Trip to town

On the way to town for a meeting, I passed under the now twice-fallen landslide. Kind of furtively.

Am working on first grown-up sized quilt. With bits of cat sewn in.

summertime

The sun is out! Today, with a clean and lovely house, we put on Jack Johnson and cruised down to the beach. Watched Gavin throw himself into the waves, and Leif dig his fists into the sand for the first time. I stood in the sand while the boys swam, drawing letters with my toes and watching the water carry them away. Rinsed and loading into the car, a local woman from the other side gave us ice cream and stroked Leif's fat sand-smeared cheeks. Drove home under the mango trees. Our neighbor smoked himself stupid and played a Beatles disc we burned for him, waving as we walked by his door. I got into the tub with the baby and Mike washed my back with the Man-Sponge (a Japanese sponge he got for Christmas that only said "MAN" on the package). In a fresh dress, I chopped lemongrass and shallots for a steak marinade, mixed drinks for the big people, and the evening glows golden around us. It feels like the lake, it feels like college and love and contentment. Except for Sookie yowling for boy cats out the window. Gavin says, "Sookie is a teenager now! When I get hormones, I'll be going RROAW RROAW RRAOW too, and you'll have to lock me in my bedroom." Sure.


edited to add: oh yeah, and the beer production has been delayed because the beer barrel thing blew up and spewed beer all over the bathroom. Smelled good, though.

Boys on the beach:






the bay:

On the plus side

Easter day was sunny and fine. We prepared a great feast, everyone looked good in their new Easter duds, and Leif crawled for the first time. Our cats were excited to see us, and their caretakers were excited by the box of Krispy Kremes we bribed them with.

Developmental milestones: besides crawling, Leif can pick up cheerios with two fingers, turn pages in a book, hold out his arms to be picked up, yell to get our attention, say "dadada" when Mike is in the room, and attempt escape when you try to wipe his face or butt. He's a genius! Sookie figured out how to catch her own tail and pull herself over and over in somersaults. Need to catch on video, will be world-famous lolcat owner.

foot washing day

Mike plopped Leif down beside me on the floor and took off with the kiddo for school this morning. Leif piled toys on the cat, then climbed onto my lap to paw at my shirt, so I hefted him up, tucked him to my bosom, paused to pull a chunk of carpet out of his mouth when he gagged, and as he settled in to nursing I thought to myself, well, this is a nice time to organize the events of the weekend. What a mess that was.


Saturday: Anticipating an easy weekend of baby-minding, reading, and tidying, I put Leif down on the floor in the kitchen while I swept around him and did some dishes. His stroller sits near the screen door by the stove, ready to serve as an observation/containment perch for the baby while we're cooking, so before long he scooted over to it and pulled it closer. A moment later he began cackling with laughter, then paused, then laughed again. I looked over and at first was charmed; Sookie had climbed into the basket and was peeking out at him. Then I watched as he patted the basket, Sookie shot out and wrapped her front legs around his head and attacked his face, then she sucked herself back into the basket and he broke into hysterical laughter, patting the basket for more. The child who acts like we're pulling his arms off when we change his onesie thinks it's hilarious to be mauled by a cat. Figures.

We slept together in the middle of the bed, guarded by cats. I didn't dream, slipping off to my nightly mental mantra of "no thinking at night, no thinking at night". In the darkness the ghosts get me - those that were and those that are coming.

On Sunday I let the baby and cat pull each other around the floor and made dough for brioche to welcome home the boys. At 3pm I received a phone call from the airport, where Mike and Gavin were stranded after just missing their flight home, having been delayed after a failed attempt to fix my mother's washing machine (the best thing that can be said about this being that nobody's head was crushed - Mike's presence evidently caused the shower to break, too, so he was off to a bad start already). I put the brioche in the fridge and made brownies instead, gave Leif a bath, tucked him in bed, and hemmed my new dress in front of the television. Then came the second bad phone call of the day: "Um, I'm at the car, and..." "Oh no, don't tell me you forgot your keys." "I forgot my keys." And still a 2-hour drive from home. He rented a car.

So on Monday I called in to work, woke up all the neighbors trying to deactivate the alarm on the shiny white rented Malibu, and headed to town to get the car with my spare key. Driving the Malibu was like driving a spacecraft.

Despite the beating on my wallet, I counted the trip to town and back as a success. I managed to buy Easter clothes for everyone, food for everyone, a Safeway deli chicken sandwich for myself, and still made it home in time to pick Gavin up from school - but Mike was not yet finished messing up the weekend. As I lugged groceries into the kitchen he said, "The power cord on the laptop is broken and I accidentally ran it dead in the airport watching a movie while waiting for the plane and all my files for work are on it and WHAT SHOULD I DO?!" I told him what he should do; I put a beer in his hand, made bbq ribs for dinner, then opened up a tub of Ben & Jerrys. We chucked the kids in bed and sat in front of Heroes, and suddenly the power cord flickered to life long enough to siphon all his work files off the laptop. "You're so smart," he said. Yes I am.

The rest of the week has been okay so far. Yesterday Leif horked up a chunk of rug, a hairball, and a dead cockroach (not at the same time), Gavin has had lightsaber duels with his friend from school, Sookie has been sleeping across my neck again after a few weeks of usurping Po's resting nook, and work has been eventful.
 

Time for Easter.

Spring Break

Started Monday by dropping a box cutter on my foot. Rethinking ambition to become professional knife-thrower.

Further insomnia: woke up at 1am and mentally rehashed series-finale episode of Battlestar, searching for answers to gaping plot holes and going off into angry sleepy plans to track down writers and knock their heads against the floor and demand a revised finale.

Am back from a weekend with my mother, having flown over with the kids to drop off Gavin for spring break. The house is empty without him. We both woke last night, certain he had walked into the room and spoken to us, so I phoned my mother first thing in the morning to make sure he had only been dreamwalking and not visiting as a ghost. He said he had dreamed of us, too, and didn't seem surprised we had heard him. Weird.

In other news: Gavin learned to eat with chopsticks, Leif learned to clap, my mother and I saved a colony of enormous toads, and Mike tried to defend a bouncy castle against a horde of teenagers. Productive weekend.

In the AM

Gavin dawdles, I bark, we find sneakers, gather up homework, run out late. Yesterday I didn't feel like barking, so I snuck up to the bathroom to see what was taking so long. Gavin stood in front of the mirror with the lights out, waving his flashing toothbrush as he applied toothpaste, singing. "I'm Captain Hammer, my teeth are shiny and clean, and it's a brand new day! La lala, something something die, my teeth are bright and shiny!" Reasonable.

Last night I was cold, with dreams of being shot at and chased, and I woke up wanting to be next to my boy at 4:30am. Like I had summoned him, Gavin stumbled in and climbed into bed. We went back to sleep until morning. "I didn't have bad dreams after I was next to you," Gavin said. "Neither did I," I agreed. I wish we had a bigger bed. Maybe Mike can sleep in Gavin's room.

with a side of LIONS!

One of my ongoing quests is the hunt for the perfect wonton. So far, the best ones I've found are at the Kin Wah in Kaneohe, our favorite Chinese restaurant, and I insist on eating there every time we visit. Even though there is a blurb on the menu that says "Our meat dishes contain MSG. Extra MSG will not be added upon request."

So on Saturday we dug into our soup and plates of honey-garlic chicken, stuffed eggplant, and gau gee, when suddenly a roar of firecrackers came from the parking lot, and two Chinese lions came dancing into the restaurant with a billow of smoke and crashing drums. Gavin leaped up onto his seat, along with everyone else in the restaurant, and the two lions pushed themselves between the tables towards the birthday girl [old lady with leis up to her ears]. Mike was smashing Leif's head against his chest to protect his ears, and Leif was trying to punch him in the face to get him off. My mom gave Gavin a dollar to stuff into the lion's mouth. It was great. Best wontons ever!

valentine weekend

Alone with the kids. I woke up this morning with Leif singing to me quietly and Gavin crumpled in a tangle of scrawny boy-limbs on the other side of the bed. We slid across the floors in our jammies and socks and welcomed in our last day of the long weekend. Leif rode in his sling and watched me make fresh bread in the morning, and when he dozed off I slipped him in bed and rummaged through my stash for yarn to knit something special for our two new nephews-to-be. These days of babies and bread and home are numbered, but just think: they're here now, we get to enjoy them all day.

It's been a nice weekend. Leif has started babbling and singing - and sometimes he can actually match my bedtime tunes, and then yells "DADADADA!" when he's lost his patience with me. My kid. Genius.

 
Minimal V-day sadness, minimal "WHY DIDN'T HE LOVE ME"s, minimal chocolate. There was only one bad part to the weekend.

We swung by the gallery to admire some artwork, and threw pebbles in the koi pond for a while yesterday afternoon. Gavin decided he needed to see how long he could stay before I would force the issue, so he ignored me when I said it was time to go, said "Just a moment" when I repeated myself, and ignored me again when I walked away and said I was leaving. I waited behind the bushes for a bit and stomped back when he refused to follow. The typical mom-kid argument ensued:

"Do you WANT me to yell at you every time we need to go somewhere? Get OVER here!"
He dragged his feet, "I SAID I'd come in a moment."
"I GAVE you a moment, I asked you three times, you wouldn't come until I yelled and that makes me very frustrated and unhappy!"
"Me too!"
"Well why didn't you just listen the first time?!"
"I don't know!"
We grumped to the car, I buckled in the baby (who happily chewed on his teether), and got Gavin in the car. As I started up the engine, I asked, "Buckled up?" "Yep," he said. I looked back to double-check as I started backing up, and saw his hand clamped over his belt, holding it in place so it looked like it was buckled in. I hit the brakes.
"You're not buckled up!"
"I know."
"Why did you lie to me? You could die! If I started driving and we got hit and you died, I would feel terrible for the rest of my life because I didn't make sure your were buckled up! Why would you do that?!"
He buckled, then suddenly looked stricken, welled up, and started sobbing, looking away to hide his face.
"Oh, baby, it's ok, you're buckled up now, talk to me. "
"I don't want you to feel terrible for the rest of your life!" he creaked. My heart wrenched, and I reached back and held his hand. God, I don't want to be the mom who freaks my kid out with guilt. I don't want him to lie about seat belts or other serious safety things, either, though. We calmed down, we said we loved each other, and we drove home for a cold drink and a snack. It's a hard gig sometimes, I love this kid.

The good thing about parenting is that you only really screw up if you screw up every day; each morning you get another chance to do things right.

infinite cupcake remorse

After watching Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist the other day, I picked out the book from our YA stacks and tore through it overnight, coming away slightly wounded. While the book was a pretty good read, I think this is the rare instance where the movie rather outshines it. This librarian recommends watching the movie and then reading the book. But for sure, do both. Especially if you've ever found yourself in a stranger's car at 3am in a big city, or made fun of Hoboken. But I will save you some trouble now with this warning: if you are reading the book at work and don't know who Johnny Castle is, don't google it. Especially don't image google it.

But now I'm torn between feeling nostalgic over our romps through New York as college kids, and feeling ripped off because I really thought we had something unique and young and glorious. That the boy at the end of my arm loved me innocently and completely. And I don't know when I'll be running through the city hand-in-hand again, unless I'm holding on to a couple of kids and trying to find a toilet. It could happen, I guess.

And this is what happens around V-Day. Heading down to the cakeshop of love, where everyone goes to press their noses against the glass and look at all the cupcakes with longing, regret, nostalgia, guilt, and anger. Stupid cupcakes.

the year in review

Just for fun, I will write this in the 3rd person.



2008 found our protagonist in Bakersfield, California, living in a one-bedroom apartment with her son and a fat black cat. In the grey of January, she developed a fever, and found herself standing in front of the wall-length bathroom mirror, wondering what her life had come to. 3 months pregnant, ambivalent about her sometimes-partner, about to face the end of her lease, heartsick, homesick, and sick with the flu, she had yet to make any decisions about the future except that it was time to stop waiting by the window and go home.

She interviewed for a position back in Hawaii, and waited. The lease ran up, and the ex-husband carried her belongings into his apartment, setting up the beds side-by-each. She couldn't bring herself to sleep next to him for the first few months. At work, the office she shared with her good friend had grown quiet, and whether this was because of the baby or the coming goodbye, she didn't know, but she let it settle between them because it seemed to be what he needed. Without any particular excitement, she signed the papers for the movers, bought the tickets home, made travel arrangements for the cats, said goodbye to the Eastern horizon, and went back.

In Hawaii, everything seemed to be where she left it, the ghosts still lurking in mirrors. Sitting with her mother, she said, "It feels like I wasted a year, that the whole move to the mainland was pointless and stupid." Her mother said, "You found out what you didn't want, and that counts for a lot. People spend their whole lives wondering." She didn't want the cold, she didn't want to be alone. Good stuff to know.

Appointed to a position in a rural library, she left her boy in the care of his grandmother for a few weeks while a home could be settled before school started. For the better part of a month, Holly and her whatever-he-is were stuck with each other's company with only an airbed, two suitcases, and a cupboard of peanut butter and rice. They played cards on the bare floor beneath the skylight, read books on the sagging air mattress on the floor, pressed their hands on her belly to feel the baby kick, and finally became able to breathe easily again.

The movers arrived, the boy was returned to them, school started, and for a short time everything began to form a comfortable routine. On a clear night in August, Holly read the latest book by Stephanie Meyer, got mad at the writing, and went into an angsty-vampire-induced labor. The baby was born with his cord around his neck, a limp blue thing that was clipped free and immediately passed off to a nurse like a football. The room didn't breathe until he did, and the new father cried. 4 days later, Holly hobbled back to work. Her body slowly shrank back into familiarity, her two sons were beautiful and fine, and life turned into color again. She started drawing once more, and knitted beneath a sleeping baby. Her son learned to read and celebrated his 6th birthday, her whatever-he-was started brewing beer. Trips between islands to visit her mother were easy and frequent.

When the winter came again, she was not cold, or alone, or waiting. Things were comfortable - and that was, as she said, better than a punch in the neck.




In short:

Nobody died.
Drove through Los Angeles.
Ate meatballs at Ikea.
Drove through a wildfire.
Ate terrible Mexican food and bought dirt-scented candle in Fresno.
Got a new job.
Moved from California to Maui (hemorrhaging money)
Gained 60 lbs.
Had a baby.
Lost 50 lbs.
Drank most of 1 beer.
Read 22 books.
Knitted 1 cardigan, 3 baby garments, 1 tea cozy, 9 ornaments, 3 hats, 1 Christmas stocking.
Drew 12 illustrations for new book.
Drew 50 rough layout pages of graphic novel.
Made good peach jam, terrible marmalade, and 2 failed batches of guava jelly.
Cried 4 times (not jelly-related).
Had 1 panic attack while driving.
Stole 1 nun.
Gained 1 kitten.
Missed 9 people quite a bit, 3 people very much, and 2 people heart-wrenchingly.

It was a busy year, all in all.

In other news

Leif is 5 months old, and has started sitting up on his own. This weekend he ate solids for the first time. He had been diving at our food for a few weeks and making chewy faces as he watched us eat, so I finally went down and got him rice cereal and banana baby food. He immediately stopped pooping. (Now we don't need to use corks anymore!)

Also he had 3 full-blown, limb-flailing, ear-splitting temper tantrums because he was - evidently - tired of his blocks/his blanket/our laps. Bracing myself for his toddler years.