I'm just too young

She's Back

I don't have much time to chat; I'm knee deep in Halloween party preparations.  That's a literal statement because I currently have my stockpile of Halloween decorations stacked in the entryway.

Our house is usually thoroughly decorated by the 1st of October but it's taking me longer to organize this year because of life and its numerous commitments and stresses. We therefore shuffle through scattered severed fingers and fake spider webs in the hall the way one would shuffle through crisp brightly-colored Autumn leaves on a park trail.

I've realized I can no longer decorate the outside of my house for Halloween, which has deflated my enthusiasm somewhat.  Last week I placed fake tombstones in their usual location in the yard but returned thirty seconds later to find my gleeful desert mutt Natani chewing through them with rapturous joy. It was a welcome present from the mommy to her dog child and she thanked me for it with many styrofoam-laden kisses.

My dog trainer comes frequently so, believe it or not, things are calming slightly on the dog front. My dog trainer is so intimidating that when she tells Natani to "sit" our whole family sits.  I've never seen her smile.  She told me once I'm being "a pushover, a total pansy" when it comes to the dog.  It's true but it hurt my feelings all the same.

There has not been a dull moment with this dog since the kids and I grabbed her out of the desert. For instance, she likes to chase bees but the recent day she finally caught one was the day we realized she has a serious bee allergy.  Her face puffed, her skin turned red, her eyes swelled, she gave up on life  --

her face is not supposed to look like that

but congrats, dog, you finally caught one of the little f*ckers

A dose of vet-directed Benadryl knocked her out cold but she still scratched at her face constantly in her sleep --

She recovered and has gone back to chasing bees.  Dogs can be stupid.

We've done quite a bit of hiking this fall.  We went to Mount Rainier with some friends and rented a cozy cabin with a fireplace, a dart board, and a hot tub.  Add a few bottles of wine, as we most assuredly did, and you have a recipe for either fun or tragedy.  Ours went the "fun" route but that was pure luck.

Mount Rainier is one of my favorite places to hike because I dislike "tree hiking." After five minutes of walking through trees, trees, more trees, I'm bored out of my mind.  I would rather hike through a parking lot because at least you won't get your boots muddy AND you can play the license plate game.

But Mount Rainier offers wide-open trails and subsequent wide-open views of the volcano towering above.  I will never tire of hiking there because it often looks like this --

However, when it's socked in by clouds, you get something more like this --

We did the fireman carry with Lucien when he got grumpy

which was often

because he did not believe we were on a volcano

Smile, son, I swear it's right behind us

We are lucky Mount Rainier is only a couple hours away.  We will return when weather conditions are more favorable and less likely to tick off the children.

Coco turned 6 and chose to have her birthday party at the gymnastics academy.  She paired her favorite sparkly blue gymnastics leotard with pink fringed Minnetonka boots.  I have always thought gymnastics paired well with cultural appropriation and am thrilled to discover she feels the same.

that's my girl

I can get mushy here and discuss the rapid growth of my children and how it both delights and depresses me.  Coco's age is mystifying; her current argumentative attitude suggests a much older person yet her huggable adorable self reminds me of the baby she once was.  I want to both reprimand her for sassing me and squeeze her face while babbling baby talk.  Sometimes I vacillate rapidly between the two;  it's a confusing time for both of us.

My feelings for Lucien are no different.  He holds my hand less frequently now and has begun rolling his damn eyes at his parents, how dare he!  He also now wears the same size shoe as me.  I don't want him to grow up, don't want him to stop cuddling with me on the couch, don't want him to leave me, ever, yet I can't wait for him to grow out of his current rain boots because they're cool and mine have recently sprung a leak.

Children aside, I also recently had dinner with President Barack Obama.

I attended a fundraiser for Senator Patty Murray and President Obama was the "special guest."  We have supported Patty Murray for years with our votes but we attended her fundraiser to see and hear the President.  She probably understood he was the bigger draw and didn't take offense.

If your politics differ, I hope you can still feel happy for me -- I'm a diehard liberal and a fangirl when it comes to Obama.  My besties feel much the same. We texted each other pictures of our possible wardrobe selections for the event beforehand and voted on each others options.  We've never done that before.

I ended up at the nurse's union table because my friends are affiliated.  I am not a nurse.  It's a long story how I wound up in that chair but they welcomed me with open arms and I'm filled with gratitude for the opportunity to join them for the event.

One of the women at the table was introduced as "the bookeeper" but I heard "the goalkeeper" and then imagined people in the nurse's union fighting each other in grueling sports matches during their lunch breaks.  I bet I'm not wrong!

Obama was great, though for me it's unlikely he'd be anything else.  We all know he's an incredible orator.  He was inspiring.  He was funny.  He also looks tired.  I do not envy him his job, what a thankless tedious thing it is.

We rushed forward and tried to shake his hand as he left the room.  "The goalkeeper" at our table scored a handshake but we all missed.  That's OK, I'm not sure I wanted the Secret Service guys looking at me like that.  Their jobs are also tough.

Alex and I are still shopping for an RV.  We can't decide on the model.  We want something small, super compact, yet able to sleep four people.  It's harder than we imagined.  There is nothing that's perfect, nothing that checks all the boxes, and as of now we can't agree on which boxes can remain unchecked.

In the meantime we will continue to attend RV shows and shrug at each other.  The kids will continue to get bored and say things like, "Oh my God, another RV show?"  It's a huge purchase and we will not commit until we are sure so just relax, kids.

This one's amazing but it's four feet longer than I'm willing to go 

since I'll be maneuvering it by myself much of the time around the Western U.S. 

Help me.  

I volunteered for a 4th Grade field trip yesterday.  It was an all-day field trip to a corn maze an hour outside of Seattle grown in the shape of Washington State.  The paths through it are the highways of Washington, marked with street signs and all, and there are landmarks built within with placards detailing the stories of Washington's towns, tribes, and significant events.  In theory, it's cool.

But when you're in charge of a group of 4th graders whose job it is to navigate the Washington State map you're given and told to find six towns/landmarks and answer questions about those very things before you can leave the maze, it becomes torturous.  The worst part was chaperones were not allowed to intervene.  If the kids made a wrong decision in their navigation, we had to let them make it.

That worked fine for the first couple sights because it was in the name of education and autonomy and skill-building.  I was able to hold my tongue.  But an hour in with four sights left to find, shit got real.  I'm only slightly ashamed to say I yelled, "WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU GO NORTH ON I-5 WHEN WE'RE TRYING TO GET TO OLYMPIA?"  because we'd been in there a long time and I was getting hungry.

I may not be the most mature chaperone but they have to love me anyway because I volunteer to go on all these damn things.

I blew off some steam that evening after the field trip by attending a concert by one of my favorite bands, Beirut.  I was tired, though, so didn't fight my way to the front.  Instead Al and I chose a wall we could sit against until the band took the stage, and when they appeared we could stand up but lean heavily against it when necessary to keep us upright.

Anyone surprised I love this band?  They're from Santa Fe with a heavy mariachi influence.



Sign me up, Santa Fe.  Indeed.

I'm off to finally Halloween the crap out of my house,
MJ

Two weeks

A man biked past our house this morning.  He was nude.  There was a sign hanging from his handlebars that said, "Hating your body is stupid."

I wish I had a picture of him.  Instead, please accept this picture of... something.

Happy Summer from Seattle everybody!  In our city, the mountains are out, the temps are rising and the people are getting naked.  Sweet wonderful weird Seattle.

I began the summer by stepping on a hoe in the garage while foraging for a paint can.  The handle came flying at me and cracked me right in the forehead.  I stood there flabbergasted for a minute, "Oh my God, that sh*t really happens?"

Looney Tunes = truth bombs

The first two weeks of summer break were devoted to the Loosh.  I handed Coco off every day so Lucien and I could roam the city without her short little legs holding us back.  It's rare for me to have one-on-one time with Lucien.  Coco's always with us or Alex is stealing him away to do "man stuff" which I can only assume involves burping and grunting and possibly hunting buffalo?

For just two weeks, I wanted Lucien to myself.  Because he's thinking all these random awesome thoughts and I'm missing them.  Because he's starting to figure out what sex is all about but is still totally confused by it.  Because he still automatically reaches out for my hand when we walk down the street and I will soak that sh*t up until the second he says "Mom knock it off I'm too old to hold your hand you're embarrassing me oh my god."

(At that moment, I will try to keep a stiff upper lip as my heart breaks quietly inside my chest.)

We covered a lot of ground in two weeks.  Here's a Lucien cell phone picture extravaganza.  I take a picture of him approximately every thirty seconds so comfort yourselves with the knowledge I left hundreds out.


The Fremont Troll under the bridge --

The Loosh in one hand, a Volkswagen in the other

Archie McPhees, where he was introduced to important things like Pop Rocks and Mad Libs and Jesus bobble heads --

Gameworks, where he refused to acknowledge he was still too small for some things --

Beaches and starfish --

Waiting for the bus with festively decorated yet cold and unfriendly people --

Lunches --

 

Miscellaneous running --

Brain Freeze --

We also bought 36 pet crickets.  They were a reward for Lucien, who's really into bugs, for being a fantastic dental patient.  He had a cavity filled and didn't move a muscle.  That's harder for Lucien than most people.

We purchased the crickets at the pet store in the "reptile food" section.  Our crickets hit the jackpot.  They will not be fed to a snake; instead they will be free to live out their short, meaningless lives on our kitchen counter. 

Having pet crickets is unexpectedly wonderful.  When they chirp, I feel like an eight-year-old on a summer night back in Ohio.  All that's missing are the mosquitoes the size of your fist that can drain your arm of blood in half a millisecond.  I don't miss those damn things.

pet crickets, not snake snacks

We also have two pet aquatic snails which were inherited from Lucien's first grade classroom at the end of the school year.  They are awful because they smell like death at all times.

But I still have to keep feeding them because it's the right thing to do.

WHY WON'T YOU STUPID THINGS JUST DIE???

Lucien and Alex recently planted some tomatoes and strawberries in the yard.  But Oscar keeps running over them while barking hysterically at dogs on the other side of the fence.  So Lucien is now protecting his plants with stakes and dinosaurs.

There's nothing left in the budget for weed removal

I'm feeling completely in love with my family today because I'm moments away from leaving on vacation without them.  There is both relief and anxiety.  I'm not going to reveal the reason for my trip right now but trust me, it's really going to be something.

Alex is taking the kids to Quebec during the same period of time.  Please wish Al good luck with the two kids on the two flights that take all day.  Poor brave Al.  Oscar and the snails and the crickets will be cared for by our housesitters and neighbors.  That should cover everybody. (?)

Happy 4th of July tomorrow.  Let's go fire up the grill and eat some meat.

(And here's a not-so-subtle clue as to my impending cricket-filled whereabouts) --



See you on the flipside,
Happy Summer!
MJ

Amen, brother

I love the nightlife

When I'm not cowering in a corner terrified of my fellow countrymen, I like to go out and have some fun. I especially like (need) to go out and have some fun when Alex is out of town.  If I don't get out and see my circle of people while he's away, I don't do well. 

It hasn't always been this way.  I'm an introvert and have historically enjoyed my time alone when Al has traveled for work.  But now something's changed; instead of being a happy cozy blanket-wrapped slipper-wearing hermit,  I become a crazed anxious wall-climbing hair-pulling needy social vampire tornado bomb.  I blame Paris for this but I'm not sure why.

I go to bed way too late when I'm on my own.  I think it's because when Alex is home, we have this conversation every night --

Al:  I'm going to bed.
MJ: OK, I'll be up in a bit.
Al:  You have to go to bed now, too.
MJ: Why?
Al:  Because if you don't go to bed now, you'll wake me up whenever you do go to bed.
MJ: I'll be super quiet.
Al:  But the bathroom light will wake me up.
MJ: I will wash my face and brush my teeth in pitch black darkness.
Al:  I'll hear the water.
MJ: I will wash my face and brush my teeth with air.
Al:  I'll wake up when you get into the bed.
MJ: I'll sleep on the floor.
Al:  Go to bed now.
MJ: No.
Al:  Go to bed.
MJ: No.
Al:  You are not a good person.
MJ: I am never going to bed.

With Al away, I become drunk on my bedtime freedom, staying up later than I ever dreamed possible!  Unfortunately, because Al's not around to help with the kids in the morning, I also have to get up earlier than usual.  This phenomenon is known as "burning the candle at both ends for absolutely no good reason."

I went out several times during his most recent China trip.  One of those nights began when Supermodel Neighbor texted me "The Babies play the early show at Barboza."  It sounded like a top secret spy message to me so I reported him immediately to Homeland Security.

Supermodel Neighbor has another friend with the same name as me.  We call her "The Other MJ." The three of us went to see The Babies at Barboza that night.  I arrived quite a bit earlier than they did so had to sit through the opening bands by myself.

The first act was an abomination.  The lead singer -- and I use the term loosely -- screamed a lot.  When he did "sing" it was so flat I tried to catch his eye, pointing up towards the ceiling with the message, "Come on, buddy, lift that note way the hell up so it's mildly bearable."  Twice he stopped, apologized, and asked to start the song over.  That's when I knew all hope was lost.

The singing was bad but the lyrics were worse.  The words in all caps were yelled, so you get the proper effect --

"It's a sunny day in Seattle.

I better not sleep all day.

Because it's going to RAIN TOMORROW

RAIN TOMORROW RAIN TOMORROW

RAIN TOMORROW RAIN TOMORROW"

Good grief.  I distracted myself by putting my hands over my ears and looking around the room.  I noticed many people were not only drinking PBR in cans, they were drinking PBR in cans held in beer cozies.  That's really taking hipster to a whole new level.

After their set, the band sat at a table right next to me, where their supportive friends patted their arms and said things like, "No, really, the vocals were really good this time!" and "It was seriously your best show yet."  They're talentless as a band but I'm happy for them because they have really good friends.

The second band was fronted by a woman who screamed "I FEEL DEAD" and seemed to take pride in the fact she couldn't play a saxophone because she wasn't embarrassed at all as it squeaked into the microphone.  By the time Supermodel Neighbor and The Other MJ arrived, I'd begun plotting my escape, drawing intricate plans on the back of cocktail napkins.

The Babies saved the night. The music finally got good, the instruments finally properly played.


The Other MJ pulled me towards the front of the stage where we engaged in the appropriate level of dancing for a Seattle show.  There are stringent limits regarding what's acceptable.  You can stand, preferably arms crossed, hands in your pockets if you must, and bounce up and down a little.  Swaying left to right is also permitted, as is nodding your head up and down in time to the music.

If you do more than that, people will assume you're on drugs.  At least that's what I assumed of the spaz next to me, a dude with long hair who seemed to be experiencing some kind of music-induced seizure.

We're here for the holidays.  No travel, which is both a bummer and a relief.  It would be great to see family but we really wanted to spend Christmas here at Banister Abbey.  Stockings are hung, Christmas tree is up, Santa is somehow magically going to come through our ancient bricked-up fireplace (Lucien is not convinced, "Santa can get through bricks?" to which we reply, "Yes, absolutely, hush now, child.")


I'm not quite ready for the holiday so am doing the usual last minute holiday rushing.  I've been ignoring Contractor God as he works like crazy on The Goddamn House, trying to ready it for rental in the New Year.  He calls and says things like, "Go buy the refrigerator" or "You have to make an important decision right now" and I'm like, "Leave me alone, I have to go buy cookies and pretend I baked them myself when our friends come over tonight."

Finally, this is the side of my car up until about fifteen minutes ago --

Lucien has fessed up, said he and his friends wrote "poop" on my admittedly dirty car while waiting at the bus stop.  At least it's an improvement from The Cockmobile?

Happy Holidays from us in The Poopmobile,
MJ