walk on that suitcase conveyor belt like a treadmill

We left Seattle the day after I had a root canal. I climbed into the Uber on our way to the airport clutching an ice pack to my jaw and bemoaning my once again impeccable timing.

I have always had great ability to make already complicated things things even more complicated. Who else needs an emergency root canal the day before they move to Mexico? Who else has such an oddly abnormally stupidly structured tooth, according to the endodontist, that the procedure was going to take twice as long and recovery was going to be more lengthy and painful than for any other normal person?

If they could harness my immense ability to unintentionally complicate all of the things, I could power the world just by walking around and existing.

The bad news was I was in terrible pain the morning we left for the airport; the good news was I was drugged on Vicodin and Valium so I didn't even flinch when one of our suitcases came in over the accepted weight limit at check-in, which necessitated some shuffling of articles between suitcases.  That's something that usually sends me into panic fits because oh no, what if people waiting in line catch a glimpse of my old pile of undies?  (All those people in line are watching in such a situation and hoping for a glimpse of something embarrassing. Trust me, I know people.)

But this time, thanks to the Vitamin V,  I was more, "consider and enjoy all my underwear, people, I really don't ca -- oh oh oh, hey airline person, can I go back there and walk on that suitcase conveyor belt thing like a treadmill?  Because looks like wheeee..."

The movers came to pack our Mexico-bound belongings the same day I had the root canal. They were so friendly and kind as they carefully wrapped our clothing and computers and recently opened Christmas presents because they could tell I was not feeling well (a heating pad pressed over my entire face was their first clue) and I was once again zoned out on Vicodin so unable to make big decisions.

The movers informed me we still had room in our shipment container after they'd packed everything we'd set aside.  They said, "You still got plenty of room in here, ma'am, anything else you'd like to add?' I stared at them with unfocused eyes and mumbled, "Just take whatever you want."

A few long beats of silence followed as the movers glanced at each other in concern until one said, "Umm, I guess we can fill the space with more of your daughter's stuffed animals?" I gave them a thumbs up, said, "I knew you guys would figure it out" and went to sleep with my head down on the kitchen counter.

Coco, up until the very end, continued to slip festive Christmas cards 

under our bedroom door

voicing her feelings about the situation

(sad)(scared)

Seattle Mom had the sweet idea to have a "graduation" party for Lucien on the last day of school before Winter Break. It was his very last day at his elementary school and he was achingly sad about it.

We invited Lucien's favorite classmates and their parents to Chuck's Hop Shop for his "5th Grade Graduation" party.  They brought graduation gifts and signs and a gigantic graduation balloon that, we hear from our housesitter, is nowhere near ready to deflate. That sucker's gonna be floating around Banister Abbey for a long time, perhaps even waiting for us upon our return.

Chuck's Hop Shop is a beer shop in the neighborhood, which may seem an odd choice for a kid's graduation party but it's really not.  We've held birthday parties there, community meetings there, Lucien had his end-of-year soccer team party there. Chuck's is the neighborhood spot; it has over 50 craft beer taps and a rotating schedule of food trucks in the parking lot plus ice cream cones, bags of chips, Pac-Man and board games for kids.  It's a real crowd pleaser.

It meant so much to him that his besties showed up to celebrate him, and to give him a little closure on elementary school -- and I think we can all agree the tangerine IPA was surprisingly good.

While I'm entering an emotional tailspin with that last tale, I might as well share an email I received on the last day of school from a friend who has a daughter in Lucien's class --

"Hey MJ,

This morning as we left for the airport, here's how it went:

Daughter: Mama! I'm bummed out about our class clown leaving us.
Mom: Class clown?
Daughter: Lucien. There are other funny kids in class, but they're sort of malicious. Lucien's just not. He's just fun. Every morning when teacher takes roll call, it goes:

Molly? Here.
Leo? Here.
Micky? Here.
Lucien? Potato.

Mom: What happens then?

Daughter: The teacher laughs every time. It's a really good way to start the day.

MJ, we'll so miss that potato. Best to you all."


I've since been informed Lucien's class has a plan for the first day back to school after break.  The class is going to wait until roll call is finished, during which Lucien's name will inevitably be skipped, then all yell together at the very end, "Lucien? POTATO!!!"

We went Christmas caroling with our crew before Christmas. We were a big group of over 40 people. We hired a teacher from the nearby music school to come play the piano so we could practice beforehand but the practice didn't matter much. We were awful. Who cares, let's hit the streets!

Freebird! Freebird!

Many people enjoy carolers but more than a handful waved us away with panicked expressions, one even giving a frantic cut-the-throat gesture. One woman said she was Jewish so would feel uncomfortable but when we told her we'd also learned the Dreidel Song for just such a situation, she still wasn't into it.

Another guy, when approached and asked if he would like us to carol for him, said, "No thank you, I really have to go to the bathroom" and shut the door. We tried not to feel offended. I mean, the guy really had to go to the bathroom, right?  No one can fault him for that.

We soldiered on in our somewhat unwelcome neighborhood caroling quest.  We hit Chuck's Hop Shop and caroled for the beer drinkers within and also hit the family-owned corner store where we all buy our six-packs and quirky birthday gifts before we head to each other's homes on a regular basis.

One of those hats hanging on the wall was purchased for me by my friend Rusty 

for my 40th birthday party. 

It said "I heart weed."

I still wear it when I want to get people talking. 

I spent Christmas Eve -- pre-root canal, so in even more excruciating pain than post-root canal -- at Seattle Mom's annual Christmas Eve dinner party with a bag of frozen corn I'd fished out of Seattle Mom and Dad's freezer pressed to my face.  Seattle Mom looked at me, as the corn half-thawed on my face and I grimaced at her with red wine-stained teeth, and said, "Honey, that's your corn now."

Christmas Eve knife wielding

Our Christmas Day was speedy because we had a Mexico move to-do list staring us in the face.  We opened presents as quickly as possible then immediately began dismantling the Christmas tree and tearing down the festive holiday decorations decorating Banister Abbey.

I got Alex a "Man Crate" for Christmas that he had to pry open with a crowbar.

He confirmed; it made him feel very manly.

Our Christmas tree was undecorated and lying by the side of the road by 8:00 a.m. on the 26th.  We must have looked like the worst of the worst Scrooges to the dog walkers who wandered by and saw our sad tree on the curb that morning, discarded nearly immediately after the event it was bred to celebrate.  All our decorations were already boxed and back in closets as well, and we had moved on to pulling our warm weather clothes from the closet and shoving them into boxes in preparation for our next life chapter.

There wasn't much relaxation in Seattle those last couple of weeks, just stress and angst and tooth pain and sad-yet-festive farewell parties and long hugged goodbyes with our dearests. Natani was the worst of the goodbyes for all of us, which was surprising since she makes us batshit crazy on a daily basis.  I guess it's because we know the rest of our people will continue their lives as usual and we'll be in regular contact with them as usual, but there's no question Natani will be posted at our front window daily with a dumbfounded alert kind of "where'd dey go and when dey back? Guys? Guys?"

these two love each other more than anything

their goodbye was awful

we'll be back, sweet crazy dog girl.

We decided to come to Colorado for a week, where we are currently happy and snuggly (and fully recovered from root canals so once again narcotics-free) before making the bigger jump to Mexico City.  It made it more hectic on the Seattle end, the desire to spend a week with my family before leaving the country, but a transition period in beautiful blue sky Colorado was exactly what we needed --

....but it may be too late, minds may be lost for good

Being in Colorado is pure downtime after pure stress.  Now everything's been decided, whatever has been forgotten has been forgotten, our house and animals are in good hands with our superb house/petsitters, and we can say, "Meh, screw it" and go all limpy and soft in the warm Colorado sun while my mom makes my favorite lasagna.

My favorite part of being in Colorado, aside from the beautiful scenery just outside the back door of my parents' house, is watching my mother take half an hour to compose an email.  Things always go wrong for her on computers so she inevitably ends up saying things like, "Well for pete's sake, now everything's suddenly gone bold and it looks like I'm yelling at Bonnie."

I lie in wait to observe moments like that.  They make her who she is, and she is perfect.

I love it here. But the clock is ticking, and our comfortable loving cocoons of both Seattle and Colorado are closing up for now.  It's time to make the next leap.

(dammit, Coco, really?)

See you in Mexico City,
MJ


PS.  Before I go for real, a mini ode. Thanks for the daily laughs this week when I needed them badly, Mom and Dad.  You put the truly funny in my attempted funny, and have made me the happy oddball I am today.  You continue to inspire me with your senses of humor, love, mental fortitude, and unwavering cheerful support of all your children and grandchildren.

In the words of my Grandma J, "Well you're just a pleasure to have around...."

I will never look at a Dyson hand dryer

nor count sheep

ever the same again.

A week with them, with their desire to be constantly active, to move, their desire to love everything,
 always changes you for the better.

Hasta luego....

Stupid City Folk and Unlucky Children

Summer is over so I'm back.  I hope I can reclaim my writing mojo after these months of neglect.  It was a lost summer in terms of blogging and book writing but it was a winner in terms of kids staying up late, dirt and bugs. Oh, and Minecraft.  Lots and lots of Minecraft.

I'll start with a quick update on the kids, just a few anecdotes to illustrate not much has changed, they are still very much themselves.

I asked Lucien to bring me my purse the other day. This is what happened when he handed it over:

Loosh:  "Mom, I found some sticky stuff on the bottom of your purse so I licked it."
Me:  (staring) "Lucien, why would you ever lick a sticky mystery substance off a purse?"
Loosh:  (shrugging) "I figured there's always a chance it's maple syrup!"

He's not technically wrong.  He also doesn't appreciate the overwhelming odds that sticky substance was bar sludge gathered when I sat my purse on a bar floor during our last Moms' Night Out.  

I took Lucien to pick up some wood stain for the house and asked him to help carry the various cans to the car after we'd checked out.  Lucien looked at the cans and suddenly began waving his arms around and yelling in the small store: "Hey everybody!  Help!  Help!  My mom's trying to kill me over here!"

Isn't it wonderful that kid can still take me by surprise?  I whispered, "What the HECK are you DOING?" as all heads swiveled in my direction and beady eyes pointed at my face.  Lucien then pointed at the label on the can of wood stain, put a hand to his heart, and read aloud in a voice befitting the most seasoned of stage actors: "Warning!  Poison! Keep out of reach of children!"  Then he bowed.

Coco is doing well in her new preschool.  She now thinks she can write (false) so every surface in the house is covered in an indecipherable scrawl -- it's like a cross between a Picasso sketch and sanskrit.  I hate it when she hands me a piece of paper covered in the stuff and says happily, "Read it, Mommy!"  I start making stuff up but realize I'm veering wildly off her intended course when the corners of her mouth turn down and her eyes turn hard.  Then she usually grabs the paper from me in a huff and tells me I don't know how to read.

Coco has also begun to address audiences -- gathered several times a day for her meandering ballet and singing shows in our entry hall -- as "Welcome to my show, unicorns and gentlemen."  I asked her what happened to the "ladies" and she shrugged and looked unconcerned.  She did recently tell me she wants to be a unicorn when she grows up so perhaps the two are related.

My annual solo-parent road trip with my two young children happened last month.  I drove them to Denver, where my mom had recently undergone surgery to replace one of her knees with a titanium counterpart.  I felt perhaps I could be of assistance in the aftermath of such major surgery.  Judy may now be part machine but she and Dad could probably use help procuring groceries until she gets her bionic legs under her.

Very few people understand how happy I am to do these road trips with my kids.  Most people tell me it sounds like torture.  It's not even close.  It's a heart-swelling combination of my kids having strange conversations in the backseat, my favorite music blaring loudly, the open road with nobody on it, an incredible view and an 80 mph speed limit, and a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos within arms reach at all times.  How can that be considered torture? It's euphoria!

Have I inspired you to round up some kids (preferably your own) and drive long distances?

This was somewhere in Idaho.  Maybe Utah.  Hard to say.

I like to believe our time in Colorado was helpful or at least uplifting to my recovering Mama but I fear it was mostly exhausting.  Dad and I took the kids to a nearby skate park daily so Mom could rest.  Lucien ran into Coco pretty hard at the skate park at one point, knocking her off her scooter.  He apologized but as he scooted off again he yelled over his shoulder, "Ha! I'm awesome!" Coco dusted herself off, shook her head and muttered, "He's not awesome, he's dumb."

Coco gave all my old Strawberry Shortcake dolls a ride
on the Remington sculpture.
Some are faring better than others.

We took the scenic route home to Seattle via Arches National Park in southern Utah.

We were inside the park well before 7:00 am -- a result of having early riser children and in this case a total plus. Instead of sharing the arches with five million tourists, as usually happens when one visits Arches, we had the arches all to ourselves as the sun rose over them.  The kids and I scrambled around Sand Dune Arch, and up and down under Double Arch, completely alone for the better part of two hours.  It was some of my happiest time on earth so far.

When the first giant tour bus pulled into the parking lot, we left.  

We were no longer willing nor able to share the park with others.  

After returning from our road trip, we immediately packed the car back up to go spend Labor Day weekend with our friends on one of the San Juan Islands.

There were 16 of us scattered about in tents in the yard and the nooks and crannies inside our cottage rental. There was only one bathroom.  It's a damn good thing we're a very close-knit group.

 

We stumbled across many sleeping men during our long weekend on the island.  We did what anyone would do in our situation -- we messed with 'em.

We decorated this one with meat.

We zipped this one into his sweatshirt.

Bam, rabbit ears, sucker

We made headlines during our island stay, at least the imaginary ones in our minds.  We went for a group hike one day and nearly lost all our kids when they followed each other Pied Piper style towards a cliff. After we'd screamed and gathered them back up again, we were able to laugh and picture the headline we would have generated: "Wow, stupid city folk lose ALL NINE of their children."

Seattle Dad gathered wood for the bonfire one night and returned with a beautiful thick cross section of a log.  We commended him for the great find.  The next morning we realized he had "gathered," and we had subsequently burned, the piece of wood the next door neighbors used as a step from their backyard down to the beach.  The absence of said log created quite a drop.  That incident spawned our next imaginary headline:  "Elderly woman faceplants attempting beach access when stupid city folk burn her stairs."

Now that I've more or less done a crappy job of wrapping up our summer, it's time to move on.  The first items to address are our wills, or lack thereof.  Alex and I have been without wills all this time and realize it's unacceptable with small children in the picture.

We met with a lawyer to right our wrong.  It's fun to sit in a room with a lawyer and envision how life will be when you die.  Bossy people must love making wills because they can be all, "I'm gonna tell you what to do even after I'm DEAD, HA!"

Al and I decided pretty quickly that Raba and Zee should take the kids if both of us croak before they're grown.  Then the lawyer asked, "What happens if both you and Alex are dead and Raba and Zee are dead?" and we exclaimed, "Dear God!  These are very unlucky children!"

Anywho, I'm back.
MJ

Vacation Cliffs Notes

I've been absent from the blog for a long time because I road-tripped with the kids to Colorado -- but only after I took Lucien to the emergency room where he was evaluated for bacterial meningitis.

It was determined Lucien did not have bacterial meningitis after five hours of testing in a small windowless room with stickers on the door that said cryptic things like, "If ye wear not a mask in this room, death be most certainly upon you."

I got so hungry in that room I kept sliding out of my chair to the floor but it wasn't possible to leave my scared boy alone to go find a vending machine.  My hands started to look meaty and delicious.

Lucien, thankfully, did not need a spinal tap to rule out bacterial meningitis.  Each time "spinal tap" was mentioned by the doctor, I had two very conflicting reactions -- my heart seized in fear for Lucien as I resisted the urge to yell  "IT GOES TO 11!  LICK MY LOVE PUMP!"

At the very moment Lucien was deemed fit for release, there was a ruckus in the hallway.  A nurse popped her head into our room and said, "Please stay in this room for your own safety!" and slammed the door shut again.  She said it so cheerfully I briefly thought it was a pleasurable thing to be shut back into our tiny windowless room.

We then heard what sounded like a wildcat out in the hallway.  More accurately, a wildcat who knew four-letter words wrestling wildebeests with authoritative voices.

I texted my nurse friend and asked, "What does 'Code Gray' mean? I'm hearing it repeatedly over the intercom."  She responded, "That's a behavior code, it means someone's going nuts and they're calling for a show of force from the staff."  I thought, "Hell, I'll get out there and wrestle that motherf*cker to the ground myself if it means we can leave."

When it was finally safe to exit our room, we walked quickly through a group of policemen who were somberly discussing "meth-induced psychosis" with the emergency room staff.

The incident gave Lucien and I context for our first "drugs are bad" conversation.  It happened as I was carrying him like a baby out to the car, both of us covered in dried vomit, but it was a start.

A few days later, The Loosh was feeling much better so I packed the car for our road trip to Colorado. Most people think I'm nuts to drive 20 hours alone with the kids but it was a great trip, the kids were awesome and we had a lot of fun talking about wind farms, hay bales and cow poop.

The trip went so well thanks in part to the "surprise bags" I tossed over my shoulder into the backseat every two hours (thanks for the idea, Ohio Mom, I love you). They were filled with crap I bought in the $1 section at Target.  If I handed my kids bags containing Post-its, puffy stickers and a couple markers at any other time in their lives, they would look at me like, "What the hell are you doing, Mom?"

But in the back of a car, it was miraculously like winning the lottery every damn time.

You're the best, surprise bags

We spent the first night of our road trip in a hotel in Utah where I split the kids into separate beds and then had to decide with whom to bunk.  I chose Coco.  It seemed logical given her size but I didn't realize one insurmountable problem -- Coco is a spooner.  If you turn away from her and try to sleep, she will soon be pressed up against your back.  Then her skinny little arm will appear over your shoulder and snake up and around your head.

My muffled voice could be heard for much of the night, "Coco, I need some space please" but she just squeezed harder.  I would have fared better with Lucien, the restless-legged horizontal sleeper.  Kicks to the kidneys would have been more restful than My Little Shadow.

Driving through the western United States is one of the greatest things you can do.  There are many times you're the only car on the road and actual pieces of tumbleweed are blowing across the highway.

 Western road trips are so magical, rainbows end in the middle of the roads

A lot happened during our visit to Colorado.  It's impossible to address it all.   I'm going to do some greatest hits bullet points, throw in some pictures, and then I promise my summer vacation tales are over.

• Coco, of course, got sick immediately upon arrival at my parents' house.  Then there were five days of 105-degree fever, one febrile seizure and one visit to Urgent Care.  She would not be the last family member to fall prey to the virus from hell.

• While Coco was sick, the rest of us had a good time playing with my Fashion Plates set from 1982.

 

• I had a visit from Paris Karin, a friend and fellow blogger from our Paris days who now lives in Denver.  Denver Karin was standing next to me when Coco had her seizure and was an invaluable voice of calm and reason when I needed it most.  Paris 4-ever, woman.

• Lucien entertained himself that first week by playing in my parents' pond with the frogs and dragonflies that live there, and by striking unintentionally phallic poses.

Oh dear

He also spent time in an inflatable pool imprinted with cryptic instructions --

1) Balance a large ball on your baby's back while you shoot arrows out of your eyeballs at your baby's head.

2) Do not walk away from your baby to throw a javelin.

• The following is the kind of news you find in a Colorado newspaper.  A bear walked into a bar and nobody noticed -- 

• The reason we went to Colorado was to celebrate my parents' 50th wedding anniversary.  50!!!  Coco recovered, Alex joined us the following week by plane, and then we all drove into the Rocky Mountains to spend a week at a YMCA family camp together. 

• The YMCA of the Rockies does not permit alcohol in its dining room because it believes in "healthy family environments" yet it serves fried chicken and french fries for dinner.

• The first night at family camp, we joined a drum circle where Alex, unfortunately, got a hold of a cowbell.

• I got sick with "the virus" on Day Two of family camp.  I then missed the family hiking and family fly fishing because I was busy wishing for death in my bed.

• A squirrel got into our room, which made Alex scream like a little girl.

 

I'll see you in your nightmares, French Canadian.

• Coco rode a pony named Strawberry and hasn't stopped talking about him since.  She is slowly driving us all insane--

• Mom met "the virus" on Day Three of family camp.  "Another One Bites the Dust" became the official theme song of the vacation.

• We switched from our three individual rooms to a family cabin on Day Four.  At the time of booking months prior, we were unable to book a cabin for the entire week, just part of it.  The switch seemed a good idea at the time.  But the actual day of the switch, with several family members now ailing, the six-hour homeless period between rooms and cabin was unfortunately timed.   

• While we were waiting, Mom and I found a nice bench outside the lodge upon which to sit and wish for death together. 

This is a reenactment.  We felt better by this time.
It's also a strange angle that makes Mom look like she has a tiny head and a giant-like lower body.

• Meanwhile, back in Seattle, we began receiving photos and alarmed texts from neighbors asking about stuff happening in our yard -- 

The short answer is we unexpectedly had to replace our sewer line in the middle of our exterior project.  It's a long story and no, I don't want to talk about it.


Back to the Rocky Mountains.

• We moved into our cabin and it was everything we hoped and dreamed --

The children were not allowed to wander too far off the porch lest they be devoured by a mountain lion. 

• My sister is a talented oil painter so did a surprise painting of Mom and Dad for their anniversary present.  We hung it over the fireplace when my parents weren't looking.  We then spent a frustrating amount of time trying to get them to notice the painting by saying things like, "Should we build a fire now?  Should we build a REALLY TALL fire? Should we build a SUPER DUPER TALL FIRE?"

• Nothing worked until we asked the very bizarre, "Should we go into town and buy something to put on the mantel?"  Mom looked at us like we were batshit crazy and asked, "why the heck would we do that?" before finally glancing at the mantel.  Then yeeeeeah!  So much love!

• My sister stole Mom's address book out of their house months ago and sent me pictures of all the addresses.  I then wrote their friends and family members and asked them to send my parents a letter for their 50th anniversary.  I received lots of letters and photos in response and put them all in a big book. 

• The book took some time to create.  Our dining room table was occupied for weeks --

It was worth it when they realized what it was

• I hated to leave them.  My family is a lot of fun even when we're all sick. 

• On the drive back to Seattle, we drove through the Tetons and Yellowstone, two of our favorites.

Old Faithful still draws a crowd.  

But the crowd wanders away before Old Faithful is finished doing its thing.  

We have short attention spans in this country.

• Yellowstone is a steaming, sputtering, erupting, magically surreal landscape and it blew my science-loving son's mind. 

 

See you next year, incredible Yellowstone.

•  Now a question:  if you approach a construction zone but the person holding the STOP sign has completely disappeared into their car at the side of the road, do you still have to stop?

 

(the answer is apparently yes, judging by the sudden hysterically waving arms)

• And some advice:  if your kids annoy you in the car with constant requests from the backseat, a good idea is to sing "You Can't Always Get What You Want" loudly until they give up and cross their arms in frustration and anger.  Then high-five your partner/spouse.

• We arrived home.  I was sad to be without my family but happy to be back in Banister Abbey, pain in the ass money pit she is.

• And that's what I did with my summer vacation.

Now let's move on!
MJ