoider. Everything is too loud, too bright, too smelly, too disorganized, too weird. (broccoli, I am talking to you.)

Coolest Moment: Riding Space Mountain at Disneyland for the first time with Marin. I rode in front, Jon and Marin behind me, and I sat through the whole ride in utter terror at how she must be feeling, riding a roller coaster through the dark at a high speed with music blasting. We got off, though, and she said "Let's do that again!"

Most Peaceful: Lying on the beach in Akumal. I think I can set records for how long I can lie on a beach without moving.

Most Joyful: Any moment with Marin. Watching her play on the beach, watching stars and planets with her, riding rides at Disneyland - that child has joy dancing out of her when she's in her element. (Oh, thank you, Mom. Thank you for bringing me here.)

Most Thankful For: The life that I have. It is mine and I plan to use it well.

Greatest Embarrassment: Any moment in a public restroom with Marin. An SPD kid sensitive to smells, Mom, it smells really, really bad in here. sights, Agh! What is that? Where is the scrub brush? sounds, Who did that? and finally, coming home from Disneyland when I heard her suddenly burst into hysterics. (Me, pounding on the stall door. "Marin? What's wrong? Are you ok?" Marin: It got sucked back up, Mom. I had to go, I really did. But it got sucked back up and I don't have to go now.") The giggles from the other stalls didn't help.

Best Book: Those Who Save Us and Unbroken

Most Profound: Marin's thoughts on God, which she says are very complicated because she can't see him or talk to him. But she claims that she was there when God made the stars and the planets, that we were all there when the universe began just waiting to take our place in the world.

Most Fun: Finishing the basement. I absolutely loved the planning process and picking out the materials and was so sad when it was all finished. I love it and I have thrown many parties down there, but I need something else now to throw my creative energies into.

Learned Most About: Planets. Prior to this year, I knew their names and that was it. Now, thanks to Marin, I know their rotational speeds, their temperatures, how many moons they each have, and which planet could float in a bathtub.

For this coming year, I vow to learn two new skills, one important, one ridiculous. Maybe I will learn how to turn on the grill. Maybe I will learn to play pool since there is now a pool table sitting in my basement. Maybe I'll start learing Spanish along with Marin. Maybe I will become less of a perfectionist. Maybe we will sell our house and travel more. Maybe. But for now, I am going to post this - without editing it. (Those of you who know me well know that is a step in becoming less perfectionistic as my imaginary red pen is always itching to move.) But - and I say this without sentiment because sentiment makes me uncomfortable - for sure I'm going to vow to be the best me that I can be this year.

Disneyland/San Diego

2010-12-31T14:20:00.003-07:00

The Girly Parties

2010-12-05T18:12:00.003-07:00

These are the girly parties we've been having. Heaping plates of food, opened wine bottles, cranberry spritzers, a massage therapist occupying a space behind closed doors, girls soaking their feet after fight club, jammies on, facials, special socks, chatter that varies from delicate to "did she just say that?" I love our girly parties. These are the girls I work out with and we have lately been gathering in my basement to do nothing but pamper ourselves and just take joy in being girls.

Christmas is Coming

2010-11-28T08:53:00.000-07:00

That Ain't Funny

2010-11-01T09:23:00.008-06:00

Last night, my neighborhood was crawling with children - and adults - dressed up for trick-or-treating. Marin loved last year's costume too much to part with it and opted to wear it again. We met up with friends - for me, Corene, Lisa, Jill, Gaelle, which meant Marin got to go door to door with some of her favorite people - Aaron, Liam, Ellory, and Sophia and more. Halloween is by far my favorite holiday because it offers the most joy completely stress free. Christmas is nice, but there are so many expectations attached to it that Halloween has moved front and center in our family. Watching Marin, in costume, race from house to house with her friends is in my top ten favorite parenting activities and I hope to never be the one stuck home handing out candy, but I know I'm going to have to let Jon have a turn one of these times.

Jon, however, was having some fun of his own. About 5:30, right as Marin and Aaron were playing outside ready to get their costumes on, he asked me "How diabolical can I be?" I knew he wasn't really asking; he was planning. Considering our front porch was already a scary scape with a backlit ghost who waves his arms in desperation, two skeletons whose heads turn - both set off by a motion detector - three flying skeletons rigged to the ceiling, a fog machine and a strobe light, (see pictures below) I paused before opening my mouth. I love all the disgusting trappings of Halloween, but I don't like scaring small children. My own child was, until this year, terrified of spooky houses and I didn't really want to have "that house" for other kids. Too late for that, though; Jon's mad scientist brain was activated and within seconds he was hanging a black curtain in the corner of our porch, right next to the door bell. He hid behind it and then asked me to have Marin and Aaron test his idea. I called them to the door, and they trustingly came racing from the yard. Aaron rang the doorbell and Jon's hand shot out with the candy bucket as he yelled "Boo!" Aaron jumped then burst into giggles and shouted "You tricked me!" Aaron, it's important to note, is fearless, but Jon took that as "it's not THAT scary."

When we returned from trick-or-treating a few hours later, Jon was still behind the curtain. He succeeded in frightening most of the neighborhood children and nearly got punched in the process. At one point, he heard a bunch of kids and a dad approach the porch. The kids were nervous about walking up to the door after seeing the skeletons turn their heads round and round, but the dad said "It's ok, kids. See?" And he kissed the skeletons cheeks and played with the ghost to show them how fake it all was. "I'll ring the doorbell for you." He reached out his hand towards the bell just as Jon's hand inched out from behind the curtain and grabbed his wrist. The enormous hulking man screamed like a little girl yelping "oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, easy kids!" He shot to the edge of the porch, arms out protecting the children. Jon came out and the man stepped forward, fist curled. "That ain't funny." He quipped just as a grin spread over his face, more from relief than humor, thankful that it was just a sick prank. The next victim was another man with a family who also heroically sacrificed himself to ring our doorbell. Jon didn't grab his wrist, though. Instead, he slowly slid the candy bucket out mid-air, giving it a floating look. Then he yelled "Gotcha!" The man said "&%$#! &*%$! OH &^%$! OH &*%$!" with his kids listening. When Jon came out, the man started laughing and shook Jon's hand. "That was good, man. That was good."

Our neighbor Nate told us that people would go to his house after ours and ask him "What's going on at that house?" pointing to ours. (meaning: what kind of neighbors do you have, exactly?)

Who had the most fun last night? Marin, collecting candy, racing around the neighborhood with her beloved friends, coming home to organize and categorize her candy, getting to stay up late? Me, walking with my friends, soaking up my child's joy, then having a little post gathering with the girls over a glass of champagne? Or Jon, creating false horrors while hiding behind a curtain drinking beer and making grown men practically wet their pants? I'd say it was a three way tie, perfect for each of our personalities.

2010-11-01T09:06:00.006-06:00

Marin: What is this blue candy? It says A-L-M-O-N-D...

Ellory: It looks like chocolate.

Aaron: Well, that kind is really gross. I think it has feet in it.

Marin: It looks white. (pause) OH NO. It's coconut. I tried that once in Mexico. (she shudders and quietly puts the candy in her bag.)

2010-11-01T09:01:00.005-06:00

These two guys have rotating heads that are set off by a motion detector. At the same time, the ghost in the right picture flails his arms like he is trying to take off for flight. Then three skeletons are circling the ceiling like creatures looming over prey. Jon and Marin made all of this while I was in Dallas.

My Sister's 40th Birthday Party

2010-10-24T19:00:00.003-06:00

For my sister's 40th birthday, most of our family gathered at a lake house north of Dallas. There were the usual family gathering fixings - food prepared with dedication and vigor, a lake, and a cornhole tournament. Everyone in my family is good at throwing things and it's always fun to compete for the championship.
Mary, Mom, Janet (who is now 40) me, Julie.

These two sets of pictures were taken 23 years apart, and I am cringing as I write that. We tried to recreate our poses as best we could, which explains what Bill's hand is doing in at least the second picture. I was 14 in the picture above and can proudly say I have not worn a turtleneck since. Nor have I curled my bangs - or used a curling iron at all - since then. I guess some things do change for the better.
Same people, slightly older. We're more fun now. ;)

Sometimes

2010-08-29T16:12:00.008-06:00

Sometimes, things are that good. Here, at Vaughn Lake, it's the kind of mountain scenery that people will drive out of their way to see. In our case, it was 27 miles off the beaten path outside of Yampa, CO. 27 miles in gravel road time means 45 minutes of bumping and winding, but that's when company cars really show their value. The first morning there, we took a three mile hike around the lake. It didn't look that big from where our camper sat and I won't swear by it, so I should just say that the lake is a lot bigger than it looks from up above. On the west side of the lake, the trail disappeared and the only flat grass we found had the fresh print of a large animal with a very big stomach, meaning we weren't the only ones sleeping by the lake the night before. Were I a bear, I would sleep there, too. From there, the grass was so tall that we lost Belle in it, seeing glimpses of her only when she shot up like a deer, receding right back into the green and disappearing again. Marin would have had to swim her way through the grass as well, so she gave up the fight and rode on Jon's shoulders for a mile or so and I carried her up the home stretch. We burned off our roasted marshmallows for sure.

It was beautiful. It really was. My heartbreak right now though is for the sleeping lump beside me, who is not even wrinkling her nose in anticipation at the scent of banana bread baking in the oven. Belle had her second and last surgery a few weeks ago and seemed to bounce back from it like a spry puppy. That hike, however, she is not recovering from. It's been three days and she can barely pick herself up off the ground, will only eat if we bring her food to her, and even let me brush her tail today, something she hates. I'm hoping that a few days will restore her energy, but she's 11. How restored can an old dog get? That hike, though it took it all out of her, sure made her happy along the way. If she's near the end, I'm so glad that she got to race around that lake with her heart wide open. Sometimes, that is good enough.

The Force of Gravity

2010-08-13T20:16:00.019-06:00

"Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I love you, tomorrow! You're only a DAY! A! WAAAAAAAAYYYYY!" That Marin loves singing this song I loved too as a child is of no surprise to me. That she is screeching it full force on the balcony of our condo in Breckenridge is a bit of a surprise, or maybe the surprise is that no one has bellowed down "shut up!" as her voice cracks and gives on the last word.

On the way up the mountain today, the questions and driving advice from the backseat were exhausting. Jon was trying to finish up some work - sitting in the passenger seat - and he was both amused and annoyed by her frequent input on how I should be driving. "The sign says the speed limit is 70. Are you going 70? Because it seems like you are going faster than that." or "Mom, those cars are passing you, I think you should speed up." or "Are you going to be turning right or left when we pull off the highway, because I need to know." I am used to getting a mini driver's ed session when carting Marin around, but for Jon it was a surprise, if only that he thought she had outgrown it by now.

These two "surprises" had us thinking about the other unexpected issues/events we've had while parenting Marin. For instance, we did not anticipate that Marin would dislike our dog so much. I asked her if she likes Belle and she said "She's a sweet doggie." Then I asked her if she loves Belle and she said "Not so much." In the car today, Belle kept trying to put her chin on Marin's legs, and Marin kept inching herself farther away from Belle. By the time I really noticed, Marin's feet and knees were practically out of the window, and I asked her why she wouldn't let Belle snuggle with her. She said "She has gross stuff hanging around on her chin." I didn't see anything unusual, but Marin was thinking of sins in Belle's past, apparently, where gross stuff has lingered upon occasion.

Other surprises - I no longer need to have a memory, thank goodness. It was time for that thing to retire. Marin's memory is so acute, so freakishly spot on (as her past teachers called it) that I don't have to remember a thing ever again. I can ask Marin where I packed away old ski gear from last winter before we finished the basement and reorganized everything and she will lead me to its spot three shelves up in our storage room. Rolling her eyes, she'll say "there, Mom. You put it up there." I can ask her to remind me about something - anything - and it's as good as Google calendar beeping at me. Done. Also, that Marin has little to no sweet tooth surprises me since mine is as big as a buck tooth redneck. She loves to help bake anything, but it will grow mold before she eats more than four bites of it.

Her perception of philosophical concepts, spirituality, and human nature is always a surprise, too. A few weeks ago, Jon asked me a series of questions about some mundane topic and it irritated me, as questions often do. I don't yell when I'm irritated; I show this emotion with a gaping, enormous silence and while I was just ignoring the annoying questions, as is my preference, Marin silently took out a piece of paper, a crayon, and drew a warning sign. This wasn't a child's scribbly drawing, it was a warning sign like you might find on a bottle of hazardous waste or on the edge of a trampoline showing how many different ways you can break your neck. She just slipped me the paper, said "Mom!" in that knowing way and went back to flitting around the room. Did I answer Jon's grating questions after that? Yes. While Jon was laughing and gloating, I answered his questions.

But my biggest surprise is what a passionate, enthusiastic learner she is, particularly regarding outer space. In the last year, we have read more, talked more, dreamed more about the planets, the sun, the stars, astroids, meteorites and comets than I could have possibly imagined. She is tireless in her pursuit of learning all she needs to join the ranks of NASA someday. She asked if we could write a letter to them so that they would know she wants to be the first person to land on Mars, but she said we could only write that letter if we could leave out words including the letter G. "I don't make good Gs. They would not be impressed." When getting her hair cut last week, Kara (hairstylist) asked Marin why she wanted to land on Mars, and Marin said because it was the most likely planet a human could visit, but that it would be cold. Kara suggested that Marin take hot chocolate to help warm her up, and Marin didn't miss a beat in saying "Can't. It would freeze too fast and I couldn't drink it." Neither Kara nor I, the adults, had considered it, but Marin had.

Don't worry. I don't really think that Marin is going to grow up and be an astronaut. I may help her dream and encourage her to be anything she wants to be, but I can't think of anything more terrifying than one night sitting on my deck looking up at the stars knowing my daughter is up in space. The thought makes me nauseated, as the enormity of space scares the heck out of me. Jon says we don't have to worry, that Marin will probably be something like a florist, and I think there is more truth in that than not. Nonetheless, if Marin wants to dream about landing on Mars, I'm not going to stand in her way. Plus, it gave me a great segue into the normal parental platform of "You must work very hard to achieve your goals." With everything she does, be it piano lessons, basic math, reading, or making cookies, she asks if working this hard will help her be an astronaut.

Two nights ago was the big meteor shower and Marin was talking about it for days ahead. We had to read up on the differences between asteroids, meteors, meteoroids and meteorites,* and we had to study up on the variances in sizes etc. We then packed our car up with blankets and snacks, all carefully arranged by Marin, and we headed off to the park. Not only were we allowing her to stay up WAY past her bedtime, but we were lying in the grass staring up at stars, and for the first time in Marin's life, looking at three planets - Venus, Mars, and Saturn. She danced and twirled in the dewey grass laughing and leaping to celebrate her good fortune. It was the easiest thing I've ever done to make her happy and joy poured out of that child as she tried desperately to feel the earth spin on its axis.

And I am surprised. To find such joy in learning and deepening her understanding surprises me as her personality unfolds before me. I love, love, love reading to my child but when I pictured this activity, I thought we would be pouring through Narnia, secret gardens, going down rabbit holes, and visiting Lost Boys. I didn't think it would be volcanoes and craters on Mars, wicked weather on Venus, and gas giants. But still I love to sit beside her and turn pages of any book that gets her excited about life. It may never be easy to take her to a public restroom (Why are they always SO GROSS, Mom? Eeewww - what is that?) but it will be easy to turn her curiosity toward the orbiting planets and let her imagination run wild.

*Oids are outside the atmosphere, ites are inside it, and meteors are in between.

Where On Earth Have You Been?

2010-07-10T18:30:00.007-06:00

Where On Earth Have You Been?

2010-07-10T17:54:00.005-06:00

That is a good question. Since the beginning of June, I have either been somewhere or someone has been here. The basement was finished and suddenly we have found ourselves swamped with activity.

First, my niece Ashley came to stay for a week. While she was here, Jon's brother Greg and his family joined us. Marin adored being with her cousins.

The day after Greg and Andi left, Ashley, Marin and I packed our bags and drove to Dallas to see my sister. We celebrated Kellan's second birthday, and Marin finally began swimming without any floatie. It only took bribery, ear splitting screaming (from Marin, not me) and Maddie to finally coax her to let go. It quickly went from "Don't let go of me!" to "Don't touch me... I can swim."

After too many late nights and syrupy humidity (who doesn't love summer in Dallas?) Marin and I drove to Wichita Falls, Texas to see my cousin Lynette and her husband Joe and daughter Natalie. Marin got to paint in Joe's art studio, a definite highlight only surpassed by the fact that Natalie has a chiuaua. Since Marin thought the dog could possibly be SkippyJon Jones, it was hard to beat that thrill.

Marin and I returned home to Denver after a long back ache inducing drive... no amount of wiggling and twisting can take that driving ache away... to arrive to a houseful of friends. Kellie, my oldest (and by oldest I mean longest. By longest I mean I've known her since I was two) friend came for the night with her two adorable kids, her mom - whom I referred to as my second mom for most of my life - and her sister Megan. They are always cherished guests. I have known Kellie longer than I've known almost anyone. As she drove away, I was thinking that no matter how much I love my life here, no matter how many amazing friends I have in this city (and I have a lot of amazing friends) I never stop missing Kellie. She's as permanent as family; even more so, because she was a choice. Seeing her makes me miss all those girls in Kansas City too even as I embrace my girlfriends here.

While Kellie was here, Jon was backpacking in the Black Canyon, fly fishing with two of his friends. He returned home, bringing his friends with him for two nights. They left the same morning that we packed our car up and drove north, stopping first to see Jon's family then trecking farther north to see my dad and step-mom in their summer home in Canada. With a house that sits squarely on lakefront property, it's easy to unwind. We sea-doo, swim, fish, eat extremely well, pick wild berries, look for bears, and read. On the way home, we stopped to see Jon's family again and played for a solid day with six rottweiler puppies and four kittens at Aunt Laurie and Uncle Frank's house.

And now we're home. It's been so busy that I have had to catch my breath more than a few times. My grass is too long and must be cut, I am listening to the washer and dryer hack away at our laundry piles, and my cat is sitting on my feet as I write - all reminders that we've been away too long. Yes, it's been busy, but what would I change? Which things would I not have done? Not one of them. Time with friends, family... it stays with us long after the laundry has been folded and put away. I can rest tomorrow.

The Cone of Shame

2010-05-29T12:42:00.019-06:00

Last week, I told our vet that I might as well move into his clinic. He looked at me strangely, but nodded his head slowly. In the last month, I have spent more time with Belle's vet than I have with some of my friends. The poor old girl has had a huge lump in her foot for about three years, and I have had it repeatedly checked. It grew even larger and more oddly shaped lately, though, and since my old vet (literally) was struggling to walk across the room this last year, I decided it was time to seek a new one. This young guy (by young I mean my age) took a sample of the thing taking over her paw and his demeanor instantly changed from friendly and chatty to all business. He scheduled Belle for surgery; within a few days he did the deed and described it as one of the most violent surgeries he'd ever done on a dog's foot. The tumor was invading her bones, and to fully get it all, he had to deform the side of her paw just a little bit. The fist sized mass was sent off for biopsy and sure enough, it was a mast cell tumor, which moves like a biochemical weapon through bodies. It was only at stage I, so we caught it in time. But the bad news was that another one popped up on her leg just a week after the surgery and her bandaged foot wouldn't stop leaking something. It was some weird fluid that just gushed through her padding, bandages, socks and all over my floor. Every chance she got, she pulled those things off and started working on suture removal. Everything, it seemed, was messing with her foot healing. Age, Belle herself, the fact that the wound was on a foot, which a dog cannot stay off of, and some unidentified fluid. It was becoming a time sensitive matter - the vet could not remove tumor #2 until tumor #1 healed fully. Daily, I dragged that quivering dog back to the vet, who finally threw the cone of shame of her head. She's now been wearing it for two weeks, all of her dignity stripped from her. After suffering an infection that went septic and a bit of dermatitis, I think we're finally on the upswing. Her paw is now almost healed, just in time for surgery number two next week. Jon and I have decided that this is it. No more surgeries after this one. For me, caring for a pet means looking out for their quality of life. If that declines permanently, the kind thing for us to do is to help her move on.

Jon and I have been reflecting on Belle's gentle nature while we watch her bumble around and stumble into walls, and he made the statement that all three of my pets have been some kind of reflection on my personality. Looking at Belle, I took that as an enormous compliment. She's happy and perky, sunny, always forgiving, deeply loyal, makes friends with everyone, blonde and adventurous. She would rather ride the Sea-Doo or swim more than almost anything in the world, just like me. But I flipped that around a bit, too. She is also obsessive, wants food all of the time, smells bad, like old carpet - even after a bath, digs through the trash, and steals toys from small children. And that habit of greeting people at the door with Jon's dirty underwear in her mouth? I don't do that.

Then there is Sammy the cat, who is so laid back that at least once a day I think she's dead and check to see if she's breathing. She purrs every second that she's awake, which granted is only about 22 minutes a day, but it's a glorious 22 minutes. She is calming, trusting, and content and spends her waking moments traveling from one sunbeam to another. But she's also the dumbest living creature I've ever known, and while walking across the room will stop mid stride and pause for five minutes while she remembers where the heck she is. She will eventually start meowing for help, but that's just pathetic as her meow is broken due to all the times she's forgotten where she was going. She also has that sneezing habit, which is so gross I can barely discuss it. Let's just say that it's good I'm her owner. Many a night I have been awakened with a sneeze shower from that cat and have to get up and wipe my face off three or four times to get it all. When I paint my house, getting a washable paint is crucial not because of Marin but because I have to be able to wipe cat goobers off of my walls. Further proof of her disgusting nature is that she has not had a bath since Jonah died. He used to try to snuggle up with her, but would sniff her, grimace, and start cleansing her with furious vigor. After an hour or so, he could relax, curl up with her, and fall asleep. With his death, her clean days are long gone. Am I like Sammy? Well, I do sneeze, but I keep kleenex on hand. I bathe daily, not once every two years.

And Jonah was just rotten. He was smart, wicked, vengeful, pesky, had kitty insomnia, a passion for grooming everyone around him, a distaste for bad smells, and a deep distrust for everyone except me. Were he a person, he would have been a finicky, meticulous housekeeper, keeping all things in their rightful place. That cat also loved to mess with people. My whole family witnessed him pull off an E.T. with the stuffed animals thing successfully. However, for his nice qualities - when no one was looking, he was so loving and affectionate it was almost embarrassing, he competed with Belle in the loyalty category, and had a keen radar for danger, bad weather, and creepy people.

I asked Jon how he meant that I am like all of my pets, and he just smiled and said "Roll them all up into one, and there you are." A compliment or should I too don the cone of shame for resembling my furry friends? I am choosing to take it as a good thing because as I'm watching Belle round out the end of her life, the good of sharing life with these hairballs most definitely outweighs the bad.

Finishing the Basement

2010-04-23T11:48:00.021-06:00

*pictures of the progression - from tunneling to the pipes to cabinets going in. I will post more once it's completed.

Since January 4th, I have been alone in my house four times. That's it. Jan. 4th was the day the demolition crew jackhammered into our basement floors to dig around the pipes that were heaving up from the expanding bentonite in the soil. We had two 4x4 holes in the floor and the crew, on their bellies, hand dug their way to the crooked pipes. Jon, always spontaneous, said in those first few days "Hey, since they have the holes in the floor, let's go ahead and finish the basement. We'd have to have them put pipes in anyway to put in a bar sink. What do you think?" If he expected me to leap from the couch with enthusiasm, he did not get that reaction. Instead, I cried. My house is 4000 sq. feet and I can barely keep up with the cleaning as it is. Adding another 1300 sq. feet completely squashed my hopes of ever being a good housekeeper. After promises of "I'll be really, really helpful with cleaning it" from Jon, I stopped crying and started getting excited as we talked about how we wanted it to look. We drew up our floor plan ideas, submitted them to our contractor, and the project developed a heartbeat.

It is now April and the "finishing" is not finished. We were promised a May finale, and it looks like that will actually happen. The carpet is delayed a bit, our fireplace is stuck in customs and no one seems to know which country's customs have it held prisoner, and the barstools we ordered online arrived - a very anticlimactic arrival, I might add. They look like barstools for anorexic hobbits. When describing them to Jon over the phone, I sat on them and gave him this scientific evaluation: "if your rear end is larger than a size 8, it's probably going to hang, droop and ooze out over the edge." We are sending them back. But according to construction lore that I've heard, those are all minor setbacks, so it is nice to say that we have no true renovation horror stories. We're on track time wise; other than a few things, nothing has gone wrong. That's not to say it's been uneventful, just not catastrophic. A few things that have happened/been observed:

*My garbage disposal backed up one afternoon. It was clogged, and not one more thing could be shoved down its throat. Since I didn't have that information as I plunged pasta into its guts and turned on the disposal, it burst all over one guy working downstairs. He came up, knocked on the basement door, and after looking at him, I didn't need him to tell me that there was a problem. He was wearing my lunch.

*Jon and I have learned that we do projects really well together. I suspect that, were he honest, he wanted to do the basement because our marriage hit a dull spot for three minutes and he thought "hmmm, this will give us something to talk about at dinner."

*Marin, who despises the noise coming from the basement from 8 am to 6 pm, does love planning how it's going to look and loves helping us pick out our purchases. Her only grievance was that we didn't put a black toilet in the bathroom.

*One of the guys, Justin, brought his breakfast here one morning. I went down to talk to him about laying out the tile and heard munching and gulping behind me, and it didn't sound like a noise Kenny, Justin's partner, would make. We turned around to see the last of his breakfast going into my dog's mouth. I made him triple chocolate brownies later, and sent some home with him. Later that night, Belle managed to hoist herself onto the counter and ate the rest of the brownies out of the pan. Good food day for the dog.

*On one of the four days that I did not have people in my house, I was so delighted with the silence that I celebrated by turning music on loudly while I showered. Marin was at preschool, Jon was at work, and I had the entire house, top to bottom, to myself. Judge all you want, but I find it impossible to hear Adam Lambert and not sing along. Even in my most foul mood, I just can't help myself. So I sang my heart out, attempting to hit notes only meant for Adam's voice, when it suddenly dawned on me that all of my bedroom and bathroom windows were open, and I live in close, close proximity to my neighbors. I knew I should be embarrassed to be 36 and giving the neighborhood a bad concert, but hey... it's Adam, and I can't fight the forces of nature. I shrugged and kept singing.

*I really like shiny things. When looking for fixtures and tile, I gravitated to anything that reflects light. Sure, that's practical in a basement, but that was just my excuse. My light fixture choices are over the top shiny and the tile in the bathroom is practically a disco ball.

*My golden retriever went from being the worst guard dog in the universe to one likely to bite someone's hand off if they come in the house without my permission. I have big, burly, hardened men coming to my house daily and have been asked multiple times to "call off my dog." Who knew? I can't decide if I'm proud or nervous.

*The guys who have worked in my basement have put me to eternal shame. They work long hours, weekends, and do dirty, difficult, and perfect work and somehow have time to talk to me when I feel chatty. They are creating our dream basement. And what do I do with my time that's worthwhile? (when Marin's at preschool, I mean) Write this blog, of course. It's a little shameful that while they are framing, drywalling, painting, laying tile, etc., I am just wishing night would hurry and and get here so I can watch Lost or read a book. Really, I am not a lazy person, but these men are in a special work ethic category.

I can't wait for the basement project to be completed. I have parties to throw, the Lost finale to watch down there, and I can be on the phone without getting interrupted by the sound of a saw. And I will have my house to myself for a few hours a week once again. Adam Lambert and I will be singing a duet again...

FIVE!

2010-04-04T09:37:00.007-06:00

The Pain of a Perfect Whale

2010-03-26T14:32:00.022-06:00

Dear Marin,

I volunteered at your preschool this morning. I loved being there with you, watching you play so happily with your friends, listening to you provide answers to the questions your teachers asked, pushing you on the swing; you are growing away from my baby girl and into a divine five year old. The joy in your laughter, the deep pitch of your voice, even your cry - these are sounds that are part of my heart. You are smart, perceptive, clever, the funniest person I have ever known, fun, joyful, cryptic, and beautiful. With the exception of when your finger is up your nose, I am proud of you each time I look upon you. And still, even then, even as I correct you, I am proud.

Right now, my Marin, my heart aches for you, for I am seeing the pain you are going through and as your mommy, I would fix it for you this minute if I could. Looking ahead at how this will impact you, I am worried and I just want you to know right now, today, March 26th, that I think you are just right and nothing will ever change that. In about 10 years, if you are still pressuring yourself as you do today, please hold that close to you.

Today, you were given the task of cutting out two large whales that had been drawn from a template. There were a lot of curves, a lot of detail work, and when I saw what your challenge was, I braced myself, remembering the star incident. The whales, I feared, would be a repeat of the stars, or lower case letters, or hammering out Twinkle Twinkle on the keyboard, or any task for which you had an example of how something should turn out.

But before the whales, let's remember the stars... on that particular day, I waited at the door to pick you up from preschool and your teacher, Mrs. Lewis, asked me to wait until everyone had gone. Once the room was empty, she said "We had a problem today, again." And she got crocodile tears in her eyes and handed me a pile full of construction paper stars waiting for a small hand to cut them loose. You had finished two, with 10 more to go. "Marin had a hard time doing these, and she became so upset that we thought it better to just send them home so that you can hug her through this." I understood. I know the pressure you put on yourself to do everything with perfect precision and I know what an incredible scene it can be, and I know why Mrs. Lewis spared the other children in the room from witnessing such behavior. So I took the stars home, waited a day, and while Dad made dinner one Saturday evening, you and I sat at the counter and began to talk about cutting out 10 stars. You tried the first one, chubby hands shaking, and got through the first line, but when it came time to turn the corner, you refused to try. I rubbed your back and reminded you that "we don't quit, we always try", "you don't have to be perfect, you just have to try", but that just got me verbally assaulted. I continued reassuring you, and ten minutes later you attempted the corner, but missed the template line just a bit and threw the star and the scissors into the air, and slammed your face into the countertop. Hiding your head in your arms, you sobbed that you could. not. do. it. and your crying changed into hysterics. I picked up your trembling hand, put the scissors into them, and said "just try." 30 minutes later, gasping for air, grunting with each slice of the scissors, hiccuping, coughing, horrible things running from your eyes and nose and unable to speak, you produced one perfect star. And I mean perfect. It was better than any star I've ever cut out - or have any desire to cut out - and you set it aside with disdain. The next nine stars we divided over two more days, and each one took a little less time, but darn it, you did it, filled with self-deprication the entire way, but you never gave up. Each one looked like an adult had done it, but you were dissatisfied.

Learning your phone number and address was equally excruciating. You wanted to be able to write them and say them, and through the screaming, pen throwing, and gurgling, you refused to quit to even take a break. Your dad and I asked you to go play for a while, but you sat at that counter forcing your mind to memorize each letter and number until you made no mistakes. At the end, your face was swollen and blotchy red, the pen once held captive and tortured now nothing but a fallen soldier, but you knew your stuff and only then could you resume your interest in your toys.

Today, the whales were same story, 100th verse. You were fine until you got to the tail that had a dip and a curve in it, and then you melted into self loathing, filling the room with screams and grunts and pants of "I can't, Mommy! I can't!" Every single child had finished two whales and you were not half way through your first. Your friend, Sophia, sat by you and said "Marin, I made jagged edges and it's ok. I still like my whale." You wailed back at her "I DON'T LIKE JAGGED EDGES" and continuted grunting and cutting. It sounded like you were giving birth and it was taking just about as long. There is no sound that rakes my heart more than your guttural grunts; it is the sound of your heart breaking. The other kids were listening, staring, your teachers had to turn away to hide their tears, and I... my heart was breaking over and over again watching you torment yourself like that.

Marin, to me, you are the most perfect creation in the entire universe. I love you so much and count every single day that you have been in my life as the most incredible gift. To see my little girl casting so much anguish upon herself by needing her work to be perfect is so painful. Your friends turn out ridiculous versions of whales and stars and they are thrilled with their work and go on about their lives; you cannot accept anything less than perfect and you replay how "it should have been" over and over again. I pray that I find a way to help you cope with this part of your personality, but my fear is that you will always berate yourself when you can't make something align with the picture of perfection in your head.

Please know, Marin, that you may always bring home a sloppy whale to me and I will still hang it on my wall and love that your little hands created it. Please don't let attaining perfection be the thing that eats you up... you are far too amazing for that. My hope for you is that tomorrow you can cut out a terrible picture and hand it to me smiling. Too much to hope for, maybe, but I'll keep hoping. We don't give up, after all, we keep trying.

I love you, little Marin...

Akumal, Mexico

2010-03-12T10:13:00.001-07:00

Joy

2010-03-12T10:06:00.005-07:00

We spent a lot of time on this trampoline. It is definitely more fun to bounce on a tramp in a setting like this. In fact, I got so carried away jumping my heart out that right after I proved to myself that I could still do a flip, I bounced even harder and peed just a little. I heard that wouldn't happen until I was over 40, so I'm a little ticked off.

La Playa

2010-03-12T10:01:00.003-07:00

Beach Bums

2010-03-12T09:55:00.003-07:00

All three of us excel at being beach bums. I don't know why I get restless sitting around doing nothing at home, but I could do nothing for hours when you stick me in front of an ocean. Jon slept for over two hours in this chair and awoke to describe his experience as the greatest nap of all time.

2010-03-12T09:54:00.005-07:00

2010-03-12T09:47:00.002-07:00

This was our last night. Marin had been begging to try a real coconut the whole week, so we ordered one. She tasted it, and the look on her face should express her feelings about the experience. She tried to stay positive and pretend she liked it, but when we ordered her ice-cream later, she told the waiter that "No me gusta coco. Me gusta chocolate."

Books

2010-02-01T16:03:00.004-07:00

As you all know, I am an avid reader. For the most part, unless it's a romance novel, you can put a book in my hand and I will read it. When I try to put together a list of the best books I've ever read, the list is tremendously varied; I don't like just one type of book. Some of my favorites range from anything by Barbara Kingsolver, whose writing is so perfect and beautiful that it almost sounds like music when read aloud, to The Count of Monte Cristo, to Naked by David Sedaris, and The Help by Kathryn Stockett. It is impossible to pinpoint my taste - I am all over the board. I love books, I admire writing of all kinds, and I am definitely not easily offended.

I have two book suggestions for you, and they are as different as two books could be. The first is tragic, desperate, gripping, and executed quite well. I could not put it down and felt a loss when it ended. This one is Those Who Save Us by Jenna Blum. It takes us back to WWII Germany and allows us to look at life from a woman just trying to keep herself and her daughter alive. What she chooses to do is shocking and heartbreaking, but understandable. It raises topics of judging others (wrongfully, always wrongfully), shame, endurance, hate, and sacrifice. No WWII/Holocaust book is ever easy to read, but this was one of the better I've read on the topic. In grad school, I took a Holocaust Literature class, and this would certainly have been a good one for discussion in that class. It is impossible, I imagine, to read this book and not be impacted by its weight. If you liked The Book Thief, this one is for you... it is even better.

Now, as I wrote earlier, I have a wide range of books that I have enjoyed, so on that note, I am moving toward a book drastically different, but this one is entertaining. People keep telling me that my sense of humor is warped, but you know, my sense of humor is mine and it's probably not changing, no matter how many times my mom tells me my brain is wired incorrectly. The book that makes me laugh out loud every time I open a page is Our Dumb World by The Onion. It is an "atlas" of our world, detailing places according to the way things "really are". It is deadpan, cynical, and no topic is sacred, even the Holocaust. I read the things these people have written and marvel how they are simultaneously able to be so ridiculous and brilliant at the same time. For people who admire the craft of writing, it's hard not to enjoy this. It is broken down country by country.

*The book is truly meant to be humorous, not offensive. If you are offended easily, it is most definitely not for you. With that qualified, read on!

A few brief snippets:

The United States was founded in 1776 on the principles of life, liberty, and the reckless pursuit of happiness at any cost - even life and liberty.
Vermont: Clean Air, Filthy People. The environmentally friendly hippies of Vermont lead the world in water conservation, as well as soap conservation, shampoo conservation, and Q-tip conservation. Vermonters are known to recycle their undergarments, often making a single pair last as long as two months. Indeed, if statewide trend continues, Vermont's strategic deodorant reserves - roughly two sticks of Right Guard - should last at least until 2407.
Tennessee: Like Hee-Haw, but a state.
North Dakota: Empty. Founded in 1889 by two men who figured it might be useful for something someday, ND was the first uninhabited state to be admitted into the Union. North Dakota was once briefly populated in 1987 by a carful of drivers who accidentally swerved over the border. North Dakota's largest city is Sioux Falls, South Dakota.
Kansas: Taking a bold stand against the dangers of modern existence... the Kansas legislature has officially banned all forms of reality. In addition, the growing number... claim that homosexuality is a choice, and they are dedicated to proving it every other Wednesday night at a little motel just outside Topeka.
Wisconsin: Clogged artery of the heartland. Once the fattest people in the country, Wisconsinites have slimmed down dramatically by adhering to a strict diet of just one basket of cheese curds at every meal. Many exercise daily by jumping up and power-walking to the kitchen for a bratwurst between snacks.
Oklahoma: In 1912, a tumbleweed lazily blew across the dusty prairies of Oklahoma on a soft summer breeze, an event long remembered as the only thing to ever happen in the state.

Among the other states I have not listed here, it also lists what it refers to as the B.S. states, which are Alaska, Hawaii, and Minnesota. Why Minnesota? Mostly because it's random, and random is funny, but also because "From 'Yah, sure' to 'You betcha, there,' Minnesotans have not said one intelligent or discernible things since 1858."

*If I have not listed your favorite state, just ask, and I will share. I didn't list Colorado because it was too true to be funny, and too offensive to list on a family site.

Other countries:
Brazil: People At Their Most Beautiful, Humanity At Its Ugliest. Boasting some of the sexiest people ever to be stabbed repeatedly at night, Brazil is home to perhaps the most attractive victims of carjacking, robbery, and violent assault in the world.
Australia: As Seen On Animal Planet. The nation's delicate ecosystem has been thrown out of balance. Kangaroos and koalas have been displaced from their natural habitats, and must now survive in new and distressing environments, namely late-night talk shows. Sadly, those left behind have fared no better. The nation's black mambas are unable to stalk their kill without documentarians loudly narrating their every move, and saltwater crocodiles have stopped mating, as many worry that the moment they start (you know what) four cameramen and boom-mic operators will burst in on them. Other species, however, have adapted to their new challenges, but now only get the desire to mate when they are being filmed.
China: With over 700 billion citizens manufactured since 1892, China is the world's largest mass producer of Chinese. Assembled from raw genetic materials, thousands of disposable workers are churned out each minute. Babies are separated by a large sorting machine, which sends the boys into the electronics field and girls off a cliff.

And those are the "nice" ones.

This book definitely requires one to put aside being offended while reading it, but because it makes fun of everyone and everything, it is kind of easy to do. Plus any book that declares the most tragic event in American history as September 11. 2001... because it was the day that George W. Bush's career was saved... is ok with me.

Bill's 40th Birthday Party/New Years Eve Weekend

2010-01-13T21:54:00.001-07:00

This was part of the gang who gathered to help Bill celebrate his big 40th b-day. Bill turning 40 is more shocking than any of the birthdays that have passed for me; it seems just a whort while ago that Bill, then 16, was driving us around in his station wagon encouraging us to go ahead and shoot those bottle rockets out of the back window at cars following behind us. (Which we did, all 4 sisters lined up against the way back door lighting and expelling explosive objects out of a moving vehicle. It was the 4th of July, after all.) Bill was the leader of all things wild and unpredictable and him turning 40 is a bit unnerving. Not because he isn't great at 40, but because nothing so far has made me feel that getting older is inevitable than this one birthday. But that aside, it was a fun 3 day event in Branson. We did what my family does best, which is talk, talk, and talk some more.

The Best and Worst of 2009

2009-12-14T14:51:00.007-07:00

Last night, Jon and I were reflecting on the entire year, thinking over some of the things that happened this year, some of the things that didn’t happen, and some of the things we wished had happened. Ultimately, this year was defined by waiting. Late January, Jon and I were furniture shopping, just about to complete our master bedroom makeover. We had painted it (twice), bought new bedding, and had fabric samples at home to pick out something cozy for our bay window area. The morning I was heading to Arhaus to place the order, Jon came out of his office and said “Don’t do it. Wyeth is being acquired by Pfizer. We need to cut back our spending starting right now.” From there until October, it was nothing but a waiting game. We waited for any news. I spent hours in waiting rooms of doctors offices while waiting for the diagnosis of Meniere’s Disease and hours driving to and from appointments for the rest of the year. We had more rain and more snow that we’ve had to wait out than I remember from past years. Almost every camping trip was wet at some point, and we spent time hovering in the camper playing games waiting for the rain to let up. Some years we’ve seen more, done more, but this year, we waited for relief and news. My way of handling it was to aggressively clean out my entire house. I went through things methodically, cabinet by cabinet, scouring, sorting, and ultimately, throwing out, giving away, or selling via garage sale. (where Marin had her first lemonade stand and we learned that she is an aggressive sales person – takes after her daddy, there.) We even went through every item in the basement and if it hadn't been used since we moved here, it got tossed to the curb as well. Jon said now, after the dust has cleared and he’s charging into his new company, that he felt like he missed this entire last year. I can see what he means; his stress levels were way too high. But when I really think about it, there were moments I would have liked missing, too, such as Marin’s astronomical meltdown in Copper Mountain. This is the one where she got off the bungee trampoline, looked at the line she would have to wait in if she wanted to do it again, and threw herself on the cement screaming and wailing that she would never move again until she got back on the trampoline. The crowd was enormous, and yes, that was my child on the ground turning 10 shades of red while throwing her shoes so she would have an excuse to not get up. I scooped her up and carried her all the way back to our condo while she screamed at every passer-by that she was trying to run away. I would sincerely liked to have missed that moment. But on the other hand, I would not miss for anything all the hugs, kisses, and amazing things that have come out of her mouth for anything in the world. Watching her ride her first bike, making her first pie, listening to her read in secret (she won’t acknowledge to us that she can read) hearing her thank us repeatedly for her toys and clothes; sure, she has her moments, but she is appreciative, clever, hilarious, and perceptive. I am so thankful that she is my child and not someone else’s; I would spend all my time wishing she were mine. At the end of it all, I’m still reeling a little from all that happened this year, but I can say that I am truly thankful for every good thing that I have. For this next year, I am going to hesitantly say that I hope for more action and less waiting, but I know… be careful what you wish for.

So here it is, our annual Best and Worst list of the year.

Best Moment: Finding out that Jon kept his job after we were completely convinced that he would lose it. Goodbye Wyeth, hello Pfizer.
Worst Moment: Jon says Jan. 25th, the day he found out (via the internet) that Wyeth was going to be purchased. A close second is getting hit by the red Taurus. (our car = totaled) The cop showdown that followed didn’t help. (You all best get out of here; somethin’s about to go down.”)
Most Poignant Moment: For Jon, it was when he was explaining to Marin some basics of Christianity. They talked about Jesus being put on the cross, what it means to forgive others, when we should ask for forgiveness, among other things, and then Marin paused and asked “Did God have to ask Jesus’s forgiveness for doing that to him?’
Greatest Disappointment: Not being able to put one foot directly in front of the other to walk. Thanks, Meniere’s Disease.
Dumbest Purchase: Zhu Zhu hamster set. (Well, if it’s dumb remains to be seen. But I’m a little mortified nonetheless.)
Best $$$$ Spent: Droid phones.
Most Necessary Purchase: My prism glasses.
Most Joyful Moment: The moment Jon got the call that he would obtain a position with Pfizer.
Funniest/Awkward Moment: Teaching Marin the proper names for body parts, or rather, the aftermath. The morning after she learned the terminology, she crawled in bed with Jon and me, snuggled for a moment, then said “Dad, this is a bagina bed. Penis’s, OUT!”
Most Thankful for: New friends like Neeli, Corene, Lisa…
Greatest Embarrassment: Asking David Sedaris if his candy basket was a f***-it bucket.
Greatest Loss: Sleep.
Best TV Shows: Lost. And I have to say, I’m loving Modern Family.
Best Book: The Help by Kathryn Stockett. Jon’s is The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown. Actually, it’s the only book he read all year.
We Wish For: A cleaning lady
Places We Traveled This Year: Crested Butte, Yampa, Beaver Creek, (twice) Vail, Copper Mountain, Kansas City, and Rapid City.
Most Beautiful Place We Saw: Crested Butte.
Greatest Frustration: That Jon’s not a vampire.
Best CD Purchase: Ryan Adams “Cardinology”.
Most Refreshing Moment: For Jon, any moment of fly fishing.
Something We’ll Never Do Again: Take Ambien with an alcoholic beverage. Nor will Jon ever eat a peanut butter and wing sauce sandwich again. Nothing from that night should be repeated, really.
Movie We Should Be Ashamed to Have Laughed At: Bruno
Worst Movie We Saw: Wanted
Sweetest Thing Marin Said: Is that Mommy waking up? That sound is music to my ears.”
Irony: Needing our roof replaced from hail damage only to find out it was never installed properly to begin with.
Moment I Don’t Care to Relive: Waiting for the phone to ring. (back to the whole Wyeth/Pfizer thing again)
Most Looking forward to: Our February trip to Akumal, Mexico.
Least looking forward to: Lost ending this year.
Most Shocking Moment: Watching Jon sample Sammy’s canned cat food and declare it “not all that bad.”
Marin’s Most Proud Moment: Making her first pumpkin pie from scratch. We baked the pumpkin and all.
Most Clumsy Moment: The nail polish incident.
Greatest Relief: Sammy stopped sneezing
Simple Pleasure: Marin’s first bike, appropriately a Marin brand.

No More Thinking

2009-12-13T08:44:00.005-07:00

Yesterday we were driving in the car when Marin broke through the silence to say "I'm not thinking tomorrow at all." Jon asked why not. "Because tomorrow is Sunday and thinking on Sundays is gross."

And this is the definition of non-sequitur.

Greg Laswell vs. Kate Bush

2009-11-13T14:42:00.006-07:00

I've been getting interested in Greg Laswell lately, inspired by his song "Your Ghost". While browsing through his music, I came across this cover he did of Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work". That song always haunted me, and now hearing Laswell's take on it, I am haunted again. Since I found Bush's version on playlist.com, I posted that one. Below, though, is the link to Laswell's. (playlist does not have it, and it does not have "Your Ghost") Take the poll and let me know which one you like better!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BkWiW1ps7g8

Uninterrupted - A Mom's Night Out!

2009-11-08T16:30:00.002-07:00

Lisa K., Corene, Megan, Gaelle, Tara, me, and Wendi.

Scaredy-Cat**

2009-11-01T17:19:00.005-07:00

On this blog, I have written frequently about the quirky, odd, observant or funny things that have come out of Marin's mouth. (My recent favorite was when I was picking out my glasses, which I've never worn before, and I asked Marin if she liked a particular set and she said "You look like my Grammy. I asked if that was because Grammy wears glasses or because I looked old. She said "Because you look old.") My child never fails to surprise me in the best of ways and last night was no exception. We went trick-or-treating with a bunch of our neighborhood friends, but after the younger ones faded away, my friend Corene and her son (Marin's friend) Liam were as game as we were to keep on going. We came upon a house that had strobe lights, scary skeletons blowing in the wind, and sound effects; after a "harrowing" experience at another neighborhood house, she opted not to knock on this particular door and asked if she and I could wait on the street. I agreed. Liam and Corene rang the doorbell and I heard little Liam say "My friend is too scared to come to your door. Can I trick-or-treat for her?" The door answerer happily gave him extra candy to give to his scaredy-cat** friend and he came racing down the driveway to tell Marin he scored candy for her. She heard that and stood positively dumbstruck at his words. All of a sudden, she threw her arms around him and pronounced "You are the best friend EVER." They stood and hugged, forgetting all things candy for that one moment. I choked up, Corene had to turn away, because suddenly we were the moms about to cry in some stranger's driveway over our children on Halloween. I know it's not monumental to most people, but that was one of the sweetest moments I have had the pleasure to witness between two four year olds; he got candy for her without her even asking, and she could not hold back her appreciation. Their moments are small, unexpected, but boy, do they hit hard.

**get it? she was a kitty for Halloween.

My Night With David Sedaris

2009-10-27T12:37:00.010-06:00

"I've got a bad idea again..."

Last night, I went to hear David Sedaris at the Buell Theatre. For those of you who know me well, you know I have a strange obsession with this man's writing. He makes me laugh out loud, he makes me laugh in my head, and he is also genuinely good at writing. I recognize that his writing isn't for everyone, (mostly because my mom told me that) but it is most definitely for me.

He began reading and I was thrilled to discover that he didn't read from his books that I've already read. That would have been perfectly fine, as I would have loved hearing him read anything in that voice he has, that voice alone that made the audience giggle when all he said was "Good evening." But he read from his new work... imgained topics such as a political satire, pretending to be a woman who hates Obama and goes to protest in Washington, only to mistake Washington DC for Washington the state. He read a fable. (yes, fables are supposed to be stories with a moral and he claimed that since he's short in the moral department, it should just be called stories about animals) There were real stories about rude people in airports, and he read about his image of Jesus as he imagines him. Not a thin, washboard stomach, hairless chest Jesus, but an obese, repulsive, balding, Jesus, a person he referred to as "comb-over Jesus." Though over the line for sure, he made us question why Christians might have such a hard time accepting an imperfect looking savior, something I've never really thought about. And to my delight, he spoke about his father. Any mention of his family members and I'm happy.

The whole event was funny and enjoyable; I delighted in hearing one of my favorite writers speak. After the event, however, came the moment that I think I'm just a bit mortified about. Sedaris told the audience that he would be staying to sign books, and of course I had brought mine, so I asked my friends if they would mind waiting. Lisa and Wendi graciously agreed to stand with me. About twenty minutes later, I found myself panicking about what I would say when I met him. I'm notoriously unclever; give me a quiet moment and I will inevitably stick my foot in my mouth with something I later wish I could take back. My friends and I mulled over what we could possibly say to such a funny man, and I came up with nothing. I mean, really, what could I say? "David, I've read all of your books at least eight times." That's true, but unoriginal. "Hi, Mr. Sedaris. I love to write, too. Do you want to read my stuff?" Not that either.

Suddenly it was our turn, and we approached him. He greeted us warmly, and I handed him my book. I watched as he wrote my name in it, then he began to draw a picture. I had nothing; I was silent. Wendi, bless her, began talking, and the two of them struck up a conversation about weird last names. Then David Sedaris looked up at me and said "Would you like to have some candy?" He pointed to a basket on the table. Oh no. I looked at the candy and I could only think of one thing, and that one thing was forcing its way from my brain out of my mouth. "Is that a fuck-it bucket?" I asked quietly.

Let me explain. Sedaris has a brother named Paul. Apparently, Paul has an enormous potty mouth and he also likes candy. So he created a candy jar and called it "The Fuck-It Bucket". You know, when times are stressful, just eat some motherfuckin' candy. It's mildly amusing to me, but I made it a joke in my family when I presented my step-father with a Fuck-It Bucket for Christmas and filled it with gum drops. Lewis, who loves all things sugary and sweet, didn't worry about the profanity much as he gobbled the goods.

All this was running through my head as I stared at one of my top five writing heros, me turning beet red, while he chuckled. Of all the things I could have said to this writing giant, that was the best I could come up with? "Am I the first person to ask you that tonight?" I asked. He grinned and said yes, I was the first. I couldn't think of anything else to say that would make that moment any less classy, so I turned to leave. Behind me, I heard Wendi say "She really, really loves you." He laughed again and said "Thank you." I'm guessing he figured that out when he took my book copy and saw the tabs marking my favorite chapters.

That said, if you've ever read his books, I think you now understand why I, with my inability to ever say anything cool under pressure, enjoy his stuff so much.

2009-10-07T15:45:00.000-06:00

You're Living The Dream, Mom

2009-09-08T07:56:00.008-06:00

My mom and Lewis came out this last week to visit. We did a whirlwind trip of a few mountain towns, starting first in Breckenridge, where we met Julie for lunch. Jon sat with his head in his hands as Julie and I dissected the Twilight series, a topic he's heard me relishing for months now. It's embarrassing, I know, but true. After lunch, we drove through Copper Mountain and then headed into Vail, where we stayed for the night. The next day, we drove into Beaver Creek, rode the chair lift to the top, and had lunch. After that, we went to Keystone and then drove home. Some of my favorite quotes:

1) My mom was gushing over all the mountain towns, trying to decide which one was her favorite. She said "You all are so lucky that you get to live so close to so many great places." Marin, who didn't appear to be listening, turned to me and said "You're living the dream, Mom."

2)After a shower that night, Marin streaked from the bathroom to the bed, jumped under the covers and tried to lie still. Jon came in the room and said "Hmm, where is Marin? Where could she be?" He peaked under the covers and saw a bare bottom. Surprised, as he didn't know she was without clothing, he asked "What is this?" A muffled voice replied "The dark side of the moon!"

Desire

2009-08-24T13:05:00.016-06:00

Fitness... nutrition...weight loss... what new wisdom could possibly be said on this topic? Not much, but I have learned a few things in my quest for good health and one of those things is this: I have goals and to achieve my goals, I have to open my big mouth and tell everyone exactly what I'm doing, for the shame of not accomplishing my goals is too enormous. I'm not one of those people who tries to lose weight on the sly or surprise people with my success - it just doesn't work for me, and, frankly, I haven't seen it work for anyone else. "On the sly" to me means "put it off until tomorrow" and nothing gets accomplished. So here I go again - I'm declaring it boldly that I have a new set of goals and I will achieve them. With your help, of course.

Most of you know that I dropped 20 pounds about a year and a half ago. More importantly, I went from 27% body fat to 18%. I have kept that weight off since then (no thanks to how I gorged myself this summer) but I am ready to push it a little farther. I knew I wasn't "finished" when I lost the 20, but I lost some of my drive for reasons I'll explain in a minute. This time, it's not chub I'm really going to attack, even though there is a bit of that still hanging around, it's more of a fitness challenge to me. I want to see how far I can go, and it's time I get those fabulous arms I've wanted my entire life. At 18% body fat now, I want to get it down to 15-16%. I don't want to be skinny, I want to be lean, toned, and strong. Healthy. For some people, this would be a walk in the park, but not me. I love to cook and eat, so my goals aren't exactly compatible with my loves. People always say that you have to be ultra disciplined to work out and lose weight. I totally disagree. From my experience, I know this to be absolutely true: my fitness goals are not about discipline, it's about wanting one thing more than I want another and putting that one thing front and center every single day. It's about zeroing in on my goals and focusing solely on that. When I am hungry, in a hurry and want convenience, I have to remember that guzzling cheese and crackers isn't what I really want... I really want a flat, toned stomach. That makes it easier (not easy, just easier) to turn to a protein shake instead for a snack. Plus, I have been strongly advised to kick out as much sugar, salt, and alcohol as possible. Much as I love a glass of red wine here and there, the alcohol is not a problem, but the sugar and salt? Oh, the pain. Why give up things I love so much?

I think most people in my life know that I have Meniere's disease, but perhaps don't know that it is a real fickle bitch to work with. Salt, sugar, alcohol, caffeine, and tobacco aggrevate it. Obviously, I steer clear of tobacco, drink almost no caffeine, and very little alcohol. But salt and sugar trip me up, and I've got to get it under control through my diet. With this disease, there are good days and there are bad days, or more like bad weeks. I'm not going to whine and moan about M.D, even though I kind of want to, because we all have our obstacles to overcome and this is mine. So I will just say this: it's very, very hard to work out when a quarter of the time I can't tell if I'm standing, spinning or falling. Usually I'm perfectly upright, but I have to use mirrors as a positioning guide. It's pretty embarassing to be sitting on a weight bench and fall straight over - and not even know the difference. M.D. combined with my practically dead blood pressure, a Vitamin D absorption problem, and those pesky post-workout crashes have given me a load to work with, and if nothing steals going-to-the-gym motivation, that does, believe me. But in the grand scheme of things, M.D. and the gang are not that monumental. I've slacked off in the last few months telling myself these were viable excuses, but the truth is they are not compatible with my goals. To not do it would make things even worse, so I can do this. I want to do this. I will do this. Plus, I'm doing vestibular therapy this fall, which should mean I'll learn better coping mechanisms, or, as they say, I'll learn to retrain my brain for appropriate balance, teach it to compensate for the mixed messages it receives from my inner ear. How will they do this? How else but with a revolving disco ball, a bosu ball, hand weights, dim lights, and loud, loud music. I'm a little nervous.

Over the summer, I kept my weight lifting in tact - I rarely skip that. Plus, working out with Ronalee and the girls is downright fun, not to mention encouraging and motivating. I like lifting weights. Cardio, not so much. I have done very little intentional cardo in the last two/three months and that is a problem. To me, the machines are dull, I'm not coordinated enough for any class that remotely resembles a dance move, I don't run, and swimming, the sport I have the most experience with, isn't in any way friendly with M.D. But again, I go back to this: not liking cardio is not compatible with my goals. I want to be healthy. I will do it.

I'll be watching my body transform once again this fall and hope you'll be watching along with me. I'm finding my desire is taking hold once again and it's exciting. Come along for the ride...

Mount Rushmore

2009-08-19T20:47:00.007-06:00

This past weekend, we met Jon's family at a campground near Mt. Rushmore. It rained way too much, but Marin loved being doted on by all her cousins. Her every whim was granted by these seven kids; who wouldn't love it?

Oh, and... four year olds don't really get why Mt. Rushmore is so cool, as voiced by one particular little blonde four year old.

A Golden Moment

2009-08-17T18:35:00.015-06:00

"Marin, get your shoes on, please. We're going to the grocery store."
"Ok, Mommy, but I want to ride in the car cart." Marin said as she put her too small black shoes on over her halloween socks. In August. With pink polka-dot pants.
"No, Marin, we are just going to get in and out of the store as quickly as possible, and that big bulky car slows us down. Let's just use a regular cart."
"Well, then, I'm going to ride in the basket of the cart, not the seat." She put her hands on her hips to prove her determination.
I placed her in her car seat and said "No, sorry, Marin, but you will have to sit in the seat of the cart." As I closed the back door and walked around to the driver's seat, I heard wailing and fussing coming from inside the car, and opened the door to deafening pleading. "No, Mommy! Blah, blah, blah, fuss, fuss, fuss, whine, whine, whine etc." Every parent knows the sound. I calmly told her no again and she was quiet for at least five blocks. Then, without any prompting from me, she said "Mommy, I will ride in a cart seat. I am choosing not to fuss right now."
I almost hit another car, so great was my shock. I proclaimed how proud of her I was, praised her backwards and forwards, and told her as a surprise reward for doing the right thing, she could pick out one treat at the store. She was elated.
On our way out of the store, her treat clutched to her chest, she asked if she could ride the horse. Even though it only costs one penny, I told her no, because she got a treat instead. So she asked "Can I ride the horse next time?" I told her yes and all of a sudden she loudly and enthusiastically burst out with:

"OH MY GOSH! YOU DO KNOW HOW TO SAY THE WORD YES! I didn't know you knew that word!"

We both burst into laughter, mine because what she said was so funny and genuine, hers because 1) she made me laugh and 2) she totally called me on saying no way too much. I have no idea if she truly thinks I don't ever say yes or if she intended to be funny, (I'm leaning towards that one) but I love it either way.

2009-08-11T08:39:00.003-06:00

Jon and I ate lunch at Pei Wei yesterday and this was in Marin's fortune cookie: "He who never makes mistakes never did anything that's worthy." I love this one. If I could somehow apply it to my nail polish disaster, that would be great, but other than that, it sure is my favorite way to think about mistakes we've each made.

2009-08-05T21:08:00.001-06:00

Marin's Moral Dilemma

2009-08-04T12:05:00.010-06:00

Last week, I was cleaning out my car and moved the passenger seat up as far as it could go. Even though I’ve cleaned my car multiple times in the last few years, it seems like something I missed pops up each time. (Is it just me that happens to?) That day, it was an old pacifier that resurfaced, or a sass-sass as Marin dubbed it. Marin was standing beside me when we saw it appear, and she pointed to it and said “Mom” very quietly, almost as if something was rising from the dead. Something very good, something dearly missed rising from the dead. We both stood and stared at sass-sass, her mind going to all the possibilities of what could be, and my mind going to the horrible few days we had when we asked her to give it up.

Marin was two and a half when she was forced to shed her sass-sass habit. She was as addicted as any kid I’ve ever seen, which granted isn’t very many, but she loved those things with a force. One of the many problems that being an older kid with a sass-sass brought on was that her teeth cut through the plastic nub easily, which made her so angry when she would put the thing in her mouth, expect suction only to receive a weak suck with some air. She would throw the offender in the air and then throw herself on the floor in agony, writhing in pain until she could muster the gumption to seek out another fix. There was always one to be had, for being Marin, she has always been a planner, and she stashed those things all over the house, in places that I wasn’t likely to look. One time, when I was taking the Christmas tree down, I found a few hidden on a branch in the back. She would also put them in back corners of our cabinets, at the bottom of buckets, behind the couches… you name it, and if it was sanitary, she probably hid one there.
Slowly but surely, I was on to her game of pre-planning and stashing, so I quit buying them. I figured over time, her supply would run out and she (we) would have to deal with her withdrawl. Oh boy, did we. Have you ever heard a baby jaguar scream? This is what Marin sounded like when she realized the good days were over, that her sass-sass days were gone. Three nights of sleeplessness, three days of a jaguar roaring like its limbs were being dismembered, three days of trying our hardest to distract her. It ended, of course, but not without leaving scars.

So there we were, Marin and I, looking at the thing that brought her so much comfort and joy, and neither of us really knew what to do. Being a planner, I could see Marin’s little mind going through every scenario, every possibility, every single “what if” that a four year old could conjure up. “Can I hold it?” She hesitantly asked. She remembered the need, the ache for it, and was running over if this would awaken that old addiction. “Well, Marin, let me go in and wash it first. Then we’ll talk about it.” She nodded impatiently. “Can we do that right now?” We went in the house. I washed it. Then I set it on the counter and asked her what she thought. “Can I put it in my mouth?” She asked, barely even looking at me. “That’s up to you, Marin, but you need to understand that I’m going to throw it away today. If you put it in your mouth, that’s your choice, but it’s going in the trash today.” She nodded. Then she picked it up, walked into the family room and set it down on the table. “I’m just going to look at it for a while, Mommy.” I left her alone with it and watched from a distance as she zeroed in on the thing. She picked it up, set it back down, picked it up, set it back down. She practiced handing it to her dolls, and made the motion of putting it in her mouth over and over again. For twenty minutes, I sat in the office pretending to ignore her while secretly watching her out of the corner of my eye, and for twenty minutes she had the moral dilemma of her life. I left the office for just a minute and when I returned, she was sitting in my chair. “Where is your sass-sass?” I asked her. “I threw it away. In that trash.” I looked in the trash can, and sure enough, there it was.
The whole thing intrigued me, for as much as she wanted her old sass-sass, as much as she wanted to remember the glory days, the pain of loving it and giving it up was too much for her. She thought the whole thing out and made her own decision in her own time. And I have to say, I think she is one cool kid.

Copper Mountain

2009-07-25T18:01:00.007-06:00

Calamity in My Kitchen

2009-07-16T10:28:00.017-06:00

"I got a bad idea again..."

Yesterday afternoon, Marin and I were home, preparing for Jon's belated birthday celebration, for he had been out of town and was returning in about an hour or two. I had been cooking since ten that morning, chopping onion, celery, garlic, stirring tomatoes, adding wine and broth, trying to create a dish that Jon and I had drooled over on Alton Brown's show Good Eats. The night before, I had prepared tiramisu, which was setting in the refrigerator. I had wine waiting to be opened, gifts for him to unwrap, and Marin was setting the table with party hats and napkins and tying a balloon on Jon's chair. Marin, who loves to plan and detail events, and I had set the scene for what looked like domestic bliss.

"Hmmm," I thought. "I think I'll take this moment to file my nails." I opened the cabinet above my kitchen desk and reached to the top shelf for the manicure bag when I noticed a bottle of reddish-purple polish plummeting straight down towards the desk, the granite desk, and as most granite owners know, very few things survive a collision with granite. My nail polish was one of those losers, and SPLAT, there was now reddish-purple nail polish all over my desk, my tile backsplash, my stainless steel ovens, my hardwood floor, my phone, my cookbooks, my plants, my shorts, in my hair, and my brand new Kate Spade purse.

"Mom, you ruined our entire house!" Marin observed in that brief moment of stunned shock, before I flew into super-speed.

Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh. I grabbed the first thing I could think of to clean nail polish, which was of course nail polish remover. I knew it wouldn't ruin the granite, but I had no idea about my wood floors or my oven. My thought process was... total ruination or partial damage? I went for partial damage, dipped a paper towel into acetone, and began scrubbing. That worked without stripping my floors, and while that was a relief, I looked up to see just exactly how much of the floor I was going to be scrubbing both large splotches and itty bitty drops, and it was something like 10-12 feet. There was no way I was going to get it all cleaned up by the time Jon came home for his birthday party in an hour or two. Somehow, comically, I had the presence of mind to take a break from scrubbing to get up and calmly stir the two pots boiling away on the stove, and while I did that, I heard Marin, huddled in the family room, advising the cat and the dog that it was probably a good idea to stay away from Mom for a while. I resumed my frantic scrubbing, so into the act of cleaning that at one point I actually thought that I had wet my pants, for I had a sudden cold, wet creepy feeling in the wrong place. But no, it was just nail polish remover getting thrown about carelessly on my body as I sweated and toiled to rid the floor of nail polish massacre.

Next, it was time to attack the tile. All action, I had a toothbrush filled with Comet, Softscrub, and NPR (nail polish remover) in one hand and in the other the phone, with my mom on the the line googling how to remove nail polish from extremely porous tiles. Remember the scene in Mommy Dearest ("Scrub, Christina, scrub harder!") anyone? That was me. Crazed, devastated, and determined. And it worked. It came out, mostly. If you know what you're looking for, you'll notice that some of my tiles are a little pink. But it doesn't look like I butchered a cow in there anymore.

I took a breath and turned my attention to my brand new not even a month old Kate Spade purse that I had hunted for ruthlessly on ebay for months. My lovely black/cream purse now looked liked it was blushing, for somehow, the nail polish managed to land on only the white parts of the purse, not the black parts. Of course. I sat down, put my head in my hands and tried to think what to do. I called the Dry Cleaners, who said they couldn't get it out. I dotted q-tips with NPR and applied it to the canvas. No luck. Just then, Jon walked in, ready to celebrate his 36th birthday, took one look at my shorts, (it looked like I had possibly been sliced open) my face, Marin's face, and said "Oh?"

He told me I could buy a new purse, but I'm not going to do that. I want to fix this one. The best suggestion I've had yet is to paint white nail polish over the red polish, for even though it won't look perfect, it will look better. I don't know.

What I Would Like To Be Doing Right Now...

2009-07-13T21:35:00.003-06:00

This was taken in Akumal, summer of 2003. That is me, waiting to get pushed along by two dolphins. For my next career, which could be challenging living in Denver, I'm going to be a dolphin trainer. It's fun to be unrealistic.

Lost Lake (Near Crested Butte)

2009-07-04T14:52:00.002-06:00

This is one picture worth clicking on to enlarge. I love the ambitious joy seen in Marin's dash to the mountain lake.

Old Friends/New Friends

2009-06-30T13:07:00.003-06:00

One of my oldest (by oldest I mean longest) and dearest friends was out here visiting this last weekend. Kellie brought these two cuties, Blake and Riley, and her mom Marty, whom I always referred to as "my second mom". Kellie and I always talked about the day that our kids would play together, and that day is definitely here.

Mutability

2009-06-23T16:55:00.014-06:00

I love summer. As long as I can remember, I have loved it. When I was a kid, I thought I loved it primarily because it meant I didn’t have to go to school, but now I think I have just always loved summer in its entirety. I love the heat, I love the smells, I love the fresh fruit and vegetables, I love farmer’s markets, I love swimming, and I love summer nights. To my core, I am a shorts, tank top and flip-flops kind of girl. I feel like me when I’m swimming or when I know a wet bathing suit is lurking in my laundry room. Living in Denver, it’s easy to love summer, for it doesn’t get very hot for very long and it totally lacks the oppressive humidity that plagues so many states. We don’t have many bugs, either. But I even remember loving the feeling of summer in Kansas City, weighted down by sweaty humidity and all. Now summer in Phoenix was a little less climactic, for it was sunny and warm 99.99% of the time, but any excuse to jump in the pool worked for me.

Loving summer has been a constant for me. Summer is about friends and freedom; shedding bulky sweaters for t-shirts is a little liberating. While I was visiting friends and family in KC last week amidst a very hot summery June, it gave me a moment to think about the things I have loved as long as I can remember. One evening that week, while sitting around the dinner table with friends, I listened to the comments everyone was making about our shared history. We laughed about funny old college stories and shared some new ones. Since I live out of town, I’m much less involved in the daily lives of my friends there, so I would imagine when (and if!) they think of me, it’s the young 20s version of me, not this 36 year old stay-at-home mom version. And it’s funny, for each of us has changed in so many ways, yet small reminders remain. As a whole, my thoughts on life have shifted, as my responses to people have as well, and, thankfully, the years have matured and softened some naive edges. I have had some great people in my life and while many, many things about me have changed, some things have just not. These thoughts prompted me to make a list of the things I have always loved and examine how they may or may not have evolved. Ultimately, obviously, going home always means watching my past collide with my present.

One question before I get to the lists: if we have known someone for years and years, can we ever see them for who they are currently or will we always see the person we knew back then? Will we always see someone for her strengths and weaknesses at the time we knew her best or can our own perceptions grow along side of her?

Things I have always loved:
1. oceans
2. animals
3. swimming
4. being in a boat
5. downing a bag of candy/chocolate
6. tomatoes
7. make-up
8. traveling
9. massages
10. writing
11. reading – my tastes have gone from loving Sweet Valley High as a preteen to loving (big shocker) David Sedaris, Barbara Kingsolver, John Steinbeck etc.
12. music – I’ve always had a very wide range of music that I liked, and while I still enjoy a good 80s song once in a while, these days I am wholly sold on Ryan Adams.

Some new loves:
1. cooking
2. video editing
3. lifting weights
4. decorating (I didn’t say I was good at these things… just that I like them)
5. Lost
6. Is Jon an old or a new love? We’ve been married seven plus years, and I still love him. Some days I even adore him.
7. being Marin’s mommy. This is my greatest joy, the most startling and powerful change of all. I love that child more than all of my loves put together times one million. Actually, it’s just not measurable.

Things I used to love that I just don’t anymore:
1. staying up late
2. rain
3. mess
4. hot chocolate
5. the way I feel after downing a bag of candy
6. carbonated beverages
7. fake fragrances (room spray, candles, perfume etc.)

*I know these lists aren’t anywhere near completed, but I’m typing fast.

2009-06-22T09:47:00.003-06:00

We went camping this weekend. (No, I didn't ask Marin to pose like this.) Marin loves camping and befriended a stick and a pine cone. Seriously. She spent hours playing with them, held performances for them, and had endless conversations with them. Jon and I were not allowed to watch her interacting with her new friends, so we turned our backs and listened. I've always thought that kids don't really need fancy, expensive toys and my weekend experience just validated that.

The Girls

2009-06-18T10:48:00.002-06:00

Girls time was fun. We isolated ourselves Sat. afternoon and evening, and then allowed boys and kids to join us for swimming on Sun.

2009-06-18T10:43:00.003-06:00

While in KC, I had hoped to get a picture of all the sisters together... Mary, Janet, Julie and me. It didn't work out that way, but Bill did take this one of just Mary and me. (Mary is my adorable sister-in-law.)

Things to Do in Kansas City

2009-06-17T21:03:00.002-06:00

In Kansas City, we swam, we rode ponies, we went on hayrides, we saw how marbles are made, we went to birthday parties, and we fed goats. Or, as in one of these pictures, the goats tried to eat Marin's shirt.

My "Little" Project Idea

2009-06-03T08:57:00.008-06:00

"Hey Jon! I have an idea for a project that won't take very long. It will be inexpensive, will look cool, and will take virtually no time. I need a little help getting the diamonds leveled, but that's about it."

Famous last words.

This little project idea that seemed so simple took up not two hours but 8 or 9. It was much, much harder to get the lines straight, much, much harder to push in hundreds of thumb tacks, and much, much more annoying to do with a four year old crying in the background "Let me paint! I want to help! Please let me help!" She clung to the ladder and foam brush with all of her might, but no matter how I explained, she didn't understand why she couldn't paint on the polyurethane.

I'm happy with the result of this. It's on the cut out behind the mantle fireplace in our bedroom. It definitely added interest to our room, but I don't think I'm going to successfully talk Jon into doing another "little" project this next weekend.

Marin's First Soccer Game

2009-05-18T18:43:00.002-06:00

The Funniest Thing That Jon Can't Remember

2009-04-30T10:36:00.011-06:00

Call it stress, call it sleep envy, call it whatever you want, but Jon recently acquired a prescription for Ambien, the sleep drug. He travels a bit and has trouble sleeping in hotels sometimes. That and I kick him constantly in the night when he’s home. I’ve been taking Lunesta for a while and sleep quite well as a result, and the few times Jon tried it, he loved the result but hated the side effect of the strange, undetermined taste it left behind. We’ve both heard the horror stories of people who take sleep meds; people reportedly do all kinds of looney things labeled sleep amnesia, sleep eating, and, worse, sleep driving. This one cracks me up, for I love the idea – not the reality- of someone getting up out of bed, hunting his keys down, heading towards the garage, and ultimately getting in the car to just drive. The best part is that these people have no memory of the events, hence sleep amnesia. A person might wake up in a King Soopers parking lot wearing her jammies with no recollection of how she got there. Why this is a side effect of the drug I don’t know, but it has made national news multiple times. But because I’ve had nothing but good results from taking Lunesta (I’ve been told it makes me a much more pleasant person) neither of us thought twice about Jon trying Ambien.

One harmless evening about a month ago, Jon decided he was going to test his new prescription before he took it all alone in a hotel. Around 9:00, he popped an Ambien. As usual, I ignored all the weird things he was doing because, let’s face it, Jon doing weird things is not exactly unusual. Moments later, we were lounging in our room when he all of a sudden asked me to print out one of my recent writing pieces. Huh, I thought, for that was certainly a break from the normal night routine. However, I did as he asked and even handed him a green highlighter as well, per his request, for he claimed that he was prepared to offer some real feedback. While he was restlessly reading, he suddenly said “I’m really hungry. Would you mind fixing me a snack?”

That should have been my first clue.

Jon is an independent guy. If he wants something, he pretty much just gets it for himself. For example, my daughter is convinced that it’s bizarre if I use the iron, for “it’s Daddy’s iron. What are you doing, Mom?” I don’t iron his shirts, he does it each morning on his way out the door. And when he wants a late night snack, he always gets it for himself. (Remember the pickle/raspberry trifle story, anyone?) But he asked me for something while he was reading my work, so I thought it decent that I get some food for him. “Make it spicy!” He requested as I left the room.

The pantry pickings were miserably slim, so I grabbed Marin’s divided pig plate (the one that keeps individual foods from touching each other) and piled pretzels in one section, sliced strawberries for another section and topped them with mini chocolate chips, and then I headed to the fridge to fulfill the spicy request. It was then I saw the peanut butter, bread loaf, and buffalo hot wing sauce on the counter. Sitting beside the three things that do not go together, there was a plate filled with crumbs, smeared peanut butter, and orange colored drippings. Surely he didn’t make a PEANUT BUTTER AND WING SAUCE SANDWICH, I thought, but then again, he really loves peanut butter and jalapenos. Weird. But again, Jon and weird go hand in hand. I shook my head and resumed my search for spice and found green tomatillo salsa, which I thought he could dip his pretzels into. Gross, true, but I went back to the whole peanut butter and wing sauce thought, and shrugged my shoulders at his undiscriminating taste buds. I dumped the chunky salsa in the third divider on the pig plate and stared at the fourth and last empty spot on Marin’s platter. It looked sad, so I went back to the pantry and saw the disgusting spice drops at the back, unused and disgraced, and dumped a few on just to see if Jon would eat them. I carried the assorted goods upstairs, ready for a laugh when Jon saw what I brought to him.

I didn’t get that shared laugh, for Jon was dead asleep, sitting perfectly upright with the green highlighter in one hand, my writing in the other, snoring like a 500 pound man. I made some sound, a laugh, a snort, I don’t really remember. I do remember, however, that he woke up right then and, fully alert, said, “Oh, you brought me a snack?” I reminded him that he asked for it. He looked really, really confused but then held out his hands for the pig plate. At that moment, I noticed that he had a not yet touched bottle of beer on his bedside table as well as a murky brown-amber drink. The only thing we had in the house that resembled that color was my mom and Lewis's left over Ten High bourbon, which is here solely for their use, for the smell of it alone could sizzle hair. Neither Jon nor I ever touch the stuff. But there it was, lurking in a glass right beside my husband who was now wolfing down all of the food I had given to him; he couldn’t get it in fast enough. In fact, I watched in horror as he picked up a pretzel, an orange spice drop, and then slipped the drop onto the pretzel stick. Then he dunked the two into the tomatillo salsa. Trying to withhold judgment, I asked him what in the name of all things true and holy was he doing. “It’s really good! You should try it!” He just looked so happy, so satisfied; how could I refuse? I did the same thing he did with the food, only I chose the red spice drop to glue to the pretzel. I dipped it and then I tasted it. Oh. Not good. Not only not good, but downright vicious. I spit it out and handed the rest to the dog. She put it in her mouth and spit it back out immediately, which was concerning, for this dog will eat anything that is remotely edible, will clean out the cat box with enthusiastic vigor, but she would not eat Jon’s oddball concoction, which he was still gleefully chowing down. Within seconds, the pig plate was empty and he was out cold again, just like it never happened. I took my article from him, and even though I saw him marking it earlier, it now looked like Marin had tried to add her artwork and comments to it, so disastrous was his ability to highlight with the green marker.

While I put the highlighter and pigs away, Jon sprung up from the bed, pillow and completely full beer in hand, and said “I’m going to sleep in the guest room, for I’m guessing I’m going to snore loudly tonight. But could you come in with me and rub my back?” Though it was yet another unusual request, I walked him to the red guest room and watched him put his beer on the table. I stayed in there for about ten minutes, and we talked the entire time about odds and ends until he asked “Why did you make me come in here for the night?” I reminded him that it was his idea and he said “Oh” and dropped off into sleep. When he began snoring, (as loudly as he had predicted) I quietly exited the room.

The next morning, he came ambling into our bedroom and burst out with “Why was I sleeping in the guest room? When did I go in there? Why is there a full beer on the bedside table?” I explained the scenario to him, but clearly it wasn’t registering. I recounted the bit about his late night snacks and asked if the spice drop/tomatillo salsa/pretzel thing left a bad taste in his mouth. Looking at me like I was the crazy one, he asked what I was talking about. I explained. He didn’t believe me. I showed him the abandoned pig plate with dried on salsa and strawberry stains, but he looked blank. Same reaction when I dragged him to the kitchen to reveal the peanut butter/wing sauce sandwich display. Within a few moments of recounting the entire evening start to finish, he had a dawning look of horror on his face like some of it sounded vaguely familiar, but he incorrectly assumed it was one of those bizarre dreams people sometimes have. You know, brought on by taking a newly prescribed sleep drug known for making people do weird things labeled sleep driving, sleep amnesia or, say, sleep eating.

The picture below is of Jon's attempt to edit and be helpful. Like I said, it looks like Marin did it.

Below is an article from Web MD, which explains more on Ambien and sleep eating:
Perhaps the strangest of these (Ambien related) behaviors is sleep eating.
"What happens is the patients get out of bed, walk to the kitchen, prepare food -- often sloppily, and often with strange, high-calorie ingredients," Silber tells WebMD. "They have microwave food sometimes. They eat in a very sloppy way, either in the kitchen or after taking the food back to bed. And they have no memory of it. They wake to find a mess in the kitchen or crumbs in the bed."
"It could be injurious -- but I have not had anyone who set the kitchen on fire," Silber says. "The most important thing is the severe embarrassment and discomfort these patients experience. And some put on a lot of weight due to high-caloric sleep eating. We have some patients who have had it happen often -- in one patient, more than once a night."

Why I Love Ryan Adams

2009-04-21T16:55:00.022-06:00

I've found there are not two but three camps regarding Ryan Adams. Camp 1) doesn't know who he is, Camp 2) thinks he's a stumbling wanna-be Bob Dylan whose sprawling albums are too contrived, Camp 3) just adores his music and falls in love with each new album he blesses us with. While I know it's not actually as simple as what I've written above, the arrow probably hit the tree. Because R.A. is all over the board, he sometimes misses the mark, too. But when he's on target, he's just about as good as it gets. Here are some of the reasons that I love him: (which puts me in Camp 3)

1. Every single album of his has a few songs that slice deeply, a few that are positively arresting, (Blue Hotel, Amy) the kinds of songs that I play over and over and over again in the car. (Are you playing this song again, Mommy? Marin frequently asks.) It's not just the music, though I love his guitar, his melodies, his voice, and it's not just the lyrics. It's everything. La Cienega Just Smiled has to be one of the most beautiful songs written.
2. He's a true oddball, not one contrived for headlines.
3. He sat next to Jon and even let his knee rest on Jon's. This was at his own concert that we went to in Boulder. Sarah Bareilles was opening and Ryan and the Cardinals came out in the audience to listen. He sat next to Jon, said nothing, drank nothing, and became a fly on the wall during the music. (The Sun Also Sets is fantastic live. So is Blue Hotel)
4. He has Meniere's Disease, too. He and I could hang out and be dizzy together.
5. He's written a book of short stories.
6. He is a true writer in the sense that he can't help himself but write. Words gush out of him, he cannot stop the pen from moving. This differs dramatically from my own writing experience, for I often find myself at my computer doing nothing but waiting for inspiration. His overwhelming volume of music says it all.
7. He is rumored to have ejected some guy at his own concert when the idiot requested "Summer of 69".
8. He shut down his web site for a week when Friends went off the air. He was mourning.
9. Even a guy this intense can have fun music, such as Let It Ride, Magick, Pearls On a String.
10. For a seemingly nervous artist, he's not all that afraid to take risks. I love the contradictions.
11. He worked with Cowboy Junkies on Trinity Revisited and added a whole new dimension to "200 More Miles".
12. His musical diversity is unlike any I can think of. To Be Young... is nothing like O My Sweet Carolina, which is nothing like Alive, which is nothing like My Love For You is Real. I could keep going.
13. Sometimes he wears his hair in pigtails.

I'm listing my current favorite songs, though they change frequently depending on my mood. These are not in order.

1) La Cienega Just Smiled
2) Let It Ride
3) Blue Hotel
4) Desire
5) O My Sweet Carolina
6) To Be Young...
7) Cry On Demand
8) Beautiful Sorta
9) Come Pick Me Up
10) Nuclear
11) Magick
12) Cobwebs
13) Amy

I could easily keep going, but as these are the ones I'm replaying over and over this week, I'll stop there.

I'm posting my friend Chad's response to this because it made me laugh. Read on:

Ok, I loved your post about Ryan. I'd say we're in agreement on just
about everything. He IS this generation's Dylan or Neil Young. I've seen
him two times live. The first time was in the height of his drug and alcohol
use. It was truly the most bizarre performance I've ever seen. He treated
the audience like we weren't even there. He and the band would take 5 minute
smoke breaks in between songs and try to decide what to play next. They had no
set list. There were a few train wrecks. And they even stopped a song during the
bridge and then started over. One song he played acoustic solo. About a minute
in he forgot the lyrics, stopped playing, and just went on to another song. But
despite the weirdness and obvious lack of rehearsal there were some moments that
were heart stopping. And I actually thought to myself, "He's
Mozart." A goofy screwup but a true genius. We saw him again 2 years ago
here in KC, and it was very different. He was sober and actually tried to engage
the audience with some banter. The sound was brilliant, they played for about 2
hours, and when we left, Lisa turned to me and said, "I feel
nourished." And I totally knew what she meant. Sometimes concerts are just
entertaining, but they can also feed your soul. And this was one of those rare
occasions.
I really love every album. I'm kind of stuck on Cold Roses and Easy Tiger
these days. Beth's favorite song is Halloweenhead, and she sings along.
Sometimes I worry that my 6 year old is singing, "Here comes that shit
again. I've got a halloween head. Head full of tricks and treats..."
But the song is so good, I can't really bring myself to ask her to stop or
even remind her not to use that word in public. That's how much I love Ryan
Adams.

A Funny Marinism

2009-04-12T12:04:00.004-06:00

Yesterday, Marin and I were driving along, talking normally when she got quiet. Since she's never quiet in the the car, it gave me pause for concern. Then she piped up with "Hey, Mom! Were you in dirt?" Confused, I said "No, do I look dirty?" Marin said, louder, "NO. WERE YOU IN DIRT?" "No, Marin." With her, I've realized it's best just to answer and then wait for her logic to flow. On cue, she asked "Then how did you grow?"

While trying to think where she was coming from, it occured to me that she had just been given flower seeds that we have been planning to plant soon. So I asked her if she thought I had come from a seed, been planted in dirt, watered, and popped out as Mom. She said yep. That's how it probably happened.

She was quiet again. Then she casually said "I don't say the word exasperating anymore."

OK!

Slumber Party

2009-04-12T11:57:00.003-06:00

On Friday night, Jon and Marin had a slumber party in the playhouse. Marin was silly-excited about it all day long, for it was the first time she has slept at 330 Marin Lane. Instead of allowing Jon to put her to bed, she took charge by reading to Jon, singing him songs, and saying her own prayer. ("The new prayer, because my old prayer died.") After I left the two of them, I snuck back down about a half hour later. I heard all kinds of noises, the kind of noise like someone trying not to make a noise, then I heard Jon say "Marin, if you don't put your head down and try to go to sleep, I'm leaving." She was asleep in less than 10 minutes after that. They woke up quite early the next morning, with Marin asking if they could do it again the next night. Jon kind of ignored that question as he rubbed his aching back.

A Three Minute Four Year Old Princess

2009-04-12T11:52:00.005-06:00

I can honestly say that this is the one of the few moments Marin has expressed interest in anything having to do with princesses. Likely, it's the influence of her friends who look at her blankly when they ask her if she wants to play princess and she says no, she'd like to play cars. Her cousin Maddie gave her this dress, and it was fun for the three minutes she wore it.

One of These Kids Is Doing Her Own Thing

2009-04-07T13:09:00.005-06:00

If this isn't typical Marin, I don't know what is. She had her first swimming class today, and the instructor had a hard time getting her to cooperate. Notice that in each picture Marin is perfectly content doing her own thing... she totally ignored her teacher for 3/4 of the the class. I asked her later if she was scared, and she said no. So I said next time she needs to follow all of the instructions, not just some of them. She said "Why would I want to do that?"

Ladybug Cake

2009-03-30T20:10:00.004-06:00

We celebrated her actual birthday today at home with a ladybug cake, which Marin had requested months ago. I made it and I think the eyes look a bit shifty. Her most important question of the day was "Do four year olds still laugh?"

2009-03-27T14:07:00.004-06:00

We had Marin's make-shift birthday party today in lieu of the planned one at her pre-school. Some - but not all - of her favorite friends came over to play and devour the sharks. Marin loved her party and continually told her friends how happy she was that they were there. Before the party started, she was so excited that she sat down at the table, put her party hat on, and waited in that chair for an entire hour for everyone to arrive. I kept asking her if she wanted to do something else, but she did not. By the time the doorbell rang, she was beside herself with glee... and boredom, I would imagine, from waiting at that exact spot for so long.

2009-03-27T14:01:00.002-06:00

My friend Neeli brought her face paints to the party and appropriately painted a shark on Marin's face. Marin was very pleased with it.

Shark Attack!

2009-03-26T10:26:00.004-06:00

Marin, Jon and I made this cupcake ocean scene to take to Marin's pre-school class today. Unfortunately, we have had our first school cancelation today due to snow. When we found out there was no pre-school, Marin crumpled into a little ball and cried. What made it even more sad is how hard she tried not to cry, how hard she tried to pretend it didn't bother her. She was so excited to share her sharks with her friends. But a few phone calls later, we have organized a cupcake eating party tomorrow with some of Marin's friends. She is lucky to have so many great kids to play with. (and great moms who drive their kids!)

THE ONLY CHILD

2009-03-24T20:53:00.004-06:00

A few months ago, I wrote an "article" (for my own collection, not submission) about having an only child, or the social awkwardness this has brought about for us.

Want to read it? Let me know. It's too long to post here, but I'll send it to you. It has all the usual Susan Hager attitude that my writing sometimes contains, but this time I've taken on a real topic, not a ridiculous one. (see Rules for Visitors for the ridiculous) It's about a 20 minute read, complete with making fun of women who wear hose with open-toed sandals. For me, it's a more serious venture of writing... something beyond just ranting about my distaste for sunshine blogs.

Pessimistic Optimism

2009-03-22T17:28:00.018-06:00

My sense of humor is off, I know. The things that make me laugh are not the things that made my, say, grandmother laugh. I'm one of those people who does not think the show Two and A Half Men is funny. And even though I tried, I have never laughed at a Seinfeld episode. Not once. Not even inside my head, which is where most of my humor takes place. Will Farrell's Anchorman did not make me laugh, yet Sacha Baron Cohen's Borat did. People have told me I shouldn't admit this out loud, but I can't help what makes me laugh. For me, a great laugh involves something like a David Sedaris book, for he spends the majority of his writing time making fun of himself. He details his readers on his childhood OCD, which involved his need to lick lightbulbs so many times a day and touch a certain number of mailboxes on his way home from school. He describs how he accidentally found himself in a hospital waiting room wearing next to nothing and being forced to make casual conversation with other patients. And he involves us in his time as a misguided artist complimenting a friend on a gigantic nest of human hair sitting in a living room. His missteps, his humanity, and his ability to write candidly about it all makes me laugh. Mostly inside my head with enormous appreciation, but laugh nonetheless. I like subtle, quiet humor much more than the humor of someone like Chris Rock or other stand-up comedians. It's more fun, more lasting, smarter, and relies less on the word f*%# to carry humor. I'm really bored with the word f*%#, by the way.

This is why my blog tends to take on a more leering tone than other family oriented blogs out there. As much sleep as I lose worrying about how imperfect I actually am, I relish things out there that aren't perfect. The bizarre comments that hop out of Marin's mouth amuse me much more than the sweet ones. (Mom! I don't have any more kisses left. My power is off and they all blew away to China anyway.) It's more interesting to describe how carefully she places monsters inside of her ear - and how she picks different ones each day to shove in there - than it is to write about her learning to spell. Most kids will learn to read and write in time. Not all kids have the freakishly wry and off-beat sense of humor that mine does, and I love it. Her little whirling mind and keen dead-on observant nature doesn't stress me out, it entertains me on a minute to minute basis.

Truthfully, I detest reading blogs about how perfect life is, how captivating each moment is, and even in hardships, there are lessons to learn. My friend Brooke and I were mulling this over last month. A flowery, sugary, our-life-is-sunny-every-day blog is something I can only stomach about once a year. Though I doubt it, maybe some people's life is like that. Mine isn't. On any given day, my life can involve stretches of boredom, frantic cleaning, getting a workout in, driving from activity to activity, belly laughter, a warming conversation with a friend, all the while trying to squeeze a great book in there somewhere. Most of that in there isn't decorated with perfection and I don't feel particularly called to squeeze out drops of optimism when, sometimes, it's just an ordinary day. No better, no worse. I get cranky, I get joyful, I get tired, I get bursts of energy, I get sad, I laugh, I get lonely, I get overwhelmed by how much I have to do. It's all there. When I'm cranky, does anyone really want me to describe how irritated I get by a child's erratic unpredictable movements? (I yearn for the day that I can walk three steps without a 40 incher dashing in front of me) But sometimes, I suppose, it is that perfect. Then, should I describe how shockingly brilliant I believe my daughter is? (She learned to play Uno and Dominoes like a pro in mere minutes. She has learned to read many words, but keeps it stubbornly locked inside her head, only revealing what she knows when it suits her.) Maybe. Life is both good and bad, and to know someone, you have to take them both. I don't always want to hear from my friends about how amazingly wonderful life is all of the time, (too much like the character Alec Baldwin once played on friends and Phoebe dumped him.) just as I don't want to constantly hear how awful life is. It isn't,usually, just one or the other. Serve it all up to me, the heaping piles of what life cooks up in the oven, for I'm pretty sure I can handle the whole thing. I taught 9th grade, for pete's sake.

My favorite movies don't involve easy journies, happy endings, and are almost never contrived tear jearkers. True, I loved Lord of the Rings passionately, and yes, it had a happy ending. But the journey those particular characters were on was all that mattered and the happiness came about because they actually conquered something important and made many sacrifices along the way. The books I treasure include a great story and complex characters with unusual motivations. Don't give me Tuesdays with Morrie, give me A Prayer for Owen Meany. My favorite show and my time consuming obsession is LOST, whose happy moments are few and far between. These people are struggling to find redemption in a confusing and mystic setting, bouncing around time and such. This show may not have a happy ending and I'm ok with that. I actually hope the ending is bittersweet, for I don't really want to see each character get exactly what they want. It would ruin so much of the depth in the show.

All that to say this: if you need my life to be perfect, this blog isn't for you. If you only want to know the good things that happen to us, cease reading. My life isn't filled with one Hallmark moment after another and I'm strangely happy about that fact. If you need to hear about every sweet thing that Marin says, call me and I will be happy to fill you in. She says hundreds of them each day and I can usually recall them with just a minute to connect my brain to my mouth. But the things that I enjoy writing about, the things that make me laugh inside my head, are all the quirky, unusual things that occur in between wonderful and horrible. And sometimes, I can take a really rotten moment, write about it, and suddenly I find myself laughing. (For example: Marin talked in the car yesterday for 54 straight minutes without pausing to take a breath. I was on the verge of lost, needing to read a map, needing to find my brain, yet there was this voice that just kept on talking. She was, in fact, talking about why she would not stop talking.) Writing is so much cheaper than therapy.

Jon thought that, for the record, I should explain that I am not writing this defensively. He fears that this post sounds like someone criticized the things that I have written on here. That's not true... it just slowly dawned on me that this blog has a different tone than some out there. But, of course, those of you who know me well know that I have never worn rose colored glasses. And the absence of those glasses makes me very, very happy.

Tiny Dancer

2009-03-20T08:49:00.003-06:00

Marin was on her way to dance class with her friend Sophia when we took this. Every time I take her to dance, I think of my beautiful friend, Brittany. How I wish you were her dance teacher, B.

One Reason I Love My Cat

2009-03-17T05:05:00.004-06:00

The last few nights, Marin has begged to have Sammy, or Sippin as she calls her, sleep with her. So we have allowed it. Last night, before I went to bed, I went in to check on her and found Marin and Sippin like this, holding hand and paw. Apparently, their hand holding was a mutual agreement.

An Evening in Evergreen

2009-03-15T17:51:00.003-06:00

I got to spend part of the afternoon and all of the evening in the mountains of Evergreen with two of my favorite girls, Wendi and Annie. It included all things that time with girls should involve: shopping, giggling, wine, dessert, and lots of talking.

Where Does She Get This Stuff?

2009-03-08T20:59:00.003-06:00

This morning, I had the luxury of sleeping in. We had out of town guests here, Neil and Stephanie, who were drinking coffee with Jon in the kitchen when they heard me rising from the dead. Jon said to Marin "Is that Mom fumbling around upstairs?" Marin replied "Yes, and that is music to my ears."

Girls Night Out

2009-03-07T14:07:00.004-07:00

This GNO began at PF Chang's and ended at Baker's Street with That Eighties Band. These are some of the girls that I work out with.

Three Happy Friends

2009-02-25T14:40:00.003-07:00

Marin got to spend the afternoon yesterday with some of her favorite people, Afton and Grayson, and Ben and Audrey. (who had to depart early and are not in the picture, sadly) Marin has missed her friends so much and has big plans for visiting them in SLC. I miss my friend Brooke, too.

Cleanliness Is Not Next To Godliness

2009-02-25T14:26:00.004-07:00

Each day for the last few weeks, Marin has been getting out a scrub brush, a cup with a scant amount of water, and a towel. Then she proceeds to clean out the dishwasher walls. She scrubs for a while, then carefully mops up any excess water with the towel. After scrubbing longer than necessary, she then returns all of the items to their proper places and closes the dishwasher door. "Woo-hoo!" most parents would be shouting, for who doesn't want a tidy child? I do, but after watching her mop my entire kitchen floor the other night, and mop it well, I'm getting worried. She won't potty in a toilet that she doesn't carefully inspect first and upon finding any fault, large or small, she bolts from the room in tears over "what could have been". For a spell, she wouldn't let Jon read books to her at night because he had the audacity to throw one book on her floor instead of returning it to it's rightful place on the bookshelf. She lectured him for weeks about being gentle with her books. And she told me a few weeks ago that I am way too messy and could I please try to be more clean? So yes, I want my daughter to value cleanliness, but I suspect that is something I'm not going to have to worry about. And as I watch her meticulously scrub out the bathtub and organize her toys just so, I just hope that she will aspire to something in her life more than just being clean, that something will be more important to her than eradicating all dirt from the world. I don't like to think of myself as a mom who will burden my child with my own hopes and dreams, but to the bottom of my heart, I would like to see Marin achieve more in life than just a clean house.

And Re-Decorating

2009-01-26T13:06:00.003-07:00

I didn't like the way the first paint job looked in our room. I loved the color, but it made our new fabric look like it was drowning. And a nod to my patient husband who didn't once tell me what a lunatic I am as we starting painting a new color on the walls, again. Marin had a great time writing her words on the wall.

Why I'm Not Returning Phone Calls

2009-01-20T19:43:00.003-07:00

I know, I'm almost always bad about not returning phone calls. But at least this time I can legitimately say I can't find my phone. I'm decorating. Not just painting either, for that was the easy part. Now we're working on the design, which means fabric, furniture choices, accent color, dealing with Jon's large HD TV etc. We've also been making our own lighting and creating a concept for the art to mask, play down, draw eyes away from (pick your own term) the inexplicble ceiling slants. I don't want to purchase manufactured art, can't afford original art, and I'm not artistic. It's a dilemma. I can't promise to be more responsible about answering/returning phone calls once the room is all back together, for it's just not in my nature. I can say, however, that my phone will look prettier in the room than it used to.

The Fabric

2009-01-20T19:41:00.000-07:00

25 biggest Decorating Mistakes

2009-01-10T12:19:00.003-07:00

Who Wouldn't Want a Hairy Toilet?

I found this both amusing and informative. I got a kick out of the toilet rug/toilet cover. That one has always really bothered me. It's simultaneously disgusting and tacky. See link below.

http://www.hgtv.com/decorating/25-biggest-decorating-mistakes-11-1/pictures/index.html

Jon and Susan's Best and Worst of 2008

2008-12-19T08:33:00.015-07:00

1. Coolest Moments: Marin learned to write her name plus a bunch of other words, riding the Sea-doo with my daredevil daughter, she went snow skiing for the first time, and this summer put an end to diapers forever.
2. Worst Moment: Potty training Marin. That kid has incredible will power, not to mention a strong bladder.
3. What I'm Most Proud Of: Losing 18 pounds and keeping it off.
4. Greatest Disappointment: Susan's was finishing the last David Sedaris book. Now I have to wait until he comes out with a new one. Jon's is that we didn't go camping enough, that we didn't practically live out of the camper.
5. Most Joyful Moment: Getting the phone call from my dad that his chemo/radiation was successful.
6. Best Way to Describe This Last Year: Turmoil. It's made us weird.
7. Something On Which Jon and I Don't See Eye to Eye: The coolness of the pop-up camper.
8. Dumbest Purchase: A 50 inch Plasma HDTV. And the Blu-Ray.
9. Best $$$$ Spent: My trainer.
10. Most Shameful Moment: Backing out of the garage and ripping the side mirror off of the car. Then, after Jon fixed it, I did it again the next week. The parking ticket at the end of the month capped it all off nicely.
11. Greatest Embarassment: Susan's is - when, in a crowded public restaurant bathroom, Marin complimented me on my very nice pee-pee and then said (loudly) "I will push on your bladder for you so you can feel your pee-pee. Now do you want me to wipe your bottom for you, Mommy?" It was made worse by all the quiet laughter coming from outside the stall. Jon's is having me tell the "Daddy has a tail!" story over and over again.
12. Greatest Loss: Jonah died. Marin says he's in heaven stealing God's cereal.
13. Best TV Show: Lost, of course. It's the most innovative show I've ever seen.
14. Celebrities We're Most Tired Of: Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.
15. We Wish For: Paris, London, and all of Italy.
16. Places We Traveled to This Year: Canada, Lake of the Woods, Vail 2x, Keystone, Dallas, Kansas City, Phoenix, The Great Sand Dunes, Meeker, Poncha Springs, The Broadmoor
17. Greatest Waste of Time: Jon - work. Susan - This, probably.
18. Greatest Frustration: Jon has many: they are - going to Vegas without Susan, the crowded beer festival in Keystone when we had Marin with us, when I ripped the mirror off my car twice. Susan's is Marin's iron-clad will that reveals itself daily.
19. Best CD That Came Out This Year: Coldplay
20. Most Refreshing Moment: Spending time with Brittany when I was in KC.
21. Friend I Appreciate and Adore: Wendi
22. Friend I Love Wasting The Day Away With: Amy C.
23. Something We'll Never Do Again: Jon says - go to North Dakota in the winter. It's freakishly cold. Nor will we go to North Dakota in the summer. It's sickly humid with heinous amounts of bugs. Nor will we go in the spring or fall. It's too windy. Susan will never be honest with insurance companies again.
24. Best Movie of the Year: The Dark Knight
25. Best Book: Naked by David Sedaris. Or: Me Talk Pretty One Day, Dress Your Family in Curduroy and Denim, or When You Are Engulfed In Flames. All David Sedaris.
26. Other Favorite Book That Is Nothing Like David Sedaris: Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver.
27. Phrases We Hated Hearing the Most: Susan's is "It doesn't have to be perfect" (do you not know me?) or WHY? Marin is knee deep in the why phase. Jon's is "Daddy says lig, not leg."
28. Least Favorite Quality in People: People who are always right, who KNOW they know best, who only see ONE viewpoint (their own).
29. Least Favorite Question People Asked Us (which only turned into an platform for their unsolicited opinion): "You're not having any more children? Oh, that's so selfish. Marin's going to be a selfish child, too."
30. Sweetest Things Marin Said: Jon asked Marin if she knew how much he loved her, to which she replied "You love me more than you love you." And "Mommy, you are a really beautiful mommy."
31. The Greatest Moment of Irony: When Lewis backed his rental car into our rock/tree, no one knows for sure. It does, however, bring back our teenage years when Happy Honda had a mysterious dent in the bumper...
32. Most Anti-American Place in America: Wal-Mart
33. Most True Thing That I Read This Year: (from David Sedaris, of course) That there seems to be some correlation between God and a misguided zeal for marshmallows." Apparently the more deeply embedded one is in the church, the more marshmallows one will find on top of sweet potatoes, mixed in syrupy-sweet canned fruit concoctions etc. It is a bizarre and disgusting thing to do to food.
34. Something Really Amazing to Watch: Marin writing her letters with all the diligence and effort that a 3 1/2 year old can muster up. She was so precise, so interested in it. The only downside was watching her fall on the floor in despair when she couldn't get one exactly right. She's a perfectionist, that one.
35. Moment I Don't Care to Relive: Getting hit by the crazy driver who drove across TWO lanes to make an illegal left turn. The rental company gave us a truck, of all humiliating things.
36. What We Want Most for 2009: Jon - to go camping as often as possible. Susan - to go to Paris. Marin would like a scooter and a pogo stick.

2008-11-26T20:48:00.002-07:00