I think I've got something in my teeth

A red bow on the steering wheel and a blare of music told me that the Christmas elves had fixed my car speakers. They forgot to re-attach the insides of the passenger door handle, creating a handy little death trap. I drove to work with the radio drowning out my singing without all the usual pops and rattles. Dangerous, listening to music while the world is still tender around me and I haven't callused up for the day yet. The wrong song will shoot right through my chest.

Last night Gavin and I sat on stone stairs on the Boyscouts headquarters terrace while our RSCDS folks danced and laughed. I wrapped a blanket around Gavin's shoulders and we pointed at stars, watched small toads hop in the grass, and discussed what the world would look like if bugs could build houses. He held my finger and walked along the low stone wall. Small things, but really nice.

In other news, I have officially changed back to my former identity. I've got my name back.

Holiday 2006

Chrismas! Gavin tiptoed downstairs in the dark, lit the tree, and dove into his loot. He doled out gifts, successfully reading his name on the labels, and tore open more Cars merchandise than I thought should exist. I stomped around in my new boots ("they're like hooves!"), Mike ate cockroach clusters, and my mom took up her usual position on the couch to peer through reading glasses at her new electronics.


Gavin instucts cat on proper use of cardboard catnip scratcher:

I embark on my first monumental parent assembly job: a PlayMobil castle. Impossible to achieve without monkey toe socks:

An hour later... success! Gavin says "meh":

Singing the doom song:

Me shamelessly posing with new earrings and cashmere sweater:




Highlights of weekend:

Gavin ripping open present, seeing the Cars logo, and exclaiming, "Oh no! Not another one!"

Texting Mike to nag him about groceries and hearing "Heartbreaker" wail from the table where he forgot his phone. Guess he changed my ringtone. Asshole.

Discovering that Santa had stuffed smoked oysters and beef jerky in my stocking. Looked fruitlessly for stinky cheese and crusty bread to complete meal, but it was a good start.

4 words: pink. rubber. cowboy. boots.

Caught with bottle opener, I suffer humiliation over twist-top bottles.

Rock-n-roll fruitcake, ready to pull our eyeballs out of our heads.

Drunk neighbors take break from smashing furniture to warble carols in the parking lot, I am about to go outside and throw salted nuts at them.

"Wow, this dead meat air freshener is the worst present I have ever gotten. Thanks." You're welcome.

The oven caught fire when the meat pie and sausage-apple dish bubbled over.

Gavin with toy soldiers on edge of castle, yelling, "I wave my private parts at your auntie!"

Squeez 'n' bites

I've gotten hold of some lychee jelly candies. The "mouthful of death", my favorite.

The Christmas tree has been slowly filling up with gifts, and they finally spilled into the living room like candy-colored entrails. I sat with the tree lights on at 5:00am, eating baked Lays with the cat. Xebo finally rolled off my lap, went outside, threw up, and climbed back on to lick the salt off my chest. That is the kind of holiday weekend it's going to be. I haven't been sleeping. On the table is a manila envelope containing final processed divorced papers; I am free to reclaim my former name and go wherever the breeze may carry me. And it is carrying me to Bakersfield, I guess.

Doing my best Leonard Nimoy hobbit dance in new travel gear:

that road keeps on calling me

Gavin and I wrapped a present for his teacher this morning. I held the paper while he cut, handed him tape while he fastened, peeled the paper from a bow and he stuck it on. He signed "G" on the label. "He's the 'Big G'!" I said to my mom, holding it up for admiration while he put his hands on his hips and grinned.  He's awesome. Of course, I still watch his hands closely when he does anything artsy, looking for future promise, wondering if he'll succeed where I fell short. His scribbles look the same as all his classmates' on the wall, with only one big difference that gives me hope; in a sea of staring blank holes, his figures are the only ones with pupils.

Yesterday I narrowly avoided broadsiding a parked car when I rounded the corner and saw all the new firemen at the training station lined up in uniform and marching down the courtyard. Today I anticipated this and slowed to a crawl to see what they were doing, but was again disappointed to see that they had not set fire to anything. I have been waiting an entire year to see that training center set on fire like the "LIVE FIRE TRAINING!" sign promises. Perhaps they are referring to the firemen being alive while trained. Or they are training the fire to not burn down stuff. My lunch companion (Mr. Squashy) and I had squinted up at the building and spotted what appeared to be a hammock at the top. Hmm. Firemen are mysterious.

Gavin turns 4

Picture post!

My mother and I use the boys as excuses to use the walkers:

My mother and aunt ignore all the little nachos:

Gavin gets through the train security checkpoints with clever disguise:

It's a cursing hillbilly cake:

Men in tights

picture post


Friday, last day of school for the kids. I put on a festive red sweater. Turtlenecks are kind of scary, and I discovered I had been transformed into Angry Librarian Action Figure.



Don't make me scan your barcodes.




I arrived at school with my purse and no lunch. I left with 5 lbs of candy and cookies dumped on me by nauseous teachers. That, and my Secret Santa left a package for me in the office; the book shopgirl and a Borders gift card. The note was signed "Tall Dude", which could have been any man in the school except the sweet tiny old janitor. But after school a handsome face popped in with a nod and wave, and I realized that the Secret Santa committee had paired me with the only age-appropriate single man in the school. Oh no. Too soon, folks.


On the drive home, Gavin was chattering happily about his preschool holiday breakfast, having spent the day with his dad. Mike evidently was dogpiled by 3 year olds all morning after eating pancakes with the church folk. The family put on formal-wear and we hit downtown Honolulu for sticky rice and the Nutcracker. At the Blaisdell center, Gavin chased girls in cupcake dresses while we ordered drinks. The double rum-and coke turned out to be a cup of liquid hangover, so I pushed it at Mike. At curtain call, Mike slumped groggily into his seat, Gavin and Chris strutted up and down the stairs in their suits, and my mom whispered to my aunt about the divorce while I waved from my seat. Aside from the nice people behind us whistling along and tickling their children during the performance, it was a beautiful ballet and Gavin made it 10 minutes longer into the second act this year before falling asleep on my lap.

Everyone pose with the birthday boy. NOW.

divorced

Well folks, today was the big day. We sat outside the courtroom in the special divorcing-lepper's quarantine area, and stepped into a room completely filled with desk. A giant old woman sat on a throne at the top. "Wait until we call your case, just stand there by the wall." We stood. We swore. We stated our names. We sat at very tiny desk beneath throne. Thirty seconds later we were leaving, scibbling our initials on the papers and handing them to the bailiff. "We'll stamp and process these today and you'll get your copies in the mail." And so we are divorced.

We walked around the mall numbly for a bit before heading back over the mountain for lunch. Mike sulked. I drank. He said, "I feel like when you're trying to win a prize and you write the right answer and then erase it and write something else and you were right the first time." I said, "Yeah, 'fucking strangers' was the wrong answer."

I made him take a picture to mark the day.

Mike: Are we supposed to be smiling?
me: oh hell yes

Drive like the wind

I finally found a button-up shirt that wouldn't come open during class and flash the kids. The key is really difficult little buttons with small holes. This is great for work - but not so great for trying to change in the car. It was too hot for long sleeves, so I dragged my workout tank top out of my gym bag (it didn't smell too bad, who was there to sniff me?), and only managed to get unbuttoned and remove half an arm before the light turned green. The highway needed concentration, so I gave up and drove home tangled in my open blouse, completely negating all the good I had done by staying covered at work. 

 

It occurred to me last night that I have never actually been on a real first date. In high school we had a dumb system where you sent your friends up to your crush and they said, "Eh, you like go with my friend?" and if they said "yes" you got to snog them at recess until one or the other of you got bored and repeated the process with someone else. Or sometimes, as in my case, you got cornered in dark places by pursing lips belonging to boys who wouldn't be seen with you in public. In college, we just hung out watching tv until we realized we were in a relationship.

I don't know. I guess I'll have to figure it all out.

the fruitcake

The power went out yesterday morning as I was lining my cake pan with waxed paper, causing screams from neighborhood children cut off mid-video game. Being good consumers, we packed up and went shopping. We stopped at a fund-raiser car wash held by the community college's Fashion Society and laughed while the aspiring designers tiptoed around our car in fancy clothes and high heels, trying not to touch the wet sponges.
 

We sat in the evening to a Sunday dinner of roast beef, glazed carrots, and pumpkin eggnog. Gavin climbed out of his Power Ranger costume to sit at the table, and I lit the fireplace (read: put batteries in it), my triumphant fruitcake bundled securely in the wine cooler to age. And I did not set fire to the waxed paper, which apparently is entirely different from baking parchment, but I admit the pan was smoking a bit when I took it out of the oven, giving it a rebel rock-and-roll-fruitcake-from-hell kind of look. The bottom of the oven may have caught fire in places where the wax dripped, but that is understandable. The cookbook said to let it steam in foil until cold, and for a moment I was confused about how it would become cold, not just room temperature, and I was wondering if something chemical occurred between the cherries and brandy, but then I remembered knocking the frozen water out of the dog bowl in the indoor pantry as a child in Newfoundland. This recipe is from a place where things get cold in December. Of course, now I am wonder whether my fruitcake will get moldy before Christmas because it left it out at not-cold temperatures for a while. Leaning toward not. Mostly.

unbloggable

[saved as draft and published April 2, 2007]

It's hard opening up even to myself about relationship stuff, let alone to something I know is public, but I feel like a hipocrit fighting censorship in my library and then hiding my own life because I'm afraid of what people would think. I spent 3 hours on the phone with Mike yesterday. I was really honest with him. It's frustrating to me that we get along so well, even now, and that some sad part of the smashed ruins in my chest still cares about him. Anyone would tell me I'd be an idiot to consider him again. I know it. A wise woman told me Don't buy cheese whiz when there's still brie on the shelf. I told Mike that he has to become the man he wants Gavin to be, and if he can do that there might be something left for us somewhere much farther down the road. I guess I'll just keep my head up and eyes open for that brie. I thought my heart had broken open and emptied out, but last night I walked to the store and made eye contact with a face that in the semi-dark resembled the guy I loved, and my heart squeezed painfully. The stranger watched me round the corner, seeming to recognize me, too. [Or thinking about murdering me.] 

When you smile, your body releases happy chemicals. I've been trying to write about happiness, to create it, and it’s not working. It's kind of a relief being able to settle in and do what I want in life, just me; maybe grow some roots, enjoy my job, get into a groove with life and Gavin and family. I'm ok with just being me. But I'm still heartbroken.

fruit cake

Sunday. My mother is sad that I have given up coffee.

Saturday was a sick day, Gavin laying upside down on the couch with dual ear infections after throwing up his medicine. Po had a bad time in the litter box and streaked around the house until I chased her down with the enzyme spray and a wet wipe to fix her up. She seems to have eaten too much tinsel. Gavin dumped all his toys on the floor looking for a particular train, then slowly put them back in the basket. "Mom, I can't put them away," he said, "I'm too tired." "Oh, dear, I guess it's time for a nap if you're tired, should we go upstairs?" "No, mom. I'm not that tired. I just changed my mind," he said, putting his toys away again. He fell asleep 10 minutes later on the floor before he could finish. Walking over quietly to pick him up, I stepped on a micro machine, skidded across the floor, tripped on a play set, and fell headlong over Gavin's body onto the couch with a yell. He shot upright, pointing wildly, "Mom, you must be careful!" and fell back asleep in my arms as I brought him up to bed.

My mom came home from class with a fresh pine wreath, apple cider, and chocolate fruit assortment. We watched Love, Actually until we were very sappy and depressed, then broke out the candies and Christmas cartoons. Gavin considered the dialogue. "Why he say that?" "It was supposed to be funny." "But it wasn't." He is correct. In the evening, and I made a rash decision: I am going to make a fruit cake. The kind that is full of liquor and has to age 3 weeks before eating. The first step is underway, I have soaked several cups of raisins, currants, and candied cherries in brandy overnight. Today the cake comes together, and then I will wrap it, seal it, and brush it with brandy every week until Christmas. Why not?

Thus begins the season

Put up the tree. Created an avalanche of Christmas boxes in the closet under the stairs. Assembled tree upside down, righted it. Cut the tape off the boxes of ornaments, discovered lost beloved toys stuffed in with them, which made Gavin happy. Filled advent calendar boxes with chocolates. Gavin helped hang ornaments, and opened the box of tree chocolates. He's a great kid. I walked up to the store to buy a power strip for the lights. After a bit of pantomime, the dollar store guy figured out what I was looking for and rang me up, asking "Where the sweetie? Home with Grandma?" It's kind of comforting being such a familiar face that the clerks at the stores know our family. Picked up some holiday booze next door, winding up at the register with the underage cashier who always analyses my choices. "This is good, I always get anything that says Puerto Rico on it," she said. Walked back home. "Mom," I said, "You're the dad, put up the star." We've got the star up, and Po is sleeping on the stockings. We're good to go.

Gavin hanging ornaments:



 The face I made when the flash went off unexpectedly:

We know you're all robots

Unexpected day off. Thank you, no toilets at work.

I got the call partway to work, so showed up anyway to herd misplaced children. By 8am, the kids were all squared away and the teachers were mutinous, inching farther and farther from the gates until the headmaster finally cut us loose and we all scattered.

On the drive home, the road repair guys did an awesomely bad job of setting up the lane cones, creating a 30mph driving course of weaving and bobbing cars and flying orange cones. I had the theater all to myself for a matinee of Tenacious D. I kicked my boots up in the middle of the empty seats and drank an enormous Diet Coke. Bad idea.

Baked banana bread. Watched the new Top Chef. Went to the mall. Bought Christmas crap.

Good day, even if I'm still not really feeling it.

Creepy

A big guy driving an SUV nearly ran over me, waving a cigarette and demanding my name. I think I am going to just stay indoors and read from now on. Or maybe learn a martial art. Haven't decided.

The days are darker longer, the air is cold enough to need long sleeves and the car heater in the mornings. This morning I sat and listened to my rear speaker giving its death rattle while Jack Black finished yowling, then shut the car down, pulled my boots back on and headed for the library. One of the office guys met me in the parking lot. "You just had your birthday? How old are you?" "27." "Ughh! You're younger than me! Oh, man. I'm sad. I'm getting older than people." I laughed. He's 28. Tough times, the late 20s.

A red flyer in my mailbox told me to dress up as something that "best illustrates the holiday season" for Spirit Day at school. The clip art showed candles, pot-mitts, and drums. I tried to imagine how I would make a giant pot-mitt costume. I thought maybe I wanted to dress as an oven, and the cynical part of me thought a bleeding ATM would be better, but I knew I would just end up in a red sweater and a jingly hair tie. On second glance, I realized that Spirit Day is on my divorce court date, and imagined standing in front of the judge in a cardboard oven costume. Hmm. Off the hook for that one.

27

Brooke and Yuri called to wish me a happy birthday, and I talked to them on the stairs with my feet on the wall. Drove to Waikele to spend my birthday gift card,listening to the new Tenacious D album. I sang along as best I could for not knowing the words, which was pretty damn well. Bought a pair of perfect jeans and some tins of holiday fatty snacks before heading home for cake. My auntie and small cousin met me at the door with presents, and the boys rolled down the stairs until one of them started crying.

Happy Hour at Dixie Grill. Gavin played in the sand pit, my mother ate too much bbq. Went home, fully intending to walk over to the theater after kiddo's bedtime to play pool and see Jack Black, but ended up pulling on cupcake pajamas and watching Robotech with Gavin until we fell asleep at 8:30pm.

Satisfying birthday.

Gavin decorates my cake with chocolate rock candies and meemees:

Thanksgiving 2006

Thanksgiving

Surprisingly good day. Didn't get dressed until mid-morning, watched the parade on television and strained our eyeballs to see Gavin's grandma running with one of the balloon strings. Saw the top of her hat bobbing, cheered and called it a success. Ate biscuits and creamed eggs while the smells of stuffing filled up the house and Christmas music warbled in the background.

My pregnant auntie (it's a boy named Teddy) and entourage arrived and surprised us with homemade rolls, cinnamon buns, and green bean casserole, as we were expecting her to just bring a plate of brown-and-serve rolls. My mom spent too long on the phone with grandpa and came down in a hurry to discover she had overcooked the turkey. This meant that the breast was a bit dry, but the dark meat was falling apart perfectly. It all came apart when she lifted it, but we arranged the dismembered bits to resemble a whole bird anyway. I popped open a bottle of sparkling cider for my aunt, served up some white grape juice for the kids, and the rest of us worked on a couple bottles of moscato over steaming plates of ham, turkey, broccoli casserole, and bourbon sweet potatoes.

The boys enjoyed each other. "Oooh, Chris, don't cough on my glass, it could be yucky," Gavin said, and demonstrated coughing with his hand over his mouth. They practiced coughing politely until we distracted them with the task of blowing out the candles. We cleared the table and spread out the desserts, and they dug in, happy with the piles of whipped cream and many kinds of pies.

Washed up the dishes while the kids wrestled over trains and the grownups sat around on the couch, then we all walked across the street to see Happy Feet. I put together some containers of leftovers for my aunt, waved them off, and we called it a night after disassembling the feast table.

On to my birthday.

monday cont.

[saved as draft and published April 2, 2007]

7:00pm

The man I love has found someone else, looking for a life without this ridiculous seesaw of drama that has been set in motion. I can't blame him. I don't want this, either. Cried for a long time in the dark, then turned on a light and did the dishes while my mom played with Gavin in the living room.

Yuri called to catch me on the rebound and convince me to move to California. "Doesn't it feel sooooo good to be in love? You can fall in love with anything! Your phone, the internet, movie stars, it happens all the time! And now you're single, you can have real boyfriends and do whatever you want!"

I am trying to be happy about that, but I'm not.

Seeking clarity

When you look into a pool of water, if the water is still, you can see the moon reflected. If the water is agitated, the moon is scattered and fragmented. It is harder to see the true moon. Our minds are like that. When our minds are agitated, we cannot see the true world.

-Jon J Muth, Zen Shorts

6:00am:
My mother looked up at me as I put on my shoes. Elmo was singing to Gavin about finding a thinking spot when you're feeling troubled. She said, "My daughter has lost her thinking spot. She needs to find her rock." I kissed her head and walked Gavin to the car with his lunch box.

6:45am:
Sitting in a comfy chair at Starbucks, very large coffee in hand. I could feel the water settling, and I was starting to see beneath it what I had suspected for weeks. I stared out the window at the sun coming up, waiting. You're alive, get going, I told myself, and dropped my coffee in the trash on the way out. Enough of that, I need to get off caffeine.

8:30am, waiting for appointment:
I paced the empty shopping center in Hawaii Kai, watching the boats in the harbor bob around. Leaning on the chipped railing, I inhaled deeply to smell the ocean; smelled nothing. I wonder if that's good or bad, I thought. After walking past the coffee shops and pausing to look at the cheeses in the grocery store, I walked back to the car and rolled down the windows, turned up the radio. Warm day, shivering anyway.

10:45am:
I let the library door swing shut behind me and shook my head in disbelief. Employers who offer terrible hours and low pay should really try not to make ugly mocking faces while a potential employee is answering questions. Telling bald-faced lies about why the job is open is also not a good idea. I don't think I'll be getting a call back from them. If I do it will be a short conversation.

I headed toward Waimanalo, wondering where my anxiety went. In the garbage with the coffee, maybe. On impulse, I turned off at Sandy Beach. Blowhole exploded in the distance, the ocean rolled in with massive winter waves. Wave on top of wave. I opened my gym bag and pulled out my Speedo. Snaked out of my skirt and blouse with the windows still open, snapped up the straps and stepped out barefoot into the hot sand. Sitting on my towel, I watched the bodyboarders make run after run at the massive waves, getting rolled and crushed into the shore. A tanned man in sagging shorts stood near me, eyes on the formations of the waves, feet padding rhythmically, ready to sprint when the water looked just right. Completely focused. I leaned back and watched him run like a pelican into the surf and get flipped clean over - feet flailing - and smashed into the sand, causing me to laugh for the first time in days. The chill began to seep out of me into the sand. I picked up my towel and walked back to the car, pulled on my red shorts, and drove with the windows down all the way home.

I've been around this circle a few times before, and it always ends the same way; me alone on a beach in the winter, giving up my troubles to the sky. Bottom line: I like my home. 

Still no text that would break my heart. Coward, I thought. I tossed my phone across the table, put on some dry clothes, and walked to the store for stamps and shrimp. Bills in the mail. In the past week or so, I have started to regain my feet financially. Next month looks pretty good.

2:00pm
With a follow-up appointment for Gavin in an hour, I hopped back in the car and headed to the mall. I walked straight to the teen jewelry stores. Claires horrified me with all their pink fluffiness, so I headed down to Icing. Same store, but more boho. Didn't matter. I pointed to a gold stud, sat in the little swivel chair, and PUNCH! I now have a cartilage piercing. Another notch, this one for the end of an era. The tender spot next to my solitary right earring can continue waiting.

Gavin checked out healthy. He played with his blocks on the rug while I sauteed fish for supper. I thought about the corporate metaphor my headmaster used at the last staff meeting. Heart aligned beneath my head, feet firm beneath me, hands working at the things that need doing.

lunchbreak musing

I am one of those purse ladies now.

Observe my purse. It is brown, leather-ish. About the size of a football. One main pocket, one zipped outer pocket, one open outer pocket on the other side. Not particularly bulging or conspicious in any way. An unobtrusive little purse.

And inside, it contains:

set of keys
car key
unlabeled key
49 pennies (3 sticky)
4 dimes
3 nickels
5 quarters
7 packets of Splenda (2 sticky)
cell phone
ear receiver
wallet
checkbook
7 lipsticks (1 of which I use)
1 eyeshadow
1 eyeliner
1 makeup brush
1 mini foundation bottle
1 bottle ylang ylang essential oil
1 lipliner (unused)
3 pads (also unused)
1 box breathmints
bottle of ibuprophin
bottle of unused prescription
tube of medicated ointment of unspeakable horror
plastic vampire fangs
instruction booklet in Japanese
2 letters in full-sized standard envelopes
weight watchers point calculator
2 pens
a receipt for 87 cents
a receipt from the thrift store
a bank statement saying I'm broke
empty vitamin box
hair clip
comb
red post-it note with my own phone number on it
yellow post-it with lawyer numbers scribbled out on it (sticky)
folded white paper with university course number on it
6 pink rocks from upstate New York
lanyard clip
black eye patch
AA battery
leather zipper pull (no zipper)
half a candy wrapper
back of a scottish pin (front fell off and got lost)
torn barcode from grocery store club card
1 white-ish pink-ish M&M
1 nail file
1 miscellaneous pink pill, probably advil

And guess how much of that I just threw away instead of throwing back in my purse? Correct, none.

published 7/7/09

copied and pasted from RMC web board for my records:

He called his mom and told her the basics; that he'd cheated on me and was doing things on the internet and needed help. He's making plans to move back to New York. His mom is looking into treatment for him; if anyone is good at running other people's lives, it's her (not necessarily a criticism, she's very efficient), so he's in good hands. He asked if he could come over for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I said I didn't think it was right to ask me to spend the holidays with the man who had sex with strangers behind my back. He cried. I told him to get out of my life. He wanted to know about Gavin, I said he could talk about that when he was working on recovery, in the meantime he could see him when we go to Scottish dancing on Wed, while I'm there.

I feel like my good sweet husband died. Did I ever have one? I look at pictures now and wonder what he was thinking, who he was thinking about, what he had done with whom only hours before or after our happy little pictures. For the entire time.

drippy

Lunch break
It is cold and quiet in the library. I have taken down my book display, so all the little book holders are sitting empty like stiff little white skeletons. I have misplaced my mug of coffee, which I'm sure will make itself evident by Monday. Or maybe the following Monday, as it has to compete with the nose-numbing air freshener I used in the library.

Friday. Another Friday, I swear we had one last week. It's as if each day of the week is aligned in a sort of worm-hole fashion to create singular, long, terrible days. Every Friday I'll be stuck in this endless Friday. And Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday, Sunday, and the rest of them, too.

Promises, promises
 One of the high school student swore to me that my copier kicked the bucket ("whoa, this is waaay before my time, this is from like the 80s"), and the tech guys told me it was a dinosaur and wasn't getting any new parts, so I was all excited about maybe getting a shiny new copier - and then the maintenance people came around and fixed it anyway. Old Bessy lives to see another decade.

Yes, I'm avoiding talking about my personal life. I am a career girl now. I drink coffee, talk about student profiles, wear uncomfortable shoes, and watch tv shows starring Sarah Jessica Parker.

About my personal life
Fine.

My mother took Gavin to bronze casting last night while Mike and I poured our guts out to the therapist. I am going to dig out my half-finished sculpture from last year and work it back into life. Clay, plaster, blast furnace, grinding metal, blowtorches, dangerous chemicals - that's therapy right there. It will be wonderful to kick off the heels, pull on some jeans, get my hands dirty, and get into that intense concentration where everything else disappears.

Hear me roar or something

My mom's house. Woke with a start from bad dreams that I couldn't remember, puffy-eyed. Brushed the wrinkles out of my work outfit that was chucked in the closet since the man brought it over last Friday. Calling in sick for Gavin's fever that day meant that a mountain of work and desperate teachers would be waiting for me when I got to the library.

Shuffled downstairs in the dark, pinning my blouse securely shut with a safety pin. On my web board, the news was all bad. My mom came downstairs while I ate my cheerios dismally in front of the laptop, and let out a low moan by the bird cage. Mugwort the Not So Stupid Bulbul (aka Norbert) died overnight. He seemed happy yesterday, snatching bits of strawberry from my fingers and using his wings like hands to crawl all over the cage (his legs hadn't worked since the cat bit him last week). After assembling Gavin's lunchbox and boiling his eggs for breakfast, I went upstairs to wake him while digging through my mom's jewelry boxes. Put on an opal ring, different earrings, a fairy pin, while Gavin sobbed that he didn't want to go to preschool. With her jewelry on, I looked a bit like my mom, like she used to look when she was 26, alone and grim. Hugged Gavin, got him dressed, carried him downstairs with his head on my shoulder.

The ride to work was stiff and awkward after the man arrived to pick us up. He smiled hopefully at me, the kind of smile where you're pretending things aren't as bad as you know they are so that maybe the other person will think so, too. He started trembling a bit when I started talking. I know how that feels, being called on to talk about uncomfortable feelings and events, but my heart doesn't pound anymore when I talk about this thing. Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.

New cousin

How did I forget to post about Alexia? 4 days old in this blurry picture. 

Quiet baby.

The Move

132.0

The baby bird has grown into an attack-sparrow. It tried to take off the mole on my forehead, and now every time I walk into the house she flies at my face. La La the Terrible.

A long, exhausting, never-ending weekend. Our first night in the pink house was... comfortable. Amazingly, the crack and clatter of bamboo and the hallelujah chorus of rooster crowing did not disturb us. The near, distant, and mid-tone chicken calls created a 3D audio effect, because every rooster has a dozen hens and chicks. No wonder the foliage is crawling with feral cats - the valley is chicken stew.

Last night we went out to a social event with the Scottish dance society. I wound up in our host's bedroom watching the Timmy Jimmy special on Nickelodeon with Gavin and then falling asleep on the couch after eating too many english muffin pizzas. Wild partying.

Another week has started. My library is being used as a classroom for the high school until their building is finished with construction, my librarian nerves are fried by the teacher clutter. Before I meant to, I put  all our books in the new house in Dewey Decimal order. It's not as pretty as organizing them by size and color. I compromised by breaking up the sections with little statues.

I'm over this moving business. The fun part is over and it's all messy papers and under-furniture dirt now. Gross.

I thought I'd be more excited.

Big boy!

Gavin scribbled on his shirt with marker while we scrambled around for all his preschool loot. "See? I write my name." Green lines on his blue shirt. "Good job, now never write on your clothes again, sweetie." We took pictures as he headed out the door, then threw all his stuff in the car and headed out as the sun came up. Gavin lounged in his booster seat, gazing coolly out the window. He tipped his head and gave me a wink and a half-smirk when I turned around to squeal at him, "You're going to preschool! Now remember, no hitting. Unless they hit you first, then you can hit them." "No," said Mike, "No hitting anyone at all." "No hitting unless someone else sees the other kid hit you first," I amended. Gavin nodded solemnly, "They hit me, I hit them real real hard." "Good boy," I said. "No hitting!" said Mike. He was the first kid there. Once we had stuffed his cubby, we sat him down at the mini picnic bench for breakfast. I cracked the boiled eggs I brought him and Mike situated his fruit. Gavin settled in and bit an egg, looking up at us as we stared expectantly at him. "You guys are gonna go, right?" The teacher behind him hid a laugh. I had visions of him driving off to college, hooting in liberation. And so it starts, Gavin Part II: School Kid. 

update on first day: me: how did he do? mike: it was good, he had fun. Except I guess a boy hit him and he hit him back, and they both got in trouble. me: haaa ha ha

 

homeward bound

Our checklist of vacation to-dos wasn't complete without a quest for donuts. Failing to find a single Krispy Kreme, we opted for Dunkin Donuts instead. It was a crisp, quiet morning, not a soul in sight as we skipped up to the doors. Immediately we were swept in by a shouting mob, the cashiers barking over the clamor, hands shooting past our ears clutching dollars and pastries. "WHATTAYA WANT?!" screeched the cashier. My hands flew up in confusion, I waved them stupidly and began yelling, "Pink donut! Sprinkles! Munchkins! 25! 25! I said 25!! Mixed!" We banged outside and stood panting with our paper bag. "God, that was just like an instant trip to the city." Kind of awesome, in a terrifying way.

We sucked up the last of summer and watched as autumn tried to catch us. Gavin demanded his jeans and socks and hoodie, then punched his cousin in the head when she teased him and yanked down his hood. I should not have been proud of him. My jacket smelled like a bar, so I stood shivering in a tank top while we packed the car with Salvo. "I am so done with this cold," I told Gavin. He pulled down his hood and nodded, "Let's get out of here." At the airport, I wrapped in a blanket and sat in the terminal worrying my pockets while Mike hunted for breakfast with Gavin. We sipped coffee, ate chicken, boarded the plane, and were gone. Over the hills and far away.

Up for work at 3:30am. Gavin is methodically cooing over every one of his toy trains he had forgotten he owned, holding them up for me to admire. "The Easter Bunny gave me this one, look, mom! My break-down train, look!" He has been leaping from one thing to the next - trains, cats, grannie - with glee. I'm looking at the full answering machine and piles of moving boxes with resigned dread. Life starts, life waits, life goes on, etc.

Here she is...

Signed and done, key in hand! Who's coming over for enchiladas?

love

I sat in the back seat with Gavin as we drove to North Shore. Rose's mom chatted with Mike in the front, I looked out the window. Although Mike went to the festival last year, I hadn't been along the road since our wedding more than 3 years ago. I saw ghosts along the way, and I loved them: the teenage imprints of the boys and I walking from Kualoa covered head-to-foot in red mosh-pit dirt; my sad 23-year old self sitting at Kaaawa with my small baby jumping in my lap; Mike and Peter running through the surf at Sunset Beach; 17-year old Harris and I, lobbing water balloons at his summer camp near Turtle Bay; Mike the Marine dancing furiously to Irish music and swinging me in circles at the festival when I was 19. And Rose, almost there, a bit of her with us for the day in her wonderful mother.

We went to the opera in the evening. I switched my cocktail order at the last second, and the bartender dumped the liquor from my glass into Mike's before starting over. The people at the opera are amazing to look at. Women with fragile skin and delicate veins against purple velvet and pearls - bodies of all ages and shapes and posture wrapped in their best clothes and really truly beautiful. During the first act, Gavin swayed to the music and went limp in my arms, so long-legged and solid, almost all the baby gone from his sleeping little boy body. We ate at a lovely French restaurant as the crowd flowed out into the evening. Ron was unsuccessful in teaching Gavin to say "merci", but did manage to prompt an enthusiastic chant of "chocolate mousse". I enjoyed the most pretentious Diet Coke of my life, and Mike was surprised to find that he enjoyed the escargot. It made me happy to see my mother cut into the sugar of her creme brulee, one of those small things in life that is as beautiful to see in the dish as it is to see on the face of the person enjoying it. Mike and I examined the photos on headstones as we walked by the dark cemetery, Gavin dangling happily by our hands between us. One of the photos had fallen off and was lost, leaving an empty space that struck us as vastly sad.

On the way home, Gavin reached for my hand and pulled my arm across his lap, resting his cheek on my shoulder, stroking the inside of my elbow and threading his small fingers through mine. Beside us, Mike looked at him, pushed my hair back, and kissed my forehead. I looked at Ron's hand on my mother's knee in the front seat. The small ways we hold together through this fleeting trip.

There's so much love to be had in the world, it is almost too bright to look full in the face.

Me and Rose's mom, after 10 years:



Gavin ponders the graveyard on the way to the King and I at the Hawaii Opera Theater:



Getting with the program:




Gavin's reflections on passing a cemetary...
"All thems is dead?"
"Yes."
"I going die too?"
"Yes, we all will, but we have a lot of life to live before then."
"... I going to hit bad guys, and they die. Hit hit hit, like dat."
"What? Is that what you're going to do when you grow up?"
"Yep. I is. I be a policey man power ranger."
"How will you know who the bad guys are? What do they look like?"
"They has mustaches."
"All of them?"
"Yep, and I has a mustache, too. A biiiig mustache, and I hit them with it. And they fly hiiiigh up and crash! and make a big hole. And I fly after them, ha ha ha."
"Policemen can fly?"
"Yep. Like Superman." [Gavin has never seen Superman movies]

crick, crack, quack

138.0 (considering weekend indulgence, pretty good) Box of joy. Received my awesome geeky Harry Potter Lumos booklight and fabulous baking cookbook in oversized Amazon box. I sat on the floor, using the booklight to read the recipes even though it was not dark out. Yesterday, after a cafe breakfast of eggs florentine, I found myself pushed into a chiropractor's office which, up until that moment, I had always mistaken for a bail bonds office. I am iffy about chiropractors - not because they have reputations for being quacks (I enjoy a good bit of quakery from time to time), but because I do not like having strangers touch me. Let alone wrench me in unnatural directions. He sized me up, prodding my neck down to my hips, pressing on my head. "Lower your chin and push down low like you're having a baby," he directed. I raised my eyebrows; men speaking familiarly about childbirth always amaze me. He tipped me over onto my front and someone tenderized my back with a vacuum cleaner. "Now relax," he said, then pushed down on my back violently with a loud snap. "Oh dear," I said - only it came out "AUUGH!" and my feet flew up to hit him in the shoulder. Obviously doing a bad job relaxing. "There, now, didn't that feel good?" "No, but we'll give it some time." He seemed disappointed. Half an hour later, we arrived at dance practice. Gavin ran off with Chris under his uncle's supervision, and I discovered that I was not needed in any of the sets, so I went outside, laid on the grass under an enormous tree, tucked my slippers under my head, and fell asleep. Very productive. Ran my tail off at the gym, mulling things over. We faxed in our rent application on Friday; at best, we could expect an answer today or tomorrow. Thursday or Friday at the latest. Toweled my sweat from the weight machines, daydreaming about rugs, curtains, and chaise lounges. Showered, smiling about christmas lights and holiday baking. Whether or not we get this place, it is a first step toward being real grown-ups out on our own, and that is dream-fodder enough. And guess what? We're going to New York next week.

"We're interested at looking at cheap crap holes, thank you"

Mike finally spoke to a real estate agent yesterday, as we browsed open houses. We found several nice homes we could reasonably afford if we went in with my mother, but the point here is to flop gracelessly out of the nest on our own and land in whatever fresh hell we can. Either she needs to find a cozy little cottage for herself, or we must find a run-down tin-roof plantation house and try to prop it upright with 2x4s while fending off the rats with our slippers. Either way, though, it is time, as proved by the look of incredulous exasperation on Mike's face as he held up a melted spatula while my mother said, "No, you can't throw that away, I've had that since I was 8." Ha! Really, though, I've known that spatula all my life, he has to be kidding. Gavin liked shopping for a new house. "And this is my room, and grannie's room, and mom and dad can stay in here," he pointed to a closet. Thanks.

"Look for the hairy white guy"

Harris, friend of 12 years. Played guitar in my living room yesterday evening, slept on the couch bed. I crept down at 4:30am to wake him for his airplane, curled on the couch bed with him and chuckled about old times while he squeezed me hard and declared I was as not-frail as ever. He's living in rural Mexico, making music and eating avocados the size of my head. I dropped him off at the deserted airport as the sun rose, kissed him goodbye and sent him on his way. That fellow has a perpetual twinkle in his dilated eyes, I just love him. He's off to San Francisco for a week, and I hope it doesn't take another 4 years to hang out again.

 

birds and kittens

After more than 10 years of finding no orphans on our porch (the only way we get new pets), the babies are suddenly landing on us left and right. First PoPoPo, our new black kitten, who is, as I type, swinging from the lampshade, and then our new little bird, Mugwort Returns. Yesterday Mike and I walked up to the grocery store, Gavin hidden under a blue umbrella in his stroller against the not-quite-rain. I saw a man step distastefully over a small lump of something on the sidewalk, and I took a peek at it to make sure it wasn't cat poop. It might have been in a few days, but at the moment it was a tiny fledgling bird, still bald and mostly mouth. I picked it up from its graceless splatted sprawl on the concrete. When I was a child, my mother had successfully raised two baby birds to adulthood, but more often the little things died overnight. It is not a happy thing to find a baby bird, but we finished shopping and brought it home, dumping it on my mother. She made a shoe box nest for it and managed to poke watery bits of bread and peanut butter into it with a blunt toothpick. All is hopeful for Mugwort R. (the birds of my childhood were Mugwort and Mugwort II). But as we settled in for bed, a howl came from outside and my mother ran outside to help rescue a tiny kitten who was stuck in our neighbor's undercarriage. An hour and a half later, my mother returned without the kitten, then spent the rest of the night going out to try again as the kitten periodically cried. She'll probably have better luck this morning, and then we will then have 3 babies in our care. I sort of like this, except for the lack of sleep. After a week and a half of 6-hour nights, I'm TIRED. In other news, I received an unusual phone call from one of my best high school friends, who lives in rural Mexico picking fruit and recording music and throwing concerts with his commune of musicians. He is coming to visit on Monday. 

 No exciting tales from the field trip to the Grossology Exhibit - except that it was really gross, as promised.  Student at the smelling station: "What is this smell? I think it's armpit." *poke* Beep - wrong. Student: "Maybe it's foot." *poke* Beep - wrong. Student: "Maybe it's -" Teacher: "It's anus! Anus already!" *poke poke poke* Beep - correct.

hot stuff

This weekend is the Highland Games Redux, since the festival got flooded out in April. Last night, after setting up the tea tent, Gavin and I hung out in the back of our friend's truck, and I told him about having a truck when I was a kid. He listened to my story of the killer windshield-smashing ice balls, the story of the kid getting run over by his truck and smashed into the mud unharmed, and my stories of camping in the back of the truck with three cats under a 50-foot fiberglass cow. He patted my shoulder encouragingly, "Mom, tell me more stories!" Amazing, I've known him all his life and suddenly he's able to get to know me, too. Neato.

Busy, dehydrated, heat-strokey day at the festival. Drove the boys home a bit early and took them to see Cars again so we could cool down in the A/C and suck down liters of liquid. Losing personal battle against caffeine, need more sleep.

sad today

Went home and made stuffed potatoes. Stirred potato on plate and threw it out. Went with family to dance practice at Windward Community College as night fell. Mom complained that I don't make enough time for her. The kids rolled down the slope of hill while I sat on the wall at the top under the banyan tree. Gavin's blinky shoes made him look like a firefly way down there with my wee cousin. My aunt told me her house finally sold, then dropped a towel around my shivering shoulders as she went back in to dance. I was just sitting and thinking and my eyes got all blurry and hot so I wiped them on the borrowed towel. Gavin and Chris ran up and laid dandelions next to me, then tumbled down the hill again in the wet grass. I clutched the towel around me and laid down on the stone wall, watching the stars between the branches of the banyan tree, looking for UFOs. Only saw the universe.

Was supposed to wake up Mike at 3:45am to go to news station for a highland performance. Woke up at 2:30am to watch Gavin breathe, sleepily convinced he was swallowing too much and was about to vomit in his sleep (paranoid because Chris had stomach flu), fell back asleep and had bad dreams about being useless (unable to keep book from being destroyed), woke up tear-stained and puffy-eyed at 5am to mother exclaiming about the time. Mike leaped up, pulled on pants, kissed me, and drove away on his motorcycle in 7 minutes. Went into the bathroom and stood staring stupidly at the scale for a bit. Washed face, put on dress, ate cereal, sat for half an hour with mom listening to her explain how I never sit with her. I love her. I want more time with her. I want more time alone. I want more time with Gavin. I want more. A lot more.


edit: and I think I am getting sick. Need nap, can't have one. Wah.

Auuuugh

Bikini wax. We knew where this was headed the minute we opened the jar.

"Pain and irritation free!" Ha ha ha. My mom was on the phone with her sister, periodically walking by the bathroom and laughing at us between screams. Very helpful. Gavin, busy with his trains, poked his head in a few times and said, "What are you guys doing?" "We're pulling mommy's leg hair off with hot wax, sweetie." "Why you do that?" "Well, we don't really know. It's Wednesday night, what else do you do?"

What I have learned about hot wax:

1. Let it cool a little
2. Blood makes it hard to re-stick a spot, so you better do it right the first time
3. Fast. Do it fast.
4. Bikini wax doesn't work so well on knees and toes for some reason
5. It works great on men's nipples
6. Don't get any on the cat
7. Don't believe the box about anything. Ever.
8. The "soothing cream" was designed to add insult to injury
9. Be frugal with the cloth strips, they don't give you enough, probably just to have a laugh

Having run out of strips, we went to bed. Mike was missing patches of fur. I was covered randomly in rashy bumps. We changed Gavin into his jammies and brushed his teeth, then he ran into my mom's room for his nightly wind-down routine. While Mike washed up, I got in my jammies and spread out on the bed - unfolding a suspicious rumple of blanket with my foot and sliding my leg straight through a hidden pile of fresh kitten poop.
 

Perfect.

Scotch and Scones

Everyone loves a society bash! We arrived in style, chatting over cocktails with other Scottish folk before dinner. My mom's sweetie, Ron, was decked out in his kilt and military regalia, seated across from an adorable tiny old catholic priest who happens to also be an ex-marine. They didn't like each other.
"I always wanted a son like him," said the Father to the man next to him, indicating Ron. "A nasty, nasty son. Just look at him. Hey!" he called across the table, "What are you doing sitting way over there?"
"If I was sitting any closer you'd be kicking me under the table," said Ron.
"No, no... I'd hit you with my belt buckle."
"You hit me with that belt buckle and you're not getting it back."
"You see how nasty he is?"

Gavin teamed up with another 3 year old boy, who's mother was wilting with frustration by the end of the night as her (usually sweet) son screeched, kicked, snatched toys, and knocked over things while Gavin stared at him in concern. There were some older kids who herded the two little boys to a quiet corner and kept them busy. Maybe having an older kid and a little kid would work out pretty well. Hmm.

Pictures:

All dolled up for the dinner:



Mike wears his new kilt shirt:



Gavin discovers the kiddie table:

Gavin vs Chris

My son has a nice dark sense of humor, and my cousin does not.

"I got a boo boo on my hand," bragged my cousin in a whine.
"Oh no, we'll have to cut it off. Then we'd have to cut off the other one to make it even," I said.
"No!! I don't want you to cut off my hands!!" shrieked Chris.
Gavin cackled happily.

"Gavin! Eat your meatballs or I'll tie you to the ceiling fan and beat you with a stick!" I said.
Gavin says through a mouthful of meatball, "I go round and round, hit hit hit hit! Ha ha ha"
Chris throws down his fork in horror, "Noooo!"

Where did this child come from?

koi door

138 (cookies)

Gavin crawled under the coffee table at the goodbye party and sighed heavily. The RSCDS reminisced about the 15 years they had been coming up to the apartment for drinks and snacks every summer, my mother's sweetie started a discussion about the Da Vinci Code (he likes to throw grenades, and our group is a mixed bag of non-religious and catholics). The curmudgeon in our group was not happy with his return to our dance group, rolling her eyes as he cracked jokes and joined the dances.

The kid and I were glad to go to bed. I woke up before the birds, tip-toed into the bathroom (watching out for cat poops) and washed up. First day of school. Yesterday I spread out a door-sized sheet of dark green construction paper on the library floor and stared at it for a good 10 minutes before going at it. I cut out water from white paper, glued an orange cutout of a koi on top of it, decorated the paper with bright red and yellow flowers, and went into detailing with a sharpie. I used my white-out to create highlights across the scales. Taped it up, and now my door is so cool. Teachers poked their heads in all day to ask, "Did you draw that?" which confused me because it was a collage, but it was nice anyway. Today I need to carve the school's name into 6 large pieces of audio equipment, so I get to have at it with a power tool. Watch out.

party party

Late in the afternoon, Mike pulled out an image disc given to us years ago by "Pee-ah an' Ch'ysa" (hey, you guys have two syllables now!) and we browsed pictures of Lake George with Gavin. He squealed at all the pictures of himself as a chubby baby, said we should go there and never come back, and commented, "Ooh, mom real real fat! Mom has a baby in hers." Hrm. At any rate, it was cool that he got the vibe off the place, I wonder if he remembers it at all.

The garden party was held in Ron's back yard, a suburban oasis at the base of the river, with a waterfall and swimming hole surrounded by forest. In the middle of Kaneohe. Weird. The cabana was perched on a cliff, with a rope leading down to the water. We dragged chairs in front of the drop-off to block it and took up posts on the other side with Gavin. The food was lovely, and Gavin and I rolled in the yard for a while before the conversation turned drunkenly to right-wing politics and we made a graceful exit.

ugh

6:00am. Threw workout clothes in car, hopped in. Turned key. Flashy yellow engine light. Opened hood (now expert at opening hood, no longer fumbling idiot), discovered that I forgot to screw the cap back on the yellow bubble thing that holds the coolant. Poured dregs of pre-mixed antifreeze in bubble, not even making it up to the minimum line. Confessed mistake to Mike, who directed me to drive straight to the convenience store and buy more coolant before going to work, being sure not to overfill it as it will be hot and bubbly or something. Drove to nearest gas station, which had no coolant. Drove to 7-11, sulked over lack of pre-mixed coolant, stood in line with gallon of anti-freeze and a Diet Coke, getting nods from men who thought I was a girl who could handle car things. Had them snowed. Went back to car, partly filled empty coolant jug with water, poured in coolant with skill of trained chemist. Shake shake shake, into little yellow bubble thing, presto! Screwed top back on. Am car-savvy woman of the world. I hate cars.

Almost didn't have time for morning workout. Hopped on cross-ramp beside embarrassed-looking man (why are cross-ramps considered chick machines and treadmills not? Both move legs without getting anywhere), then covered machines quickly, pleased to be able to hike the bench press up another 10 pounds. Not yet pressing body weight, but close. Watched the other working women put on makeup while I pulled on my jeans and tank top, decided to go to work au-natural, since nobody would see me clearly anyway, for reasons to follow.

Drove to dark, powerless school. Electricians at work digging up cables, searching for fried mongoose to blame for crisis-level power blowout. Teachers entered dark library all day, asking, "What do you have in the way of pirate books?" "Where are all the Magic Schoolbus books?" and other questions while I pretended to type queries into my dead computer. Rummaged through shelves by memory and wrote down barcodes on xerox paper with nubby pencil, very high-tech and resourceful back-up circulation method. Ate a lot of fruit. Doodled a bit.

Friday night! No work on Monday! Am preparing to set table for dinner and go see Cars movie with anxious toddler. Feel like baking, but must not. Have gained a pound so far this week, but have shrunk. Hoping this means muscles.

Friday!!

soap curry and yoga

Yesterday I suffered self-loathing over bad scale reading. Decided to drown sorrows in tea at Volcano Joes, and adorable idiot waitron gave me 2 cups by mistake. "You want the second one anyway, since I already put the tea bag in?" he grinned, eliciting a stupid flutter of eyelashes from me as I scooped them up and trotted back to my table. Complained to Mike about my body image while automatically dumping 6 packets of Splenda into the first cup of tea. Would have put in more had they been on the table. Slapped forehead, drank it anyway, pausing to pour the second cup in to dilute the sweetness halfway through. Mike mopped up the puddles and patted me. 

This morning felt embarrassed and vindicated as 2 pounds dropped off. Probably temporary fluctuation from all that darn salt on my crab poke Sunday night, bah. Spent morning at Emporium of Evil (Walmart), shopping for luggage and underpants. Found snappy red luggage set (Gavin wheeled the little suitcase up and down the aisles eagerly, "My suitcase for Lake George! I put aaaall my choos choos in here") and then noted alarming absence of  my favorite kind of underpants. What has the world come to? Sulked out of underpants section and into toys, where Gavin got very excited about Cars movie merchandise. He eyeballed all the giant remote-controlled toys before picking up a small matchbox-sized model of the main character (hey, he's not greedy). Besides the "never say no if he asks for produce" rule, there is also a "never say no if he asks for books" rule, and so he made it out with two Cars books as well. I am a sucker. 

Made cookies with butterscotch chips, then destroyed dinner. Thai curry tasted like Palmolive. Threw rice in pot with ground turkey and peanut butter sauce instead, leaving soapy curry on stove to think about what it had done wrong. Notice that it has still not thrown itself away. Pulled on my yoga pants and went to the gym. Twenty seconds into my drive, the engine light flashed on and I was under the hood on the side of the road tipping anti-freeze into the little yellow bubble thing. Got back in car and chewed on fingernails - wondered suddenly if the anti-freeze residue on my fingers would crystalize my kidneys and kill me. How long would that take? My mouth tingled. Maybe my tongue was crystalizing, signaling the disintegration of my cellular structure and sudden death. Arrived at gym alive. The substitute instructor was a small Barbie-shaped woman who laughed at her own jokes. She threw aside the microphone and chose to yell out the poses instead, leaving us all straining in place while chatting leisurely about proper positioning and yoga theology. Still, I felt a bit more optimistic as I left, having visions of magical morning yoga on the terrace of Lake George. Plus, the rolled mat would make a great pillow on the plane after I am flatly sedated by mini bottles of Bacardi. I hate flying. 

Contemplating chucking curry over the fence before pulling off my yoga pants and going to bed.

on an island in the sun...

We went out to the state fair after a morning of birthday shopping for my mom. Gavin enjoyed himself even though he is very serious, and Chris went into a manic frenzy. We all had a blast. I did not eat a fried twinky. Fleeced but happy, we headed home as the sun went down and the family (minus mother and Ron, who are on date) is watching cartoons with Subway sandwiches. Lovely. And I have no work tomorrow! Hellooo beach.

"You'd think my dentist was really good looking,"

"considering how much time I spend there." I signed in late to work. The kids were tugging at their leashes, waiting for the afternoon bell to set them free for the summer.

My morning was spent in the dentist's chair. As she jammed in biting blocks, drills, bits of cardboard, and minty goop, I imagined all the things I would rather have in my mouth. It took hours. I lifted my book and read snippets from the corner of my eye while the violent dental assistant attacked me with her sucky nozzle.

I almost hit a lady in an SUV pulling out of 7-11. She appeared out of thin air, probably pulling on to the main road from the fast food joint across the street as the road cleared at the same moment as me. She honked and braked and screamed out her open window, then tailgated me for 2 miles squawking and gesturing and honking until the road divided and she could zoom up beside me to yell at me. I looked at her sideways from behind my stupidly oversized glasses and sipped my Big Gulp. She looked nice enough, except for the frenzied cursing. Reminded me of a squirrel I had once startled, who chased through the park.

I arrived at school and the kids swarmed me, hugging me and shoving yearbooks into my hands for signing. One of my library regulars said goodbye with real tears in her eyes, leaving forever to a new school. I told her she was wonderful and waved her off. Spent the afternoon shelving and singing along to Janis Joplin.

Mike is sick. He is stuck on the couch with a pile of rented movies. I put on a dish of bread pudding with caramel whiskey sauce to bake, enjoyed tight hugs and hard kisses from my baby, and am getting ready for dancing tonight. Tomorrow I get to spend time in my empty library after a morning workout. I am pretty happy these days.


Gavin and Chris at party on Sunday:

Me with a borrowed child:

Memorial Day Weekend

I have already crushed my new bug-eyed sunglasses. I wore them anyway while I watched the school talent show, scooting away from the sun in the shade of the building as I sat on the steps with the office staff. The kids sang, smashed, and tumbled through the morning. One of the boys came out with a can of kerosene and a lighter, pulled off his shirt, and lit a double-ended torch for a fire spinning routine. Fan-freakin-tastic. His mother hung to one side with a wet towel, but he did not light his shorts on fire. "A huuuuuge improvement from last year!" the teachers said as they clapped wildly.
 

I really like these kids. From the older girls who hijacked the sound system to play Black Sabbath and Nirvana to the little guys who ran up and sang the "Llama" song ("did you ever see a llama kiss a llama on the llama llama's llama tastes of llama llama llama DUCK!"). They're cool.

Party
Memorial Day Weekend was a lot of beach, shopping, ice cream, zoo, sunscreen, movies, popcorn, and barbecue. Yesterday I cheated and bought bbq chicken plate lunches at Sam's Club instead of digging out the propane tank. On Saturday, tourists laughed at me for pretending to drag an enormous imaginary fish across the beach for illustration reference. Gavin and I napped in the car in the parking garage at Ala Moana, lips stained from shave ice after petting all the goats at the keiki zoo. Mike and I watched mindless action flicks. Leggy Redhead surprised me in the bathroom of the Spaghetti Factory while I was helping Gavin use the toilet. What a weekend.
 

1 month 4 weeks until vacation.

Spirit week

End of the year in a school library means mountains of books getting dumped at the library. Sometimes not just books, but calculators, spellers, digital equipment, teaching materials, and other miscellaneous items. During our staff party, the principal had an aside with me and said he thought it would be good for me to work on my next book so the kids could see the process. So I took a break from the book pile after a few hours of endless shelving and gathered up the materials for my dummy book. Once I had figured out how to rig it together without staples, I sat with my twine-bound book and taped the text in on all the pages, then started filling it in with rough gestures and action lines. With my handy-dandy camera propped on my desk, I jumped and crouched and pretended to pull invisible nets until I had enough reference to work with loosely. It's coming along, I can feel it. This one has promise.

The family is going to the water park today to celebrate my cousin's 4th birthday, while I am sitting at my desk in my yoga pants. This is Spirit Week, and I had been scroogishly ignoring the dress-up themes until today - Sports Day - when I decided to take advantage of the excuse to wear my Starbuck shirt ("Are you at least going to wear your yoga jacket over it?" No, mom). I was sure I would show up and be the only person in sportswear, but I am just one of many fools on this fine Thursday morning.

I'd still rather be at the water park. 

In other news, I am no longer carrotwoman. (I may have to do that again, just for fun.)

"I'm gonna hit you on the head, ok?"

There's something about rolling in the grass on summer evenings. Gavin got tired of sitting in Volcano Joe's and ran outside onto the lawn. He lobbed an imaginary ball at my head and I fell over dramatically, clutching my eye. A moth distracted him, and he ran across the grass after it, laughing, while I propped myself on my elbows and enjoyed the scene. College boys crowded on the deck, smoking cloves and cigarettes in the lamp light while one of the open mic guys rehearsed the blues on a steel guitar. Inside the cafe, I could see Mike thrashing away at his guitar. Gavin rolled up next to me and told me to lay on his tummy. We stared up at the twilight sky and pointed at stars and helicopters until he started giggling and bobbed my head off onto the grass. Nice evening.

The newspaper has been running columns all week on fighting fraud and financial abuse against seniors. The articles have a little logo of an elderly silhouette with a cane, and the title "Falling Prey". Ha ha.

In other news 

I was initiated into the national honor society for librarians this Sunday. There was not even a secret handshake. Disappointing.

sleep!

Gavin finally settled down in bed when the family arrived home from dancing. Hearing them, he bolted up and ran into his grandma's room, where he discovered his new video was nowhere to be seen. Apparently, he has inherited my mother's need to search obsessively for items until they are found. The two of them went up and down the stairs, poking their heads into our dark bedroom to ask if we had seen it every 3 minutes, jolting me out of sleep. Finally grannie couldn't stay awake any longer and sent him back to bed. Cozy under the blankets, we started to fall asleep, and then the cat leaped on us with all claws out and yowled in our ears. Mike threw him into the hall like a football (ok, he shooed him out and closed the door). Finally got to sleep.

The cats pulled me out of bed this morning and led me downstairs to feed them. I tied my hair up and stood in the kitchen listening to the rain outside. Xebo did a tap dance on the stove while I scooped out his food. His head has almost recovered from his last fight, he is itching to go outside again. Every time he feels better he sprints outside, straight onto the backs of whatever stray cat he can find. Then he spends the next week inside nursing his injuries and biting us for using pens around him. He hates pens.

I have nothing to say this morning, obviously, but I woke up half an hour early and I'll be damned if I do anything useful at 5am.

cold.

I finished entering my diet plan for the day and flipped off the computer. Put my shoes next to my purse. Went upstairs and kissed my sleeping family goodbye for the day. The remains of my self-made Mother's Day breakfast were still in the sink. The cinnamon buns I had baked were left all night on the stove. I threw them out.

The basics of Mother's Day still elude us -cook mom breakfast, clean up while she rests, make her a card - but the bigger picture is still there. Mike took me out to buy a new bikini, then let me roast on the beach while he played in the water with Gavin. I laid on my towel and wheezed, each breath a flaming outline of my lungs. You should not have to feel your lungs when you breathe. When we headed out to the steak house with my mom's sweetie, he stopped at his house and threw some packets of medicine at me. I have obediently consumed them, although I have no idea what they are. Dinner was great, my dietary resolve crumbled by crab-stuffed ahi in hollandaise sauce.

My voice was still gone this morning. 2 months, 2 weeks until vacation. My in-laws have only ever known me as that Pale Quiet Fat Girl. I've been working hard to get back to what I was before college and depression and pregnancy, and I wonder what they'll say. I dread it. It's like when you're too poor for new clothes and one day show up with a different pair of pants - everybody makes a big deal to tell you how great you look, which tells you exactly what they thought of you before.

I sat in the car and listened to the end of a song. I ran my fingers back and forth over the steering wheel to feel it and remind myself I'm alive. It's funny, spending so much of life trying to feel alive. Sometimes even the heartache of failing is enough to do the trick.

Stop, mom.

"Gavin, I love you. I love you so much."
"Mom, stop saying that all the time. I know."


There was a coffin sitting next to a hole for 2 days in the graveyard across the street. I was amazed. Why, we could just sneak in at night and tip the lid off and see who was in it! My mother insisted it must be empty, waiting for a funeral, but the next day I spotted workers pushing it into the hole and grabbing shovels. My goodness, we really could have gone and had a peek. How strange and mysterious. And if Mike leaves me out in the sun for two days without a funeral, I will haunt him mercilessly. He assured me he would not. He would give me a skylight so people could look in properly.

The shirts I ordered last month arrived today. Landline's revenge.



Finally Friday. That was the longest week ever. The family is collapsed around the room, drinking Killian's while the kids snarf down Krispy Kremes. I am having tea. I have my willpower back just in time for Mother's Day. The men plan to fatten us up at the steak house, but I plan to eat either salad or shrimp, because I am in control here. I have a firm hand for these controls, yes I do.

Bum

You learn something new every day. Who knew "fanny" was a dirty word in the Land of Fish and Chips? "I want to lay outside and tan my fanny," I told Mike, then laughed at my own hilarity.

I sat in the back of the car on the way to dancing, trying to read my book while my mother turned in her seat to ask me questions about faucets and Gavin fed me firetrucks while using my hair as reigns. He is going to make a terrible horse owner. I finally detached myself and made a run for it at the 7-11, heading up to Yuri's house for an evening of "packing".

We sat in the remains of Yuri's tiny apartment eating vegetarian chicken wings and fake riblets, discussing men, whether Stephen Colbert was as do-able as Jon Stewart, and watching the cooks on Top Chef get into fights over who turned down their ovens. I made off with a bag full of hangers, some interesting (unopened) girdle panties, an enormous jar of pesto, and a weird racist piggybank. When dancing was over, I walked back down to the 7-11 to meet the family. Gavin admired the piggybank, pointing at its little grinning teeth and declaring that it looked just like me. Lovely.

It has been a week, and we are fully night weaned. This means I can get up to stuff at night, if for some reason I was able to drag myself out of bed and think of something to do, which I think has actually never happened. But it could now. It also means I can go away for overnight trips. Not that I have any plans to; I can not afford the plane tickets to the ALA conference as I had hoped. Anyway, sleeping through the night is nice after almost 4 years.

In the dark early morning, Gavin twined his fingers in my hair and whispered, "Mom, don't go to work, stay home with me." Just about tore my heart out. 

Thursday. Only another work day before I can repeat my impersonation of a popcorn kernel on the beach. At least I can use both arms again. It is sad to lose my best excuse. "I can't [clean the littler box/wash dishes/get off the couch], I only have one arm."

Italian: the new Mexican

The Mexican restaurant was bursting capacity by 6:00pm when we arrived. Already-drunk college and military kids hooted on all sides. Gavin crouched against a wall warily. "Sorry, it's gonna be a 2-3 hour wait," said a very not-sorry hostess, who then turned and complained loudly to a bouncer that it wasn't even 7:00pm yet. A radio station had set up tables of jello shots behind an enormous yellow taped barricade that blocked an entire row of parking spaces. Presumably this was where the party would rage until 3am. We decided to leave the scene while still intact.

Mike met us as we were walking away, his hair mushed flat on the top by his helmet. I tried to fluff it and tuck the puffy bottom bits behind his ears, and he gave me an irritated glare. We walked to the Old Spaghetti Factory and went upstairs to the bar while waiting for our table. The bar was empty, with fancy dark wood furnishings, dim and golden with dangling stained glass and wrought iron chandeliers. We ordered three margaritas and Mike taught Gavin how to play Space Invaders on the retro table arcade. I've always wondered about bars with stairs in them, but I negotiated them well enough despite the heels, dangling toddler, and impractically large margarita glass. The Spaghetti Factory earns 4 stars for atmosphere, but the food seems to be reheated from Costco cans. I stirred my mandarin chicken salad in circles to make it look like I was eating a bit. The drink made me talkative.

mom: What's she saying?
Mike: She's talking in chat.
me: lol. lol @ me.

Sheesh. Afterwards we walked downstairs to look at colored noodles at the kitchen store. 

The cat jumped on my head when I was 15 minutes late waking up this morning (5:30am) and I am downstairs with a hot bowl of oatmeal, a cup of tea, and spare time to blog. Good start to a Saturday.

(night 3, no nursing)

Weaning

Night two with no nursing. Not used to sleeping the night uninterrupted, I am awake at 5am.

Two days ago, Gavin endured a horrific dental procedure. His front chompers were deteriorating - due in part to the nighttime milk. I had a small tantrum at the dentist's office last month and demanded they special order white caps for him instead of putting the steel teeth of poverty on my child. Apparently milk teeth are too small for porcelain, and the technology for enamel-coated children's caps has only just been invented. They were confused about why I cared whether Gavin could smile confidently for the next 3 years, but they agreed to use him as their guinea pig for the new product. My mother took him in for his 3-hour appointment while I was in class. "He looked a bit like Golem there for a while," she told me later, "and it took so long the pain killer wore off. He cried when he thought they were done and weren't, but he hung in there and didn't melt down." My poor baby. The teeth look good, at least, and he was more than happy to score two new toy trains because we felt so bad.

So somehow I thought this terrible day would be a good time to wean him. He lasted until 2 am before sobbing quietly against the wall, and then turning to me tentatively and asking between tears in a quiet heart-breaking voice cracking with utter despair, "I can't nurse anymore?" He rolled over and hugged me and sobbed into my chest. I relented, but reasoned, "Only once a night, ok?" He agreed with complete relief, snuggling down against me while I kissed his head.

And the little guy has been true to his word. He nurses once at bedtime, happy and snuggly, then rolls over and sleeps the entire night. I'm both relieved and sad. It won't be long now before our nursing days are completely over. He asked to sleep in his own bed at nap time yesterday. It makes my chest hurt.

Lazy weekend

Gavin paints the new shelf:



Mike paints the new shelf as well:



I do not paint shelves:



It was a nice weekend. Yuri and I caught up over brownies and shopping - it seems she is leaving Hawaii forever in a few weeks. I'm sad about it.

Our family spent the morning in Kailua having breakfast with Ron. Mike and I hit the gym for the second day in a row and then boiled our butts in the hot tub. This evening we will measure ourselves and compare from week to week.

Queen of the eyesores

The sky this morning was grey and still, and I felt the same. I drove slowly, passed by the fire station, waved at the bleary-eyed firemen, braked for a flock of mynah birds, and sat in my car for a minute in front of the school. Pulled on my sandals, turned off the music. It's no use, listening to music. I can't find anything that fits right anymore. Too loud, too whiny, too quiet. At least I have books. I'm reading Princess Academy, one of this year's Newbery honors. I like princess books that don't follow the Disney Princess Cult guidelines for acceptable behavior. As a kid, the Paperbag Princess was one of my favorites.

I'm waiting for my eyes to dilate into dark pools of insanity as my cold medicine kicks in. I should have stayed home, but it is my job to get the high school kids to read, and this is their first library day in a month.

Doped up and slightly loopy, we went to yoga anyway. Our yoga instructor stopped us outside class and asked if we had been doing yoga for a long time. She said we are very flexible. As we went up to lift weights and shower, Mike grumbled that his hips didn't feel flexible. He is trying to make them limber, I'm just trying to get mine to hold themselves together again.

Gavin has decided he doesn't like the daycare room.
"There are no babies," he said.
I tried to encourage him, "You could make friends with the bigger kids."
"I could make them go way up to the top [of the play structure] and push them off real hard!" he said.
"Um, no,"
"I could hit them in the head with a car and make them fall down down and cry," he said, bashing his fist into his hand.
"Or you could play with them and ask them what their names are."
Gavin sighed.
At the end of the (non-head bashing) evening, we stopped at the store and bought the boy a donut, since he had eaten his dinner and a lot of fruit already. I handed it to him in the car and told him, "That was the last one."
Gavin let out a maniacal laugh and held it up triumphantly, "The last one! And it's mine! Ha ha ha, now they can't have any! Mwah ha ha ha!" And he ate it up.
I love my kid..

Easter 06