Here We Are

Here We Are

Lately I've been thinking so much about how parenting has changed for me over the years. Hadley and Finn are now 17 and 14, respectively, and shit is different.

Parenting for years was lots of shlepping, wiping, carrying, soothing. It was incredibly physically draining. Both of my children had enough energy for 3 other people and I was at a deficit because of lupus and fibromyalgia. I longed for the days when it wouldn't be so hard. When I wouldn't be so tired. When they wouldn't need me as much.

Those days came but with the less physically demanding aspects of parenthood came the mental olympics that are "the teenage years". OMG. You guys. I long for the somewhat easier days of physical exhaustion. I almost prefer that to the minefield topics of life these days.

My inner voice is constantly like "BE COOL. DON'T FUCK UP THIS TEACHING MOMENT!"as I try to comfort my daughter because her friend has been institutionalized for attempting suicide. (!) See what I mean? Gone are the days when the only thing needed was the right Dora the Explorer cup.

It feels like the Wild Wild West. I frequently remind my kids that we have no idea what we're doing. NO IDEA. We're figuring it out as we go but we love them so much. That has to be enough.

:::sigh:::

That's it for now.

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How Did This Happen?

How Did This Happen?

Peter is a dedicated binge watcher of shows from beginning to end. It’s admirable, really. I don’t have the attention span and end up abandoning the project. (Damages, The Closer)

Since Peter usually watches in the living room, I’m constantly in and out of the room. At first, it’s just noise but then I stop for a second, ask a question, and then two. And then I sit down to “just watch this scene.” And every time, I get sucked in and addicted. It happened with Criminal Minds, which I initially hated and then found myself craving. Hadley got sucked in too. Finn hated it because he found it too upsetting. (FYI: He used to find Spongebob upsetting.)

We caught up to the current episodes on Criminal Minds so Peter set off to find another show with 4 or more seasons to binge watch and Blue Bloods caught his eye.

From Wikipedia: The series follows the Irish-American Reagan family of police officers with the NYPD.  Francis “Frank” Reagan (Tom Selleck – MAGNUM PI!) is the Police Commissioner . He was a US Marine Corps officer and a Vietnam veteran before he joined the NYPD. He is a 9/11 First Responder, a widower whose son Joe was murdered in the line of duty, and has three other adult children—Danny, Erin, and Jamie.

The family reminds me a lot of my own Irish-American Catholic family sometimes which makes me heart smile. Loud, opinionated, loyal, loving, and funny. They have dinner together every Sunday night and say the same prayer before dinner that I said growing up. The father and grandfather in the show have qualities similar to my Dad and I nod and smile when they do or say something my Dad would. My mom watches the show and loves it. 

Every time Tom Selleck comes on screen and does anything I’ll randomly say “Good idea, Magnum.” I love him and he’s such a great presence on screen.

One of the adult kids, Danny, is played by Donnie Wahlberg. He of the New Kids on The Block fame. I hadn’t really seen him in anything and he’s surprisingly good at that realistic, intense street cop thing. But I never thought about him or thought anything other than “oh, he’s a surprisingly good actor”.

But then I had a dream about him a few nights ago.

In the dream, we were romantically entangled. I remember being in the dream and saying “Wait, what? YOU?!? What are you doing here? Where’s Tom Selleck?”

I do not have a crush on Donnie Wahlberg but my damn subconscious does.

So the next morning, at the urging of my subconscious, who is like a teen girl, I googled everything about Donnie Wahlberg.

Did you know he has a show on VH1 called Donny Loves Jenny.

 

 

You know what happens next, don’t you?

Yup.

I watched 3 episodes.

And it was really cute, actually. They’re adorable and funny and in love. I normally do not like reality TV (except Survivor!) because it’s negative and usually involves a lot of fighting and yelling. But with Donnie Loves Jenny,  they said they wanted to put out a positive show, which I thought was sweet. I’m on the fence about Jenny McCarthy. She seems like a nice, funny woman but that whole vaccine crusade thing really rubbed me the wrong way. I suppose it’s not entirely her fault though. Yes, she was insanely vocal about anti-vaxxing issues but it was the idiot public who proclaimed her Dr. Autism and started quoting her non-scientific viewpoint.

I digress.

So, after watching him with his wife and her darling autistic son and how sweet Donnie is to the kid, now my crush is real.

And I’m so irritated about it because it wasn’t my idea.

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lazy

lazy

Yesterday, we took my mom with us out to lunch and to see a Christmas musical called “Home for the Holidays”. It was really great to be out with her. As I struggle to find the Christmas spirit, she’s one of those people who just sort of carries it with her all of the time. I was hoping a little of her cheeriness would rub off on me.

When we got home, I went upstairs to lie down with a heating pad. The day took an enormous amount of energy and I was paying for it.

Often times, I have my laptop to read or watch something to distract me from the pain and fatigue. My body is exhausted but I can’t sleep.

Finn came in and wanted something, a video game on his iPod or something. I said no.

He became furious and said “Sometimes I don’t think you’re tired. I think you’re just lazy.”

I was stunned.

He left the room and I started to cry.

My one fear.

The main one, actually. The fear I carry around with me all day everyday, that people think I am faking or lazy, just came out of the mouth of my child.

I collected myself and called him back in the room.

I told him he hurt my feelings. He said he didn’t mean it. That he was angry.

I tried to explain more but 9 year old boys are impatient and he was so upset that he made me cry that I could tell he just wanted to flee the situation.

So I let him.

But what he said stayed with me. And probably always will.

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Hustle

Hustle

I’m terribly bored of myself and all of my ridiculous ailments. Being chronically ill makes one insanely self-involved. Let’s just say that there’s more wrong with me and I’m dealing.

Peter Provost is the best man. Pure and simple. And I have the best mom and sister in the world.

I brought my mom to an appointment yesterday and she might as well have been carrying me like a baby. That’s how safe and secure I felt as a 39 year old lady bringing my mama with me. It was lovely.

I talked to Meg recently and was blathering on about my woes and she had really helpful, loving, practical advice. So practical, in fact, that I told her to hold on while I got a pen. Actually started taking notes. She was so on point and knowledgeable. It was the equivalent of someone taking you by the shoulders, looking you in the eye, and saying “LISTEN, simmer down you’re hysterical. Now, do x, y and z.”

Ah.

She’s a smart girl, that Dr. Meg. Glad I don’t have to make an appointment and wait 3 weeks to see her. 

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My Tweenager

My Tweenager

Rare Bird is in full tilt tweendom. She’s all about being in her room, listening to music, playing with her hamster, texting, watching teen shows or practicing bass and guitar. It’s cute. I have to squelch my urge to push her outside and say “go play!” like I try to do with Finn because, as she has told me, she’s older now and doesn’t “play.”

I so enjoy being with her. She’s smart, observant, creative, sweet and incredibly empathic. Her head is in the clouds most of the time, which can be frustrating as the mama, but tis often the case with smart creative types, so I try to have a sense of humor about it. (“try” being the operative word)

At 10, she already knows about everything you could possible think of so there is no need to have any “talk” or embarrassing afterschool special moment. We told her about sex at 5 so it’s just been an ongoing conversation. We’ve covered everything in a very matter of fact way.

One day, a few months ago, she said “I think I want a bra.” “Yeah, we should probably get one.” I said while pulling up GapBody online and checking out the cute pullover versions.

She wore it for a week and declared “Bras are uncomfortable!” I said “Yes, they are! Why do you think I take mine off the second we get in the house?”

Same thing happened with shaving. She said she wanted to shave. I showed her how and bought her some razors and shave gel. I told her it was a pain to keep up, but she wanted to do it. A week later she said “Shaving is a pain!”

Yup.

I guess my point is, I wanted her foray into teenagerhood (is that a word?) to be smooth and organic, not awkward and fraught with shame and weird conversations. So far, so good.

Since she was little, I have tried to educate H (and Finny too!) about the importance of taking care of your body, including your skin, teeth and hair. (Finn wants a Clarisonic for Christmas. A fact that delights me. He won’t get one. Too spendy.)

I tell them “Your teeth are the jewelry of your face. You have to take care of them!” (Other rampant Emilyisms: Mommies are Magical and Weird is Wonderful – someone please make me a t-shirt in a script font of that last one!)

I’m not trying to turn Hadley into a product whore but I do think it’s important to be aware of quality beauty products and brands. That said, have you seen The Willa line? This suuuuuper darling tween named Willa, and her mother, developed a skincare line for girls.

I bought the basics for HJ and am trying to get her into the habit of washing her face every night and applying moisturizer. Willa’s tag line is “Start Young. Stay Young.”  I subscribe to her Facebook feed and she’s so freaking darling, fresh and young, it makes me feel like the Cryptkeeper.  (That show was so good!)

She has also been loving her Tangle Teezer.  I know it seems gimmicky and I was dubious but the thing works and Hadley loves to brush her hair with it.

I do have moments where I think “where has the time gone?” when I see my strawberry blond girl sprouting up and morphing into a little lady, but for the most part, I’m really loving this age. She’s so interesting and interested, two traits that I adore. Traits that my Dad possessed as well, which I love.

Hadley, please know that I am proud of you every moment of every day. It is a privilege to not only be your mama, but also to be in your orbit and soak up all of your sparkly magic. xoxo Mom  

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Swallowed

Swallowed

I’m here. I’m here!

Summer swallowed me up whole, dearies. Twas fast, loud and sweaty. There was a trip to D.C. to drop off babies with cousins, grandparents and aunt and uncle, while Peter and I scooted off to Amsterdam.

Sigh.

Oh, Amsterdam. Do you think of me as often as I think of you? When I think of you I’m on a Dutch Bike with long hair.

Then our Taylor’s wedding to the most wonderful Dave in Washington.

Sigh.

Oh, our Taylor. I wish the whole world could have been at her wedding. (So. Much. Dancing!)

The kids start school on Monday, August 13, so I’m busy counting down days and smiling.

Scuse me now, the blue eyed devils want to have a lemonade stand.

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Summer Faces

Summer Faces

We were AT the museum with their cousins having a wonderful time and these are the faces I got as we were about to leave, accompanied by “What are we going to do NOW?”

They’re like little drug addicts. Only it’s not drugs they’re looking for, it’s new, exciting experiences.

Here they are with my nieces Lyla (12) and Ottilia (5) in a happier moment when they weren’t so bored they “wanted to cry”.

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It’s Never Dull

It’s Never Dull

Finn’s first grade class did reports on famous Americans last month. In addition to a report with pictures, they had to dress up as their famous American one day in order to present a live museum to friends and family.

The students were scattered around the cafeteria, in costume, standing next to the poster of their famous American. We all went around the pushed a button in front of them, at which time, they would come “alive” and say their little speech about their person.

Finny was Martin Luther King, Jr. which was very very exciting.

 

The following is a class picture of all of the little sweeties dressed up. Finn brought it home yesterday.

Please scan the photo from RIGHT to LEFT, as I did, looking for my darling boy.

Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Mkay. Did you find my son?

All of the way on the left side? Sort of away from everyone else? With no shoes on, mouth open and …this is the best part…he’s making the devil horns with this hands, a gesture famous at heavy metal shows everywhere.

Dr. King would be so proud.

I died laughing.

So so so hilarious.

 

Dear Finn,

Oh, my sweet sweet boy. I vow to never squelch that amazing spirit.

with love, \m/o\m/

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He’s Not There

He’s Not There

Atticus died on Saturday. Well, we had him put to sleep. The vet had a special room that looked like a tiny living room with a rug, couch, chairs and a lamp. The lighting was low and the doctor and vet techs were unobtrusive. It was intimate.

I lay on the floor next to my chocolate boy, stroking his face and telling him how much I loved him as they gave him a sedative. Peter and Hadley were there too petting him. (Finn didn’t want to go.)

Our vet gave him the final injection and it was over in 15 seconds. Hadley covered him with a blanket that was in the room.

I was crying, but quietly, until my darling Peter said “Bye, buddy” and I lost it.

Peter settled the payment while Hadley and I walked to the car holding hands. I told her I was glad she was with me.

Driving home I noticed the clear, beautiful day as Peter Gabriel’s Solsbury Hill blared from the stereo.  I could hear my sweet Hadley singing in the backseat.

Sunday was filled with Easter hustle and bustle and I was distracted and busy. I pushed sadness from my thoughts. At my sister’s house for brunch, my family offered condolences and I thought I was ok. Logically, I had accepted it. Emotionally, I hadn’t.

I woke up this morning and he wasn’t there. Next to the bed on the floor, on my side, where he has slept for the past 12 years. Every morning, I would open my eyes, look over and see him patiently waiting for me to wake up so I could feed him and let him out. As soon as we made eye contact, he would get up and nuzzle his face in the side of the bed for a pet.

I felt empty.

I got the kids off to school this morning and I was finally left alone to grieve. 

I miss my friend. I’ve never loved an animal like I loved him.  In the chaos of this life of mine, I could always count on him to keep me grounded. We’d catch eyes across the room and I’d know that he was on my side and I’d be ok. He was here through our marriage, babies, moves, lupus, my dad’s death, cancer. I don’t think more tears could be shed on a dog.

He also made me incredibly happy and for that I’m profoundly grateful.

RIP Atty. You were such a good dog.

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Atticus

Atticus

My dog faced boy has cancer. It’s everywhere. I know non pet owners don’t understand but as ELV put it so eloquently a pet dying is its own “special heartbreak.”

Indeed.

It’s hard watching the spark slowly slip away out of my sweet boy’s body. 

He is losing his physical abilities as the days go on and I think it may be time soon to put him down. It’s such an odd power to wield. Humbling. Who am I to say it’s time for him to die? He can’t really stand up by himself but when he sees me his eyes get wide and warm and he wags that big beaver tail. Still wagging even if he can’t get up. Such a gentle giant.

He’s 12 years old and has had a wonderful life. I adore him. Truly. Peter and I got him a month before we were married. He was our practice kid and we have adored him.

More than anything I’ll just miss my quiet constant companion.

XO

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Book Report

Book Report

I love to read to the kids at night. Especially now that they are into books that I like! We look forward to what’s happening next in the book. They get ready for bed and we all meet in “the big white bed.”

I read great reviews about Wonder by R.J. Palachio and decided to read it to them, mostly because I was so interested.

Here’s a brief synopsis:

August (Auggie) Pullman was born with a facial deformity that prevented him from going to a mainstream school—until now. He's about to start 5th grade at Beecher Prep, and if you've ever been the new kid then you know how hard that can be. The thing is Auggie's just an ordinary kid, with an extraordinary face. But can he convince his new classmates that he's just like them, despite appearances?
R. J. Palacio has written a spare, warm, uplifting story that will have readers laughing one minute and wiping away tears the next. With wonderfully realistic family interactions (flawed, but loving), lively school scenes, and short chapters, Wonder is accessible to readers of all levels.

I loved it and the kids seemed really into it too. Every night I’d say “Let’s see what Auggie’s up to.” Auggie narrates the first half of the book and the remainder of the book has different characters narrating a few chapters each. More than once the kids would say “Are you crying again, Mom?” I was moved on so many different levels. As a mother, a sister, and something I hadn’t felt in a long time, a 5th grader.  Sometimes we’d talk about the book after we read, sometimes not. I liked hearing their reactions to things. How other people reacted to the way Auggie looks and what they said. More than once H&F were horrified at how cruel people can be. Even parents of other kids. Strangely, I appreciated that harsh truth and the fact that I could expose the kids to it somewhat safely through a book. People can be shitty. On the flipside, people can also be wonderful, shiny and brave.

I’m trying to decide on the next read. They’re really jonesing for the sequel to The Genius Files, and I’ll probably cave. It’s a good series. Lots of cool facts, action and likeable characters, which keeps Finny P interested.

Currently, I’m reading the novel The Paris Wife, about Ernest Hemingway and his first wife, Hadley. Even though it’s a novel, I find it fascinating. I LOVE tales of the brilliant writers in Paris during the 20s. Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris was so magical to me.

I knew a little of Hadley Hemingway, which I discovered while researching what to name my darling Hadley, but this book makes me want to know more.

Reading has been a lovely refuge lately. Do you ever feel completely overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information being pummeled at you everyday?

Yup. That’s me.

Taking a break and blocking it all out.

Happy Tuesday, peanuts.  

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March VOGUE

March VOGUE

I’m not even halfway through the March issue but I found myself scribbling notes on college lined paper at the kitchen table.

I smiled while doing it.

I miss writing longhand. I like to write in cursive with a really great pen.

So, here I sit transcribing my notes into a blog post. Funny. It reminds me of college when I would take scraps and bits of paper I had scribbled ideas for short stories on and turn them into something.

 

Adele is on the cover, looking gorgeous, per usual. (Although, I wish they hadn’t photo shopped her body on the cover. We know she doesn’t have a 20 inch waist, people. And it’s ok. )

 

She is, as you would guess, a great interview, full of vim and vigor. The interview validates why she is so astonishing. She’s brutally honest and claims she really has no idea where all of these beautiful songs come from. They just pour out of her. That type of honesty is inspiring and beautiful. She doesn’t talk about “the craft” or other such bullshit nonsense. She just is. Also, how cool is the fact that Rolling in the Deep came from a gang phrase used in UK? “Roll deep” basically means having someone have your back so you are never on your own if you get into trouble. She thought it was beautiful and changed it to “Rolling in the Deep.” Genius.

“Adele has one of the great dirty mouths of her generation. Get her going on a subject that raises her ire, and the obscenities fly like sparks off a welder.” –Jonathan Van Meter, Adele interview, VOGUE

“…Like sparks off a welder.”  So good.

:::::::

The piece by Cheryl Strayed about her trek on the Pacific Crest Trail has me wanting to rush out and get her memoir: “Wild: From Lost to Found on The Pacific Crest Trail.”

I’m not a climber or really interested in it. It is her writing and her reasons for doing it that intrigued me. She had never backpacked before going on the trip. NEVER. That’s like me deciding to freaking hike the PCT (which, incidentally, took her 3 months and is 1,100 miles. WTF!) And very clearly, she finds herself needing to do it.

My mom died when I was twenty-two and she was forty-five. She died of cancer, but it wasn’t the way I thought a death by cancer would be—long and drawn out and cinematic. Instead, my mother was dead seven weeks to the day after her diagnosis. Her death was simple and ugly and it didn’t feel even remotely like a movie. It felt to me that I had died with her, and in some ways, I did. The vision I’d previously had of my life died. I don’t have a relationship with my biological father and though I had a step-father, he couldn’t continue being a step-father to me in the face of his own loss. And so I wandered forth, suddenly an orphan. – Cheryl Strayed

I understand why she did it with no experience. Why not? After a blow like that, you feel invincible. Not the invincible I felt after giving birth to H&F. That was empowering and invigorating. I felt so STRONG!

My Dad’s death left me numb. Nothing could hurt me.

When talking about her decision to make the trek, Cheryl Strayed says “Nothing bad could happen to me, I thought. The worst thing already had.”

This resonated so deeply with me, that I actually stopped reading for a second to look up, close my mouth and let that thought marinate.

I felt and feel the same way about my dad’s death. It was worse than breast cancer, depression, lupus…His death rocked me to my core. There is definitely a sense of “Nothing scares me now.”

:::::::

And a final thought on the issue: Florence Broadhurst for Kate Spade? Fan-freaking-tastic. A beautiful marriage!

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Shell

Shell

I wish I could explain it to people. I try. But you don’t know unless you’ve experienced it. Being pushed off a cliff into the depths of despair.

It can happen regardless of your life situation.

I am happier than I ever have been in my entire life. I have a wonderful life and yet I am depressed.

Really depressed. Not “I’m so depressed my favorite show was cancelled.”

No.

Lying-on-the-floor-staring-at-the-ceiling-while–you-sob-uncontrollably-depressed.

It’s very common with chronic illness. It bound to wear you down being in pain all of the time. I have been on an anti-depressant since shortly after being diagnosed with lupus. And with my recent back surgery, the pain has been endless and seemingly insurmountable.

I know some people think depression is a weakness, that life is sad. That you should be able to buck up and pull yourself out of it.

There is no pulling yourself out of this.

It’s horribly dark and so hopeless and scary.

I just felt empty. Hollow.

I’ve known for a while that my antidepressant wasn’t fully doing its job.

For YEARS my psychiatrist has been trying to get me off of my current antidepressant because he didn’t think it was right for me. I kept saying no. Why rock the boat? I deal with so much medical bullshit and so many other medications that the thought of transitioning to a new medication did not appeal.

Looks like my body made the decision for me. Three days before Christmas.

Ho fucking ho.

As I said, it felt like I had been pushed off a cliff.

And then suddenly, I was drowning.

I was paralyzed. Couldn’t get out of bed. Didn’t want to eat. Couldn’t help with the kids at all. My whole body hurt. I couldn’t think straight.

Luckily, I am married to the ultimate human being and have a superhero bestie who came bearing vegan ice cream sandies and laid in bed with me while I cried. She may as well have been wearing a cape.

I finally got my doctor on the phone, explained the situation and med changes were quickly made.

And now I wait. And experience all of the quirky and horrible side effects that come with transitioning off of one medication and onto another.

***The above was written December 22***

Today is January 6 and just YESTERDAY did I start to feel like me again. I showered and actually left the house. I smiled genuinely for the first time in WEEKS and it felt SO GOOD. I can not even explain the feeling. I was jubilant. I felt free.

I debated whether or not to even post this. While talking to Meg though, she helped me realize it’s not something I’m ashamed of and if anything, posting this will educate someone or help someone else feel like they are less alone.

PS – If you do happen to know someone who is struggling with depression, do not, under any circumstances say anything like this to them “But you’re pretty and skinny. What do you have to be depressed about?” Because you might get punched in the teeth.

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Keeping It Low Key…Still

Keeping It Low Key…Still

Ok, so I had my 2 week follow up appointment with my surgeon today and he assured me everything I am going through is normal. This was validating and I’m sure you can imagine what I had been imagining. Or maybe you can’t. It was dramatic, people.

Upon entering the exam room he said “So, how are we doing?”

Eloquent 38 year old that I am, I said “You didn’t tell me it would suck this bad.”

He laughed uncomfortably.

I’m in a better place mentally though, in less pain..sort of, and have updated my expectation management software to the current (and more realistic) version.

Can I just take a moment to recognize Peter Provost? The guy is a champ. Truly. And I would have been committed to the loony bin had it not been for him these last few weeks. The guy’s phenomenal under pressure. I will miss him being my driver, personal assistant and all around sherpa.

So, I stumbled up on the following advice last year and like a good little nerd, I copied it and put it in my calendar on 12/5/11 with the header “EMILY: READ THIS”. (I love when I do stuff like that) Imagine my delight when I opened it and read what fits PERFECTLY into my desire to “keep it low key”

Enjoy.

(via Blooma Blog – I’m sorry I don’t have the link and now I can’t find it!)

Be in charge of your holiday season. Don't let other people or advertising medium impose their expectations on you. Keep in touch with your deepest feelings.

• Keep it simple. You arrange the pace and space. (So important for keeping your kids sane, too!)
• If the loss of a loved one, financial troubles, or any serious anxiety surround you this holiday, make the season as simple and as positive as possible for yourself.

Holiday Bill of Rights:
• You have the right to take care of yourself: eat right, exercise, and get enough rest.
• You have the right to mixed emotions: happy, sad, frustrated, guilty, afraid, and thankful.
• You have the right to solitude—for planning, thinking, reflection, introspection, prayer, and relaxation.
• You have the right not to accept party or dinner invitations.

So good, right?

Our darling tree is up. A lovely wreath is on the front door. We play Christmas music every day and talk about the excitement of Christmas. I have a few activities planned (Botanic Gardens lights & Denver Gay Men’s Chorus Christmas Show) but other than that, we’re keeping it…say it with me…LOW KEY. And I couldn’t be more delighted.

Sending you some zen and coziness on this lovely Tuesday.

XO

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Still

Still

Santa Fe with my Mom and sister to celebrate my mom’s 70th birthday was so lovely. We ate really amazing food, chatted, meandered and were just together, which my mom said was the best gift.

I agree. It is so rare to be able to spend that much time together with no agenda. Snapping pics just didn’t seem to be a priority but we did get one good one.

Seeing the Georgia O’Keefe museum was a highlight. Wasn’t she an inspirational bad ass? I’m not a huge fan of her work but man, I love her spirit. I bought a little card that has a picture of her on the back of a motorcycle. The look on her face and something in her eyes spoke to me. Yet another reminder to drink up this rich life and live the way you want to live.

 

Feeling run down post trip, which was expected.

“Move slowly” I tell myself. “Take your time. Not everything will get done.”

I want to hibernate, be still, and not talk. That’s a difficult task in this busy life.

And yet, I try.

Love this piece by Conrad Roset found via ffffound. Isn’t it beautiful?

Happy Thursday, lovers.

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Good Times

Good Times

Good morning Glories!

Well technically, it’s 11:30, but whatever.

My sister and I are taking our Mom to Santa Fe this weekend to celebrate her 70th birthday. To say I am excited is an understatement. I am elated to be free of dependents and spend time catching up with these lovely Padden women.

Shaking things up creatively in my life has gone well, aside from an injury. (OF COURSE, you say, because this woman is full of dramatic medical garbage)

HJ and I started English riding and it RULES! I love giving up control, being in a situation where I have NO idea what I am doing, and having the instructor tell me what to do. She literally stand in the middle of the ring and says things like “HEELS DOWN, EMILY. WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR ARMS?” That may sound scary to most, but I was craving it. I’m in so much control in my life (the mama knows all!) that to not have it is liberating. I completely disregarded the fact that the other 3 people in my lesson at times are 9 year old girls. I don’t care. Their moms, who are my age, lean on the gate chatting while drinking lattes and carefully watching.

I don’t care. Let them wonder what the fuck this middle aged woman is doing learning how to ride.

Learning something new is exhilarating and empowering. And don’t even get me started on being around the horses. They are the ultimate. So beautiful and soft. Each with their own personality and likes and dislikes. There is SO much manual work involved with riding that takes the feeling of satisfaction to the next level. It’s dirty, hard work. And so worth it. I am spent after our 1 hour lesson, which is actually more like 2+hours when you factor in tacking your horse and untacking (is that a word?) after the lesson.

I adore being with Hadley as well. We chat the whole way home about our wonderful lesson and sometimes stop for dinner, just us. I’ve said more than once “If you’re embarrassed to have your mom in your lesson, just let me know.” She assures me she loves having me there. My heart swells after each lesson, when she leans in close to the horse and thanks him for letting her ride him. Oh my sweet rare bird.

Now, to the injury part.

I have had back/disc issues since 2007. I herniated a disc, then reinjured it in 2009 after a particularly dramatic roller skating fall. (Where I swear, my innards were rearranged.) And now, while learning how to post in English riding (the act of basically standing up and down on the horse – lots of leg/thigh work) and being new to it, LOTS of bouncing up and down, I have reinjured myself. Can’t get into the spine doc until November 3 or something. So, riding is on the backburner until now and the pain can be excruciating. Here’s the rub: The pain subsides with pain meds. However, the pain meds turn my mind and body to jelly. Now, at times, that is lovely and I do mean lovely. But for the majority of my day, I can’t be jacked up on Percocet. Plus, I like to be clear headed.

In short, it sucks. But whatever. Life could be so much worse. Focus on the positive, girl.

I’m still working my way through Keri Smith’s Wreck This Journal, although very slowly. I had a delightful time actually chewing on a page. Funny.

The Mindful Life Yoga For Kids training I did in September was stellar. STELLUH. I highly recommend it, even if you don’t end up teaching. Upcoming trainings are in Portland and Miami. The training itself let loose my inner child, which was immense fun and made me think about things from a completely different perspective. The director of the program, Kristen Race, is SO knowledgeable (she calls herself a “brain nerd” because she loves learning about the brain – love it) as well as being super cool. I also am seriously contemplating somehow teaching this wonderful method, although my life keeps getting in the way. To be continued...

I finally got my knipple tattoos, y’all! Yes, I did. My bubbies are complete! I put it off out of sheer laziness and because it is spendy. ($800 – covered by insurance but we all know how long it takes them to reimburse you) They look really really good, friends. I mean, they look real! I was and am blown away. The woman who did it had lots of interesting stories. She used to be a makeup artist in Hollywood and was very skilled. She looked at my skin tone and decided upon a color palette. It was all very interesting. Although, I cringed every time she pronounced “areola.” She kept saying “arEEla.” Don’t you think you should get word down as it is the majority of your work?

I digress.

It took about 3 hours to do but we chatted away the entire time and it was dare I say, fun? It didn’t hurt, as I have no sensation but later I felt twinges in my armpit or lower chest. Perhaps nerves that had reattached themselves. I would show you if you were here. I really would. I have long since gotten over the uncomfortable look on people’s faces when I say “You wanna see??” and lift my shirt before they have time to answer. That never gets old.

Let’s see. What else?

I’m reading The Space Between Us and it is beyond fantastic. Really beautiful writing and interesting characters. I find myself dreaming of when I can sneak away to read, a feeling I adore.

I’ve been listening to Beirut’s new album, The Rip Tide, almost constantly and I’m loving it.

I hope your Friday has a little bit of joy sprinkled in somewhere. I’m making pumpkin bread, packing for Santa Fe and staying in my pajamas all day.

XO

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“We read to know we are not alone.”–C.S. Lewis

“We read to know we are not alone.”–C.S. Lewis

If you ask me to describe my mom, one of the first things I would tell you is that she’s a reader. A voracious reader. She always has been. We were a family of readers with books everywhere, trips to the library and trips to the bookstore being especially magical because we could keep that book forever.

She’s always been a writer too. A fact she would dispute by the way, but she is a writer, and a wonderful one at that. I’ve said FOR YEARS that she should submit something or try to get published or even just write for her own enjoyment but she never did. But recently she submitted an essay to a magazine asking “What does reading mean to you?”

This is what she had to say:

I can see the library shelf in my mind even now. Biographies were on the bottom rack of the children’s section in the library in Milwaukee, Wisconsin on North Avenue near Lisbon. It was 1951 and I was nine almost ten. My mother had finally allowed me to walk the mile to the library by myself. She didn’t drive. I will never forget the thrill of that walk and discovering the joy of my life, reading.

The books in the biography series were all in orange covers and arranged alphabetically. Jane Adams was the first. She was an aware and influential woman who started the Chicago Community Center, Hull House. I LOVED the book, and years later became a social worker partly because of that book and her beliefs. At home my mother put all the books she thought were too “adult” for me on the top of our bookshelf. I got a stepstool and stretched carefully to get GONE WITH THE WIND down to read. She found out when I was about halfway through and reluctantly allowed me to finish it. Thanks, Mom. It was great. I saw “damn” in print even though I never heard it at home.

I loved reading from the moment I first learned about Dick, Jane, Sally and Spot. I was reprimanded for not coming to the dinner table on time, and would walk slowly while holding a book to my face. I was told I couldn’t read at the table so I would carefully place a bookmark to mark my page and eat quickly. I used to read late at night and my mother would invariably discover me under the covers with a flashlight so the light wouldn’t be seen from under my door. She was a kindred spirit as she would say, “Stop at the end of this chapter, Ellen”.

Through my wonderful book club which I have enjoyed for 25 years I have read all types and varieties of the written word I might not have chosen for myself, but am so glad that I have read. We call ourselves “Ladies of the Club” like the famous book by Helen Santmyer that took her 50 years to write. When we started in the late 1980’s we all had teenagers, and through the years we have shared our joys such as our children’s marriages and grandchildren, our hardships of personal illnesses and those of our spouses, and sorrow over the deaths of a spouse and one of our own dear members.

What I really know about reading is that it has sustained me, entertained me, lifted my soul, broadened me, and it has become my best friend. I plan books to take on vacation before buying a new outfit. I don’t even have to go on vacation…I can read about it and transport myself, quite the benefit in these economic times!

I commented on Meg’s blog (because she posted mom’s essay too) that my mom’s writing is so rich and warm, filled with fantastic details and a unique voice. If this essay isn’t enough to convince you, I’ve saved the majority of the emails she has sent me over the years as well as a TON of the letters sent to me in college. You’re welcome to come over and read them.

My mom rules and I’m grateful every day that she’s mine.

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Coming Up for Air

Coming Up for Air

It’s common in my life to go for periods where I feel like I’m swimming underwater. Life is going on around me and I’m aware of it and functioning but it’s all kind of a blur and I can’t hear very well or retain anything. (is that old age? Sweet Jesus, I’m 38!)

You’ll be happy to know I’ve come up for air.

All of my tests came back “normal” from my visit to the rheumatologist, which you think would be great but my issues continued. There was literally the equivalent of a “shrug” on the phone when I talked to the physician’s assistant. Super helpful, thanks!

After scrutinizing my meds, I decided (notice the word “I”) to tweek a few things and voila, instant success. So now I feel the usual crappy instead of extra extra crappy with crap on top. SUCCESS! No really, I feel triumphant.

Things are finally settling down with the return to school and we’re getting into the swing of things.

:::insert contented sigh:::

HJ has been talking about Halloween since the beginning of August. Daily. And at length. She changes her costume idea every half hour but I’m sure it’ll be some variation on mermaid/zombie/pop star/alien. She flips right to the adult section of the costume catalog and sighs dramatically, “The adults have all of the GOOD costumes!” And by “good costumes” she means the slutty witch, the slutty nurse, the slutty zombie, the slutty doll or the slutty alien.

She sweetly picked out the costume she wants me to buy and wear because it would be PERFECT for me.

Behold:

I know. It’s uncanny, right? I mean, how could my kid pick out the EXACT outfit that I would like to tromp around in at the end of October in Colorado? Hello perfect. Those shorts look comfy too, like I could bend and squat in them. I would for sure wear those again.

A-hem.

The blue eyed devils have been extra cute lately, and by lately, I mean this morning. Ask me this afternoon at 5:34pm and I’ll tell you I never said they were extra cute.

I digress.

Hadley and I are in the midst of redesigning her room and her sketches and ideas are so super fantastical and creative. I love it. I promised her she could do whatever she wanted. It’s going to be nutty, y’all. Must remember it is not my design aesthetic. It is an extension of her personality and creative self. (I’m telling myself this more than I’m telling you.)

We are now to the part where I tell you cute stuff my people said:

• Hadley (9) calls her shoulder blades her “wings” and I love it so much. She knows they are shoulder blades but I squealed with such delight when she first said it years ago that she just continued saying it. I love to envision my little rare bird as some winged creature.

 

• Finn (7) has his share of good ones too. The way he thinks about things is so interesting, much like my darling PGP. This morning he was talking about a costume and told me he didn’t know what the “money temperature” of the costume was but he would find out.

Enjoy this video of Gala Darling’s wedding. I smiled, sighed, teared up, and felt like my heart would burst all at the same time. Don’t you just love love?

Happy Wednesday, little garden gnomes.

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Dear Target

Dear Target

If you have a daughter who is a tween or older and have shopped for clothes at Target, you may know where I’m going with this. The clothes in the newborn to 5T section have THE cutest stuff. And I’m not just saying that because everything is all teensy weensy and cute as hell. No, they use really great fabrics and cute styling. The girls do anyway. Boys clothes are a whole other post.

Apparently, after you grow out of girls 5T though, your option is to start dressing like a little tart, or wear matching sweat suit ensembles, or ridiculous uncomfortable getups from their new Disney Teen line.  Target, who are your buyers? Fire them.

It’s so frustrating. When I’m there to pick up other things, I’ll cruise through the girls section looking for something to pick up for Hadley and it’s soul crushing. Crappy fabric, no imagination and stupid and/or slutty. One may argue that this is “the style”. I call bullshit. Hello Crewcuts? GAP? Mini Boden? Hanna Andersson? (I swear by their pajamas.)

Occasionally they’ll have a guest designer with a collection that doesn’t suck. Liberty of London and the most recent Calypso come to mind, but for the most part, it’s suck city. Target’s tween/teen department needs an overhaul.

HJ likes to dress funky but I still want quality and somewhat classic styling. Plus, she’s a stickler for something being comfortable.  It’s a difficult balance though because HJ is attracted to a lot of the cheezy crap. I’m pretty sure I’ve perfected my facial expression and tone now when she shows me some horrific shite outfit. An arch of the eyebrow and a subdued “Wow!” I can’t squelch her style or make her dress how I want her too. I accept that. There is a happy medium however.

She loves black. What can I say? She’s my kid. It’s my uniform. I struggled with this for a while, thinking, “she’s too young to be wearing black.” But then I deemed that voice stupid and banished her from the kingdom. A recent jaunt to Nordstrom produced skinny jeans, a black cotton sleeveless dress, and calf high black sequined high tops. Worn all together. She was in heaven. So was I actually. She didn’t look like an asshole. And then, the piece de resistance is that my little rare bird hot glue gunned a tiny plastic top hat to a bobby pin to put in her hair.

Oh sweet girl.

I just read this article on HelloGiggles that prompted me to finally write this post. In the article the writer focuses more on the slutty factor, which I see as well. This picture, from the teen/tween section at Target is completely ridiculous. Hopefully the girl on the left is saying “What the hell are you doing hanging out in your bra?”

So for now, as Heidi Klum would say, I’m sorry Target, you’re out.

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The Break Up

The Break Up

It is no secret that I have had a long standing love affair with Cold Stone Creamery’s Cake Batter Ice cream. It was my crack.

I used to get excited just thinking about it. My mouth would start to salivate the second I walked into the joint, knowing what goodness was coming. Sometimes I would think “Should I get something else?” Then, of course, I would come to my senses and remember never to deviate when it comes to cake batter ice cream. Cake Batter ice cream with cookie dough, brownie and fudge. A most magical concoction.

I would watch the employee as they were scooping and hope they weren’t chintzy with the topping because that could screw everything up.

And then after I got it, time would stop for a few minutes during that first bite. There was a party in my mouth with fireworks and live music and exclamation points and DELICIOUSNESS! And moaning. Always moaning.

The shit was good, all right?

So, I haven’t had any ice cream (or any dairy) since January and quite honestly hadn’t missed it. People have asked me “Don’t you miss ice cream?” And my honest answer was “No”, because I didn’t really.

A few days ago, because it’s hot as hell here in Colorado, I gathered the kids to go get ice cream. Driving to Cold Stone, I remembered my old friend cake batter.

I thought “Maybe I’ll get some, to see if it is as delicious as I remember.” I think, more than anything,  I was craving that quick hit of elation that cake batter had given me in the past.

The kids picked out the flavors they wanted, I ordered some for Peter (cake batter ice cream, cookie dough, brownie and caramel)  and I gave the guy my order. I asked for a lid so I could eat it at home with Peter.

I got home, put all of my stuff down, took out the cup of ice cream, and dug in.

No fireworks. No live music. Not one exclamation point. No moaning.

Nothing.

It was fucking gross and I couldn’t get it out my mouth fast enough.

Thinking there HAD to be a mistake, I took another bite. A chunky one, filled with magical bits of brownie and cookie dough.

Nope.

Still gross.

I look over at Peter who is eating his ice cream.

“Honey, mine doesn’t taste good. Is yours good?”

With a big bite in his mouth, he replies “You’re crazy. This is fucking great!”

I looked down at my cup, put the top back on it and put it in the freezer.

(sad trombone)

I have to admit, there was a wave of sadness. Something that once made me so so happy, now leaves me repulsed.

It’s fascinating to know that my taste buds and body chemistry have readjusted to a life without dairy. I actually had to go brush my teeth to get the mucusy dairy coating I felt on my tongue off.

On the plus side, now I know! Cake batter and I are through. There will be no wondering about “the one that got away.”

I have moved on to my new best friend, Rice Dream Pies. MmmmMm. Mint is the best.

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