Adios, Chicken Pizza

This is it, the last post from Mexico City. Those eight months went way too damn fast.

The next handful of days hold transition and chaos for all of us. As sad as I am to leave Mexico, I am looking forward to being back with the Seattle crew. I am also really looking forward to squeezing my crazy dog and poking Stella the bird in the belly with a pencil (the eraser end, I'm not a monster). I'll even be happy to see Bobo the bearded dragon; he may not emote much but I'm sure he will also feel reunion joy somewhere in his lizard heart.

We're finally comin' home, girl!

(Though I suspect she stopped looking for us out that window

a long time ago.)

Let's finish this road trip. Let's do this finale. There's probably no better way to celebrate our time in Mexico than by continuing to wax nostalgic about vacation and posting a barrel full of photos of this magnificent country.

(Part One here, Part Two here, Part Three here ....)

After Merida we took a slight detour to another pueblo magico, Izamal. Izamal is also known as The Golden City (or is it The Yellow City? I don't know, tick tock, no time to research, nothing about this thing is gonna be fact checked) because every building in town is painted a bright egg yolk yellow.

Izamal also has several pyramids in the middle of its town. We visited them via horse drawn carriage from the center square. I usually refuse to entertain the idea of horse drawn carriage tours because I don't think it's very nice to make horses drag people around cities all day. Horses aren't meant to work in big cities on hot pavement with cars whizzing past them all the time. The stories of horses collapsing in Central Park from exhaustion and stress were enough for me to swear off of them forever.

But check me out, I'm Captain Hypocrite!

(our horse driver and our car driver, Mario, chatting in the front)

Alex knows my feelings on horse drawn carriage so first approached the man to discuss the care of his horse. Looking around Izamal, it's more of a quiet village than a city. There are very few cars whizzing around and at the time of our meeting him, our horse Picasso was munching on some grass and looking pretty chill indeed. I sure hope he likes the color yellow, though, because if he hates it he is living in his own personal hell.

I believe this is our final giant city sign of the trip. 

Behind us, a horsedrawn carriage, though that is not our Picasso.

If I look more closely, that horse appears to be wearing a humiliating pink hat.

Well, shit.

That is one wild pyramid.

Lucien was shat upon by a bird,

likely one who did not believe

he is an authentic tech expert forever.

There is one Mayan ruin you must see, according to the world. If you're on the Yucatan Peninsula, you must visit ye olde Chichen Itza or, for the more refined, also known as Chicken Pizza.

I did not love Chicken Pizza. I have friends who have loved this place but for me, it felt like the Disneyland of Mayan ruins. The lines forming out the front may actually make Disneyland look tame and easily accessible by comparison. Vendors are everywhere, lines snaking all over the place, millions of people standing around fanning themselves with tour bus brochures, at least half of them bused in from Cancun resorts and wearing "Official Boobie Inspector" t-shirts.

We arrived very early, aware we'd be far from alone at this most popular ruin, and were into the site within half an hour. The ruins are nice, it's true, but it's like visiting ruins as if strolling through an art museum. You can't climb anything, you can't touch anything, and your entire experience will be shared with many, many, many other people all craning their necks to look at the same thing.

Chichen Itza was one of the first Mayan ruins to be excavated and is listed as one of New 7 Wonders of the World, alongside the likes of the Great Wall of China and Macchu Picchu. I understand its significance in the history of history and that is nothing to be trifled with. Thank you for your service, Chicken Pizza, but my opinion still stands -- there are many ruins more worthy of visiting than this one. (See my best friends Palenque and Uxmal)

Chicken Pizza gets a sad rating of 2 out of 5 pyramids. 

I liked the columns, though.

They are all Official Boobie Inspectors. All of them.

I may have bitched mightily about the vendors clogging up the place but I did pick up my favorite souvenir of the entire trip at Chichen Itza from one of those very vendors. Hola again, Captain Hypocrite!

The kids saw it and said, "Mom, I'm scared" and I knew I was onto a winner --

This is all I can show now because he's nestled nicely into his packaging. 

I'll take another picture when he's hanging in his glorious new Banister Abbey location.

We weren't at Chichen Itza very long. We kind of ran through, bought my scary dude and escaped. The place was crazy by the time we left. The line for tickets was ten times longer and the parking lot was a hot mess of 50 tour buses. My advice, if you feel it's important to cross Chichen Itza off your list, is go early, run through, and run away. Buy something amazing from a vendor if you must.

We stopped at one last ruin, Ek' Balam, on our way to Cancun. It was a welcome change from Chichen Itza -- uncrowded, accessible, fun to explore, terrifying to climb. We were right back in it.

It's a small site with not a ton to do but it's adorable

The palace was impressive,

thatched roofs there to protect carvings underneath.

And we felt pretty badass at the top of a very steep

and very hot climb.

We nearly passed out, which would have been pretty bad.

You get 3.5 out of 5, Ek' Balam.

Then straight to Cancun, the town where humidity reigns and everything, including the folded clothes in your closet and your bedsheets, is moist. We parked our butts on the beach at our resort in Playa Mujeres. I have never been an enthusiastic fan of all-inclusive resorts because the cheesiness can be off the charts. But this one in Cancun had been recently visited by Seattle Mom and Irish Mom with much raving upon their return. It sounded kinda heavenly.

By the time we reached Cancun, we were burnt out on ruins and driving and posing with giant city signs and were happy to have a breather. And by "breather," of course, I mean napping on lounge chairs, drooling a little, and waking up to find a well-dressed waiter has placed a drink in your hand.

All-inclusives are full of sloth. There are many people who float around in the pool for hours on pool floats near the swim-up bar; others would stake out beach lounge chairs early in the morning then stay in them all day. I was jealous of their contentment and ability to be completely still; I'm too antsy to be still for long. I was instead a hopper; I hopped from pool to pool (there were many pools) to the beach, to the restaurants, bam bam bam I'm a resort mover and shaker.

The people in that pool haven't moved for hours. 

I hope they're OK.

The resort, Finest at Playa Mujeres, was a classy joint. Beautiful place, delicious food at its many restaurants, and no Official Boobie Inspectors to be seen. The service was great and the Kids Club so entertaining, we didn't see Coco for days.

Lucien was on the older side for Kids Club so chose to go swimming all day with me. Alex was usually napping or in the resort's gym. He likes working on his body but I don't care much about my body on vacation.

Lucien and me, underwater selfie.

Nailed it.

The Loosh and I followed a baby stingray and a crab as they swam/scuttled along the sea floor. We warned two guys there was a crab directly at their feet but they just looked at us blankly and continued their conversation about the New York Giants lineup. Fine, assholes, get clamped, I tried.

One night Alex and I tried to take Lucien to the fancy formal French restaurant at the resort. We were not quite prepared for the dinner dress code requirements. Dinners at some of the restaurants are "elegant" affairs and we didn't have too much that could be considered "elegant." We were more rife with "dirty" and "sweaty" and "crunchy."

Alex kept shoving me ahead of him into restaurants because I like dresses and brought several, so I was by far the most formal of all of us even though my dresses hadn't been washed in weeks and all reeked of old sunscreen and bugspray. Alex was hoping they'd see me at a distance, register "acceptable" in their brains, then he and Lucien could slink past unnoticed.

We were worried about our outfits but we should have been worried about other things. As we walked into Le Petit Plaisir, we were stopped at the door and told the restaurant was for guests 18 and over only. We didn't know that beforehand but Alex didn't miss a beat. He immediately gestured at Lucien and said, "What, him? He is 18."

Lucien, on cue, stood on his tiptoes, dropped his voice as low as it can go for an eleven-year-old, and began discussing the U.S.'s crushing student debt problem. The lady at the door didn't budge, just shook her head at us. We dragged Lucien out as he continued moaning, "Oh no, how am I gonna pay for college, it's so expensive....."

Our last night we attended a pirate show on the beach where we learned pirates love juggling fire and resort audiences don't like to applaud. Those poor fire-juggling pirates entertained us in near silence for an hour. Awkward.

Then we came home. I love flying into Mexico City because it is a monster --

And now we're getting ready to go. The kids have been awesome in this hectic week of preparation. They've cleaned out all our rooms and filled six bags of garbage, then schlepped them down to the basement. I think they're ready to go home because I've never seen them so motivated.

Mario took Lucien to a movie two days ago to keep him entertained while I met with the movers. We are going to miss that sweet man. We will miss Paulina, too. She cried yesterday when she left. The kids gave her a gift -- a framed photograph of Seattle with a photo of them taped to the front. They wrote on it, "We're in Seattle now but we miss you and we love you."

Next time you hear from me I'll be back in Seattle, baby. I think there will be much processing of Mexico after I return to Seattle. I didn't blog here as much as I'd hoped, most likely because I was always writing about Paris. I may write more about Mexico in Seattle than I wrote about Mexico in Mexico. Then again, I get my Paris manuscript back from my editor on August 15th so I may write more about Paris in Seattle than Mexico, too. This is all very confusing.

Goodbye, beautiful CDMX. I'm going to miss you something awful.

I'm going to miss all the sidewalk cafes and restaurants
full of beautiful chatting people
across the street from bustling artisan markets.

I'm going to miss showing my kids things

like this beautiful old fountain.

I'm going to miss our fun friends.

I'll definitely miss this view from our apartment.

Coco took this one as we stood outside enjoying one of our last sunsets.

She insists on taking pics with fisheye.

She thinks it's hilarious.

I'll even miss the times we didn't do anything at all,

just sat around our mod apartment,

watching TV and playing video games.

Though I suspect we'll be doing some of that back in Seattle, too.

Bye bye, guys. It sure wasn't long but it sure was great.

Thanks for the memories, Mexico.
Adios, amigos.
MJ

I know everything about Mexico now

There comes a moment when you realize you're in over your ex-pat head, that you're about to be more "fish out of water" than "happy." It came surprisingly early for me this time around, much like how your second baby birthing usually goes way faster than your first.

It came this time while sitting in the Denver airport waiting to board our Aeromexico flight to Mexico City. Alex had taken the children to buy junk food so I was left alone for a rare non-distracted minute. That's when I noticed everyone around me was speaking Spanish with great enthusiasm and at seemingly superhuman speed.

I understood nothing; none of them were using the fifty or so basic Spanish words and phrases I know, at least not in ways I could readily understand.  What, none of them needed to say "I like bananas" at that very moment?  I find that hard to believe.

During the flight, our flight attendant spoke only Spanish.  She walked the aisle handing out customs forms at the very moment Alex went to the bathroom so I had to handle the customs forms situation by myself. She tried to hand me just one form so I tried to tell her I needed "mas, mas" and pointed around at, I thought, just Lucien and Coco. Then she said a bunch of stuff I didn't understand so I just nodded, which I tend to do when I'm nervous about a foreign language, and then suddenly I had 100 forms in my lap. I was keeper of all the forms for everybody, everywhere.

Alex returned and said, "what the hell did you do?"  And I said, "Hey, Al, remember this? Ex-pat me is back, baby!"

In that moment, a few truths returned.  Those truths had mellowed and gone soft and rosy around the edges since our return from Paris over five years ago but that familiar, "ohhh dang" feeling brought them back into sharper focus.  This international move isn't going to be all fun and games and glamour and excitement.  It's also going to be hard work and confusion and occasional feelings of "I am absolutely alone in this world."

It ain't my first rodeo and while I'm very happy to be participating in a second rodeo, riding that damn bucking bronco hurts, especially the times you get bucked off and are suddenly on the ground eating mouthfuls of dirt.  It's humbling stuff.

The title of this post is a lie, obviously. I know zero truths about Mexico thus far, only a few anecdotal things such as Carlos is a nice man and our new apartment occasionally smells like raw sewage.

the penthouse pool is incredible but if the plumber can't figure it out,

we're moving soon.

please advise how to break that one to the kids.

But I still know everything I need to know about how it's going to go down in Mexico. I'm going to love parts and hate parts, will have days I'm on top of the world to be here and in love with everything around me and days I wonder incredulously how this country continues to function. Eventually we'll get settled and comfortable, in this case maybe just in time to return to Seattle, and then we'll be sad to be going home so soon.

I will share one thing I absolutely do know as fact so far -- if you come to Mexico City, try to fly in after sunset because flying into Mexico City at night is one of the more jaw-dropping experiences you can have. The city, as the third largest in the world with over 21 million people, just goes on and on forever.  You can't even believe there's no more darkness, only lights and lights and lights.

Coco said it best, her mouth hung wide open as we lowered closer to the ground --"Sh*t, Dad, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Alex looked at me pretty firmly then, even though he shared her sentiment.

(I may say "sh*t" occasionally but so does Alex.  It's possible but not proven that one's on me. Thankfully everyone on the flight was still speaking uncomfortably fast Spanish to notice our poor parental modeling.)

I have another post to write soon regarding all sorts of things that have happened since we've arrived. It's mucho mucho stuff and we've only been here a few days.

One of the most important things to know is Lucien and I are trying to learn Spanish together using the Duolingo app. Yo como una manzana. That means I eat an apple; I know that now because I learned the verb "to eat" today.  Right after that, we needed to purchase some clothes hangers so I looked up the Spanish word --"perchas" -- so I could search them online.

I then began following Alex around the apartment saying, "Yo como los perchas."  I thought it was funny, combining my two new words like that, but it drove Alex surprisingly batty. "Why do you keep saying that?? WHY WOULD YOU EAT HANGERS?"  Sometimes that man doesn't understand me.

Bring on the growing pains, we're ready this time, maybe,
MJ

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....

Adios, Amigos

Look at us, trying so hard to move to Mexico.

If anyone peeks through the windows these days, they'll witness extensive list making. I'm the Hunchback of the Central District, curved over my notepad and computer addressing the myriad of details necessary to get this thing off the ground. You never realize how many details are involved in the daily function of a family home until you have to change them all.

The window peepers would also witness much document scanning. The immigration attorneys need this document, the relocation people need that document, and the school to which we're hoping to gain admittance needs five hundred documents in the next five minutes -- or else adios, amigos.

The only computer in the house that has the proper driver installed for our ancient scanner is my old laptop with the cracked screen.  I tried installing the driver elsewhere and ended up with malware so I gave up and am instead squinting at an old screwed up blinky screen that is doing fascinating things to my eyes.  Now I see blinky blinky everywhere.

In scanning Lucien's file from his current school to send to the school in Mexico, I realize how many head injuries he's sustained so far in his schooling career, most of them incurred on the blacktop of the playground.  It's mind boggling (ha) to see all those head injury reports stacked in one place, all the medical advice over the years such as "keep an eye on him" and "don't let him fall asleep for four days." It's a miracle that kid still knows his own name.

The kids are not thrilled with the Mexico move, though they remain at least partially cheerful and optimistic because that is their natures. I can't blame their reluctance. They are both happy where they are now, each in class with their favorite teachers and surrounded by solid, funny groups of friends they've known since they were all babes. Lucien is especially sad because it means his time at his school ends in less than two weeks; he's a fifth grader now and will be moved on to middle school upon our return.

In truth, for many reasons, this move is a gamble -- and not just because we may get walled into Mexico thanks to Señor Trump --

I'm apprehensive about all the unknowns but am hoping to model an appropriate balance for the kids in their own apprehension; they should know I am also nervous and sad about leaving our familiar, tight-knit community but they will also hopefully learn from me it's OK to take risks and make changes, even when comfort is so damn comforting.

(They can't know exactly how nervous I am, though, because then they'd probably mutiny. I shouldn't have given them those swords for their Halloween costumes.)

I wonder if I sound off balance as I try to address my own conflicted feelings yet remain a strong, reassuring role model: "I'm scared but I'm not scared! Full lives involve risk-taking but agreed, this could be a gigantic mistake! We're gonna make so many new friends from all over the world but I'm definitely gonna cry every day!"

There's also the issue of Natani.  We have a couple responsible and well-liked house/pet sitters willing to take it all on but still, it's not going to be easy to kiss that crazy animal goodbye...

...or maybe it will?  

The desert dog attacking Dad with a viciously wagging tail

during my family's relaxing Thanksgiving holiday in our home.

She just loves so much, she can't hold herself back.

My family was indeed here for Thanksgiving.  My dad is a photographer so set up his nice camera in our front hall to take some long overdue family pictures. 

It's a kiss train with The Loosh wearing his favorite cat t-shirt.
The cat is shooting lightning out of its paws.

The Loosh knows how to Thanksgiving.

Mom said people always have their hands on each other in professionally posed photos so we decided to do that in our post-Thanksgiving photo shoot -- 

I love us.

(Is it just me or does Alex look a little "over" my family?)

Now it's Christmas and what a hectic one it will be.  I hope I remember to buy the kids some presents but honestly, won't they be happier I remembered to cancel The Seattle Times subscription, stocked up on the infrared lightbulbs Bobo needs to stay alive, and managed to get all our prescriptions filled for six plus months after many, many discussions with our insurance company?  Priorities, kids.

We had our Christmas tree delivered by a couple dads and one of their daughters from our school's Christmas tree sale.  They went above and beyond, set it up in my tree stand since Alex is once again down in Mexico, even delivered it alongside a plate of cookies and a quart of eggnog.

These days everything is double edged, every happy thing is also a little sad, so their commitment to us and to our school made me teary, which probably confused them terribly. Transitions blow.  Leaving what you love blows. But it's also exciting and awesome!  Help me.

The near future holds much change; we're hoping to be in Mexico City by the new year, which feels like only a handful of hours away. I'm not sure how long we'll be gone, at least six months, likely a little longer, and we'll be in touch after that.

Oh yes I'll be in touch, blog, in fact may be more present than ever.  If the Paris years taught me anything, it's that I won't know many people down there and will make an ass of myself on the regular.  Much processing, and for me that means writing, will ensue.

Seattle friends, this one's for you -- come playoffs, I may be a very lonely 12th Woman but promise to sport my blue and green every game just like this --

I am going to fit right in as usual

You all still have permission to come into my house, as we've always done in playoffs past, and Rusty, you better sit in your special seat so we win.  Seahawks 4-ever.

¡Vámonos!
MJ

Chip-n-dip

We've been living with boxes for weeks.  First it was the unpacking of them, then it was the breaking down and stacking of them.  They occupied most of the floor space.  We had a path between the boxes so we could get to other rooms.

I began listing the boxes for free on Craigslist and other list serves and I asked anyone within yelling distance if they were moving soon, please, please?  Getting rid of boxes became an obsession.  And little by little, the boxes went away, so there was joy throughout the kingdom.

Yesterday I sorted all the kids' clothes that were in storage.  I divvied them into a "donation" pile and a "things I love so much I must keep for no damn reason" pile.  The donation pile grew very large.  Later, Alex asked me what was wrong when I stomped past him grumbling.  I said, "I don't have anything to put these things in; I need a big box."

Al looked at me with an undefined look.  I think it can best be described as "frustrated by irony."   

Goes both ways, buddy -- Alex is on my last nerve.  When he gets too warm in the middle of the night, he tosses the covers off.  But he doesn't kick them down to the foot of the bed or pull them off the bed completely -- he throws them aside, directly onto my unsuspecting and sleeping body.  I wake up half an hour later under a mountain of blankets thinking, "Why am I sleeping in a sweat lodge on the Equator?"

I guess I should look on the bright side; we finally found our sheets and blankets. Up to this point it's been sheetless beds coupled with bath towels.  I'm grateful the prodigal sheets have returned along with the prodigal schnauzer but I probably should have kept the box they were in.

There will be several future posts dedicated to the people of my neighborhood.  We've moved into crazy town, mostly in a good way.  Our neighborhood is full of characters.

Two of my favorites are Angel and Dorita.  Angel and Dorita are cousins of Mr. Cool and used to play hide-n-seek in the attic of Banister Abbey.  They live in the area and walk in front of the house nearly every day.  They first saw me standing outside Banister Abbey with Supermodel Neighbor discussing fence design ideas.  I ran across the street to introduce myself when I noticed they'd stopped and were staring at the house.

Now we're friends.  As they say, sometimes in unison, "We like you cuz you friendly, girl!"  Angel and Dorita are a fast-talking comedy duo the likes of which I've never seen before.  I've never left their company without a smile on my face and a stitch in my gut.  Now when they walk past, they stand outside Banister Abbey and yell, "MJ!  YOU IN THERE, GIRL?  COME TALK TO YOUR FRIENDS ANGEL AND DORITA."

One time the door was open so they came up on the porch.  I was standing in the dining room looking at a rather large wooden chip-n-dip tray I'd just purchased.  I was thinking to myself it was way too large.  When I used it, it was going to look like my chips and dip floated into the party on a piece of driftwood.

When I saw (more heard) Angel and Dorita on the front porch, I asked them, "Hey, is this thing too big?" and Angel said, "Aww hell no, girl, I LOVE me a giant chip-n-dip."  Then I laughed very hard because that's just the most delightful thing I've heard in a long time.

Another time, when discussing their childhoods in Banister Abbey, Angel said, "We used to play hide-n-seek up in there.  Or as I used to call it back then, 'hide-n-come-get-it-cutie.'" Then I said, "Umm...how old were you when you played this?" and she said, "First grade" and then I said, "Wait...what are we talking about?" and then they laughed.  I don't know what was going on with that one.

The other neighbor I'll mention today is Widower Peter.  Widower Peter lives in a house even bigger than Banister Abbey, all by himself, directly across the street.  He's in his mid-to-late-seventies, an Englishman, with a wonderful accent he's retained even though he's been in the States over forty years.  His wife (whom he calls Precious Wife) passed away last year.

Even on the few warm days we've had, Widower Peter wears a full suit complete with tie and newsboy cap.  He doesn't have many teeth left and has a hard time staying on topic, but he's already adopted us as a second family.  I foresee many long-winded and rambling conversations in our future. 

Widower Peter loves to talk about Precious Wife.  One of our more memorable conversations took place on the front lawn of Banister Abbey.  He very much wanted to share with me the three things that make a marriage great.

The first thing was "togetherness."  The second was "give-and-take."  The third one was..... dang, Widower Peter couldn't remember the third one no matter how hard he tried.  We stood there for awhile and it went like this:

Widower Peter:  Did I mention "togetherness?"
MJ:                     Yep.  Got that one.
Widower Peter: .....did I say "give and take?"
MJ:                     Yep.
Widower Peter   But did I say "togetherness?"
MJ:                     Who cares about that -- just tell me where "blanket inferno" fits into the list.

Widower Peter eventually got so frustrated he said he was going home to check on the third thing.  He'd written all three down on a sheet of paper once and was going to find it.  He asked if, to save himself another trip across the street later, he could just yell the third thing across the street when he found it?

I said that would be fine and walked away fervently hoping Widower Peter was about to stand at his front gate and yell "MIND-BLOWING SEX" in the direction of my house.

(He didn't.  He yelled, "TRUST," which was pretty good, too, I suppose.)

I LOVE me a giant chip-n-dip,
MJ