Goodbye, Christmas

The tree is being reintroduced to its box at this very moment. Gavin, with the same efficiency he showed taking out the ornaments in the beginning, took down the ornaments and passed them to us for packaging. It was a great season this year, I'm sad to see it go.

Yesterday, Mike took us out too look for New Year's Eve supplies. We bought all the snacks in Costco and were very sad about their lack of drinkable beer. My mother dragged off a huge roast for us to gnaw on. Back at home, I sat around in my newly-clean living room (with thanks to my mother for taking Gavin out while I got the place in order) and zoned out in front of Robotech while my mother annoyed the neighbors by letting Gavin interact with their kids. After the boy was safe in bed, Mike and I snuggled up in front of Garden State while Invader Zim shrieked from my mother's bedroom upstairs.

Today we'll continue our hunt for Guinness, champagne, soda, and fireworks, as Mike winds up for his party tomorrow night at his drummer's house. We all hold out hope that Gavin will sleep soundly with Gabe's babies despite the noise, so that I may stay the night and be designated driver for Mike and my mom. Otherwise, I'm looking at a lonely New Year's Eve with the cats. We will see.

Beyond Boxing Day

We spent most of the day washing our cars yesterday. Gavin refilled his little bucket over and over to help rinse the soap off. We vacuumed and dusted, then applied Santa's gift of Armor-al and RainEx. The cars look spiffy, and Gavin had a good time chasing the neighbor boys with his bucket.

In the evening, we packed up potluck food and went to the Boxing Day party at my aunt's coffee shop. Gavin enjoyed a big plate of pumpkin pie, the rest of us enjoyed roasted lamb, pomegranate, chicken salad, sushi, and rum-soaked figgy pudding. I even had a glass of scotch on the rocks, which I never do, and I remembered why. During the gift exchange, we scored a calendar of Scotland. Inspiration for Mike and I when considering our long-overdue honeymoon.

This morning I cringed when I stepped on the scale, and was surprised to see I had lost a pound. That makes 34 in all so far. It was a Christmas miracle, I think, considering the amount of chocolate I ate in 2 days.


Gavin puts glasses on his head to look like mama:



Gavin acts cool, practicing to be a teenager at the wheel:



Po is very impressed by Gavin's driving abilities:



Gavin helps daddy rinse the car:

Christmas 2004

For the first time since I was a little girl, I had dreams of full stockings and woke up every hour until morning. When Gavin yawned and stretched, I poked him until I saw his eyes pop open, and jumped out of bed. Stockings! Presents!

Gavin made happy noises about everything he pulled out of his stocking, pausing to appreciate his new crayons and coloring book before dumping his candy on the floor. I did the same. We tore into the presents, which were mostly for Gavin. I was really happy to get a complete set of Robotech DVDs and photo printer, Mike loved his new iPod, my mom was happy to get a stereo for her own iPod, and Gavin got enough train track to circle the living room twice. Books, movies, t-shirts, and more!

When breakfast time came, my mother made eggs Benedict. We plugged in my shiny new brushed-steel toaster. "Something smells like burning paper," I said a minute later. "Well, it's a new toaster," my mom said uncertainly, but she looked inside and yelped, then unplugged the toaster and pulled a flaming warranty card out with a pair of tongs. We have half a mind to sent it to the manufacturer as a statement about packing paper inside toasters.

Breakfast was perfect, and we spent the morning lying around fatly while Gavin made gourmet plastic meals with his new microwave, stove, and dish sets. He poured us all "tea" and we sipped politely. We took pictures when Gavin painted his face with wet M&Ms and pretended he was a pirate, dropped him into bed when he fell asleep standing up, and watched the latest Harry Potter movie until he woke up.

That evening, as Mike headed to work, we escaped hosting the holiday meal by visiting my aunt instead. The boys played with Chris' toys and the adults lit the pudding on fire with a dowse of rum. Gavin and I fell asleep together as soon as we returned home, sleeping like logs until morning. It was a great day.

The Christmas Spirit strikes again

Merry X-mas, indeed. A big thank-you goes out to the folks who left us this life-sized holiday message spray-painted on our car! A fitting symbol of the season. Ho ho ho. Assoles.
 

I have pulled on my new Christmas sweater and am prepared to spend one last day out shopping on Santa's behalf. We are hunting for foil-wrapped Chocolate Oranges.

Over the hills and through the rain

Fate is testing my driving abilities these days. The rain came down in buckets as I kissed my baby goodbye and ran to the car. Why I didn't think to bring an umbrella at that point, I don't know. I waded through rivers of runoff as I headed toward the most treacherous cliff-side road on the island. I made an excuse to stop at 7-11 on the way and buy a diet soda (another Pepsi? Am I nuts?) and kicked the tires to be sure I wouldn't fly off the mountain. Even with the stormy weather, I arrived a half hour early for my appointment at the library. I parked as close as I could and sat safely in the car, contemplating my next move. The radio was on, and I settled back to listen and think, realizing that I couldn't remember the last time I had just sat and listened to music. The last time may have been in college, 3 or 4 years ago. In the glove box there was a yellow emergency raincoat, but I decided to forego it, kind of like how the WWI pilots chose to forego parachutes because they weren't stylish enough. After all, how wet could I get?

The emergency entrance to the library ever since the flood is all the way around back. By the time I got to the front door, I was drenched. When I arrived around back, I was soaked to the skin and shivering. While I waited for one of the assistants to find the secretary, I searched for a dry patch of shirt to wipe my face. Finding none, I smeared the water around and pulled my hair into a bun to disguise it. It seemed to work. I filled out my paperwork and was pronounced officially hired, then cursed my way back through the rain to the car. I should have taken off the shirt and wrung it out when I got in the car, but instead I turned on the hot air and immediately steamed up all the windows. I hate driving in bad weather. Forget it, I'm never moving to the mainland.

Grades are in

Look at me, sitting pretty with a 4.0 gpa this semester. This pulls my cumulative average up above 3.0, and makes me wish I could go back to 2001 and kick my unclassified ass for doing a shitty job in that random class I took.

Today I drove over the mountain to fill out paperwork for my new job. As I drove through the Pali tunnels, a motorcycle tore around me and almost caused me to kill myself. My mother once saw an ad for motorcycle tours of the Big Island, complete with Road Captain. I contemplated the idea of Road Captains for the rest of the ride to the university.

I downed a Diet Pepsi and walked across the empty campus to the student service center, where I brandished my gpa and managed to get a job referral which would allow me to work at the library. My mother told me recently about a man who stopped to take a piss next to a highway and was struck by ball lightning, incinerating a path from his heel, up his leg, and hollowing out his body cavity. From her descriptions, Pepsi does the very same thing to her. And, as it happens, to me as well. It feels terrible. While waiting for my appointment and feeling jittery, I discovered that the women's room was closed for cleaning, and snuck into the men's room instead. I'm such a rebel.


Tomorrow I have yet another date with paperwork at the university, after which I will be trained and scheduled and, much later, paid. Sorry to leave my (three?) readers with fewer tales of Human Resources, but that is how it must be. It must!

Meaty meats.

Printing is tedious work. Samples must be given to the chiropractor to prove I am, in fact, illustrating his book. Mike went to his last practice of the year before his New Year's party, and he sat for half an hour quietly playing guitar in the living room. I get the feeling he thinks I don't like his music, he rarely does it in front of me, but I do like it. It reminds me of who he is, and of our college days when we laid around together doing our own things, me drawing and him strumming. I miss him sometimes.

Yesterday my mother, Gavin, and I went through Costco with hungry eyes, picking out our Christmas dinner. We settled on a huge package of thick, marbled rib eye steaks, and a pack of lamb shanks. We figure we can wing it with the veggies. I don't think I'll be doing my food tracking on Christmas, which is why I'm sitting here with a bag of grapes on my lap. Have to watch it if I want to break even this week. So far so good; less than a week until Christmas, and I've still lost 3 lbs this month. I mention this because today is Monday; the day I step on the scale and record my results. I love Mondays.

A trip to Kaaawa

As Gavin splashed happily in the sink, experimenting with soap and toothbrushes, my mother called to beg me for a favor. She had forgotten to bring a present for the staff party, and I needed to assemble something and deliver it up. I got a basket and stuffed it with packets of instant cider, chai, Christmas candy, and the McDonalds gift certificates Mike had won at his Christmas party. After a few pathetic attempts to wrap the basket, I tied a sagging bow around it and popped Gavin in the car for the ride.

The road to Kaaawa is dangerous on a good day; it's one of those winding country roads with two narrow lanes, no visibility, and a poor excuse for a shoulder. As Gavin drooped slowly into sleep, I turned up the music and watched the ocean waves against the rocks on the side of the road. The giant trees were covered with vines and fruits, and tiny yellow leaves showered the road, almost glittering in the sun. We passed the ranch, where a cowboy rode through the fields with his rope flying, and I enjoyed the smell of hay and manure as we rounded the bend. The mountains split open past the ranch, into a valley with tiny white birds flying in the mist. As we parked behind my mother's white bug and I pulled my limp baby from his seat, I regretted that I hadn't brought our suits, to take advantage of the beach on such a clear, warm day. Maybe I'll take him swimming this afternoon.

Gavin is up now, my mother has her gift, and I stopped by 7-11 to pick up musubi and drinks for lunch. It's time to drive home. My assignments are done, school is out, and I have nothing to do but enjoy the day.

Gavin turns 2

The little man turned 2 yesterday! For most of the day, the poor kid had to follow me around on errands. We drove up to Kaaawa to visit his grandma and help her decorate the cafeteria for the school play today. Gavin helped me paint the mural and apply sparkles, then joined us for a bag lunch of musubi, milk, and apples. My mother finished her final paper in the 11th hour, and we zoomed down to the university to deliver it in the nick of time. Gavin and I walked across campus, through the fallen leaves and past the gardens of cats, to deliver my library books at Sinclair (my future place of employment). On the way home, we picked up dinner.

We stuffed ourselves on Thai food in honor of the night I went into labor, Gavin ate sticky rice and made faces over the chicken curry, then we came out with the cake and he blew out his candles like a pro. He dug in with both hands before I could get it served. He liked the whole present thing, but was annoyed when I kept handing him things to unwrap, when I could clearly see he already had a toy to play with. The most popular gifts were the little pink doll houses. He enjoyed reading his new books before bed time (which I had to read "doh" - aka "again") and he got up first thing this morning asking to play with his toys and eat "pie". I can't believe my baby is 2 already! Just before bed, I laughed to Mike about how great Gavin was all day, and how nobody could accuse him of being in his "terrible twos". Right on cue, Gavin smacked me in the face. He was a bit confused when we burst out laughing. (In his defense, he knows he's only allowed to smack people on the butt, and sometimes he has trouble telling between my butt and my head. Doesn't say anything good about my looks, does it?)

 

The interview that wasn't

Last night I surprised myself by finishing up all 52 pages of my final papers, an entire day early.

Proudly bearing two manila envelopes stuffed with my homework, I gathered up the baby (as Mike unexpectedly was summoned to work) and drove to the university to tie up loose ends. We dropped off my envelopes in my professor's box, walked over to the student employment office to bargain with them over my eligibility to work for the library, and headed over for my informal second interview. On the way, Gavin and I hid behind a big surfer from a crazy man screaming at an invisible enemy ("She's FUCKING hot, I'm gonna FUCK YOU UP man, WHAT?? You fucker!"), and stopped for a Thai tapioca at the campus Bale cafe before arriving at the library and discovering my interviewer had called in sick. I left my contact information and headed back to the car. As we passed under the shade of a banyan tree, someone said, "Beautiful child you have there." I looked up, surprised, to see one of our resident homeless men smiling at me.
"You're doing the most important job in the world, you know, raising a beautiful healthy child."
"Thank you," I said.
"No, thank you," he said, saluting me. Made my day.

Pre-Holiday Joy

Gavin outdoes himself
A fever and a runny nose - not worth an emergency trip to the doctor, right? All the same, we took him to the doctor's office yesterday after hearing that my cousin has an ear infection, and the poor kid has a sore throat, two ear infections, and pink eye. Oh no. I don't know how he did it, but now all three of us adults are rubbing our eyes, a bit paranoid. The bright side is that we now have two kinds of antibiotics, and he will be feeling better for his birthday.

The End of the Year Letter
The mamas on my board have inspired me to write a hypothetical holiday letter, like the kind that gets xeroxed and inserted into Christmas cards from family members you don't really talk to. This is the letter that would be, if I had any interest in further alienating my in-laws.

2004 was an eventful year. It began with the good news that, after 7 years, Mike's family decided it was time they got to know me better. It has only been 11 months since that announcement, and I am sure the first questions about my interests are going to arrive at any time. 

After our desperate retreat from New York, we all got busy. My mother and I completed all the tests and paperwork to please the Human Resource Gods and get into grad school, Mike found himself the captain of a sinking ship in Aikahi, and Gavin began to snowball his vocabulary from "uh oh!" to "Mama, sit and kiss kitty!" Two shiny cars joined our family, and two old cars were dumped on whoever would take them. Our two aging cats gave up the fight and allowed two scabby strays to visit us. We have named them "Headlights" and "Sylvester". Headlights has recently earned the nickname "Tailpipes", because he farts a lot, and most of Sylvester's fur has grown back. Xebo, on the other hand, has started to bald, but he vomits less these days, or at the least neatly covers his mess with shoes, socks, etc. Hurcules has discovered that he can carefully use his claws to peel open our sleeping eyelids. Great.

Following a sad incident with some red plastic playground equipment, I have lost 15% of my body mass and posted an embarrassing number of progress pictures on the internet. Halfway through the semester, I realized that I was truly meant to be a librarian, just in time for a flood to tear through the library and destroy our school. Luckily, though, classes went on, and we successfully completed our courses, including another bronze class. 

Yes, it has been quite a year. Mike discovered the level of staff incompetency it takes to run a theater. Gavin learned how to run and climb, as well becoming the first baby I've met who can draw a heart, star, circle, square, and parallel lines before the age of 2. I haven't met many babies, but it seems good to me. My mother had a date, told off a potential admirer, was granted leave of absence for next year to pursue her degree full-time, and bought a VW beetle. As for me, I had an emotional year, being accepted into school, rediscovering my bony landmarks, thinking more about old friends, and finding myself suddenly employed.

What comes this next year? Mike is flying out to attend his brother's wedding (in my conspicuous absence). The adventures of my new job will unfold, with new friends and Tales from the Moldy Stacks. Gavin will be talking more and learning numbers and letters. And we will find ourselves pulling the mortgage and bills while my mother takes her sabbatical in the fall and tackles a full load of classes for the first time in 20 years. 

 
And so, friends and family, I hope your years were happy as well. Thanks to my paternal grandparents, who have been in touch ever since the arrival of their great-grandson, and who have shown pictures of Gavin to my father. I still hold hope that he might write to us some day. Thanks to my mother-in-law for the homemade pickles, which almost make me forgive what happened last Christmas. Salvo, I'm proud of you. Peter, well, you know how it is. Brooke, I love talking to you. Rose, I wish I knew where you are. My RMC mamas, you rock. Take care, everyone, don't forget to write.


-Holly

The Employed Librarian

It has happened - I got a job. Yes, the kind of job that requires work. Tonight, as I left my last class of the semester, my friend who works at the Library from Hell dragged me into her boss's office and landed me a job as a part-time library assistant. This means two things: I will graduate with a year and a half of library experience under my belt; and I can buy my own SuperGirl underwear without consulting Mike. It also means I will have fewer evenings and weekends with Gavin, but I remember my own mother working and taking classes when I was little, and it didn't damage me any. I think.

Sick again

Last night, as I wrapped up my homework, I realized Gavin was crying upstairs. I ran to find his little body burning with fever, his nose completely stuffed up. I carried him downstairs, wiping his tears and nose, and cuddled up by the light of the Christmas tree in front of a cozy movie with him until he had calmed down enough to breathe effectively. Several hours later, in bed, he panicked again, unable to breathe. Mike had climbed into bed only moments earlier, home from work late. We dosed the boy with cold medicine and I rocked him to sleep, running my fingers through his hair and feeling his hand stroke softly at my arm as his eyes dropped closed. I remember the feeling of relief and safety, sick in my mother's arms as a child, and it's a warm feeling to know I can give the same to Gavin.

My mother, piggybacking on my diet in the same way she piggybacked on my pregnancy weight gain, has lost 30 lbs and (coincidentally?) finds herself this morning on a brunch date with a fellow she's quietly had a crush on for years. A fellow with a motorcycle, direct gaze, and reckless sense of humor. I hope she has better luck with him.

Day 4...

... and still sick. Gavin feels that my prone position on the couch is invitation to use my stomach for a trampoline. In my haggard, croaking state, I have put off all homework in favor of some trashy novel reading. Some books strike chords in you. The Color Purple struck so many that I was humming for two years. This book only made one of my chords twang briefly - with this sentence near the end:

"Even when I'm on my guard, being watchful, he can piss me off, turn me on, make me question my judgement, and, in general, provoke inconvenient emotions."
 

Yep.

At any rate, I still must put my runny nose to the computer screen and finish my cataloging homework before class tomorrow.

The night before last, I barked directions from the couch while Mike and my mother decorated the tree. Gavin took the role of Official Ornament Distributor, selecting ornaments from the boxes and deciding who got to hang what, and doing a surprisingly good job. Yesterday, despite my spinning head, I spent the better part of the day shopping with my mom and eating Chinese food. I had a skirt to buy for my interview this week, as all my other skirts fall to the floor when I button them up. My mom and Mike cheered when I put on my outfit, "You look sexy!" Not what I was going for with an interview as a reference librarian. I stripped off the shirt and rummaged through the closet for something more conservative. All the same, it was nice to hear. Now I am doped up on DayQuil and enjoying the scent of our new pine wreathe, daydreaming a bit and letting Gavin slide down the stairs on the lid to the hamper. Despite the weakness in my chest and pounding in my head, I am pretty happy. I love Christmas.

The first cold of the season

On Wednesday evening, we all climbed into the Bug and drove to dancing. Gavin and I walked down to the health food store to look for Christmas tea, and left with a complimentary vegan brownie because the baker had taken pity on Gavin, who was plastered against the pastry display. Mike spent the rest of the evening wrestling with the chocolate-smeared child while I got in a few dances. Gavin learned how to roll his socks in a ball and lob them at people. Fun was had by all.

In the morning, I was sick and wheezing. And with two classes in the evening ahead of me. I rented a movie and crashed on the couch as much as I could with an active toddler, but when the time came, I got my homework together and headed off to learn about reference and to patina my bronze sculpture. That night, shaking with exhaustion, I just couldn't sleep, and layed in bed and waited for dawn. My throat swelled up and my chest deflated. Alone with Gavin again, I sat down this morning to type up a cover letter and tweak my resume for an internship position at the university - and I've run out of paper and ink. I will have to drag my pathetic self to the mall and spend too much money on another cartridge and nice paper. I think I will bring the Mega Stroller to restrain the boy, because if I have to dig him out of any clothes racks today, my head will explode.

If I land this (paid) internship, I will jump for joy. Besides the valuable job experience, I would have spending money! I could pay for all our groceries myself, without relying on Mike for everything. I could buy my own dress this opera season without worrying about hitting Mike's pocket. Trying not to hope too much, I have bad luck with these things, but fingers crossed.

Will wonders never cease

Gavin slept in an hour, and I lost a pound over Thanksgiving. Huh.

Mike got me a CD for my birthday, which I've been playing to death.

The better part of three days have been spent walking through the mall, watching the fish in the koi ponds and watching the people push past each other similarly. My mother and I drank chai in the book store, where I sulked a bit because they didn't have a present I wanted to buy. We learned the next morning that a package I had ordered for Gavin arrived at my in-laws' house in New York. Darn it. While they worked to correct the problem, my grandfather called to say he might visit this Christmas. After fighting cancer for almost two years, it's about time he did a victory dance with us. Also on the phone this weekend was my mother-in-law, who mentioned that my brother-in-law will be getting married next October. I wondered if I could schedule another root canal during that week, but I suppose I don't need to make any excuses at all. I'm in grad school, and I'm simply not going to skip class and blow $1000 to surround myself and my son with hostility and see someone I'm still mad at get married. Mike can go by himself, and Lorenz can do a happy dance and drag him out to get drunk without me there to mess things up. Besides, I think it's healthy to get away from your significant other at least once a year, for mental health purposes. Mike would do good to breath a little New York air in October and spend a few nights with his friends and family without having to worry about whether I'm enjoying myself.

...Yes, all those things. But mostly what I am thinking about today is this: this weekend I bought a pair of pants that were two more sizes down.

consumerism

Last night we went with my aunt to the dreaded Walmart to hunt for a Little People Enchanted Castle play set for Chris. I bypassed my boycott by thinking that I needn't actually buy anything there. Unfortunately, there were a lot of inexpensive toddler toys just right for Gavin, and I broke down and spent $40 on a wooden train set, pack of Play Doh, set of plastic pots and pans, and box of die cast cars. And a sparkling tacky tinsel light-up tree topper for our new (fake) tree. Oh, well. I will do better in the future. Embarrassing.

I curled up in bed with Gavin and fell asleep with happy dreams. I dreamed that I saw an old friend again after these many years, and I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his lips, just happy to see him again. Maybe some day I really will.

In the morning, we stared hatefully out the window at the noisy neighbor children, then hopped into my mother's new VW Beetle and zoomed over to Costco to join the pre-Thanksgiving crowd. Gavin wanted every free sample, particularly enjoying the slices of honey-glazed ham. After sitting down to share a frozen yogurt, I was unhappy to hear my mother say she wanted to return to Walmart for a set of seat covers for her car. Fortunately, I left the ATM card at home with Mike, so all I could do was look at the toddler pajama sets and potty seats. Walmart will not get the better of me, despite the allure of cheap crap.

Returning home, I saw that Mike had already left to attend the RSCDS board meeting. I sighed, knowing our afternoon date to see Bridget Jones wasn't going to happen. The poor guy is getting burnt out. We need to see each other soon.

Tis the season...

My christmas cards are ready to go, the season is gearing up. Next friday I turn 25. It's a season of change, and I'm ready for it.

Here I am looking squinky-eyed and unimpressed:
 

Gavin with the guitar:
 

Gavin examines leaves in the back yard:

From the pages of my class notebook

Last night...
Nov 11 2004
Winter is here with grey skies and chilly winds. I stood at the coffee dispenser, cramming a wrinkled dollar into the rusty machine and cussing mentally each time it spat the bill out again. Victory was mine, and I punched the hot chocolate button. The winds blew rain into my cup as I hummed  and trudged across the leaf-strewn courtyard to the ancient elevator. As the doors rumbled shut, I sipped my paper cup of cocoa and eyeballed the rear doors of the elevator, wondering what secret parts of the chemistry department they lead to. I stepped out into the 1950s as I reached the third floor. The corridor was dark, a single unlit bulb suspended from the ceiling. An open classroom cast light from the windows onto the concrete floor, and I peeked in at the old furniture. I imagined a chemist with a crew cut and horn-rimmed glasses lecturing a class of bored students in tight sweaters.

This cocoa is too thick. It is like chocolate mucous.

Last Tuesday Morning...
Sick sick sick. I have successfully arrived at school without vomiting or passing out on the Pali. Gavin, still sick, cried intermittently from 10pm to 4am. Aside from one or two near-hysterical remarks from me while half asleep, I managed to rock my poor boy in my arms and snuggle next to him as he watched a midnight showing of Lady and the Tramp. Adrenaline hit me as I leapt out of bed at 6:22am to get ready for class, late. That, combined with hunger, must have sent me into a sort of low-blood sugar shock, and I sat down on the toilet, trembling and working up the nerve to make a run for the fridge (our downstairs bathroom is close to the kitchen). Fighting off stars, I chugged three or four gulps of milk from the carton and sat down again for a moment before making a go for the Gatorade. The nausea faded enough for me to trudge upstairs to get dressed. Suspicious, I took my temperature, which should have dropped to 97.4. 98.5. I peed on a stick I had handy, which went reassuringly blank. Now I am at school, cold and sleepy. I need a nap.
 

Even though I am exhausted and sick, my teacher commented in front of the class how pretty I looked. I should stay up all night more often.

 
Last Monday evening...
Once again alone in the chemistry hall. I've had childhood nightmares about these long corridors. On the doors at the end I see a sign depicting a flailing, horizontal man screaming. Is he slipping? Falling? I am going to assume that on the other side of the door is no floor.

Halloween flood in more detail

Halloween was great. We carved the pumpkin, dipped caramel apples, and toasted pumpkin seeds. Gavin helped me color decorations to tape onto the front door, and when the sun went down behind the rain clouds we painted our faces and prepared to head out for Gavin's first trick-or-treating. The little barefoot mouse caught on quickly, hurrying up to the doors with his candy bag, calling "teet teet teet!" in his best attempt at "trick-or-treat", while I followed along behind him with the umbrella, a bit sweaty in my pirate costume. We ooo-ed at the neighbor's haunted displays and scary smoke machine, we avoided a stampede of frenzied princesses, and returned with soggy mouse ears and smeared makeup to our own door, where Gavin emptied his candy onto the floor and rolled in it, tearing the wrappers off with his tiny teeth. He licked two lollipops and stuck them to the carpet, then slumped onto a floor pillow and tried to fall asleep in front of Lady and the Tramp, until I carried him upstairs for a wipe-down and a tooth brushing before plunking him into bed. Here is a picture:



My mother and I were downstairs, admiring the pumpkin, when the phone rang. The slightly tipsy voice of Eileen told me that while she and her class had broken a window and escaped the flooding library, our school was demolished. As she sat in class Saturday evening, she heard an explosion and looked into the hallway to see an inch of water rushing across the floor. Seconds later, a louder explosion, and a foot of water burst in. A third explosion sent the locked door flying inward (it was an out-ward opening door) and the desks, computers, and walls came down, rushing together violently. Geysers erupted from the floor. The class got to the windows and banged uselessly until one student picked up a stool and smashed out the glass. As the students climbed up through the window, four feet above ground level, the water flowed out with them, joining the river outside. Eileen was last to come out, floating nervously on a couch until it was her turn. Everything was destroyed. The computers, the furniture, the books, the professors' offices, everything, to say nothing of the maps and government documents departments next door.

I turned on the news and watched footage of the dark, mud-caked wreckage of my beloved library school. What would happen to us? When would we resume classes? Were our grades lost? What now?

Today I left Gavin with his dad and headed out to drive to Manoa, stopping at the store for a case of bottled water. I was so stressed, I was barely coherent enough to ask the cashier for a bag of ice, and when I hurried into the parking lot with my goods, a large man leaned out his car window and called to me, "Eh, my friend Rocko likes you!" I didn't know what he was talking about for a minute, it was such a clash from what was happening. At the university, the lawn was littered with documents. People with hoses rinsed off maps dug out of the wreckage, and students with wheelbarrows were carting off files to be dried. I was given a job, which gave me hope: I had to gather cleaning supplies and prepare our temporary room in the chemistry building for classes. Armed with the knowledge that life would go on, I enlisted the help of another student and scrubbed desks, dusted chairs, wiped down the white boards, and helped sweep the floors until the room was presentable. Satisfied, I joined the other volunteers for a slice of pizza. My cataloging teacher, covered from head to foot in mud, emerged from the building to join us, grimly acknowledging the loss of all his years of work as he lit up a cigarette and assured me we would be meeting for class next Monday. I suppose I should get on my homework, despite all the excitement, then.

Wholesale Destruction

Holy fucking hell

Big flood, almost killed 30 of my classmates. My best library buddy was down there when the water busted through the doors and filled up the basement in 8 minutes with about 10 feet of water, they had to break a window to escape. Library server destroyed, government documents and maps destroyed, computer labs and professors offices (with dissertations and current book projects) destroyed. Rare book destroyed. Our grades, exams, curriculum, homework, everything. The walls were coming down (the upper library survived) and the floor broke open with geysers.

I'm going to go down tomorrow to help salvage things, but the entire campus was based on the library server. Unless someone had backups of the cataloging files somewhere outside the library, we're talking years of work lost. We don't know when we may go back to class.

No air conditioning and a library of 300,000 books in flood conditions... there are going to be major mold problems that may set the library back a fortune. I can't even start to imagine the extent of this. I'm so heartbroken. I'm just glad it was on the weekend, so the cataloging department and others were closed, otherwise people would have been killed, because there are no windows in those rooms and no way to open the doors with that much water on the other side.

Fun in the Dungeon

Cataloging. Where we sit in a dark classroom with a 5-inch thick book of AARC rules and try to take notes on field entries and punctuation. As I was doodling in my notebook, someone mentioned Leda and the Swan and I wrote Leda and the goose. For some reason this seemed really funny, and I suddenly started laughing, burying my face in my jacket to muffle the sound. The girls who sit beside me are used to this, and ignored me. Sometimes I feel like the clumsy background character in someone else's movie.

After class, Yuri announced that there were unguarded donut holes in the diner, so I snuck into the quiet hallway, and as soon as the door closed behind me I started skipped loudly down the hall and skidded into the diner doorway like an ice skater. A group of students were staring at me. "Well that was embarrassing," I said, but only a stream of garbled syllables came out. Typical. I pretended not to notice, and went to my locker, eyeballing the tables. The donut holes were gone. My favorite bake sale sign-up sheet was no longer posted. Someone had signed up to bring "boiled frogs and bat spawn", next to which someone had scribbled, "don't you mean 'baked'?" to which a third person had added, "from the Triplets of Belleville cookbook?" You just can't get away with anything in library school.

The Root Canal

Yesterday, after waking up with only 15 minutes to head out for class, I found myself at the start of a long and painful day. After class (where we were reminded of the mid-term exam next week) I hurried to the dentist for the root canal I had been putting off. Used to the hand-holding of childhood, I was surprised when my mouth was swabbed and jabbed with the giant needle with no warning. My heart began to race and my throat started to swell closed. "Not to be an alarmist," I said, fighting back black stars, "but is it normal for patients to keel over and die after getting the pain killer? Because that would be a very anticlimactic end for me." The dental assistant said that I probably was not about to die, and that it was similar to an adrenaline rush because she had accidentally poked a vein in my cheek. Adrenaline, huh? So that's why I don't exercise anymore.

After that, the procedure was fine. I didn't like to see the drill bit pass over my head, because it looked like the kind that made holes in wood instead of teeth, and I could have done without the detailed narration on my gum trimming, but the pain wasn't too bad, it felt like a lot pain in a tooth many, many miles away. Today I was surprised to see my face looked the same as usual in the mirror, because it felt like I should have a giant purple bruise across the bottom half of my face. I hope the bone will heal by the time I have to come in for my second appointment in 2 weeks to be fitted with my gold tooth.

The day that never ended

My awful neighbors are soul-sucking ghouls. I do not want to go on another rant about them.


I sat shivering behind the reference desk, watching students bounce off the invisible shield and scribbling notes about medical journals for class. I was surprised later on to discover that Scott sometimes visits the academic library, and he stopped to chat over my mountain of encyclopedias. "Oh, yes, I'm making friends again now that I'm back in school," I said. "Oh? I thought you had friends. What happened to all the little gay people at your wedding?" He's gay himself, and thought John was cute. He seemed sad when I told him that the beautiful John was studying to be an accountant.

In the afternoon, as I inched home through the Honolulu traffic, I noticed that my hands were trembling slightly, I felt a bit weak. I wondered whether it was nutrition or homework that was causing a strain on my system. The fight with our neighbors immediately upon arriving home didn't help. I sank like jelly into the couch and poked my fingers into my ears as the argument outside quickly turned into a neighborhood-wide affair. We won, but I still find my fingers wobbling as I type. Nothing a shot of whiskey can't take care of, maybe.

Chicken and Rice

Today Gavin and I took a stroll up to the store to buy Mike a huli huli plate lunch. Gavin walked alongside the stroller, held my hand across the street, and pointed when we passed a mailbox, "Maaaaail!" I held him up to open the little mail chute, we waved goodbye to an imaginary letter, and went on to the store.

At home, we divided up the meal and shared lunch. Gavin tried to open the soda, and said "Eeeew" with his nose scrunched up when I helped him. He doesn't like bubbles in his drink, but he loved the chicken. I stopped myself from pre-chewing his meat for him (thanks, ancestors) and he gnawed it up. The cats joined us for a snack of chicken skin. Gavin lifted his arms to me, and we went upstairs to curl up for a nap. Together, we went over the events of the morning, from watching Snow White to drawing hearts with crayons, and he nodded and smiled, then closed his eyes as I said "and now it's time for a nap!" and fell asleep.

Domestic bliss.

Mike goes boom.

If it wasn't bad enough that my computer up and died, requiring extreme methods of resurrection, Mike's computer has decided to follow suit. He has rushed down to CompUSA to pick up another hard drive so that he can salvage his files somehow before having to reformat his computer. Very sad.

Gavin has found that throwing things is a very fun activity. Besides the joys of physics, he gets a lot of attention, too. Particularly this morning, when he used the case from Snow White as a frisbee and hit me in the eyeball with a sharp corner. This, I guess, to match the fat lip he gave me a few days ago by hitting me in the mouth with his plastic teletubbie. His laughter turned to crying, and then anger when I failed to recover fast enough. Since I refused to shower him with kisses to make him feel better and he refused to give me a hug in apology, we sat glaring at each other from across the couch (me with my one good eye) until Mike broke us up. It has been that kind of day.

my aching nerves

I'm trying to do my homework, I am. The time I've already spent on the computer this morning has caused my fingers to fill with... hurt. It's like my hands have 10 wiggling meat sticks on the ends of them, covered in ants. So what do I do? Post a blog entry about it! Yes, this is making my hands much better. I'll be typing all about the burning of the Alexandrian library in no time.

It's funny that Sal is getting into German. Just last night I spent an hour tracking down the source to a scanned photo of a chained book for my presentation, and ended up on the Babel Fish website translating a German bibliography to uncover the 1950's author who's book had been sampled. It's amazing to sort through German and realize how many roots to our words we share.

Also on my mind this afternoon is a situation one of my mama friends is going through that sums up the horrors of our medical system. I should write a paper on it - Kaiser and the Flesh Eating Bacteria (or would people confuse the two?). Many hugs and kisses to my mama friend.

If anything can go wrong

...it will. 

The First Week of School
The first week of school filled me with excitement, emptied my wallet, and loaded me with homework. I attacked my assigned reading, jumped on my cataloging work, launched into my first essay, and my iMac up and died. Obviously unimpressed by my enthusiasm. Poot. My screams had no effect on it.

And so, four days later, after re-installations, software updates, battery changes, head-banging, and disk doctoring, it woke back up and now only has OS 9. I finished my essay in TextEdit. Very sad.

To make matters worse, I can only log in to the library system to do my cataloging homework with a valid UH library account, which I will not have until my loans come through and I can prove to the Student ID people that I've paid up. My teacher has excused me, though I will be stalking through the library today until I find someone I recognize and force them to log on for me. Maybe I'll even find Tim, cornered in the construction wing with nowhere to run. I still think I can get him to play bass for Mike.

Toddlers
Gavin has been enjoying his extra time with his dad. Mike managed to get him into bed last Thursday, where he cried himself to sleep without the comfort of a warm boob. I'm glad that the two can manage without me, so that I may stay late some nights to do research at the library. It makes me think of the time Chris came over at bedtime while Beth and my mother went to a movie... long story short, I was relieved to come home and find that Gavin was not screaming and vomiting all over Mike.

Beth has been coming to visit more often. She's lonely, we think. Chris has started to behave more acceptably, although it is a constant battle to show him how to do it. Gavin has started testing his limits as well, and while it's mostly harmless things (how loudly can I chirp after mom says "keep it down"? etc), he's been throwing things a lot, and sometimes ignoring me when I say "no". Too bad for him, I'm bigger than he is, and after being ignored once I can bodily remove him or whatever it is he is playing with. He's a pretty easy kid, though.

Gavin has also developed an obsession with Snow White, and can point out every dwarf by name. He organizes his dolls into lines and marches them to "Hi Ho" (he sings it without the "hi", but he has the idea). Other recent developments include new words: heart, draw, and treat; as well as the use of the word "rock" to describe a mountain.

On the Personal Side
I've lost 7 lbs so far. Already I feel a difference in my appearance, and the way my clothes fit. Mike has been poking me in the ribs, since he can see them now. I'm officially the same weight I was before I gave birth, but I plan to lose another 13 pounds for an even 20 by Christmas.


Right, then, enough from me. There are computer problems to diagnose.

the beat goes on

Our neighbor is playing his ukulele outside our window again. I'm tempted to pick up the chanter and make some noise, but I'm tired. Today Mike, Gavin and I drove down to UH to pay the goddamn parking ticket, with full intentions of stopping by the Children's Center to check out daycare for Gavin. We did not. After an hour hiking all over campus, we limped back to the car after an unusually bad lunch at the food kiosk. I sat eating my tough pieces of meat (debating whether it was horse or cat meat) and I looked up at the sun-dappled stairs of the Hamilton Library, in whose basements I will live like a troll for the next year and a half. 

Safely home, Gavin and I played on the porch with his (clean) kitty litter box filled with water. He tip-toed on the hot cement, and then crammed his body into the box to splash happily while I hovered over him, my shadow shielding him from the sun and my back burning. I'll miss these days. I imagined myself on a bike, Gavin riding behind me in a baby seat, as I cruised toward his day care center to drop him off for my class, then riding on to the library, riding down to the lovely Olympic-sized heated pool for an afternoon swim. Maybe I'll ask for a bike for my birthday, it's been a long time since I've been on one. My mother is returning from the store, with ingredients to make fudge, which she has been wanting for two days. She's suffering from a severe migraine, and we've decided that this sounds like a good pain-killer. 

Feeling good.

Orientation

Yesterday, my mother and I abandoned Gavin with his father and went to orientation. The LIS program is located in the basement of the enormous research library at UH, and we felt excited as we trundled down the stairs into the chilly lower decks. Waiting for the students to all arrive, we checked out the refreshments. I decided to make a cup of Earl Grey, and picked up a peppermint tea bag instead, not realizing my error until it was to my lips. My mother laughed at me and decided to show me how to make a proper cup of tea, picking out the bag of Earl Grey I had been aiming for, and then poured hot coffee into it instead of water. Both of us proving too incompetent to make a cup of tea, we headed in to the classroom for orientation.

It was really interesting. I went into this field because my mother and grandmother liked it, knowing nothing of it at all, myself. It seems to suit me pretty well. Who knew? I was particularly intrigued by archiving, and the preservation of books.

I was foiled by my advisor, who did not recommend I take 4 classes, as I had planned. It seems that 4 classes, each requiring a 30-page paper, can be overwhelming. Gah. So 3 it is, and I will start on Monday, providing the Financial Aid office get my loan papers to me in time.

There are only 4 men in our class. One is a military fellow from Laos who is preparing to go AWOL, as his orders came in 2 days ago and he refuses to attend lock-down on Thursday. It will be interesting to see if his lawyer gets him off. One man is a large Hawaiian guy with tattoos and a big laugh, a professional photographer with 4 children. The other fellows are about my age, one is a skinny quiet kid, and the other is haole boy from the mainland who plays bass guitar. I plan to corner that one and twist his arm into playing with Mike. Overall, the rest of the women in the class are fun to talk to, and many also have toddlers at home. Libraries tend to attract a similar sort of nerdy people, I think, and I can't wait to get to know them better. Already, I was huddled up with a woman named Eileen, comparing schedules to make sure we had some classes together. I always get along better with people about 20 years older than me, for some reason, but there was a young woman from Oregon that I liked. Skinny, with jerky hand gestures, hunched posture, and bucket hat pulled down to her eyebrows, she was sharp and clever. I think this year is going to be great.

In the end, we were very late coming home, and had to pick up Gavin from the theater. I was so excited to see him after such a long day apart, but he seemed perfectly fine without me. My baby is growing up. All the same, he hugged me and cuddled up to nurse immediately. 

Part of me is sad about my wasted drawing potential, and I couldn't stop myself from staring at the art building as I walked by yesterday, but I feel this is the right path. Sometimes I have to tell myself that more than once, but I'm beginning to believe it more and more.

Something Approaches

I can hear an ominous buzzing. It's the sound of flies, masses of them, a sound that will stop you dead in your tracks in an open field as you scan for a body. I've looked for the source of this sound for days, peeking over the hill into the ditch behind our house, searching for the telltale swivel of a buzzing fly that will lead my eye to the carcass. There isn't one. Maybe a corpse will float up in my life somewhere else, then. Something I had forgotten for a long time, rising reeking to the surface.

More painting, more spots on the floor dabbed up with my fingers. I'm green today.


We spent a nice afternoon at the pool yesterday, and Gavin dunked himself for the first time. He struggles to escape us now, certain he can swim like a fish if we would just let go. We compromise and set him loose on the stairs, where he crawls on his belly through the water and jumps in deeper and deeper until he clings to the wall and dangles. We returned home to find the neighbor girl pressed up against our screen door. That child is bored, and I can't say I like our family privacy invaded on a daily basis. I'm learning to manage her.

Attacking the kitchen

Today we started some renovations. Mike got up bright and early to haul our old couch to the dump and pick up a new TV stand - one made from wood rather than particle board. He was supposed to return with a borrowed table saw, but failed, as his friend was not home. Instead, he ripped off the cupboard doors while my mother and I drove into town to buy paint.

In the middle of all this, my aunt dropped by with my small cousin, Chris. I had a very unpleasant few hours of barking orders and physically restraining the boys as they hit, pushed, kicked, wrestled over toys, and lobbed rocks at each other. Gavin decided that if Chris could screech like a Nazgul, he could, too. Charming. Most of it was still on Chris' side. He is so relentless with his boundary-pushing that Gavin started getting overlooked while I was busy yelling, "Chris, no! Put that down, Chris! No throwing, Chris! I said NO! Chris, you get back here!" And what do children do to get attention if all the focus is on the rotten kid? They behave rotten as well. It's a horrible cycle, and I dread it when my aunt comes over with Chris. I would really like to have warmer feelings for my cousin, instead of restraining the urge to punt him. (On a side note, my aunt bragged about how he's talking in full sentences and having conversations now, and he demonstrated his brilliance by yelling "buh-buh!" a hundred times while running in circles.)

So tomorrow we paint the kitchen. I emptied out the pounds of plastic grocery bags we had guiltily stowed under the sink, and I donated them to the supermarket recycle bin, with a few giant roaches thrown in for good measure. The purging feels good, and already the living room looks so much better without the Dreaded Orange Couch and with a proper piece of furniture for the TV and stereo. Gavin expressed his appreciation of the arrangement by dragging down some couch pillows and lounging naked on the floor. 

Peace again.

The War Begins

(It seems I have a lot to say today, doesn't it?)

Last night I heard a scrabbling in the kitchen. Silence. Scrabble. Rustle. Bang. Movement in the corner of my eye. The cats looked worried.

I crept into the hall nervously, hand twitching slightly as I reached for the light switch. Something was moving. Lots of somethings. The kitchen was writhing in the darkness. Pat. Rustle. Whirrrr.

I flicked on the light and gasped, the cats at my heels leaped backward and ran away in terror.

No less than fifty enormous, black, scrabbling B-52 cockroaches covered the kitchen. Easily 3 - 4 inches long apiece, they were on the ceiling, on the counter, skittering across the cabinet fronts, in the sink, flying through the air. All were frantically crawling over each other, knocking over cereal boxes, opening cupboard doors, and eating with our cutlery. When they saw me, half a dozen lit off and flew straight at my head, fluttering like chickens. I ducked and wielded my weapon, a feather duster, smacking them out of the air with tiny muffled thwacks. One clung to the feathers and ran for my fingers, but I flung the duster, roach and all, into the jaws of our bravest cat, the fearless Headlights the Kitten.

The first blow has been struck. Now we go to war. We have tried poisons, we have tried starvation, but I have found that the most effective means of disposing of roaches is to place empty cans of soda strategically about the house, and then simply throw them away in the morning when they are full of heavy, scratching, trapped roaches.

I don't know where they go during the day, but at night they hold a cockroach jamboree, which would be absolutely magical and delightful if they were fairies instead of giant roaches. Life is not fair.

This is Harry, one of our actual cockroaches (in actual size):

checkup

In Gavin news, he has been trying to pronounce "house", and it is the cutest thing. It is no longer a "how", is a "houf". He makes a scrunchy "f" expression with his lips while saying it. He also said "die-dah" when I held up his diaper. Unfortunately, my name is still "dada", which is his favorite term for everything. Mostly he communicates through body language, beckoning, pointing, or posing with jazz hands. He had a checkup yesterday, and the doctor said he is very tall, very healthy and heavy, very serious, focused, and quiet. She warned me of the evils of co-sleeping, and I laughed at her. I seriously doubt he'll still want to sleep with us when he's 16, so I'm going to enjoy his company while I can. He handled his vaccinations with only a small wail, and when offered a sticker for his troubles, I neatly avoided the one with a tank on it (which the nurse was prodding him toward) and picked him a glittery silver one instead with the unfortunate word "Sweetie" across it in pink cursive. He likes shiny, so never mind the words. 

I have tried to open discussion with Mike about moving to the mainland after I get my degree, but he refuses to talk about it. If it weren't for the fact that he enjoys winter so much, I wouldn't have gotten anywhere with him. He has agreed to take a road trip next summer. He's still heartbroken about leaving all his friends in New York, and seems reluctant to abandon his co-workers now. Maybe I'll feel the same once I make friends in grad school. Gavin could do worse than to grow up surfing and eating plate lunch, though.

The Heavenly Choir

The day got worse, then surprised us all. I received a letter from the university about the Children's Center. They wanted $2000 a semester for day care. Every day, from 8am - 5pm. I only need two mornings a week, I don't want him there all day, and I couldn't afford it anyway. Gavin does not turn 2 before September 1st, and couldn't be admitted, anyway. I crumpled up the letter and decided to move to Finland.

 My mother went to the dump with the crap from the back of the truck, in an effort to get the truck ready to ditch/sell/roll into the ravine. I gave up and plopped Gavin in front of Blue's Clues while I made dinner. The kitchen was hot, despite the rain. Just as I turned off the stove and called Mike down to dinner, the power went out. Mike wailed upstairs. I guess he didn't save his work. He came downstairs looking defeated. I dished him up a plate of beef curry. Outside, the neighbor children screamed and cried about the power because their video games crapped out. They flooded into the parking lot, instead. My mother came home to the powerless house, and we laughed a tired laugh and salvaged the beer and ice cream from the fridge. Mike picked up the bagpipe chanter and began his first lesson.And of course he took to it. He loved it. He worked through the lesson book. Gavin danced. It's just like Mike to be really good at things the first time he tries them. First the Scottish country dancing, then the Highland dancing, now bagpipes. The man is a Scot. 

When the power came on, I cheered and did a little dance. On cue, the cd player kicked on behind me to play a victory soundtrack, which made my mother laugh. Gavin clapped and danced along.

The truck is dead, the parking lot trees are doomed, and the milk is warm, but we've got all the important stuff (and leftover curry).

The 4th of July

Yesterday we had a very satisfying day. Inspired by the excuse to make something summery and special, Mike and my mother decided to dust off the ice cream maker and make some ice cream. We spent the first half of the day battling the hordes at the grocery store to purchase ice, salt, and cream, then sat around through the afternoon drinking beer to the soothing purr of the ice cream beaters. I mixed some potatoes, boiled eggs, bacon, mayo and avocado into a potato salad, put the fresh corn on to boil, and my mom grilled up some steaks. Mike was happy, because there is nothing he likes better in the world than meat, corn, and ice cream (throw in my famous potato salad and he's all smiles). 

Mike ran off to work with a full belly, while Gavin and I sat down on the curb outside to watch our noisy neighbors set off fireworks. Gavin was interested and concerned at first, but as soon as a spinning firework exploded into a shower of sparks which caused the neighbor kids to jump back screaming, he cried and pulled me by the thumbs back indoors, shutting the door behind us. For the rest of the evening, every time he heard a crackle or bang, he frowned and pulled us away from the windows. As he nursed to sleep, he whimpered sleepily and covered his eyes at every pop. Thankfully, he is a sound sleeper. 

Mike came home at around 1am, and woke early to attend an RSCDS meeting. As he measured the cupboard doors (one of the RSCDS members is selling us wood for new cabinets) he told me about a phone call he received at the theater. An elderly woman had called to ask about Fahrenheit 9-11, and had gone off about how deeply she loathed Dubya, ending a half hour later with the announcement that all politicians are actually lizard aliens (you can tell by the way they cock their heads while they talk) and that one day they will awake in their true forms and reveal themselves to us all. At least, that's what she prays every night. Mike likes his job sometimes.

The sweet song of revenge

Today a large box arrived at our door. Oh yes. The bagpipes are here. Two hours into our beginning lessons on the practice chanter, the neighbors looked severely worried. It was great. We can't wait to uncork the drones. What a malevolent phrase. Uncork the drones. 

Mike and I spent a rare afternoon together today. While Gavin napped under the watch of his grandmother, we drove down to Aikahi Theater to drop off Coke syrup for the concession. We felt like heroes, coming to the rescue with 5 gallon boxes of the sugar goo, but the theater was dark and empty.  From there, we took a scenic drive across the mountains to Honolulu, where Mike ran into the music store to pick up his new amp, his early birthday present to himself. We tried to swing by Costco, but it was a holy horror this day-before-4th of July. As we valued our lives, we swung around and returned home to eat low-fat hot dogs and high-fat potato chips. Gavin narfed 4 toddler "meat" sticks ('Unique stick shape is easy to hold!' says the label) and chased the cat for hugs before dragging his Grannie outside, where he is now amusing himself by sweeping the porch. Thinking about going to see Spiderman 2, despite the preview in which Tobey Maguire says that his suit gives him a wedgie. 

A very satisfying Saturday.

A Super Idea

As everyone knows, Christmas is practically on top of us. So naturally, I've found it is time to begin designing my holiday cards. I have been reading a book on the art of Alex Ross, and was inspired to create a design in a similar style, based on a super hero developed by my beloved web board. So I found myself in the bathroom, perched on a plastic stool wearing a swimsuit, a nursing bra, a pair of Supergirl underwear, and a towel tied around my neck, supporting a digital camera on my head. Upon the unfortunate discovery of the photos later in the day, Mike and my mother had the grace and tact to stifle their laughter before I poked their eyes out with my mechanical pencil. Gavin chose to draw on my new reference with a stump of banana, but as I am now completely out of printer paper, it will have to do anyway.

Michael, the innovative manager that he is, has taken it upon himself to paint the lobby and concession of his theater. He has organized the funds, rounded up victims to help paint, and today we took a trip to Home Depot in search of paint and supplies. There were handsome men everywhere, and I had a sudden, uncharacteristic urge to pinch bottoms. The employee in the carpet department was such an amazing example of muscle and chiseled classic looks that even Mike was impressed. We weren't sure why he would be working at Home Depot when he should be kicking Brad Pitt out of Troy or posing for comic book characters. I really must work on my home improvement skills. I can think of at least a dozen household projects that need to be done, each requiring a separate visit to the carpet department at Home Depot.

If any bottoms are to be pinched, however, I am lucky to have a good one at hand. Mike, having gained an astounding 5 pounds since high school, decided he needed to work out more often. We bought him a new pair of running shoes, a few pairs of new shorts, and off he went. There is hardly a nicer sight than Mike, fresh from his daily run, all sweaty with his hair in damp bronze ringlets. He complained that tourists stared at him, as though they had never seen a white person in Hawaii before, and I had to smile.

A pox on Financial Aid officers

The rain has been sweeping over the mountain all day. We left this morning to visit the Financial Aid office at UH in the hopes of shedding light on this loan process. In the past, the financial aid officers at UH have been utterly unhelpful and downright rude. The last time I visited, I politely asked about information on scholarships, hoping to apply for the next year. "You know its too late for this semester, don't you?" snapped the woman at the desk, not moving to hand me any papers. After ten minutes of defensively justifying my motives, I left with a thin pamphlet and a deep grudge. Today went no better. "I'd like some information about the loan process," I said. "You have to fill out the FAFSA," said she, turning away as though she wished I would leave. "I did, what now?" "Did they send you a letter?" "Not yet, what do I do when I get the letter?" "They have to give you a letter first." "OK, then what?" "Most people apply for financial aid when they apply for admission." "Well I didn't, so what's the next step?" "They have to process your FAFSA." At this point I throttled the woman. 

We left with no further information on the loan process, hoping that the mysterious authorities processing my FAFSA would make things clear in time for registration. We ate lunch at the food kiosk by the chemistry building. I poked quarters in the machine until a bowl of fried rice popped out, and we sat on a stone bench, surrounded by two dozen softly peeping doves and sparrows. An enormous white pigeon perched on Gavin's knee, which simultaneously horrified and delighted him. He gripped my leg for courage and slowly extended a hand toward it. After lunch, I watched him run through the grass, picking up flowers which had dropped from the trees, and I felt so proud. After a stop at the school book store, we came home with a bottle of spray fixative, a fine-tipped pen, a sheet of illustration board, and a parking ticket. A mix of contentment and frustration, but being on campus was so nice, and I can't wait to start classes this fall.

It begins.

I noticed recently that my actual pen-and-paper journal was filled entirely with horrific accounts of random events; I only picked it up to empty my misery into it. In fact, I'm not miserable at all, and I hope this journal reflects that.

This is the start. Last week, two significant events took place: I submitted my book to the publisher; and I was accepted into grad school. The rest of my life will be shaped by these two things, maybe. I can only hope for the best, but already I am so relieved and excited about the future.

Gavin is currently in love with a grungy old plastic dollhouse, which he insists must neatly contain a bed, a chair, a toilet, a little boy doll, and two dump trucks to wreck the whole of it. He has a small rash of bumps across his forehead as a result of last night's naked twirly time outside, where he spun himself around until dizzy, sprinted across the neighbor's porch, and took a head dive onto the concrete with a sickening smack. Great. He took a break from this to fling his plastic hammer to the ground, clap his little hands to his cheeks, and declare "oh dear!" about seventy times. It was devastingly cute.