Birthday a la Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving weekend was pretty good. The crew from Valencia drove up in the early afternoon, packing into my kitchen to steal my aprons and pour brandied eggnogs. We feasted on turkey, fatty fat fat tomato pie, broccoli casserole, sausage-stuffed pumpkin, chestnut dressing, and mashed coconut sweet potatoes. Gavin and Mat zoned in on the computer, battling lego droids for hours while the rest of us ate pie with our fingers. At this point Gavin starting calling Mat "dad". We converted the ex-husband's apartment into a hotel for the night. Friday was a day of snacking, ice skating, and battling through the Christmas Spirit to beat our way [unsuccessfully] to a Wii. Yuri had no shame scooting around the ice rink in a walker, while Gavin enjoyed falling spectacularly as often as possible. Marc joined us for a couple turns around the rink, only crashing to the ice once or twice after some amazing accidental triple-axles.

When all the guests were packed with leftovers, stuffed with pie, and kissed goodbye, we piled up cat food in our kitchens and drove up to the Bay. I've only ever visited San Francisco in the chilly months, and it was really nice walking through the brisk air into Union Square to meet Mr. HS. We threw ourselves across the couches in Anthropologie, we laughed at terrible break dancers, we ate really good Thai food and bought chocolate at the Ghirardelli shop. As the sun went down into the fog, we drove over the mountain into Santa Cruz, imposing ourselves on Mr. HS and fiance to allow Gavin a go at the overrated Wii until we were all mouse-eyed with exhaustion and went to our hotel.

Sunday morning we went into town and ate fresh scones, brie omelette, and eggs Benedict on hot sourdough. Walked through the downtown streets and dropped a dollar into the case of a street bag piper; drove to the seaside to take in the seals and salty air. We said goodbye to our friends over semi-authentic Hawaiian plate lunch, and left with a sense that we had found a backup town to think about moving to. Santa Cruz is really nice.

screaming skulls

Mike and I stood on our doorsteps, phones to our ears. I watched Gavin run down the sidewalk to the corner. "I see him," said Mike. Gavin disappeared around the corner and I heard his voice in the background over the phone. "Got him!" And so the boy has earned the relative independence of going to his dad's by himself. Apartment to myself, I took up my knitting, put on some tea, and turned on the tv. The Sad Sad Housewife channel was doing its best to contribute the the holiday suicide statistics by playing marathons of winter romantic comedies. When Harry Met Sally was followed by Serendipity, and I watched from under my eyebrows as my needles clicked until I finally shut it off, gathered my stuff, and went to visit the boys. Mike was baking a pie while Gavin lay quietly on the bed, penitent for having punted the cat. "You in trouble?" He nodded, sniffing miserably. I laid down beside him and pushed his hair out of his face and he whispered that he hoped he hadn't hurt her. At that moment, the cat scrambled up onto the bed, across my leg and onto his face, all four paws wrapped around his head and tongue tangling in his hair. He made a muffled noise and flapped his arms to fend her off, causing her to leap in a cartwheel down his torso, hug his leg, and attack it with her hind claws. "She doesn't look very hurt, does she?" Gavin laughed and curled against me as I shooed her off. After going through the bedside bookshelf, Gavin climbed under the covers and cozied up to listen to the Cavern of Screaming Skulls until he fell asleep. I snuck out and sat on the couch in front of Oz with the alpaca arm warmers I'm making to match my new knitted capelet that I'm never going to wear.

The dancers arrived on time, and I made myself busy in the kitchen making fudge while they practiced dancing to bagpipe music. Fudge used to be my specialty, but all my attempts have puddled since moving here. I finally bought a jar of marshmallow fluff, followed the recipe on the back, and was annoyed when it set perfectly. I suppose anything will set if you choke it with marshmallows. Including myself, because I did just that.

After stumbling out from his nap, Gavin and I gathered up our goods and walked back home. We wound down the evening by watching Japanese commercials and snowboarding videos. "Wow!" said Gavin, watching a body whirl through the air, "That's so cooool! And I would never do that." I kissed his head.

a good autumn weekend

Saturday morning smelled like winter, the ground was cold and wet. We bundled into the car and drove into the fog up the grapevine, out between the mountains to Fillmore. Yuri met us at IHOP for a late breakfast. I pulled tea bags and packets of splenda from my purse; she pulled vegetarian sausages from hers. Purses are magic. We ate a caramel apple at the train station, swapping library horror stories until the Pumpkinliner chuffed up and we waved goodbye until Thanksgiving. Gavin chose seats in the open-air car, looking over the railing at the pomegranate and orange orchards while all the dads in the car twisted open bottles of pumpkin ale. At the 'Ichabog' pumpkin patch, Gavin kicked off his sneakers and dove into the jumpy castle while Mike and I walked through the pumpkins under the trees. A musician played Grateful Dead songs on a stage with a dozen dancing toddlers and mothers. Mike reached up and picked an orange. We chased Gavin through the dark, musty hay maze. Older kids ran through screaming, pretending to be scared of the latex corpses in the dead ends. Gavin stood in a shaft of light from a tear in the ceiling tarp, blowing the dust motes into swirls and looking at how the light was broken up by the shadows of his fingers. He looked around the bales of hay at each turn, avoiding the rubber spiders and rats, and then ran out into the light to find a pumpkin. We finally settled on a tiny round one and a huge pear-shaped one just as the train rattled back into the patch. Gavin chose an outdoor seat with a table by the engine, put his head down on his arms, and fell asleep before we reached the station. He woke up an hour and a half later as we pulled into our driveway, and the boys went to the video store for the Battle for Endor while I took off my boots and sorted through the day's photos.


On Sunday I found myself on the floor, shivering under wet plaster and trying to make my Valkyrie armor for Halloween. Gavin put on a movie for us and sat by my head feeding me peanut M&Ms while I dried out. I realized I had forgotten to spray down with PAM, and had to tear off all my body hair and a layer of skin to get the damn thing off. Not sure about it, but maybe it'll look more like armor with some paint.
 

Sat my plaster torso on the lanai and knitted while Gavin built spaceships out of his magnetic building blocks. Made a chicken and broccoli cream soup with grilled cheese sandwiches, and the boys washed dishes and baked a loaf of Irish soda bread. I threw in a batch of cupcakes while the oven was hot. Gavin licked the beaters and ate a steaming slice of buttered bread. Everything was okay.

Fall again

Winter is coming. I woke up this morning with Gavin's feet in my face. Covering him with my side of the comforter and easing the door shut, I ate my cereal in front of the computer until he shuffled out and rolled under the couch blanket. We sat together and watched cartoons, my hands feeding fuzzy orange yarn onto my circular needles. Po spread herself gingerly across our laps, subdued by her girly-bit surgery earlier this week and chilled by the air on the lanai. Today was the first day of long pants, long sleeves, cozy socks and covered shoes. Gavin led the way down the hall to his preschool classroom, pausing to say hi to the lizards and stare at the sullen picture day kids being dressed as chefs and tennis players by squealing puppet-shaking photographers. I knelt down to hug him goodbye, and he gave me his usual farewell speech as he inched nearer to the kids playing blocks, "Bye, mom! Have a good day at work! Don't forget to bring me a nice book - and tell me if the Snack Man comes [Marc] - and do everything I want you to do! Bye!"

At the library, it was a tour day. It wasn't until all the students bunched in that I discovered "special ed class" meant "30 children in wheelchairs", and found myself in the middle of a crowded sea of expectant, parked little faces. I wondered how many I could cram vertically into the elevator before deciding that a stationary point-and-yell tour would have to do. I hollered and waved my arms, then mustered my best Scary Voice to read Neil Gaiman's The Wolves in the Walls despite the bored slump of the younger teachers. Had an irritated Tea-Drinking Knitting Cat Lady Librarian moment where I wanted to yell at them about their posture before remembering, yet again, that I was their age. Feeling older these days. I have discovered myself seriously thinking about buying horrifying seasonal cardigans and fake hand-carved reindeer sculptures. It starts as a joke, and ends with people piling cardigans and figurines under your Christmas tree. This will not do.

Speaking of cardigans, fashion rant: why does nothing look good on me this season? Who are these people designing for? Why am I being asked to pay $90 for a Vera Wang skirt that makes my butt look like it flaps around my knees? Why are potato sacks with drawstrings around the neck back in fashion? WHY?! I need clothing!



In other news, have successfully dumped Johnny the Coffee Pot and am no longer forking over $7 a bag for dark roasted panic attacks. I made peach jam. Gavin is featured in a full-page ad in Black Belt Magazine this month, because his dad makes the ads. Have knit 2 more hats and started a third, as well as beginning my first [toddler-sized] sweater.

overheard at the library

me: Does anyone actually say 'o-possum'?
marc: only if they're singing an anthem.

J: Russia has dissolved its government.
S: wow, really? Huh.
K: The kindergardeners didn't know who Maisy was.
S: *gasp* That is truly a tragic commentary on today's society. It really is.

saved as draft and published 9/30/09

Back from vacation.

Gavin enjoyed his first day of preschool today, even though we both tried to oversleep. If it weren't for Po yowling into our ears and shaking our heads with her claws at 8:13am, we might have made it up to 13 hours each. We shuffled out in our undercrackers and stared into the empty fridge. My empty fridge. My wilting plants. My angry cat and comfy couch and little white tea cups It had been very difficult leaving my mother behind. Gavin sobbed like his heart was breaking when we said goodbye to his granny at the airport. My mom started crying. I started crying. The woman beside me started crying. Her husband started crying. The old man behind them started crying. It was terrible.

Adventure finds us, charges $75 co-pay

9pm.

"It's just a bump from daycare, it's not broken," Mike told me as he dropped off the car and Gavin for the night. He had a little makeshift sling made from a pillow case, and was sleeping in his booster seat. I lifted him out and he woke sharply, holding his arm with his good hand. As I laid him in bed, he cried out and began sobbing. 15 minutes later we were all sitting in the ER, slumped with other sleepy people and scribbling out medical forms. Wrapped in a blanket, Gavin slept on our laps. A teenage girl with home-inked tattoos and a shaved head sat near us, wearing a shirt that read "Baby Girl" in glittering pink plastic gems and holding a 5 day old preemie on her lap, unlit cigarette hanging from her lips. A blonde woman with a small pregnant belly sat hunched over, wincing in pain and shuffling to the desk periodically to ask if anyone could help her. A beefy young man with a trucker cap and one shoe limped by under his small wife with what looked like a snake bite to the foot.

11pm.

The technician couldn't find a fracture, but kept pointing to the elbow on the x-ray and muttering with his colleague. Gavin quietly asked Mike to wipe the tears off his cheeks while he held his arm bent in front of him.

1am.

A nurse put us in the linen cubby beside the ambulance entrance while she scrounged up a doctor. "We can't see a fracture, but he's only 4 and the area around the joint is still cartilage, which doesn't show up on the x-ray. There's a lot of swelling around the joint, indicating that he might have smashed the bones of his forearm and broken the cartilage. Either that or it's Nursemaid's Elbow, which means we'd have to straighten the arm and force the bone back under the tendon, but he's not holding his arm the way he would be, which also points toward a break. We'll get him in a splint and send you to an orthopedic surgeon for a better look at it." Scribbled on the paperwork they handed us was a simple diagnosis in ballpoint pen: broken elbow.

And so the kiddo starts at his new preschool this week with a battle wound. A formidable first impression. Especially if he keeps wearing his pointy-eared snood as a sling over his cast.



update, 8/24: Not broken! Splint was removed after 3 days, child is gingerly recovering mobility.

rats

Last night. Bedtime.
"Mom, what you gonna dream about?"
"I guess I'll dream about rats."
"Ratatouille? Me too. I'll be the rat. Who you gonna be?"
"I'll be the lady chef."
"Oooh, with the knives?"
"Yep, you bet."
"Ok. Dad can be the boy who can't cook. The garbage boy."

haha.

The garbage boy was on the couch when I woke up from putting Gavin down for his nap yesterday. He had finished off his swatch of practice knitting and had the Stitch n Bitch book open to a new project, a triangle of cloth already forming on his needles. I looked at the page. "Umm... What are you doing?" He held it up and grinned. "I'm making a bikini!" o_0


Delinquents

At Longs Drugs.
cashier 1: Man, you are gonna get so drunk off these.
cashier 2: hurr, that's the idea.
cashier 3: customer!
cashier 1: oh, sorry customer.
me: beer and laundry soap! Getting drunk and doing laundry on a Saturday night, I see.
cashier 2: you know it.
me: just don't confuse the two.
cashier 2: drink the soap? Yeah that wouldn't be so good. You wanna go on a date with me and make sure I drink the right ones?
me: but I already have a hot date delivering these very important eye patches to people with no eyes.

Well, I lied. Everyone had eyes, and the patches served duty as ear muffs and tiny hats for most of the night.

The kiddo discovered a patch in my purse and has not taken it off since. There's m' boy.

coffffeeeeeee

I decided to break up with my coffee maker, but it didn't work out. Love is blind. The blind that comes with raging headaches and shaking hands and makes you knock all the cereal out of the cupboard in a frantic search for filters. I didn't tell my machine, but I switched to half-caf. I will sneak off in the night.


The other day Gavin tried to fall asleep at 5pm, which wouldn't do because then he'd be up doing the pretty girl dance with Po until midnight, so I nudged him. "Oh, I'm not sleeping, mom, my eyes were just a little bit broken, that's all." When we finally went to bed and woke up again (in the morning) he shuffled into the bathroom as I scrabbled at the coffee pot. After a long moment there was a clatter in the bathroom and then warbling falsetto, so I popped in to check on him. He had an audience of stuffed cats, and looked up at me in my jammies, "Oh hi mom! I was just... um..." he looked concerned, reached up slowly, and then juggled my nungas. "Huh, look at that."

I guess they weren't where he thought they should be without a bra on.

Masturbator

me: "See, there goes his hand again, but it's not mov- oh! I saw tendons twitching."
Heather: "Oh, I'm just SO glad I came in today."
me: "Marcus is doing stealth recon somewhere."
circ staff: "Marcus went upstairs!"
me: "Oh, he's upstairs, he'll see it all up there!"
manly circ staff: "I'll throw him out if you want."
me: “Thank you, I would love to see you pick him up by the shirt and chuck him out. I'll let you know."
Marc came downstairs nodding, then stalked into the back room to scald his eyeballs with rubbing alcohol. Heather and I pushed and raced out to the computer room and stood right behind the man with the 5 chat windows open, watching him type rapidly with one hand and pretend to scratch with the other. When his biceps got into the action Heather's eyes rolled back in her head and she dropped down to kneel beside him. "Sir, we're getting complaints about what you're doing with your hands. You have to stop. Now." He stared at her, but put his arms on the table.

I was laughing about this while guiding a patron down an aisle. I mostly get hit on by friendly old men, but lately younger guys have used me for practice, posing against the desk with stupid compliments on my typing speed. This guy tried it, using the good old "hey, how tall are you?" line to break the ice. I told him, and he tried to convince me he was a 6' 3" basketball player who likes to go to Oscar parties. Except he was a 5'8" middle-aged man who likes to carry Star Wars toys in his stained pockets. 

Interesting day at the library.