Chaotic Motherhood

Physical Education

2012-01-25T13:03:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was sitting at A's swim lessons minding my own business (ok totally eavesdropping on the two guys sitting near me with their kids) when a littler kid started flirting with me. You know, little kid flirts that are all about getting the attention of an adult, but they are a little shy about strangers, so they wave and then hide. So I started to sort of talk to the guys about their kids. (One of them has a kid in A's swim lesson.) And then one of them said something that made me lose my mind and say things that are probably socially inappropriate, he told me he was a middle school P.E. Teacher.

Now maybe some of you liked P.E. in middle school, to you I say, move along nothing to see here. But I know that there must be others out there who believe that P.E. classes in the 6th, 7th and 8th grades are definitely deserving of their own circle in Hell. I HATED P.E. classes with a burning passion at that age. And I ESPECIALLY hated, despised, and dreaded seeing my P.E. Teachers. There was nothing good in P.E.

On clear days, you could be expected to run. OH, how I wish I had to ability to go back and tell the 12-14 year old me that it would be fine if I got my mom to buy me a decent sports bra. But then, I was really embarrassed to talk to my mom about stuff like that (for no reason other than age as far as I can discern) so I probably wouldn't take my own advice. Let me tell you, running when you are a C-D cup in 7th grade and wearing a woefully inadequate bra is A) painful, B) practically begging to be stared at and made uncomfortable by boys, and C) practically begging girls to go out of their way to humiliate and ridicule you (probably out of their own self-conciousness, not that it would help a 12 year old to know that or they would believe it.) These are not a recipe for teaching a kid to like to run. My PE teachers used to follow me trying to urge me into running by asking if I wanted to be a lard butt while I walked swiftly instead. So basically every run was 15 minutes of being hounded by adults about why I wasn't running and allowing my self esteem to take a beating.

Rainy days may have been even worse, because then we would square dance. All the girls would line up on one side and the boys on the other and they would go down one line or the other and let the kids pick partners. GAH, the angst. God forbid you be among the last picked or if you seemed presumptuous and picked a partner who was above you in social station. A buzz will trill through the air as everyone whispered to each other and laughed behind your back.

The really sad fact is that in my middle school years I was NOT fat. I hit puberty before a lot of other kids in my class and I had boobs and hips, but I wasn't particularly large. I liked to ride my bike a lot and walked everywhere. I was active and probably REALLY healthy. But PE convinced me that I was HORRIBLE at exercising and I stopped trying.

But, it was still probably rude of me to greet the disclosure of some random guy's profession with, "OHHHH, You're THAT guy. GAWD, I hated PE teachers when I was in middle school." He laughed it off and turned back to the other person he had been talking to, and I went to hide in the women's restroom for the last 5 mins of lessons. Maybe next week I will remember to apologize for demeaning his profession, or maybe I will revert and just sit in the back corner and hope he doesn't notice me.

Widow part 2

2012-01-22T08:10:00.000-08:00

So for the minute number of people here who might be new widows, here is some advice for you.

If you are a widow(er)

1. I am so sorry for your loss. It sucks that you are having to go through this.

2. Don't be surprised if at first you feel oddly removed from the whole situation. Numbness is often a first step for grief. I remember wondering why everyone felt so sorry for me. I wasn't the one who died, I was ok. Not great, but definitely making it to every next day. Don't mistake a feeling of numbness with a lack of caring for the deceased. It is your brain's way of allowing you to deal with the grief a little at a time without overwhelming you.

3. It will overwhelm you at some point. Sometime, probably at night or when you are alone, you will feel like you are being battered and bruised with grief. You will ugly cry for hours. Don't bother with tissues until you are done. (Or use a towel) For me, it always seemed to happen in the car. I often arrived at a destination feeling better but looking like an escaped psychopath.

4. People will say and do stupid things. People are not good with death. They don't know what to say to you. Sometimes they will say the exact wrong thing and either piss you off or make you cry. They didn't mean it. The mere fact that they are there talking to you through their own discomfort about death means they care about you. They may not say much, or they may inappropriately ask you for things to remember your spouse by. Cut them a little slack. Admit to yourself and to them that if the positions had been reversed, you wouldn't be a grand expert on what to say either. You know now because of what you went through, but before this you probably didn't. This is especially true for friends of young widows, because many of them have never lost anyone really close. Their loved ones and parents are all still alive, their experience with death is close to nil.

5. Try to reach out to people. Again, people are not good with death. So some will pull away a little or offer vague offers of support and help. This is no time to be a shrinking violet. TELL PEOPLE what you need from them. There are very few people who are going to begrudge helping you out or think that you are taking advantage of them at this time. This is no time to think of yourself as weak for needing help. Don't think you would be imposing ask, "I hate having to eat dinner alone, could we plan for you to come over or go out once a week?" Spend one night trying to think of the things your spouse did and make a list of what people could do for you off that list. That way, you don't have to think of things off the cuff when you are hurting, you can just hand over the list and say "Here is what I need, pick one."

6. You will be pissed at someone for something. I went crazy ballistic on a Target clerk who told me "No day was ever so bad you can't smile." When I was buying a dress to wear to my husband's funeral. If the person you are super pissed at is a loved one, consider the possibility that you may have overreacted. It is perfectly OK to overreact, even understandable. But if you love the person who you are pissed at consider that maybe, just maybe, it is more about the grief and less about the actual incident.

7. Be as kind to your in-laws as you can while keeping your sanity. Whatever your dealing with them, past bad feelings or strained relations, they have lost a child. Hopefully you will never have to know that special kind of pain. If you have children, try to make room in your life for them to know and see their grandkids. Your children deserve to see their parent through multiple viewpoints. Unless your in-laws are toxic, your kids will benefit from a relationship, even if you don't necessarily. And if you think your in-laws are toxic, take care to read #4 and #6 above and make sure it isn't about grieving.

8. It changes you. Don't be surprised if you find yourself more aware of your own mortality and the mortality of the one's you love. Because my husband died of cancer, I am constantly vigilant for health issues in myself and my daughter. Possibly to the point of being a bit of a hypochondriac. For the first year of my daughter's life I had a hard time leaving her side. Every time I did, I was anxious she would die while I was gone. While, clearly, this is an abnormal way to think for the average person, it is perfectly normal for someone post death of a loved one. (So said my grief counselor.) If your spouse died in an accident, you might find yourself unable to deal with anyone being late. Whatever the circumstances, be kind to yourself about the lingering effects. It isn't crazy, it's a normal reaction. If you start to allow the anxiety to dictate your actions (for too long, in the immediate aftermath you are entitled) you may need to see someone.

9. It lingers. Moving on with your life isn't a straight forward path. You will have a couple of good days, then a set back with blubbering ugly cries. Maybe you make it a week and then have a couple more days. For some reason our society seems to think that there is a year long grief period and then it expires. Ha, I say. Ha. You can expect to be randomly poked for a long time. Something will come up and you will feel sad, and wistful. Maybe the ugly cries go away, or maybe they just become less frequent, but it isn't a mountain you climb straight up and at the summit you are healed and totally fine for the rest of your life. Especially if you have kids who will be CONSTANTLY evaluating the hole left by their parent.

10. If you have kids, make sure you talk about your spouse. Don't shut down their questions or tears. It HURTS to see your kids in pain. (See #7 and try to put yourself in your in-laws shoes) And it is easy to try to distract or squash things that hurt. But your kids need to feel like they can talk to you and ask questions about their lost parent. It is ok to cry together and tell your kids, just because you cry doesn't mean you don't like telling them about their parent. But keep it as positive as you can. Don't whitewash the memory, but little kids don't need to hear a bunch of criticism for someone who isn't going to be around. Focus on what you loved about your loved one, and leave the rest until the kids are older and ask. Tell them on special occasions that their parent would have been proud of them. Compliment them on traits they inherited from the lost parent. Make them feel connected.

Widow me this

2012-01-21T19:43:00.000-08:00

I seem to be getting a lot of news about people dying this month. Seriously, 3 different people have told me about someone they know and love dying recently at a young age. That doesn't include the handful of people who forwarded me the news article about the 18 year old widow who shot a couple of would be burglars. (Apparently being a widow makes you interested in all widow-related news.) It is very sad that this new year seems to be starting out so hard for so many people I know in a six degrees to Kevin Bacon kind of way. I have always offered to be a resource for the young widows I know about, because I found talking to others in the same situation to be very comforting when I was newly widowed. But beyond personal conversations this news has made me think of some things that I think new widows and people around new widows should know. (Though this is based on my own personal experience, so your mileage may vary.) So here is part 1. Maybe I can get the advice to newly widowed up tomorrow.....

Things to know/do when dealing with a new widow/widower

1. Talk to them. Seriously. Our society is NOT GOOD with death. We don't like to think about it, talk about it, confront it in any way, so when we are faced with the loss of someone we know there is often a desire to distance ourselves. We tell ourselves that we don't want to "bother" the person. (They are bothered by their loss, you calling is hardly going to make a impression.) We don't know what to say, so we don't say anything. We are afraid it will be awkward so we don't reach out. The problem is that A LOT of people who know the widow(er) are doing the same thing. And to the widow(er) it feels an awful lot like abandonment at the time they need support the most. Get over yourself and just reach out. Sometimes you don't even have to say anything.....offer to come over and hold their hand and shut your mouth, that is an offer that is almost never refused. Tell the person you don't know what to say or do, but you wanted to say something. Be honest, it really can't hurt.

2. When you do talk, avoid tired cliches. "He is in a better place" "At least he isn't in pain" "It was God's will" are at BEST cold comfort and at worst could have the person you speak these platitudes at fantasizing about punching you in the face. "I am so sorry," is all you need.

3. Listen to what they want to talk about and cut them some slack. Some widow(er)s find that they want to talk a lot about their loved one's. Others just want to talk about pretty much anything else. I have talked to a lot of widow(er)s who found themselves very sensitive to phrases like "football widow" or "I could have just killed him." Keep in mind that your friend/loved one is in kind of a shitty place and go with the flow. For now, take your talking cues from them and cut them some slack if they overreact about stuff. Really, it isn't you, it's them. But don't be a dick and point that out.

3. Don't just say "If there is anything I can do, let me know." While it is well intentioned, you are talking to someone who is most likely overwhelmed, grieving, numb and possibly just doing their best to hang on minute to minute. Thinking of what other people should be doing just isn't in their capacity right now. Offer specifics. "Can I come by on Thursday and bring dinner?" "Would you like me to come cut your grass this weekend." "Can I take your kids for you for a little while so you can grocery shop or just give into the need to scream without fear of further traumatizing your child?" If you are inclined to help organize things I understand that websites like www.lotsahelpinghands.com can be a wonderful tool to help organize help for a widow. Have one person sit down with the widow and make a list of chores/help she/he needs and you volunteer to be the person who uploads and maintains it. Then when someone mutters the phrase "Anything I can do?" all the widow needs to do is pass out a website.

4. Be patient. And persistent. For me, new widowhood was a numbing, shell shocked experience. Nothing felt right, sounded right, worked right. I needed but I wasn't quite sure what. I wanted to be with people, but always felt alone. I wanted to be alone, but hated every minute I was. Eventually you emerge from the fog, and you definitely notice who was there for you when you walked zombie-like through the worst of it. So even if your friend doesn't seem like your old friend. The conversations are tired or strained....stick it out. Everyone needs friends that stick by them, and remember that anyone can find themselves in that place.

5. It lingers. Widow(er)s move on at different paces and it isn't a straight shot. Some people remarry within 6 months, some haven't had a single date after 5 years. It is complicated. Especially if kids are involved. Life can be moving on quite well when something gums up the works and pokes at a sore spot in your heart. Be willing to hear that from your friend, don't get stuck in the mindset that after a year everything should be hunky-dory. The bad days should get fewer and farther between, and interest in other things should build, but don't expect to sweep the ashes under the carpet and never see them again.

The Hardest Lesson

2012-01-13T06:57:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago I had an epiphany. I am sure that it is a concept that 90% of adults already know and when I reveal it will shake their head in wonder that it has taken nearly 35 years to notice the obvious. But it did and I feel the need to share. So here it goes.....

Life is a process. Full of behavioral habits.

I know. Kind of dumb. But it occurred to me that I have treated a lot of things as goals to be reached. I am going to be physically fit! I am going to be financially responsible! I am going to be organized! I am going to be the most awesome mum ever and not yell or spank, but firmly discipline without tears and threats!

I have always thought that if I could just GET to the place where I was organized (for example) that staying that way would be magically easy. It would be like unlocking a door to a room where organized people go, and I would know all the secrets and it would take little to no effort to stay that way. I could remain in the organized room forever. So I have slogged through the work to obtain ..... organization or whatever, and for the most part, I have never reached that door. Whenever I achieve organization in one part of my house, another part falls apart. So I get frustrated and decide that I WILL. NEVER. BE. ORGANIZED. That usually leads to me giving up for a while.

Until I had this insight. These goals are not a mountain to be summited. All hard work on one side and easy downhill slide once I get there. They are more like a cycle. If I desire to be better organized, I don't have to achieve perfect organization. All I have to do is to be more organized, on average, than I have in the past. To have more days when I am slightly better than average at organization. I don't have to transform into a person who goes to the gym everyday for an hour or more. I just have to have more days when I eat less and move more, to be more fit and healthier.

Maybe if I can manage to do this for long enough I will get the coveted trophy of adulthood.

The Ties that Bind you up

2012-01-05T11:23:00.000-08:00

I am getting ready to write a letter that I have meant to write for some time. I won't go into great detail about the situation that made the need for the letter, but I will tell you that the contents of it have me reflecting a lot on family relationships.

Everyone agrees that family is important. Most people want to maintain a good relationship with their family members but it is often hard. From my experience the idea that your family grows with you and your siblings grow to be some of your best friends and your parents learn to support you as an fully capable adult is less than normal. Parents and their children always seem to have at least a smidge of a power struggle at the heart of their relationship. Siblings, even as adults, don't always understand each other and feel the need to compete. For most of us, we find a way to love one another even as we build our own families with friends and loved one's that we choose. Adding people we find along the way to supplement or sometimes even supplant our imperfect relationships built by birthright.

But at what point do you decide that a familial relationship is too toxic to even withstand the occasional call or visit? What if you find that someone related to you, by no choice of your own, makes you feel awful every time they come around. It is a hard decision to make, one that is not supported by most. Everyone says, "OH but it's your mom/uncle/cousin/whatever. You can't just give up." And so often people suck it up longer than they ever would for a stranger or a friend. Smiling politely when they really want to tell the other person to shut up, stop being so self-rightegeous or to stuff it. Of course, you can never actually do that, because that story would be added to the "bad/funny" family stories list.....like when your aunt's husband got drunk at Christmas and made a scene telling off your Grandpa.

And what of the opposite? Through time or distance you find yourself estranged from someone who is related to you, but seems pretty cool. How do you reach across a divide to someone whose blood you share and offer friendship when you have been nothing but a familial afterthought for a long time? When you have been relegated to holiday small talk and Christmas Card exchanges is it possible to build something more without the framework of the remainder of the family pushing you back into your normal boxes? Especially if you don't have much to do except gossip about the rest of the family.

If you are lucky, and I am, your immediate family is mostly normal, sane and supportive. Even though your mother drives you crazy, you don't really understand some of your siblings' decisions and you really wish the one would stop that REALLY annoying habit every time you see him, you enjoy each other's company. If you are REALLY REALLY lucky, you find extended family members that care about you for who you are, not just because you are the blood of their blood, or because you make them look good by comparison. And maybe with enough of them you find a secret wink and a handshake that allows you to let the neigh sayers barbs and digs roll off of you, like water off a duck.

Or maybe you find your family reunion should just be sponsored by a major brewing company.

Oldish Resolutions

2012-01-03T07:19:00.000-08:00

As I said last year, I don't usually do resolutions at the New Year. But for some reason a couple of weeks ago I was filled with the need to make some changes. I resisted for a few days, but then I wondered why I should let my loathing of resolutions prevent me from making a change when I want to. And since my last resolution was to allow myself to experiment with change when I want to, I went ahead and resolved some things.

I decided that I was wasting ENTIRELY too much time monkey clicking around the internet. So I decided to limit my internet surfing. Twice a day in the morning and at night, unless I am blogging or actually chatting (not facebooking) and then I can have extra time. I should be able to check out all my websites in that amount of time. Of course everyone else thinks, duh get off the computer, but this is a nearly 15 year old habit to break. I have for years checked up on my web bulletin boards whenever I had a few minutes, long before Facebook even came into the picture. And I have made some really good friends and received some great advice and support through these channels. But the amount of time I spend clicking the refresh button waiting for a reply has been creeping up in the last few years. Cutting it out is hard. REALLY hard.

Three weeks ago I put my new plan into effect and unsurprisingly enough, not surfing the web all the time has opened up a bunch of time for me. So I have cleaned out my china hutch, reorganized my pots and pans cabinet, read more books and started to reseason my cast iron. My house is cleaner, I am happier and I am not missing much on the internet even with less time spent there.

Eventually, I am going to attempt to limit my TV, computer and iPhone game time to a total of 2-3 hours a day, just like I (try really really hard to) limit A's. But let's not jump ahead of ourselves here, with that much time on my hands I might have to resolve to exercise more. Let's just start with baby steps toward the goal.

City Trippin'

2011-12-15T09:26:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I took A. for our trip to see Santa at Union Square. Last year we drove, this year we took BART (kind of like a cross between Amtrack and a subway for those not familiar with it.)

Of course A. had a grand time on the train for the first time. She was a little bored because I neglected to bring anything for her to do, but she talked to the other passengers and looked out of the window trying to sound out all the station identification signs. At one point, A. started pointing out that almost all of the passengers were by themselves. "They aren't married, because they are alone," she announced. So we talked about how maybe people were married but their spouse wasn't with them. "You aren't married," She said and I agreed, but told her I had been married to her daddy. "I wish my daddy could see me when I am a big kid" and I agreed that I wish that too. We had a little moment of sadness and a hug before she moved on to killing my camera battery by taking a bunch of pictures of my shoes and the floor.

We got to the City at about 11 so we decided to walk up to Union Square and have lunch right away. On the way I needed to pick up batteries so we stopped at Walgreens where A. found a stuffed animal that she "HAD" to have. I told her that I wasn't going to lug anything right now, and maybe we could stop on the way back. (Of course, not really meaning it. Because she already has an army of stuffed animals and has procured 2 more already this week.)

We had a grand time having lunch at the Cheesecake Factory overlooking the square. A. was impressed by the really large tree and one of the buildings has a huge rotating star on top that was "amazing". She was suspicious about why I was letting her eat "All. This. SUGAR!?!?" But that didn't stop her from digging in. (She miraculously managed to eat without getting it all over her white shirt.) After lunch we went to have pictures with Santa and pick out her annual Christmas tree ornament. (Hi I am Alicia and I have an ornament buying problem. I have no doubt purchased 5-8 ornaments this year already.) Then she led me on a galloping tour of the Squares open spaces.

I laughed so hard it I had tears when she showed her true colors as her mother's daughter. She was galloping along the square when suddenly she stopped in the middle of the block and announced that we REALLY had to cross the street. I didn't really see anything that would attract a 4 year old on the other side, but I was feeling indulgent. I have found trips like this are much less stressful if I just follow her lead (except when it is critical or safety related). So I took her to the crosswalk, and we crossed. She made her way back down the block to where we had been opposite, and marched right into a store. The Nine West store. Where she promptly marched up to a display, plunked a shimmery gold platform heel off of the display. (It was quite a beautiful shoe.) Then she announced that we needed to buy it. I explained that it wasn't for little kids and she gave me a look that said clearly I was a dolt as she explained, "It isn't for ME, it's for YOU." Trying to explain to a four year old that my life doesn't have much in it that requires high heels while the sales person looked on was kind of annoying and funny all at once. I finally told her that she could look at all the shoes I have in the closet that I don't wear and pick something for me to wear out of there.

After the shoe store, A. announced she was tired and ready to go home. We swung by the Disney store where she begged for a Cinderella Doll and I bought her princess pens instead. She was happy to draw pictures on the ride back. But when we got off the train she was indignant. Why were we going home when she was having SUCH a good time on the train? Then she settled down and ran off to play with the neighbor as soon as we got home.

Of course, as soon as she lied down for bed last night, she popped back up and demanded to know WHY we didn't go back and get that puppy from Walgreens. She cried and railed against me for a bit about how "wrong" I was and insisted that I go get it "tomorrow morning, first thing" which was met with a denial. When I pointed out that she already got 2 new stuffed animals this week, new princess pens and an ornament, and that perhaps she should better use her energy feeling grateful for what she does have because there are many kids who don't have a lot of things that she does, she sobbed "But I LOVED it" one last time and quieted down for bed. After a few minutes she said "Thank you for the pens and a lot of fun." So maybe I am not raising a total brat after all, in spite of the rather blatant spoiling that occurs some times.

Holiday Traditions

2011-12-11T07:08:00.000-08:00

My family didn't have a lot of traditions when I was growing up. We had a few, on your birthday you always got one quarter for every year old you were. The birthday person always got to pick dinner too, and my mom would make it (or attempt to make it). I was pretty uncomplicated. I think every year I asked for either Tuna Noodle Casserole or Potatoes Au Gratin with Ham. My brother Alex asked for all kinds of (seemingly) random things like Bouillabaisse. I think Brian asked for spaghetti about 4 years in a row. In the summer we always had "pajama rides" when all the kids would get into their jammies and my dad would drive us out to another town, buy us ice cream and drive around until we fell asleep in the back seat.

For Christmas, we would have a Christmas Eve tradition. On Christmas Eve everyone got to open 3 presents, a book, a pair of pajamas and one present picked from under the tree. (Santa hadn't been there yet and the parents hadn't put out presents, so you had to go with gifts from the extended family.) That is the only thing we did that I would really call a "tradition" but I think in some ways the way that families conduct holidays are sort of a fingerprint of the family. The components are usually there, but everyone does them a little different. Does Santa wrap or deliver out into the open? Does everyone take turns or is it a wrapping paper frenzy with everyone digging in at once? Are presents separated under the tree into piles for each person or is it all jumbled together?

I remember my parents disagreeing about how to handle these things when I was a kid. My mom's family was unwrapped santa presents followed by a free for all. (I can imagine that with 11 kids in the family, unwrapping one at time would take approximately FOREVER.) My dad thought that we should pass the presents around and watch each other open the presents, and also we should wait until after breakfast. (TORTURE!) In the end the came to a sort of compromise, Santa presents were unwrapped and we were allowed to play with them and our stocking offerings as soon as we woke up, but everything else had to wait until after a fairly healthy breakfast. (Which was always at least partially ruined by candy canes, lifesavers and hershey's kisses from the stockings.)

When I got to be a late teen, I added day of baking and a trip to the city for shopping. I had to give them up when A was born, but I that this year she may be old enough for them. When my niece was about A's age, we added a day decorating gingerbread houses with Grandma and a trip for all the women in the family to the Nutcracker. In some ways, I am beginning to think that if I add any more traditions to this holiday, it is going to be more stressful than fun.

C's family added some of their own traditions to the mix. Their family has always done all the Christmas gift opening on Christmas Eve. This is a bit of a double edge sword. There is never a decision to be made about where to spend Christmas. It is just a fact that Christmas Eve is with C's parents, and Christmas Day is with mine. But the addition of a fair influx of presents makes the book and jammies that I give my girl a little less special than it was to me. (And I have completely cut out the picking a presents, because HELLO she already gets a ton.) We also don't do stocking hanging or Santa hot chocolate and cookie leaving, because we stay at the grandparent's house until bed time and she falls asleep en route to the next house.

At some point some of the traditions or the fingerprint of our holidays may change. (I am sure that at some time it would be nice to be in our OWN house for Christmas.) But for now this week holds some days to bake, next weekend is the Nutcracker, and somewhere in the future is a trip on Bart to see Union Square. (Maybe I will take A. ice skating, or maybe not yet.)

I can only hope that this year A. doesn't do what I did the year I was four. I believe that was the year that my brothers and I woke up at 4 AM and discovered that Santa had given me a record player. We Mousersized and Disco Ducked our way through to 6:30 am much to the chagrin of our parents who steadfastly refused to get out of bed, no matter how loud we played the record player and despite the fact that I believe at least one of us kids decided to wake them up by play the "cymbals" (pot lids) in their room. I honestly don't know how we didn't die that Christmas morning.

Ornaments

2011-12-05T21:22:00.000-08:00

I was all gung ho to come in here today and post about my voyeuristic tendencies at grocery stores. I was going to speculate on what my grocery cart says about me, and what yours might say about you, but then I got a book out of the library and, lo and behold, the intro of the book is exactly that. It made me feel unoriginal and frankly like posting my observations would kind of make me a hack and a plagiarizer, so you (The roughly 4 people who actually read this, which includes my dad. Hi, Dad!) are going to have to get something else instead.

Today Audrey and I started getting into the thick of unpacking Christmas decorations. The weekend after Thanksgiving, I bought some new lights and a blow up thing for outside and put them up, but we hadn't touched the Christmas boxes that are stored so lovingly in my shed. (By lovingly, I mean they are tossed in there sort of haphazardly and covered in spiderwebs.) So we took them out today in preparation for obtaining a tree tomorrow, or possibly so that I could just say "Please be careful with that" until my head explodes, whatever comes first.

Pulling out the ornaments always reminds me of where I got them. I try to collect an ornament when I travel or go on vacation these days. I used to collect coffee mugs, but that led to me lugging home 15 mugs from Europe when I went to visit a friend who was living there. I think I finally ditched the last of those last year, a mere 15 years later. Because leaving them around was a talking point that I didn't want, "Oh yes, I got that when I went to Kassel with my friend who was living in Germany.....Was it a grand time? Well, I pretty much spent the entirety of my trip being dragged to her friend's houses for tea because they were "GREAT" cooks. They didn't speak much English and I didn't speak much German, and they kept trying to cook "American" food for me. I was there 15 days and lost 32 pounds and didn't really have a single conversation the entire time." (I do love you Jillian, even if I will never vacation with you again.) Ahem. I think there was a topic around here somewhere.....

So here I was pulling out ornaments and remembering, or trying to remember, where I got them when I decided that it would be a good idea to write this stuff down. Especially since some of it has already gotten a little cloudy. My mom's Christmas tree has a lot of ornaments that everyone agrees she has had for a long time, but the origin is in question. Did I make that fake Ice Cream Sundae or did my brother? Was it 1st or 2nd grade. Since my mom's ornaments are mired in a bog of cloudy memory, I decided to write down anything important about my Christmas decorations.

Of course, deciding to start this after I have had a few glasses of wine mean that I am currently (because I am kind of drifting between this blog entry and decoration logging) writing down entries that consist of statements like "Ornaments XYZ, purchased in a spending binge at Pottery Barn after Christmas sale sometime between 2007 and 2010. Not really that important, but very pretty." And, "Inherited from Carl, I don't know when or where he got it, but it is kind of ugly, so I don't usually put it on the tree." I am debating on telling the truth on some of them. Because for every IMPORTANT ornament purchased at a family reunion or on a honeymoon, there is one that I would have to fess up to buying so that my 4 year old would just shut the heck up and let me finish my Target shopping in peace. And that doesn't seem like a very sentimental remembrance that someone is going to want to read in the future. Although, sometimes I think that grandparents could use a reminder that, as much as they might wish things to the contrary, their kids weren't angels who always behaved and showed respect when it was due. I think those items I will wait until tomorrow when the wine has passed my system to make a final judgement call on.

So tell me, what kind of decorations for the season do you have? Do you decorate like my late husband, a tree full of cheap ball ornaments? Do you have a menorah that has been a family heirloom? Do you know where your Christmas tree ornaments came from? Good memories or bad, let me know.

I fear no evil, only discussing death with a preschooler

2011-11-30T13:24:00.000-08:00

Fish #3 looks pretty close to biting the dust. Following the illness of #2 so closely that I am pretty sure that something is going wrong in my tank and either I need to figure it out and fix it or numbers 4 and 5 will probably follow shortly. Because of this I am psyching myself up to have yet another discussion about death with A.

I am sure that most people don't love talking to their kids about death. It is a hard subject for most adults to really get their head around, let alone a 4 year old. But I dread discussing death with A. the way that Lindsey Lohan probably dreads sobriety. But much like Ms. Lohan's attempts at getting sober, I do it because discussing it is healthier than the other options.

Most 4 year olds can rehash a subject approximately eleventy bajillon times before it becomes old news. The more fascinating or frightening a subject the longer it can randomly reappear from out of the blue. For A. death is one of these topics. Her father's death has put it on her radar and she can't help but notice the permanence of the absences caused by death. This means that for about a month after we talk about death, the subject can reappear out of no where. Since I refuse to lie to her, she knows that everyone dies. (Although, mostly they do it when they are older and it is no reason to worry overmuch about it now.) My honesty on this matter leads to some of THE most difficult discussions as a mother. Trying to calm her fears about her own mortality or the mortality of the people she loves, and attempting to explain to other parents why my daughter is discussing death with their kids.

The first is an ongoing discussion that always leaves me feeling a little battered and bruised. It is hard to see your child upset and not have a pat answer that takes away the fear and uncertainty. It is hard to know that in at least a small way, I chose this anxiety for her when I became pregnant knowing my husband had cancer. On an intellectual level you can know that fear of death is a pretty common anxiety for kids (and adults) not caused by a parent's decisions, but it is hard to remember as your small child tells you she doesn't want to grow up but wants to stay a small kid forever, because she doesn't want to die.

The second hard discussion is a little less emotionally wrenching, but is a mild embarrassment. Kind of like the kid who tells everyone that Santa doesn't exist, my child has deemed herself the spreader of THE TRUTH. She is the one who shares with the preschool class that one day THEY will die and their parents too. In fact, she has been known to add, your mom or dad could die any time now, mine did. She will announce in the middle of grocery store to a total stranger that her dad DIED. And it is hard to know how to deal with that. In some ways, it is just a fact of our life. Nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about. On the other hand, it is more than most acquaintances need to know, and the look of pity that seems to flit across the face of someone who just found out is hard. Our immediate family might be small, but we live life large together and it is unworthy of pity.

I suppose I could limit this discussion as much as possible by buying more fish and seeing if she notices the switch out. But the subject comes up. This week she picked Bambi out from the library to watch, and I am stuck trying to decide if I want to forward through the mommy deer's death. Mostly I am just hoping that she won't actually remember to ask to watch it before it needs to be returned. In fact, Disney movies are pretty horrible for this sort of thing. Bambi, The Lion King, Finding Nemo, all leave me with a decision to edit the film and take the easy way out, or put myself through the ringer over and over again. I have drawn the line at the picture book version of "The Little Princess" because I think that the idea of an orphan is just too much to deal with right now. But the rest of it is just feeling my way in the dark. Sometimes the movies are necessary, she can identify with the characters that have lost a parent. Sometimes, it is just too much. I walk a fine line trying to give some normalcy to her situation and protect her since she is only a little girl still. Whatever I do, I am sure there are therapy bills in the future for her....I mean, What parent hasn't left their kid with a bunch of baggage?

10 mins? Somedays it seems like 10 hours.

2011-11-28T20:47:00.000-08:00

When A. was just a wee little tot, I took her to visit her cousin up in our state's capital and spotted a highway billboard that read, "Read to your child, 10 mins a day!" I was flabbergasted, 10 minutes, that's it?

I was thinking about this billboard yesterday as I prepared for our new Monday routine. We have discovered the lovely family pajama time story hour at the library which means we can do our weekly trip to the library, stay for story time and stop to get ice cream as a treat on the way home (SO cold this time of year, but A. is not discouraged). I can't imagine what it would be like to only read 10 mins a day. Most days we have at least half an hour of bedtime stories with other reading mixed in during the day. There is always a negotiation regarding the number of books to read at bed time. My opening bid is 2 books, A. starts by requesting 10. We usually end somewhere in the 4 book range. On Mondays, we end up reading for 1/2 an hour before we go to the library. (We have to get one last read of the books before they go back.) Then a book or two read in the stacks as we search for our goodies, an hour long story time and then 2 books back in bed. (Where it is already past bedtime, so I am admonishing her to pick SHORT books but my love of reading rarely allows me to say No to reading altogether.)

I am glad my daughter has learned to love books. It is telling that I can offer up the threat of losing the right to check books out from the library as a behavior modification technique. In many ways I can't wait until she is old enough to enjoy some of the books I remember so fondly from my childhood. Can anything beat the wonder of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? But I have to remember not to rush this stage, because while it takes a lot of my time, she won't be content to snuggle in my lap as I read to her for too much longer.

10 mins a day seems like so little, and is such a big thing that today I am taking A. to the bookstore to pick out a few of her favorite books to donate to the local battered women and children's shelter. Won't you do the same?

We are the 99%

2011-11-13T08:11:00.000-08:00

I have to say that the Occupy Wall Street fascinates me. In some ways, I wish I was able to join in and attend some events. Although I would probably go to San Francisco even though Oakland is closer because I think that rallies/protests in Oakland have a tendency to become destabilized and unsafe. But that is a whole other blog topic.

I get why people are pissed. I am if I think about it too long. I absolutely believe that politicians have sold themselves to the highest bidder. Banks and large corporations largely control our political and media systems and they have little regard for the average person. However, I have a hard time with some of the steps people think will help fix the problem.

Having worked in banks and dealt with regulators who come to audit, I am not sure that large amounts of controls and regulation is what the banking industry needs. Especially since the banks pay outside audit firms to tell them how to deal with it so that they can make their round peg of operations fit into the square whole of regulations. And the outside audit firms ALWAYS have employees that are smarter and better at their jobs than the government inspectors. I once had to explain to a state inspector that if you took the amount of the monthly payments and multiplied it by the term of the loan it was more than the original amount lent because we charge this little thing called interest on loans. I also had one state inspector who would spend the first 2 hours of his day transforming computer paper to lined paper with a pen and a ruler. Even when we offered to provide lined paper, he declined. These are the people watching the till. And are a pretty good representation of the people I met over the 4 years I dealt with Government inspectors. Whether through a lack of training, a lack of caring or just a plain lack the people who are hired to watch our financial systems are less capable than the people who run it and they have very little power to enforce the regulations that they do have already. Until that changes, no amount of new laws are going to keep our country safe from another banking failure.

So I am doing one of the few things I can think that really might make a difference. I am taking my money and trying to go to small, local stores. Christmas shopping for me this year is going to be completed mostly at gift shops of institutions I wish to support. The local zoo, kid's science museums and the fine art museums and some local independent stores. I have already bought the vast majority of my meat on the the hoof directly from ranchers for a couple of years now, and I try to buy produce through my CSA or farmer's market. These things make me feel pretty good about supporting local business and institutions, but there is a trade off. It is more expensive and takes a lot of time to track things down. Not everyone can afford to fight the corporate power that way. And there are some things that it just isn't feasible to find at a local store. Local, independent grocery stores are extremely difficult to locate. Try to buy toilet paper or clothes from a small store. It isn't easy.

Conferring on School Progress and Personality

2011-11-12T07:18:00.000-08:00

This week I had a parent teacher conference at A's Preschool. I know, I scoffed at the idea a bit too. But I went and discussed a bunch of things that I already knew about my daughter, and some I didn't.

A is very smart. This is not a surprise. She leads her class in alphabet and phonics work. I am also not surprised, I think she is just naturally wired to love the alphabet. She has known all the letters and most of their sounds for well over a year. She is starting to read 3 letter words and wants to learn more. She cares less about numbers, but she still does pretty well. She counts up to 30 and can identify numbers up to 20. I feel proud she gets it, and then I wonder why because it really isn't something that I have done or instilled in her, I am convinced it is just how she is.

Here is where it gets murkier. Some of the traits her teacher mentioned I think are less desirable in a class, but being me and her mother, I have a hard time not reading them as fairly positive. A likes to add her observations and comments into every discussion, sometimes when it is not the appropriate time. (She is an active participant! And feels passionately about her learning! I see a school career of being the kid with her hand in the air waving it frantically trying to be called on. Ah, I remember those days.) She can be EXTREMELY loud and insistent when reporting slights against her or her friends. (She stands up for her rights! And the rights of others around her!) She is among the most active of the kids in the class....always moving and quickly. She runs with the biggest, most active boys in the class and has no time for children who are dainty, timid or slow moving. The boys she plays with have a habit of playing rough and having a hard time following the rules. Some kids have suffered from the occasionally bruise from them . But not when A. plays with them. Apparently the boys fall in line when playing with her because she simply won't tolerate it. (She is a leader, and a good influence! Maybe her active level will help her avoid the weight struggle that plagued her parents!)

It is funny, because she is shaping up to be a little bit of a mini-me. Maybe that shouldn't surprise me, but it does a bit. I wonder what it means for her teen years. I always wished that I fit in with the other girls more as a teen. I liked girly things, but wasn't interested enough to expend a lot of energy on them and my mom wasn't much for makeup and fashion, so I didn't have a role model for that sort of thing. I always, and sometimes still do, feel more comfortable with boys/men as friends. As a twenty-something, I felt much better about it. One of the highest compliments that anyone ever paid me was to tell me that I was the most authentically me person he ever met. I didn't try to fit into a stereotype of womanhood and managed to be feminine, self sufficient, and one of the guys at the same time. I can only hope for the same for my daughter, even if it means that the years that most everyone else spends rigidly conforming to gender roles are a little harder for her.

Fall on this!

2011-11-06T15:49:00.000-08:00

Every November I think about doing something for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month, for those who don't know). So this year I thought I would try to blog every day. This is my first blog and it is already the 6th, so clearly I am doing a just bang up job here. Hopefully I will manage to get more writing in before the end of the month. Possibly I will even try to throw in some things that I am Thankful for, since it is that time of year again too.

Today is the first day of the time change. Did we just start Daylight savings time or end it? I never can remember. Whatever the label attached to this, I hate it. Before A. I pretty much adored the fall time change.....Who doesn't love gaining an hour? Either an hour to catch up on sleep or to use as you see fit. The spring change stunk a little, but really wasn't a huge deal. Children change that.

I think that parents hate the time change because it just capriciously screws up bed time. And bedtime for the under 5 is a bit like a car in an action adventure movie.....balanced precariously on the cliff's edge just ready to tip over and burst into flames killing everyone inside. Or maybe that is just at my house.

Also, when the kids are small, you never gain an extra hour of sleep. What you gain is an hour of a tired, whiny small person begging you to entertain them. Super fun! Especially when you add in an attempt to make the small person change their eating times by an hour. So now the tired, whiny, bored kid has low blood sugar too.

Which is why, for parents everywhere I say the time change can kiss my grits.

Mommy time

2011-06-07T19:19:00.000-07:00

I did some calculations today. I figure, by my calculations, that before I had a kid I had roughly 48 hours in a week to do what I wanted. Probably 4 hours every week day after work and 14 hours each for Saturday and Sunday. Granted, I did choose to spend some of that time cleaning and cooking, but not much and I was mostly the only person who suffered if it didn't happen.

Lately I have been feeling pretty guilty that I am sending A. to preschool/daycare 3 days a week for 7 hours and not really accomplishing much in that time. Yeah, I go to the gym, but that is about all I can routinely expect to accomplish. I feel drained and resentful when laundry or housekeeping needs to eat up my precious me time. I so desperately WANT to be bored.

I feel guilty because I know that other mother's generally don't get that option. (At least not until their kids are in school.) And I am kind of squandering my time alone a time that could be productive without a midget "helper". At the same time, I am doing exactly what I want for less than HALF the amount of time I used to. Shouldn't I be allowed to be lazy without guilt?

In some ways I knew this would happen when I got to be a mom, but I guess I always thought I would get SOME downtime from motherhood. I just didn't do the math to figure out that if I was either a Single SAHM or Working Mom that I would be reduce myself from 48 hours to MAYBE 2 a week. And that I would feel horrible for hiring someone to even get myself back to 1/2 of what I had before. So maybe I am going to go ahead and enjoy this for a little bit before I have to go back to work.

It must be a phase

2011-05-04T20:14:00.000-07:00

Lately A. has changed her ways. And not necessarily for the better.

Up until now, she has always been really fearless and bold. She is the type of kid who will talk to people at the store, announce what she did in school to the table next to us at a restaurant and generally just be jovial and outgoing. Until 3 weeks ago.

Now we are suddenly having "shyness" issues. When I drop her off at preschool she will hide outside the room and won't enter it. She won't get in the pool at swim lessons (which have always been one of her favorite things). She wouldn't sing at her school's musical night because she "didn't want everyone looking at me." She just wants to cling to me. Of course, when it matters not a wit, she is still very outgoing. But every time we are on a time line, there is someone special who wants to see her, or I am paying for her to spend time with someone doing something that used to be fun, it is a no go. Plus, every time I give in and tell her she doesn't have to do XYZ and we leave, it is followed by a 45 min melt down with her crying about how she wanted to do it after all and begging to go back. But the next opportunity leads to the same clingy mess we had before.

This clinging has also extended to bed time. Now, it is taking her 45 mins to an hour longer to fall asleep and there are WAY more tears and drama surrounding every task that leads up to bed.

Frankly, I am exhausted. I think that it must be developmental because these behaviors started showing up about the same time that her imagination just went WILD and she is suddenly able to play by herself a bit more spinning stories when it is just the two of us. However, knowing that doesn't help a whole lot when bed time stretches into it's second hour and we are on round three of tears and drama over something like tooth brushing because I have had to hold her down and force the issue after 30 mins of fighting about it.

I can only hope that this is a very short lived phase, because at week 3 it has already extended beyond her mother's patience. I ask only for some kind words and maybe a bottle of tequila, we are becoming very dependent on margaritas around here.

2011-05-03T07:31:00.000-07:00

I am a flaky person.

I didn't used to be. Many many moons ago, I had my sh*t together. When I said I would do something, I did it. I had the best memory of any of my friends. I could remember whole conversations weeks after they occurred and didn't need to write down things. (I did, because I have an absurd love of lists, but I didn't need to.) I was a force of nature at work.

Then C. got sick. Some little things started to slip in the face of remembering medication dosage, doctor appoints, lawyer appointments and helping him juggle his work schedule to get everything that was currently scheduled completed.

In the midst of that, I got pregnant. Somehow the hormones made me lose my mind a little bit. For the first time in my life, I forgot to do things that are pretty critical, like EAT. I lived on Ensure drinks because I simply didn't have time between work, illness management and my pregnancy appointments to deal with food. Other mothers started talking to me about "pregnancy brain" and how common forgetting where you left your keys were. I didn't worry too much. Hell, I had WAY too much other stuff to worry about my damn keys.

Then C. died. And I found that not only did I lose my keys, but I would find them in the most bizarro places. Like in the freezer. If I didn't write down a date, I would fail to show up at a restaurant where I was supposed to be meeting a friend. I met other widows/widowers online that described the same problem. They called it "widow brain". So there I was at the mercy of my hormones from pregnancy and my grief.

I figured it would get better when A. was born. But I was wrong. I still had problems remembering things if I wasn't reminded in someway, a note, a reminder phone call from the person who was expecting me, etc. I managed to do all my grocery shopping before realizing I didn't have my wallet with me. I lost my wallet 5 times in a year. I forgot that I was making my nieces birthday cake until the night before the party. I had officially gone over to the dark side of flakiness.

4 years later, I feel like I am getting a little better. But, I am still finding it hard. These days, I sometimes remember things that I was supposed to have done. Then I am so embarrassed that they weren't done that I don't want to bring it to anyone's attention that I haven't already done it. For example, I was supposed to have chaired a committee for the local moms club. And I was excited about it, in DECEMBER. I asked the co-president for the list of people affected, and she told me she would get it to me after the holidays. The holidays came and went and she didn't contact me, and I didn't follow up and here we are 6 months later and I feel like an fall down on the job idiot. I have also gotten really good at postponing, almost indefinitely, any task that I REALLY don't want to do. Because running a household by yourself and dealing with a small child takes time and energy, I justify taking the little time I have to myself to do things for me. But it leaves other things....um, not done. Ever.

I am working on correcting this, but it is a hard road back to responsible adult with a decent memory. So if you need something from me, I will be over here drowning in my post-it reminders and trying to get my shit together.

A little Princess

2011-04-02T10:30:00.000-07:00

I am conflicted. This morning I had to venture to the Target toy section to buy a gift for a little girl's birthday party. I had fully intended to buy another Tangled Barbie doll. I bought one 2 weeks ago before the party was postponed for weather. (Somehow someone in this house has appropriated it as their own at 5:30 AM when her mother's resistance was low. I believe the phase "You could have the Taj Mahal as long as you let me have my first cup of coffee in peace," was uttered.) I was conflicted about buying it the first time, but I was in a hurry and it was on an end cap and on sale.

But this morning, A was being pretty low key and we had some time so I ended up browsing. I hate the fact that toy stores are so gender segregated. All the pink, Pink, PINK! stuff is in 3 aisles. All the boys stuff is in another 3 aisles. There are a couple that are mixed, infant things and sports are not separated that way, but you still find 2 versions of everything. One in primary colors and one in pink and purple. It's like girls can't enjoy blue and red and therefore need their own floaties, doctor's kits and baseball bats. I am conflicted when it comes to picking out things for other kids, I don't necessarily love to buy Barbie and princess stuff, but I have. Particularly if I know that the little girl is REALLY into it and the parents don't mind. Today my resistance was feeling higher than usual (or I was more stubborn and unwilling to bend to marketing and gender rolls) and we changed up the present to a butterfly growing kit and a pack of dive sticks for the b-day girl's pool.

As conflicted as I am about buying things for other kids, I am doubly so for my own. On one hand, I don't love the princess culture and the need to teach girls to be cream puffs who wait for their "prince". On the other hand, girls have been playing dress up and tea parties for ages. Plus A is not really into it. She occasionally asks for something princess-y but she is remarkably well rounded. Shrek and Toy Story are much more favored than any of the princess movies. She would rather play hide and seek, swing, or drawl than play dress up. (Unless there is an admired child who wants to play dress up with her.) Blue is her favorite color.....and not the girly light blue with sparkles, she wants the dark navy blue. But it concerns me that she asks for princess things, not because she loves them, but because the other girls in her preschool are into them.

Up until now, I have avoided Barbies and things of that ilk. And even now that she has one, she isn't that interested in it. But one of these days I know that I am going to have to make a decision about how much I want to let these sorts of things seep into our house. For now, I have a butterfly garden to wrap and a bounce house to deliver my child to.

Beware the SNOWPOCLYPSE!

2011-02-26T07:28:00.000-08:00

Apparently it might snow around here sometime this weekend. The radio, TV and facebook are all aflutter at the revelation. Much like the San Francisco area gets at the mere hint of real weather.

Clearly, we live in a climate that doesn't see much but 2 seasons. Spring/Fall and Summer. I call it Spring/Fall because it is essentially the same. Rain (but not too much), intermixed with some colder days (40F, brrr cold) and some days when the sun breaks through and warms us to almost 80F. Spring/Fall starts in Oct-Nov and goes until April-May. Then there is the sunny, warm period with no rain.

Whenever real weather threatens to come to town, the airwaves go crazy with speculation about how we will survive. Lightning in the forecast? We better watch "Storm Tracker 2011" to see if we all might burn to the ground. A few frozen flakes falling from the sky that have not a chance in hell of sticking to anything and the SNOWPOCLYPSE is upon us. Of course this is all about global warming too. Which ramps up the discussion about how we are all going to DIE.

I find myself in danger of straining myself from rolling my eyes so hard. It is amazing to me that in an area with so many transplants (many from places with true weather) can freak out so badly about a small meteorological blip. Now, if we were planning on seeing something that would stick, I could see where this would be a major deal. Logistically we are ill prepared as a region to deal with snow. No one would have a snow shovel, and you would have to drive 3 hours to get somewhere you could pick one up. But the thought of a handful of snow falling (most likely in the dead of night) and melting before I can even get my jacket on fills me neither with amazement or dread.

But, I will keep all you far-flung folk appraised of our situation. For now the death toll is zero, but we expect that to skyrocket any moment.

Parenting: UR Doin it WRONG

2011-02-22T08:34:00.000-08:00

Parenting may be the hardest gig ever. Everyone has an opinion on how your kids should be raised. Just ask them, they will tell you. Sometimes you don't even need to ask. And there will never be a time when all the opinions are in agreement. Of course, you never get any objective feedback. Your kids can't tell you if you are doing a great job. (With the exception of occasionally doing something that makes you realize you are getting through, like saying "please" and "thank you".) You basically have to wait until they are around 25-30 for the final verdict to be in. Even longer if you are waiting to see what kind of parent you turned them into.

I am not cut out for this sort of duty. I like to be good at things. Really good. How am I supposed to know if I am good at this. It is definitely NOT. COOL. to compare your kid to other people's kids. So there is no way to know if you are doing a decent job. Besides, a certain level of stuff is just innate. My kid learned her letters early, she liked them and asked what they were. It certainly had very little to do with my parenting, because I never worked with her on flashcards or pushed her to learn these things. In fact, much like her current obsession with asking how everything is spelled, it was a little time consuming and annoying to answer all the questions. (You spell TABLE fourteen times in 15 mins and see how excited you are about children's neurodevelopment.) So I can't decide if this is a win for me, or just for biology. (Her father learned to site read words at 3 too.)

And then there are the things that you are definitely behind on. My kid has very infrequently slept all the way through the night. She usually wakes up at least once a night. Not for long anymore. Just long enough to join me in my bed if she is in her bed, or to speak a couple sentences at my semi-comatose body if she is already in my bed. I am lucky if this is skipped once a week. But even that has a price, because she certainly wakes earlier on the days when she doesn't follow her normal routine.

Sharing a bed is something that I struggle with making a decision on ALL. THE. TIME. It is a struggle to get her into her own bed at the beginning of the night. She would much rather just stay in my bed all night long. And on a daily basis, I am pretty ambivalent about it. She goes to sleep without me being next to her, so what does it matter which bed she is sleeping in when she does? The proponents of co-sleeping say that no kid has ever left for college still sleeping in their parents bed. However, I do know a 13 year old who is still uncomfortable sleeping in a room alone. And I don't want that for A. Plus, there would be the bonus of being able to leave her somewhere else overnight if I could feel relatively comfortable with the notion that she wouldn't cause dramatics in the middle of the night when she realized she was alone in her bed.

So along with thousands of other parents I am trying to feel my way through the dark to the best way to raise a kid. And sometimes failing. So if you figure out the perfect way to to it, drop me a line. Or don't, because chances are I will find you to be an insufferable know-it-all and end up being defensive about taking the easy way out on occasion. And now I have to go join my kid in my bed for a night of being kicked black and blue because she is always restless when she is sick and it is the time when I am most likely to bend the rules.

In the Kingdom of the Mouse

2011-02-16T20:36:00.000-08:00

Yesterday we set out on our trip to the Kingdom of the Mouse with my In-laws.

It took less than an hour for me to realize that I had forgotten something. 3 hours into the trip the list was growing exponentially and the replacement costs for necessary items was threatening to make this trip MUCH more expensive than I had originally intended. (Leaving Disneyland tickets at home = an expensive kind of bad)

By hour 6 we had achieved nap failure and hit enough traffic to ensure bedtime would not be maintained. Things were not looking good for us around here.

When this morning dawned, bleak and sprinkle filled, I was hoping for some redemption. Instead I got a kid begging for Disney 4 hours before the park opens. Luckily, the day turned around a bit from there. Some TV shows kept us going until we could savor our 1st breakfast. (Necessity, since Character breakfasts don't start until 9:40 and can you imagine trying not to feed your kid who wakes at 6AM until then?) Then came the hour of running up and down the hotel corridors, threatening the life and limb of other weary looking parents pushing much more compliant children in strollers. But sunshine was achieved in spirit if not in reality when we got to meet the princesses at our second breakfast.

A throughly enjoyed the few rides we went on, and mostly enjoyed running as fast as she could around the park, particularly when her second cousin showed up to chase with her. Despite the serious over-tired nature of a kid who didn't get enough sleep the day before, she (sort of) behaved, needing only a handful of half-hearted threats of dire consequences from her mother.

However, I do think that Disney could benefit from some parental input. When you cater to the under 10 crowd, opening at 10AM is ridiculous. In fact, it would be SO much better if they opened at 8AM and closed down the little kids rides between 1 and 3. Parents would breathe a sigh of relief that nap time (or quiet time, or down time, or whatever you want to call your version of an afternoon calm) could be achieved without being the MEANEST. PARENT. IN. THE. WORLD. Just, "Sorry Johnny, Mickey takes a nap at this time. So maybe we should go back to the room and watch a video."

Although, I have to say that Disney has mastered the art of exiting a ride DIRECTLY into a souvenir shop. For maximum begging and serious parent fleecing.

All in all, Disneyland is much more fun with a kid than I remember it being the last time I was here. (Um, 16 years ago.) Watching A light up at the "Magic" of it and have a great time is wonderful. But, I can't say I will be sad if she turns 10 and decides (like her mother) that Six Flags parks have more, better rides with shorter lines.

2011-01-30T10:40:00.000-08:00

Dearest Darling Daughter,

Why do you hate mommy so?

I know that you say you love me and give me kisses, but your actions speak mightly. And they say you just simply don't like me. Or at least, you don't want me to be a happy person.

For example, failing to achieve napping yesterday was expected. Your cousins were visiting and are far more interesting than lying prone in bed. I even expected that this lack of napping would make the afternoon difficult. However, skipping nap and then NOT going to sleep early was not really something that crossed my mind. Lack of nap, normal bedtime and rising 1 hour early just seems a bit cruel, don't you think?

Also, we need to talk about this rising bit. Up until this week I thought we had a really workable morning routine. It was working for Mommy, and even if you didn't always like it, it was working for you in the sense that it keeps Mommy sane and starting the day in a happy place. It was a pretty good deal, we wake up, you get TV and Mommy gets coffee and internet. After 30-40 mins Mommy is happy and can pleasantly deal with your requests. Telling me that you don't want to watch TV, that you want to play Hide and Seek/Do artwork/Play board games/All of the above in the span of 10 mins, prior to Mommy having even 1 cup of coffee is grounds for Mommy's head to explode.

Additionally, I realize that you are 3 and that everything is important to you. But the way that you are asking for things is going to cause Mommy's head to explode. Speaking! All! In! EXCLAMATIONS! Is! Driving! Me! CRAZY! Really is it too much to tone it down a bit? Not everything is life or death, and if mom doesn't respond to something RIGHT away it doesn't mean you should repeat your request at ever increasing volume and excitement level. Ditto goes for when Mommy's answer doesn't met your expectations. Asking me 47,000 times won't likely turn the No into a Yes.

Thank you for considering these things in the future.....in the meantime, if you don't nap this afternoon I will be forced to donate you to Grandma or the Goodwill (whoever arrives to pick you up first.) Don't worry though, if Goodwill gets here first it will take them some time to process you before putting you out on the sales floor and I am sure I will purchase you back after I have a nap and a glass of wine.

Love,

Your Very Frustrated Mother.

I have no resolve

2011-01-29T07:19:00.001-08:00

I generally don't do New Year's resolutions. Every year I let New Year pass as just another day. Somehow the calendar ending one cycle and starting another doesn't really do much for me. I don't like to go out because people get crazy. I don't like to make resolutions because, well maybe because everyone else does it and it bothers me to do anything lemming like.

My birthday is a different matter. I love my birthday. I guess I am weird in that way. I like getting older. I feel more at home with myself every year. Happier about who I am. That feeling has only increased with C's death. I am happy that my body is strong and healthy. I am strong and capable. I love having a day that is about celebrating me. And I use my birthday as an opportunity to take stock in my life.

Before A. came on board I always did the same things on my birthday. Update the resume, make my personal and professional goals for the next 1, 5, and 10 years, and make myself exactly what I want to eat. Add some great dark chocolate and a luxurious bottle of wine and I had my perfect birthday setup. It's a little harder to do this with A around. Also, updating your resume when you haven't done anything professionally in 3 years is a little lame.

But the goals are the same. Kind of like New Years resolutions only rephrased. This year I have decided to take my "no resolutions" resolution a little farther. Every year I make something things my goal. They tend to be repetitive. Get better at exercising, skin care, and cleaning. Learn new things. Etc. Mostly I don't meet those kind of goals. Then I feel like crap.

I start something, and it feels good. Then I get side tracked and the guilt spiral begins. Once I have "screwed up" my plan, I feel stymied in my efforts and give up. So this year I have decided that there will be no guilt. Instead of making goals out of things that I wish I did better, I am going to give myself the year to experiment. I am not going to say "I am going to go to Pilates class twice a week" I am going to go with "I am allowed to explore what exercise options are right for me." I am giving myself permission to decide that what I am doing isn't working out and try something else.

So I am going to experiment this year. Doing what seems right, and letting go of the things that don't work for me with no guilt or excuses. There are clearly some things that are more important to me than others. Exercise is the big one. But when it comes to school, work and house care.....I am going to work this year on letting myself do what feels right rather than what I think I SHOULD do.

Heck, that should be an experiment in itself. I have never really been good at bucking what other people want from me.

Smells like Teen Angst

2010-12-10T11:46:00.000-08:00

On of the hazards of cleaning out closets is that you come across things that you have to decide whether they are sentimental enough to warrant keeping. And sometimes you have occasion to reexamine the things you have previously chose to retain.

I opened two boxes today; One was the box of things I packed away after Carl died with the thought that it was stuff that spoke most to who he was, the other was my box of random memory items that I have kept for years and years. The difference between the two was striking to me.....and yet there were some similarities.

Carl was not much of a sentimental sort of guy. When he died, going through his effects was nothing like a chick lit book or movie. No sappy beyond the grave letters, not even an old card that I had sent him. My husband wasn't for retaining or producing missives of love. Really the only things that spoke to his sentimentality was a small pile of get well soon cards sent to him in high school when he had Chicken pox, his grandfathers funeral announcement and a cut out wedding announcement for someone who had been a great friend in elementary school but hadn't been in touch for years. So I put those in the box, along with the stuff that spoke to his interests.......Star Trek memorabilia collected avidly, the title and dog-earred repair manual for his beloved Trans Am and the random chotchkies he loved enough to take up precious desk space.

My box is full of things of a different sort. Mostly letters, deflated balloons, cheap jewelry and bad teenage poetry. Sadly, the pressed blue daisies (my first flowers from a boy) have disintegrated. Somehow I have all the letters my high school boyfriends and I wrote back and forth filled with wonderful insights about skipping classes, and making out. When I was younger I always imagined it would be great fun to show my grandkids the letters that their grandfather and I exchanged when parted. (This may have had something to do with the fact that I was forever dating military men or guys who at least lived a bit away, making letters a necessary medium.) Funny thing is that I never married any of them, yet the letters are still there in the box. And the man I married never wrote me a single letter. Unless you count random post it notes asking me to stop at the store or call one of his clients about a past due bill. The cheap jewelry I will probably keep. It was exciting to get an ID bracelet from my first love....or a REAL necklace from the boy I was dating. While I won't wear them anymore they are full of the sentimental memories for me. Maybe I will eventually get around to throwing away some of my letters because they aren't really going to mean anything to anyone else, and lord knows they are embarrassing to read....but maybe I will wait and read them to myself when A gets to be a teen. Just to remind myself about what teenage love looks and feels like.

But what was the same for both boxes was the lack of things from our childhood before the teen years. I can't speak for Carl, but what I remember most about those years is just fun. The need to keep things as a way of narrating my existence didn't really begin until I realized I wasn't always going to be around to speak for myself.

I don't know if A will care about Carl's bobble head Reagan or my bad teenage poetry. I can't predict what will help her find a sense of connection to the people who brought her into the world or will foster a moment of understand between the two of us as she gets older....... but I know that just thinking about whether or not stuff is "box worthy" helps me focus on what is important in life.

Are there skeletons in there? I wouldn't even know.

2010-12-09T06:37:00.000-08:00

I have taken a short leave of absence from Culinary school for this round of classes. My friend Maria did it to go home and I realized that it was possible and grabbed at the chance. Since I was only taking one class, I was commuting 3+ hours a day to be in class for 40 mins and that just didn't seem like an effective use of time. So instead I am steadily working my way through back seasons of several TV shows I didn't know I would like at an alarming rate (thanks Netflix for being a time vampire)......and working on getting my house under control.

The picture kind of shows what I am up against. That is the pile of books to be rid of from 1 of my 3 bookcases. So far I have dealt with A's room and the living room, the two cleanest rooms in my house, and I have made 3 trips to the Salvation army. I have always in the past tried to stay on top of being in control of my stuff. Since A came, it has been MUCH harder. There are several reasons I find it hard to get rid of things that should have gone... I have very little time to do things like this without "help" or someone whining that they want me to play. I never quite know if A doesn't play with those toys because she hasn't grown into it yet or if she just doesn't like it. I have been seriously conditioned by my genetic contributors to not waste things that could be used (which leads to me keeping things like unopened bars of Zest for 4 years because Carl used them and I don't but I can't possibly throw them away because that would be WASTING). And last but not least, I am constantly trying to convince myself that I could sell the stuff and make some money. Which might work if I wasn't totally lousy about posting things on Craigslist and then forgetting to check for responses, and holding a garage sale in the middle of winter with a 3 year old sounds like hell.

Don't get me wrong, my house doesn't look like it belongs in a Hoarders episode or anything. But I wouldn't recommend you look too closely at the closets or garage. In fact, if you open a closet in my house, I would highly recommend you take a step back or shield your head because often you can find yourself clobbered by something that was precariously stuffed in there the last time my in-laws visited.

Yesterday, I conquered the hall closet and my bedroom closet which lead to some questions/observations (some are not first time ponderings.)

I have got to stop buying candy for holidays and shoving the unused portion into closets. I have a huge stash of candy I don't like, that I don't want my kid to eat too much of taking up space because I can't waste it by throwing it away.
How is it that I manage to buy presents for people and then forget about them? I must have found at least 4 things that were meant to be given for some celebration and have gotten lost.
How did I marry a man that liked, without irony, the 80's TV show "Sledgehammer"? I mean seriously, "Sledgehammer"? WTF?
Which always leads into whether or not I should keep some of Carl's DVD collection for A when she gets older. And if not, can I really give/throw away 200+ DVDs without having a nervous breakdown about the waste/cost of it all.
How many candles, candle holders and vases does one chick need?
How many pairs of high heels does one stay at home mom need to own?
If I give away all my old office wear will I inevitably decide the next week to return to the work force? (Something I keep considering and rejecting.)

Chances are that I will stuff the hard stuff back in the closet to be considered at another date, because I can get rid of enough easy stuff to make the closets functional and look good without making those decisions. But, next week I have scheduled myself for garage duty.....so if you don't hear from me for a couple of days alert the authorities. I am not entirely sure that the stuff in there hasn't become sentient and may be liable to crush me under a mountain of unused toys and Costco sized packs of toilet paper to protect itself.

Where's my dad?

2010-11-14T16:15:00.001-08:00

A. has been a little more vocal these days about wondering where her father is.

The other day she announced out of the blue, "My daddy DIED." As she is sometimes wont to do. But this time my assurances that this is in fact correct and factual were followed by, "I know my daddy DIED.... but where is he NOW." Huh. Apparently because dying is a past tense thing, he must be done with it now and what else is he doing? I am afraid I didn't do to well with this question. I hemmed and hawed a little. Mentioned that some people believe that he his in heaven watching over her. Skimmed over the part when some believe he won't rise until Christ returns, and some don't believe this at all. Which of course led to a round of "Where is heaven." It was all I could do not to lead with a distraction. "Hey, look at they big shiny object!" "Is that a cookie?"

Wanting to be more prepared I went back and consulted my handy- dandy (heavy on the sarcasm there) pamphlet on discussing death with children. So this morning when she brought it up again I led with a small discussion of what it means to die.

A: My daddy is dead

Me: He is. Do you know what it means to be dead?

A: *Blank look*

Me: Dying and Death mean that your body has stopped working. You can't do any of the things we do anymore.

A: Daddy's body stopped working?

Me: That's right. When you die you can't eat or sleep or hear or talk anymore.

A: But where is my daddy?

Me: Well, when your daddy's body stopped working we put it into a box, and we keep it so we can feel close to him.

A: So daddy's body is broken?

Me: Yeah kind of like that.

A: Oh, so we can get some batteries and fix daddy and then I can see him.

Me: Kiddo, I don't think that batteries are going to do it.

A: Yes they will mommy. We just need batteries.

This is all at once hysterical, heartbreaking and super frustrating to me. It is just one more thing on a long list of conversations I have to have over and over and over again. Such is her age.

Journal of the Damned

2010-10-27T07:31:00.000-07:00

Day 3 of my quarantine -

The torture the short one is subjecting me to has me close to breaking. She is a demanding tyrant, waking me every hour during the night with complaints, hacking coughs and sounds that make me fear for my hygiene. I am tired and unable to do anything but acquiesce to her demands that I play dress up and feed her pasta even for breakfast.

I fear that she has threatened my fellow observers of her life with illness, since they have mysteriously vanished. My phone calls to them go directly to voicemail or are met with excuses like dental work as a reason they are unable to come to my rescue.

With the physical torture, she is also adding psychological torture. I ventured to the store today because we were completely out of some key supplies necessary for life as we know it, and she announced in her OUTSIDE voice that she was going to throw up. Which she wasn't, but it caused several other mothers to glare at me and steer their precious children away from me.

I fear without adult interaction and removal from this house, bad things might happen. For example, I am finding that I like the Disney Channel. Clearly, death is next.

Blog Me, Blog You, Blog Her

2010-10-10T16:10:00.001-07:00

Hello, my name is Alicia and I am a food blog junkie.

So when my school was looking for a group of students to help cater a party for the BlogHer Food conference, of course I was in. They were looking for people from 10 am - 6 pm and 6 to 11 pm or for people to volunteer for the full day, which is a little too long for me to be away from Audrey, but I decided to work the later shift. Just in time to help plate and be there during the event.

I arrived and was immediately pulled into a team of 4 that were going to be shipped upstairs to the "bacon experience" room. Chef Weller who is our culinary department head gave us our marching orders, "make bacon popcorn and a pasta carbonara with rice noodles." Somewhere between the orders and the room on the fourth floor we lost one of our team members.

So we arrived in the room, and found no bacon. One of the two guys I was working with said that "they" were going to send it up with the Bacon Ice Cream and Chocolate dipped bacon later. So we set to work scrambling 50 eggs, mincing parsley and cooking rice noodles. I took the eggs and parsley while the boys worked on the rice noodles (since they had worked other catering gigs and had more industry experience).....taking 10 bags of noodles and dumping them into a humongous pot. Neither of them had cooked rice noodles before and managed to turn them into a very large gelatinous ball of overcooked starch. Several boxes of bacon and new rice noodles later, we were on target.

When the party started, I was happy to get stuck serving the Bacon Ice Cream. I got to (sort of) talk to the bloggers. ("Hi would you like to try some Bacon Ice Cream?") And work on spying the name of their blog that was listed on their name badge. I spotted a couple I had read before but none of my favorite bloggers. I had more pictures taken of my hand holding out a spoon full of ice cream than I cared to count. (I totally should have had a manicure and moisturized!) Only one blogger threw me for a loop when she asked me if I was going to change the culinary world when I graduated. To which I replied "Not likely." Which led to a brief discussion about why I was there if I didn't see a future in culinary arts. So, I just went ahead and blurted out that my husband died and I was working on fulfilling a dream. After which she recommended I start a blog about it. After all, I have a story to tell. Heh.

When the chef demo started (never heard of the chef, but that doesn't mean anything because I am actually not really tuned into famous chefs) I was shipped back down stairs to help clean the kitchen. Where it became clear that I would much rather be AT the party than catering the party. (Reason #987 why I don't really want to work in a restaurant.)

The party finally wrapped up about 10:15 and we dragged the dining room of the school's restaurant back into order, took the rented tables out to the loading dock and cleaned the kitchen spotless. At 11 the chef's gave a moderately moving speech about what great work we had done. Maybe it would have been more moving if we hadn't all wanted to just leave already..... And everyone still there at the bitter end got left over promo bags from the party with some pretty cool swag. (I particularly loved the huge coffee mug, espresso mug set and $25 gift cert from chefs.com).

All in all it was an interesting evening.....even if I will be paying for the change in my sleeping habit for well over a week.

Kitchen Tales

2010-10-02T07:12:00.000-07:00

This week started another round of kitchen classes for me. Foundations III. This class consists of one day prepping for the kitchen followed by a kitchen day in which we have about 2 hours to produce two full plates.

It has been a revelation to me. But not necessarily in the cooking. I don't think that the chef instructor likes me much. I have never had a teacher/boss who didn't like me. Hell, teachers down-right LOVE me for crying out loud. (Well, except for my second grade teacher Mrs. Bachelor for whom I think it was less that she hated me and more that she hated her job and all children in general. In fact, I often imagined that she and Mrs. Trunchbull from Matilda would get along fabulously. Or maybe Ronald Dahl was one of her former students and based the character on her.) I am a great student. I like to learn, I pay attention and I am enthusiastic in class. I am a freaking teacher's wet dream.

Admittedly my week has not started off well. The second day of class I had to skip school due to Audrey's vomitting issue, and the next day I was late. (BTW, thank you to the 2 Jackasses who killed their cars on the Bay Bridge causing my delay and making me contemplate what it would be like to wet my pants as an adult!) But I have tried to redeem myself, cleaning tirelessly and adding copious amounts of salt to my food. To no avail. I continue to get B's on the plates I turn in.

I realize that basically I am being a whiny brat about not being liked by the teacher, but the teacher pet in me is dying to be recognized. And I hate it when the teacher leaves you hanging in the wind with your hand in the air to call on some idiot who isn't paying attention and is only half awake anyway.

The No Good Day

2010-09-28T06:42:00.001-07:00

Yesterday afternoon kind of sucked. I would like to go ahead and just get my spleen vented here.

My air conditioning does not work. It is going to cost me more money than I would like to spend to get it fixed. And we are in the middle of a major heat wave. This has left me hating life.

After finding out that we were going to be hot and miserable for at least another day. Audrey decided to projectile vomit all over the back seat of the car. Leaving me to wonder why one can't outsource certain aspects of motherhood to distant lands, like vomit clean up or sick care. So I spent my hot and miserable afternoon hosing down the car seat and steam cleaning the upholstery while simultaneously praying she wasn't ralphing on my couch when I wasn't looking.

The vomit incident has also caused me to throw away a really great lunch box. (I gave it to her to throw up into, which she did and then threw it on to the floor board and puked again. YAY!) I also will have to miss my first kitchen day in my new class, which sucks. Normally I would just go ahead and make the same thing at home, but I am not roasting pork loin on a day when it is going to be 105. Thanks anyway.

I am trying to look on the positive side here and there are a few things.

1. My car really needed a steaming anyway.

2. The car seat SUPER needed to be cleaned even before the vomit incident.

3. ........ok, that's all I got.

Winning Wines

2010-09-19T06:42:00.000-07:00

Wine class is drawing to an end. And I am sad. This class has really grown on me. In fact, I might even be tempted to say it has been the best class so far. While it isn't a cooking class, I feel like I have learned more than I have in my cooking classes to date. (The first cooking class actually had no cooking, and the second was mostly cooking many of the same things I cook at home already.) Plus, how can you dislike a class that requires you to taste wine for an hour? If you like wine, of course. And I like wine, a lot.

Not only has wine class become a lot of fun, the teacher has really relaxed and started to have a good time with our class. I think that there is still a smidge of wine snobiness in him, but I think that it is hard to find a wine guy who would appreciate, say, a boxed wine. He is only interested in discussing the established "fine" wines that have "culinary importance". Things that aren't established or widely regarded as "fine" wine are glossed over or ignored. (This gives Maria fits because she REALLY wants to discuss the newly discovered Carmenere grape and he refuses to engage in that discussion.) He has gone out of his way to bring in different wines for the class when a preference or aversion is mentioned. He is patient beyond what I can imagine with the loud mouthed girl in the back row to constantly refers to the wine as "pukey" and insists that it all smells like chemicals and cat food. (He is gracious when I want to pop her and tell her to shut up. If you don't have anything nice/constructive to say than SHUT yer yap for crying out loud.)

In fact, the one problem that I have had with my wine class is that I feel compelled to do some home research. And that is expensive my friends. I have gone from drinking a bottle or MAYBE two a week as a before bed glass to going through a bottle of wine with my dinner companions every night. Because the real goal of the class is food pairing, dinner is the time to do this. Due to this focus on pairing, my wine "cellar" mix has definitely changed quite a bit. When I am drinking after dinner, often with chocolate (don't judge me!), I tend toward cabs. So that is what I have on hand. Lots of Cabernet. My cellar is usually a case of Liberty School and a case of Montes Alpha with a handful of better cabs strewn in there for "special" occasions or dinners with friends. Now I am sporting a handful of Alsace whites, some Sauvignon Blancs, Zins, a few Pinot Noirs, Chiantis, Barberas, and a Carmenere. (What can I say, Maria talked me into it at the wine shop.)

Some of the wine pairings have been very good. There is a reason that Barbera wines go super well with tomato-ey Italian food. Last night we had a WONDERFUL (J Vineyards) Pinot Noir with Salmon. Some have been a little odd to me be received by others much better, Spatlese Reisling with Thai food for example. I don't think that we have had a particularly bad mix yet. The Alsace whites are not particularly good for sipping alone, but paired really well with a snapper dish. So I would call that a success.

The only thing I have not learned in this class is how to really appreciate a Chardonnay. I still don't relish the idea of taking that particular grape on to my palate. I have learned that good to great Chardonnays SMELL like heaven, even if the taste doesn't seem to match up for me.

2010-09-15T10:03:00.000-07:00

I had fully intended to come in here and write about culinary school. Everyone likes to read about it they tell me. And why shouldn't you, food is fun. But then I read that someone I really like and admire has found out that their brother in law was diagnosed with Cancer and is waiting for information and more tests to determine a course of action. And that sucks. It particularly sucks because this week three different people I know are stepping up to say that Cancer is coming into their lives or may be making a reappearance.

I never know what to do or say to someone who is dealing cancer. I am always sure that my mere existence is a constant reminder to them that their loved one may not make it. And who really wants to subject themselves to that when your brain is already shouting, "DANGER Will Robinson, DANGER." On the other hand I am probably someone who KNOWS what you are going through. I have been there and done that and come out the other side. So I offer up some things I found to be truths in my dealings with the big C. (Although your mileage may vary.)

You are never more together as a couple as you are when you are fighting cancer. Coming together to work toward a common goal will focus you on your family and what is important to you in a way that nothing else will.
You are never further apart than you are when you disagree about what must be done in a life and death situation. It is hard to watch someone you love struggle and feel that they are not brave enough to take the next step.
Cancer can stop the world. Like I said in #1, Cancer can push things to the back. This can be a good thing but it can be a double edged sword. It is easy to not worry about anything but this moment and then find that a year or more has gone by and you haven't spent more than a trivial amount of time thinking about anything but Cancer. This is particularly true because there are people who live with Cancer for years. I can only imagine that it begins to feel like you are stuck in a never-ending session of mental torture. Think about something else for a bit. Seriously, try thinking about yourself and what you enjoy.
The patient will spend most of their time worrying about his/her family, everyone else will spend their time worrying about him/her. Don't dismiss either concern. You may think that no one needs to worry about you, but that doesn't mean that they are going to stop or that the worry isn't valid.
Stop talking about cancer all the time. Try it just for a day. Declare one day a week CANCER FREE day and just take a day that you don't discuss the same thing over and over again.
Take a moment to realize that people are flawed and you are stressed. They will annoy you. Possibly even infuriate you. Try to look for the meaning behind the actions/words that are driving you up a wall. You may find that they mean well but don't know how to show it. Or you may find that they deserve to have the air let out of their tires in the middle of the night. If the later is the case, call me and we will plot.
For those who know someone who is struggling with the cancer of a loved one, realize that people handle stress and grief differently. Some people are calm and make light, that doesn't mean they don't care. Some people are filled with rage and fury and rail at the world, that doesn't mean you should avoid them. Compassion is key.

I think that is all I got right now.

If you are what you eat....

2010-09-08T21:37:00.001-07:00

Today I attended a parent's meeting at Audrey's school in which they spelled out a lot of new policies for this school year. To say that I am not happy about some of them is an understatement. I have spent the afternoon trying to obtain some perspective on the one that has me frothing at the mouth, and it has eluded me so far.

Her school is banning any homemade items from being shared with the class. All class parties or celebrations must be done with food that is prepackaged with a complete ingredient list attached. As a chef-in -training this is truly abhorrent to my way of thinking. No Noah's bagels dropped off for the class, no homemade cookies or cupcakes for the birthday celebrations. Only Sara Lee bagels from a bag and Hostess Cupcakes. Please do not bring in fresh cut fruit, instead grab some canned peaches in heavy syrup. And they are going to schedule a classroom celebration once a month full of this type of food.

On one hand I get it. Kids have allergies, it is hard to keep track of them and monitor that the class treats don't have something that the kid is allergic to. A complete ingredient list helps that.

On the other hand, I am saddened and angry for several reasons. I am sad for myself because I enjoy making things for Audrey's class and the school teachers. I think that feeding other people is one of the clearest ways of showing you appreciate them, care for them, or are interested in knowing them and I will be no longer able to convey that message in that manner. I don't cook for people I don't like, and I like the people who make me and my kid happy. I am sad for Audrey because SHE likes that I cook for the class sometimes and asks me to. I am angry because in a time when we should ALL be teaching our children that processed food is not the best choice, it is being mandated by the school as a CYA method to deal with the extremely small percentage of allergies that would make this necessary. I am frustrated that they are not dealing with this on an individual basis, perhaps working with the parents in each class that have allergies to educate them on what can and can not work for the class as a whole. (For what it is worth, I have brought in egg free and gluten free treats to Audrey's class when the roster makes it necessary and have never harbored even a second thought about it.) I am angry that this puts me in a position where I have to be either a really mean mom and ban my kid from participating in the class parties, or have have to suck it up and allow her to eat things that I don't want in her diet more often than I would like. I am frankly just kind of pissed that someone would think that the solution to any food issue is to feed our kids more chemical-laden, preservative-riddled crap. I find it exceptionally infuriating that they are making an exception for things brought in for the teachers to eat. Because THEY want food that tastes good delivered for their teacher appreciation week. And guess what? The food that tastes the best isn't the stuff that comes pre-wrapped.

I keep telling myself that really it is minor in the long run. This is about class parties, Audrey will probably just learn to stop asking if we can make things for the class. The dose of massive sugar, pesticides and red dye #40 that she gets once a month at school probably won't cause major damage to anything but her mother's psyche and frankly I do feed her some of that on my own at home so she is not entirely a stranger to it anyway. But I still just seethe about it. I would love for my daughter to be able to learn about her classmates cultures by eating curry on her Indian friend's birthday or try a Cantonese dish made by one of her classmate's parent's but she won't get that option and the list of ways to share a culture and learn about each other is diminished. And that makes me saddest of all.

More School Stuff

2010-09-05T07:58:00.000-07:00

I thought I should put it out on the internets that wine class is definitely getting better. As we have moved into tasting I have been finding that I have grown to like my instructor a lot and my first impressions were either flawed, or are overcome by his passion and excitement about a mutually interesting subject. It also helps that when he found out that I am particularly fond of Rhone wines he brought in some really spectacular bottles for the class. It is hard to be ambivalent about someone who goes out of their way to be nice to you.

I like wine. I like to drink it a lot, but I don't usually stray too far from my preferred choices of Syrah or Cabernet Sauvignon. I have found that I enjoy several other kinds as well through the class. But, I have also found that my dislike of Chardonnay also rings true. Whether it is done in a light breezy Chablis style or a deep complex Cote D'or, I simply don't like it. There is something about the grape that just doesn't work for me. I may have to experiment and see if I can find a food I like it with, but you won't catch me savoring a second glass after my meal is done.

Burning down the house

2010-08-29T16:18:00.000-07:00

Let us take a brief moment to examine the drama that is housework for single mothers. (Maybe for all mothers, but since I have only ever been a single mother, that is all I can speak to.)

I used to have a clean house. I have pictures that prove it. When it was just Carl and I, I would spend one day a quarter cleaning out and organizing. Pick the room for that round and pull everything out donate, recycle and toss. Even when Carl was gone, I did it. I know that some people thought it was weird and/or heartless to rid myself of his things so quickly but I am less than sentimental about things that aren't functional or heartwarming. Then I had A. And my house has gotten progressively less clean over the last three years.

When A was little, I could occasionally hire a babysitter and get some minor cleaning done, but major decluttering takes hours and there is only so long a babysitter can keep a 18 month old at the park. When you add the need to periodically buy new stuff for a kid, and then inability to effectively clean, you have a recipe for disaster.

I spend many a day wondering if there is a way I can burn my house down and start fresh without either going bankrupt or going to jail for insurance fraud. Let's take today as an example. My house looks like hell. I go to get something out of a closet and the door won't even open because there is SO much stuff crammed into it. So I decide to clean it out. The first ten minutes are spent repeated moving A out of my way and answering "what is that?" 47 thousand times. But then, blessedly, she retreats to the living room to play. I thank God and smile that I am so glad that she is finally getting to an age when she can self entertain. Finish cleaning the floor and go into the living room to be greeted by a naked 3 year old covered in Vaseline. Crap.

Now I remember why my house never gets clean. Where are my matches?

When the Moon Hits Your Eye

2010-08-26T16:19:00.000-07:00

Pizza.

I love pizza. I make pizza a lot. We have homemade pizza about once a week. Usually on Thursdays.

So when a pizza competition for some scholarship money was announced I was excited. There was just one glitch. It was a mystery basket challenge and we wouldn't find out our ingredients until it was time to cook. The concept kind of freaked me out. But I signed up and waited to hear if I had been selected to participate. (There was a random drawing to determine who would participate because of limited space.)

When I heard I was selected I was doubly freaked. What if I opened the basket and it was something strange, like duck confit or a live lobster? What if my mind went completely blank and I couldn't think of anything to make? I started checking out pizza recipes for strange ingredients. I enlisted my friend Maria to come for moral support. I got a babysitter and packed my tool kit and headed back into the city for the nighttime competition.

Entering the school at night was a totally different experience. The hallways seem dim and a bit grungier than they do in the morning. The students, a little more boisterous. I made my way to the sign in for the competition and received a time slot for firing the pizza. Maria, who had come only to provide support was roped into participating because some of the selected students canceled at the last minute.

When the room was open, there was a table piled with ingredients. For some reason it took me a little while to register that this was what we were going to cook with. I must watch too many reality TV shows because I was sure that everyone was going to get at least one common ingredient and that table was the remainder of the "pantry" that we would supplement our box from. When I finally grasped the reality of the situation, my mind did go blank.

I was so focused on not pinning myself into one idea because I didn't know what was going to be around to use, that having a lot of choices swamped me. But, while my mind was spinning, the rest of the contestants swarmed the table. When they pulled away, the pickings were slim and my mind was still a jumbled mass of half-baked ideas. I finally spotted some potatoes and decided to go with a potato pizza inspired by a recipe I had seen in my research.

My pizza ended up being a ricotta base mixed with some vinegar to try to give it a little more sour cream taste. (Afterward, I realized that there was actually a refrigerator that had dairy products in it that I didn't notice. I may have been able to have sour cream instead of trying to fake it.) I boiled and sliced the potatoes and then tossed them in melted butter, garlic and thyme. When the pizza come out of the oven I topped it with fresh chives. It was not bad.

At some point between walking into the classroom and starting to cook, I had forgotten that we needed to make 2 pizzas. So when it came to actually put the things on the dough, I had to leave the dough a bit thick, spread the toppings a little thin and leave about 2 inches around the edges as crust. Also, when the potatoes took a little longer to boil, so I didn't get them into the butter/herb mixture while it was hot enough to give it a little crisp. There was no time to reheat it, so into the oven it went that way.

As I was pulling the pizza out of the oven, I knew it was slightly under baked. But I was freaked out it was going to burn and pulled it out anyway. (This remains a great flaw in my cooking. I am always a little timid about cranking the heat and then end up not cooking something quite enough. Things don't usually end up raw, but they never take on that great caramelized feature.) I debated back and forth whether or not to add cheese, and made the wrong decision and left it off.

Someone else in the room made a pizza that was essentially the same pizza, only MUCH better executed. The crust was crisp, the cheese was melty, and the potatoes were sauteed instead of boiled and had better flavor (if a little salty to my taste). That pizza took 2nd place. First place went to a pizza with sausage and duck that I didn't get to taste. The 3rd place was a wonderful green curry chicken pizza that I would love to recreate if I didn't routinely cook for people who can't eat curry due to heartburn issues. Maria made a really interesting pizza with beets, caramelized onions and brie that was almost universally labeled as having potential but was missing something to make it really shine.

All in all, it was a good time and I would do it again. I definitely found it fun to meet students from other classes and see how the competitions go. I found that when it comes to pizza, too thick and undercooked dough was the most prevalent problem and really killed the pizza. The pizzas that won all had a great thin crust cooked to the perfect crispness. And not to toot my own horn (and my friend's) Maria and I had pizzas that IMHO fell into the top third of the competition. While they each had their flaws, they were round, creative and didn't degrade into a watery mass on top of a soggy undercooked bread.

Wine Whine

2010-08-20T06:42:00.001-07:00

Wine class has begun. I was SO excited for this class because I freaking LOVE wine. I enjoy a good glass of wine several nights a week usually. I am always on the look out for good wine at a good price. Heck, I have even taken an wine appreciation class or two in the past and had a BLAST doing it.

This class......not so much.

First, the class is taught by a guy who looks like Doc Brown from Back to the Future. It is hard to take someone seriously when you are waiting for them to break out with a conversation about flux capacitors.

Secondly, the guy spends forever and a day telling us all what we don't know. Except, I know a lot of the stuff he is talking about. So it really kind of grates and makes me feel like he is an arrogant jerk.

Thirdly, TOTAL name dropper and wine snob. He has detailed the winery owners that he knows and likes to discuss how 99% of the "important" wine in the world comes from just France and Napa. The school requires we discuss all the wine regions and do tastings from them, but they are really second class wines, donchaknow.

Yesterday was better than the first couple of days, and I hold out hope that once we move on to actually tasting wine and discussing the various wine regions the class will get more interesting. In the meantime, it feels like I have been in this class for an eternity, but it is only the first week. So, I will be in the corner playing Suduko, someone tap me if the chef says anything interesting.

That's Bon-Bon Cougar to you

2010-08-13T18:03:00.000-07:00

A cooking station shared by 4 students

A final dish Veal marsala, hash browns and green beans.

The assistant Chef Sean (It's ok to admire the hotness, most of the straight ladies and the bent boys do)

Chef Dan being goofy

It has come to my attention that I haven't really written about school recently. So here we go with a probably VERY long entry.

After finishing the first round of classes we were off to Food Science and Hospitality Math. Frankly they didn't really lend themselves to much writing. Food Science was neat (and as a bonus, I have a 2 year old who can use syneresis in a sentence) but taught by Chef Steve who seems perpetually grumpy. Hospitality Math was a chore to sit through and taught by a Chef who actually uttered the phrase, "There are no right and wrong answers in this class." Too painful to voluntarily relive it by blogging about it.

Then we were on to Foundations II, taught by Chef Dan and his assistant Chef Sean. WAY too busy to type then. Six weeks to start at Stocks and Sauces, make our way through soups, grains, starches, vegetables, eggs, salads and wind up learning how to cook 4-5 proteins.

Along the way I have managed to get to know some of my classmates better. Maria, the lawyer from Venezuela is indeed very interesting. She has some family roots in the Louisiana area and has been in and out of the south a lot. Richard is a fellow refugee of the financial world, but he is decidedly anti-corporations these days. He is possibly the most unconventional of the group (as far as I can tell so far), since he spends some of his nights and weekends with the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence doing some charity work and some partying. We have some overindulged 20 year old kids who are disrespectful to the chefs and slack off at the class clean up chores. One of them is often referred to as "Rick the Dick" by the older students. Mostly people want to smack them. Another 20 year old, Jordan, is definitely the class clown. Always quick with a joke and friendly to everyone he cracks me up because he is always running around singing songs that he only knows 2-10 words of. The same 5 words over and over again. Luckily for him this is a bit endearing instead of annoying like it should be. I have started to think of him kind of like a little brother or a former babysitting charge. That is that I like to help him when I can, which has a couple of the idiot boys thinking that I am interested in him. (Can you imagine me as a cougar....HA!)

The class has been filled with some good and bad moments for me. The day we did our soup test I burned my chowder, over boiled my consomme and cut myself pretty well. When the chef came over to offer a word of encouragement, he said "It's not like it is the worst day in your life." I teared up, he looked paniced and was searching for an escape, everyone at the table started to ask if they could help....all in all I wanted to hide under the table for being so thin skinned. But the hard days have been offset by some serious wins. I got a perfect score on Egg Day which is reportedly one of the hardest tests and my belief that I am generally a pretty darn good cook as been proven out.....even if I need to add more salt to everything according to the chef.

Which brings us to some lessons learned so far in culinary school.....

1. You really don't want to know how much fat and salt is in that restaurant food you are eating. I routinely add 1/2 a cup or more of salt to my food and I am told it is "lacking some seasoning." And even the vegetables are cooked in bacon fat or butter.

2. Dishes come and dishes go, it is no use bitching and whining about it when it is your turn to do them.

3. Everyone overestimates how much they clean up after themselves. (Even me) Don't fool yourself, and try to realize that you really did contribute to it. SO get moving to help clean it up.

4. If you don't help clean, everyone who is helping will notice, and hate you. (They may even make jokes about you sitting around eating bon-bons.)

5. There is no use crying over spilled milk, or burnt soup. Take a deep breath, clear your board and start over again.

6. It's just food after all!

Try it, you might like it

2010-08-07T14:08:00.000-07:00

It is amazing to me how as an adult we often see things colored in our past and allow that perspective to lull us into habits.

I remember as a kid hating to color. I never seemed to be able to find the right color. The crayons were always broken. And more importantly, my fine motor skills never allowed me to quite execute my vision. So I opted out. When I was asked to color, I would kind of scribble something up and call it a day. When I got to middle school, I choose to take an elective art class. My brothers could do better at what I was doing even without a class. After six months of attempting to draw a barn and never making any better than a C, my belief that I was smart rather than artistic or creative was cemented.

Fast forward 15-20 years and I really needed some artwork for Audrey's bedroom. Looking at the artwork in little kids books had me convinced that I could maybe make a passable attempt at making it myself. So I painted up the walls. And came out of the experience thinking that maybe I wasn't completely shorted in the artistic gene. Making cakes has also helped me find a more artistic side of myself. I still find myself struggling with thinking that I am not particularly creative, since I don't generally come up with designs or ideas myself, but instead search for inspiration or ideas in others. I also have found that since I don't think of what I do as artistic, when I am asked to put a price on what I do I am likely to seriously undersell myself.

The same thing has happened with me when it comes to running. I remember racing as a kid and always coming in last. I would NEVER win a foot race. So I didn't like to do them. Then when I hit puberty I REALLY hated to run. My chest was too big to be comfortable on the track. Add a dose of middle school self consciousness and I didn't want to get all red in the face and sweaty while I was running so much slower than my classmates. So I decided I don't run. Ever.

That edict changed when Carl died. I realize that I need to work on making my lifestyle as healthy as I can reasonable live with if I want to be around for Audrey in the long haul. She has already lost one parent, I don't want her to lose another sooner than is absolutely necessary. So I took up jogging. Strap the baby in the jogger and just go. At first it sucked. I won't lie, I hated it. But after a couple of weeks I started to realize that it didn't suck quite so much. In fact it was kind of cool to be able to breathe a little easier while running than I had the week before. Unfortunately, life happened and I had to stop my running program for a while. But this week I restarted it (indoors on the treadmill). And it sucks again. But not as bad as the first time I took it up, and I look forward to finding the day when it doesn't suck again. Maybe I will even do something monumentous for me and sign up for a race. I may come in last, or close to it, but I will be able to do it. And that's pretty cool.

Since I have tried these two things I have hated since childhood and found that they are actually not too bad, I have been looking around at other things I have written off as not for me and wondering what I should try next. And I wonder if anyone else has had the same kind of realization that something is pretty cool even though you remember it as a totally sucky thing. So tell me, what have you tried and found you liked?

2010-08-04T06:28:00.000-07:00

I was talking about age with some of my classmates the other day and mentioned that going to culinary school makes me feel old. Ancient even. They all poo pooed the idea of me being old and went on their merry ways for the afternoon. But I still thought about it. Why do I feel SO old some days. Then the answer hit me.

I am the only parent in the class. I don't even think any of the other students are married.

So, I think I feel so old because even though I am not the oldest, the people who are near my age or older are still not responsible for/to another person. (And it doesn't help that most of the classmates are a full decade younger than me) If they want to go get a drink after class they don't have to worry about who is going to pick up the small child from daycare. If they want to take a job that pays $10 and hour for the experience and fun atmosphere and work until 2 am they can and only they will have to deal with the results of that decision. Now that I am a mother I have to take my kid's needs and desires into account. And I have to do it doubly so, because I know I am the only one who will.

Normally this doesn't even register. Especially when I am around other mothers. It is what a parent does. But when you are surrounded by twenty-somethings who don't have the same frame of reference, and do silly early twenties things, it makes you feel old.

But I wouldn't change it. Mostly.

It's My Party

2010-07-27T08:24:00.000-07:00

I am planning A's party for September in my mind already. (Shut up. I totally love kids birthday parties. This in no way makes me a crazy cheerleadery like person.) And I am running into the same problem I have with every party I throw.......the guest list.

I love to throw a party. I love to invite everyone, anyone, possibly the random person I met on the street. And as Audrey gets older I can get back to throwing SUPER! COOL! parties with games and themes and such. (Kids under 3-4 just don't get games, which uber sucks for parents who love board games, and lawn games and, well, just about any game. Not that I am competitive or anything.) So this year there will be GAMES (albeit very small child oriented games) and who couldn't love my cooking and then there will be the CAKE. (Which, I make pretty cool ones if I do say so myself.) So I want to invite, like, EVERY single kid I know. And their parents. Because I want everyone to revel in the coolness that will be this party. (And you thought A's birthday party was about her, HA!)

But I know in reality that the party probably won't be as cool as it is in my head. I will run out of time, money, and end up frustrated because A will want to "help" me by destroying 1/2 of what I make to prepare. Plus, it is hard to herd that many children. So I am trying to convince myself that I should maybe not invite EVERYONE I have ever known. We will see how that goes.

S is the letter of the day

2010-07-25T17:06:00.000-07:00

As in, "Shit I forgot that I need to write a paper for tomorrow."

As in, "Suck it MOM I don't need a nap!"

As in, "Son of a GUN that hurt." - When you step on some random toy.

As in, "Sunday would be SUPER for a multi-family dinner get together."

I am feeling a little cranky today. My to do list is looking about as long as it ever has. My kid didn't take a nap. And I have to write a paper for school tomorrow. FRICK!

A paper on the origins of butternut squash, complete with reference citations and a title page and all that wonderful crappola. Don't get me wrong, I am all for literacy and the ability to write a properly cited paper. And I could have, about 12 years ago when I last took an English class. But writing a paper for a cooking class seems a bit ridiculous. Also, when you ask a librarian to help you get started and she looks at you with pity and contempt after all of her database searches come up empty and refers you to some random website, you are pretty sure she is just trying to get rid of you. So I am working on citations......and figuring out just how much Wikipedia can be trusted.

Notes on Remodeling

2010-07-11T21:29:00.000-07:00

Dear Self,

I know that you are feeling pretty good about your newly "completed" kitchen. I would like to take this opportunity to remind you of a few lessons learned during this project.

You are NOT actually done. Please attempt to complete the remaining parts of this project in a timely manner. (Six months is NOT timely and should not even be considered as a goal, ya lazy bum.) Include the curtains since they are the whole reason you started this insane project in the first place.
House paint and two year olds DO NOT MIX. No, you won't be able to manage it. No, your daughter will not be content to paint a random board. No you can't, whatever your other crazy scheme is. JUST NO!
Please remember #2 and dress your daughter accordingly if you are stupid enough to have a can of paint open in the house while she is conscious.
While you are at it, please dress yourself appropriately. You can't eat without spilling stuff on yourself. What the hell made you think that you can paint in your one pair of decent shorts without getting paint on them? And WHY would you change out of your "good" shorts into another non-grubby outfit when you knew you weren't done. Why, self, WHY?
Additionally, pay attention to the prep work. The paint is on you, the paint is on the floor and the paint is on the counter. I know that by the time you taped stuff off and put plastic over the cabinets you were anxious to start the "real" work. Guess what? The prep work is "real" work. Plus it saves you from spending what seems like an eternity scraping paint off of shit with a razor blade.
Please for the LOVE OF GOD think about a project like this for more than 15 mins. I know you had the paint in the garage, and you were feeling a little crappy about flaking out on something you committed to, but remodeling is probably NOT the most practical mood lifter in this instance. Because really the mood doesn't get lifted until you finish the darn thing. Plus, a week of trying to figure out how to feed your kid breakfast and lunch when you have disconnected the oven is difficult without preplanning.
If you don't heed #6, please at least CLEAN THE DAMN KITCHEN before you start tearing apart the cabinets.

That is all for now.

Love you lots,

Yourself

First loves

2010-06-30T10:48:00.000-07:00

A facebook acquaintance of mine is busy dealing with her daughter's first broken heart. It got me thinking about my long ago romances, and how it will probably be tomorrow that I am going through the same thing with Audrey.

I was very lucky in my first love. He was sweet. (And he had a Raider's jacket he let me wear SQUEE!!! Funny, I didn't care about the team, but it was black, matched all my clothes and looked cool.) We did schloopy teen things together. I did things that, as a parent, make me consider putting bars on my kid's windows. (Not really dad, I was a perfect child! I swear!) When we broke up it was because we had drifted apart and there really didn't seem to be much of a broken heart on either side. All in all, it was a perfect intro to teen dating.

My first broken heart probably didn't come until later when my long time boyfriend joined the Air Force. I remember being pretty heart broken when he left. Walking around listening to the Counting Crows and just generally being down. (I still can't hear August and Everything After without thinking about that time.) I don't think that my parents could have offered me much comfort at that time. It was just something I needed to work out myself.

My latest broken heart is a little different, but I already am starting to feel the mend. It is amazing how you never forget the one's you have loved, regardless of the end. How every time you open yourself up to that you make a new person.....usually a better one. So that is what I told my friend to tell her daughter.

Relay

2010-06-29T06:52:00.000-07:00

Last weekend was Relay for Life. Audrey and I spent the morning hanging out and then came back for dinner and my walking time. I was supposed to come back in the morning and do another round of walking, but for once my daughter slept in and we woke up about 10 mins before I was supposed to be there. I had such a good time just hanging out with the other Livermore Moms and talking to people on the track. Audrey had a BLAST hanging out with the lovely Miss Emma and that is ALL she can talk about now. I got to feed a crowd which always makes me happy.

Saturday would have been Carl's birthday, which was one of the motivating factors for my signing up for the walk in the first place. It really wasn't too bad of a day for me. I am always a little sad/jealous when surrounded by a lot of cancer survivors because I wonder why WE couldn't have been one of those families that made it to the other side. But that feeling was more of a background low level thing than it has been in the past.

It is amazing to me how differently people deal with a blow like cancer. There are some people who were newly diagnosed, who were still going through the fight there. These are people whose first instinct in a personal test is to get out. They immediately seek out ways to help others and support themselves in the process. They need to feel like they are doing something. My in-laws came, but really I am not sure they wanted to be there. I think people like them are more prone to pulling inward in a test. Seeking a way to deal with it themselves and not wanting to be reminded that others have been more fortunate, or even less fortunate. I think I am somewhere in the middle. I need some time to lick my wounds, then I want to do something to get out and meet people and help....but it is hard to overcome my own inertia.

I am always amazed at the boundless energy and dedication that my team captain Kathleen has shown, not just in this endeavor but in others as well. I wonder if she is secretly Wonder Woman, because she is always up for a volunteer post/ taking on city hall/ working for something she believes in. I never see her tired or cranky. She never seems to regret being in the action and secretly wishing to be watching bad reality TV with a glass of wine and chocolate, as I am prone to do. I may want to be her when I grow up.

Over all the whole thing was a blast, I would like to make it a tradition for Audrey and I to go every year together. I wish that I had gotten it together to get a babysitter so that I could see the luminaria ceremony. I had hoped Audrey could hold out, but with the heat and the hard play all day, she just was pooping out. Maybe next year we will get to see the luminaria for Carl get lit and shine in the dark.

Food 'tudes

2010-06-14T09:07:00.000-07:00

I like food. A lot according to the numbers on my scale.

Being a culinary student, an avid eater and major reader means that in the last couple of years I have spent a lot of time thinking about, reading about, or discussing food. When you think about it, food is a completely fascinating subject. Where it comes from, what different cultures do with different ingredients, what is added too it, etc.

Because I spend a lot of time reading about food and the food supply (and possibly because of Carl's death) I am a little subject to THE FEAR. Because once you realize how little the food you know resembles the food your grandmother knew, and the amount of Monsanto brand antibiotics and hormones are out there, you start to wonder if that could really be good for anyone.

It started out pretty simply. Before Carl died, I made most of our meals at home. I would sometimes buy organic things but not with a huge frequency and always with a risk that my husband would roll his eyes at me and laugh at me for buying into the belief that it is better. When Carl was diagnosed with cancer, he halfheartedly joked that it was all the Diet Pepsi's that killed him. Or maybe McDonald's. I think he was only half joking as they were pretty big staples of his diet from childhood until the day he was diagnosed. (While I don't eat fast food much, Carl had it for lunch almost every day.) In fact several of his work colleagues all gave up diet sodas cold turkey when he died because they were convinced.

So I gave up sodas. And bought more organics. I was not sure that it was really necessary, but what does it hurt? If the only thing I waste is money, well you can always earn more of that. The more I started to research what was worth spending more money on for organic, the more I realized that buying organic produce is low(er) on the list of things that are important. The more that I read about dairy and meat raising practices the more I became convinced that those are what I needed to buy organic......especially if Audrey was going to be eating them. But Whole Paycheck has it's name for a reason.....organic meat can be in the $15-20 range which is COMPLETELY insane. So I looked around and found that I could buy organic beef and pork directly from the farmer at a steep discount. Though it is still more than conventional products.

So now I have a big chest freezer and if an earthquake comes and knocks out power for longer than a day I will be throwing the biggest damn block party you can imagine. But that is not enough.....I start looking at bread and crackers and condiments and think "What is that crap on the ingredient list?" And I start making the stuff myself. Who knew ranch dressing is hella easy to make? And bread is like heaven when it is direct from the oven. Except when you really need a piece of damn bread and you don't have the time to bake and you are walking around in the kitchen wondering why the F didn't you just buy the stupid chemical laden crap when you were at the grocery store. And you start to wonder if this has stopped being an exercise in doing good things for yourself and the kid and the CRAZY has started to take over.

I look around at other people who are close to me in their attitudes toward food and I think they are possibly a little crazy, a little fearful. Maybe I am too. But then I wonder, who does it hurt really? The only time I am put out by it is when I am attempting to short cut, because let me tell you when you don't want to cook and you are weighing the greenness and organic nature of take out food, there ain't a lot out there. And really, as long as I can stop myself from getting into a tither about the fact that the only place that serves organic takeout is Z-Pizza and their sauce is made from plastic-lined cans so BPA is totally leeching into every bite. I can dial it back and agree that Chinese food or Baja Fresh is just fine once in a while, I think that my trip down the rabbit hole is not so out of control. But in the spirit of full disclosure I should tell you, I am making my own Barbecue Sauce this week. And canning my own tomatoes.

It's You in Four Letters

2010-06-12T06:20:00.000-07:00

Every boss that I have had has always really loved the Myers-Briggs personality test. They all loved to have everyone take it and share their results as a "team building" exercise. When I started questioning what I wanted to do for a living, many many people recommended taking it again. Apparently, the culinary school's department chair is also a big fan. Every once in a while I wonder what it would be like if it became the next cocktail question. Instead of "what do you do for a living" you could ask, " And what is your personality type?" Maybe you would be better able to extract yourself from completely boring conversations.

So this week I took the Myers-Briggs personality assessment. It came out the way that it always does for me. I am a ESTJ (Extrovert, Sensing, Thinking and Judging) through and through it would seem. It always is comforting and also a little surprising to me that it is always the same.

It is funny because I am borderline in a couple of the categories, the first one is the extrovert/introvert category. It doesn't surprise me I am on the edge because I don't feel much like an extrovert. I like people and need to have them around, can and will talk to strangers in line or on the street, but I don't get revitalized by it. When pressed for the best way to spend the day after a hard week, chances are I am going to want to bond with my couch instead of hitting a club. Maybe I might invite someone to join me for dinner at Chez Boyd, but it will be someone who won't mind if I open the door in my PJs.

I have always been prone to picking up acquaintances pretty easily, but true friends are hard to come by. I have some that I don't even consider friends any more, they are more like family. People who could tell you they did something SO ridiculous that if they were anyone else you probably would be uncomfortable and not hang out much longer, but instead you just shake your head and say "Geez Jillian, that's the stupidest thing I have heard in a while." (really just an example, not true) I love them because they are defacto sisters in my life. To maybe put it more succinctly, I have lots of people I would have dinner with and not too many I would ask to help me move.

The other category I am always on the border for is the Thinking/Feeling. That shit cracks me up. If you are a Thinker, you are rules/outcome oriented. You don't think too much about how that effects the feelings of everyone involved, even including yourself. For example, if you wanted to do a teacher appreciation and stopped a teacher's class to deliver a cup of coffee, the feeler would be happy to have been recognized while the thinker would be irritated because you interrupted the class, he has already had his coffee this morning, and it's not like he can drink it while he is lecturing.

I always end up on the border of these, even though I know I am TOTALLY a Thinker. I think because the way the questions are asked, they always ask about whether or not you follow rules. But it is really all about logic. Well, I follow all rules that make sense. I am not into stupid rules just for rules sake.

So there you have it......it's me in 4 letters.

Good Samaritans, Bad Apples

2010-06-03T17:07:00.000-07:00

Today, my rusty first aid skills got a chance to be brushed off and put into action. And then I got to direct traffic in an attempt to prevent idiots who were driving too fast from running over a fellow member of mankind who was lying prone in the middle of the street.

All I can say is that there are some really good people out there.....and some serious shit heels.

When I was leaving school I had the misfortune of watching a bicyclist flip himself off his bike head first and into traffic. Two pedestrians reached him while I stopped and some guy driving a BMW and yapping on his phone barely missed running him over. A couple of quick inquires revealed that the biker (Lee) was alert and oriented, but was in serious pain and didn't feel like he could move. The pedestrians (Mike and Joe) asked the BMWer dude (DB) to call 911. DB hemmed and hawed, not wanting to get off his current phone call. Just when I was about to stop taking Lee's pulse and go fetch my phone out of the car, DB finally relented and called 911. Mike and Joe moved to direct traffic around me and Lee, while DB kept answering the dispatcher's questions poorly. When asked a question he didn't know the answer to he kept telling them he didn't know, despite being less than 10 feet away from 2 different people who could answer the question. He also kept telling the dispatcher that he was just calling it in as a "favor" but he really needed to leave already. And within a few moments, he did.

While Mike, Joe and I spent the time waiting for the police to arrive I was impressed by the number of people who stopped and asked if we needed any help, was surprised that one person went around the block again to come back and get another look, and was SHOCKED that more than one person (who didn't stop) rolled down their window to take a picture of Lee laying on the ground with their iPhone. But I guess that is the good, the bad and the ugly of humanity there.

I am happy to report that Lee seemed to be doing as well as can be expected as he was being loaded into the ambulance. He seemed to think that he broke his collar bone, but was able to focus on being concerned about whether or not they would bring his bike (they would) and if he could direct them to a specific hospital (he could).

So the moral of the story here is, wear your helmet for cripes sake. And watch it when you fly around a corner.

Following that excitement I headed off to the DMV, but that is another rant about the state of the world and the government that will have to wait for another day.

Why I Relay

2010-05-24T08:14:00.000-07:00

I have got a few questions about why I am doing the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life this year. Some who want to know why I would leave up the stupid generic message on my contribution site (mostly from people who haven't sent me a contribution, heh) and some just curious soles. I have really not had a good answer for people, so I thought I would try to work it out here.....and what more appropriate time to work it out than the anniversary of my husband's death.

Why do I Relay?

I am doing Relay because 3 years ago at this time, I sat pretty closely to where I am now and waited for my husband to die. Occasionally, I would will myself into the bedroom to sit next to him, but that was excruciating. Frankly, if I could have done it without being the worst wife/person in the world, I would have bolted. Left the house, got a coffee, seen a movie. (He wouldn't have been alone, I am pretty sure you couldn't blast my MIL out of her chair with dynamite.) Sure the other people in the movie theater might have wondered why the crazy woman in the back was totally loosing her shit, but I was pregnant, I doubt they would have bothered me. After all, cooking and escapism is my therapy. But I stayed. And I prayed. I spent several hours praying my husband would die. We were beyond the possibility of correction and past communication and cherished time together. He had dropped into unconsciousness, had started to stop and restart breathing every couple of minutes, was moaning, and all I wanted was for it to be OVER. For both of us. For everyone in the room.

And that in a nutshell is why I Relay. Because NO ONE should have to pray that their husband/child/father/mother dies to escape the clutches of their disease. And I Relay because those of us who have gone through that need to meet other people who have too. We also need to meet people who haven't, people who have survived. Meeting the survivor's gives us hope for when we hear someone else we know or love is diagnosed. Also, people who have been touched by cancer are less likely to hear that I am a widow and shut down. It is easier for them to see that it is only a piece of who I am these days. I Relay because it is the only event that fights ALL cancers big and small and doesn't spend a lot of money sending people to Hawaii to run a marathon or other places on vacation. But mostly I go so that hopefully the next person I love who has cancer will be able to say that they beat it.

So if you haven't already supported me and you have even a dollar you would like to give, please head over to the ACS page at http://main.acsevents.org/site/tr/relayforlife/rflfy10ca?px=13788785&pg=personal&fr_id=20441 . And if you have lost someone to cancer consider buying a luminara with your loved one's name on it.

Suck it, Nielsen!

2010-05-13T23:19:00.000-07:00

I shouldn't watch TV in May.

This time of year is itchy for me. Sometime in April I start to feel a little more high-strung. I find myself crying at lame as commercials or a song that catches me and reminds me of some emotional time in my life. (Hello, bad 80's song, I haven't cried to you since I was 12.) I quite put my finger on what my problem is. I know that I am just a little off. More prone to needing reassurance, more prone to beat myself up about anything that goes wrong, just more .......something.

And then I wake up and slap my forehead.......It's about the time of year that Carl started getting really sick. So of course I am a little itchy. And it's the time of year for TV deaths.

Before Carl died, TV watching was easy. Sure it sucked if some actress moved on and they offered her in the season finale, but I never really thought twice about it. Now, sweeps season is fraught with difficulty. I know that I am not alone. My mom has a friend who's son was murdered, afterward she couldn't watch a lot of the shows that she liked before then. All the CSI, Law & Order shows where someone's murder was the beginning plot point were too hard for her. While I still have my murder/mayhem shows intact, I am left with a problem with shows killing off people naturally.

The first year it caught me off guard, a minor character in a show dies of some random thing. Of course she knows she is dying an gets to say good-bye. Queue a touching scene followed by her getting "tired" and she dies within a few moments. I cried for two hours and then spent half the night composing emails (that I never sent) in which I called the TV writers every name in my (used to date soldiers and sailors) potty mouth vocabulary. I accused them of duping the citizens by perpetuating the belief that death comes easy for people and that this is the reason that people won't move forward to allow people who are terminal to die with dignity, because Hollywood tells them that their death will be easy anyway. But, I petered out and went to bed.

Since then I have been a little more cautious around May. But today I got gobsmacked by a character who dies after his wife died a couple of months ago, leaving his daughter an orphan. And all I can think about is that one of the worst things about widowhood is the random unexpected blows from out of the blue that leave your reeling for no good reason. I shouldn't be impacted by the lazy plot device trotted out in some crappy TV show, but I am. Tomorrow I will be better, but for tonight..... Nielsen can suck it.

2010-05-08T07:24:00.000-07:00

My first round of classes are coming to an end at culinary school. And I have been reflecting on what I have been learning. First, in classic french cuisine you can use a SHOCKING amount of butter and cream. Second, my knife skills are definitely improving and I am getting better and better at the useless 7 sided tourne. Third, there is nothing like hanging out with a bunch of 19-22 year olds a couple hours a week to make you feel VERY VERY old.

I was standing in the library of the school on Friday listening to a student who is further in her students vent about the teachers. Chef P (one of my current teachers) is a wonderful man and is super kind and she loves him. Chef M (the other current teacher) is a creep who can't cook and hits on his students. It was an interesting because I would think that a lot of the students in my class would switch these characteristics around. (Except the hitting on students.)

Chef P is a task master. He wants these kids to be professional, clean, focused. He has very little tolerance for people who don't utilize their time well and don't clean up after themselves. In some ways he is also a bit apologetic about enforcing his rules though. When the students don't live up to his expectations, instead of just telling them to get back to it, he tends toward long rambling lectures trying to explain why they should do this. Some of the students don't appreciate being held to the school's uniform and attendance standards and therefore find him to be a bit annoying in his inflexibility. His food always turns out tasty, but I have heard him advocate some cooking techniques that I have read are super no-nos. (Mashing potatoes with a mixer for example.)

Chef M is a talker. He tells the same stories over and over again. When he cooks it looks like a little explosion over the kitchen. (Although it is always cleaned well when he is finished. In Le Cordon Bleu cleanliness is next to godliness.) He has turned a blind eye to some of the side conversations and goofing off in class. He has simply shook his head and walked away when some of the students were discussing the "hot" girl in the hallway. He is always fun for a discussion on something not food related and will pontificate for quite some time about ecological awareness (very important) and animal treatment (They are not pets!).

For most of the last 5 weeks there has been very low amounts of hands on work in our class room. We are allowed to cut up potatoes and carrots, and make mayonnaise. (Oh, the arm cramps!) We have watched the chef make stock, sauces and soups. The next 6 weeks will be nothing but desk classes for our class. Then we will be let loose in a kitchen where we will be required to replicate what we have seen demonstrated. My six weeks will be spent doing a lot of practicing these in advance in whatever open lab I can find since I am required to take only 1 of the 3 classes that the rest of my class is taking. (I have been allowed a pass on the math and software course based on my other college experience.) I probably could fight to get out of the other class (food science) but it sounds too interesting.

Characters of all sorts

2010-04-13T20:58:00.000-07:00

Another week of culinary school has begun, and it is much of the same. Learning to cut things into weird shapes and impossibly small sizes. Even something as easy as dicing a tomato has to be complicated by boiling, ice shocking, peeling, deseeding and DRYING the tomato before you start cutting (called a concasse, because "diced tomato" just ain't good enough) . We are getting used to tourned vegetables in our dinners around here as I try to use the product of my practicing. This is alternated with mixed vegetable latkes and lots of mashed potatoes to use the scraps. For those who don't know, a tourned vegetable is a seven sided football cut. (Why seven and not six or eight? Well, it was thought of by the French and as I am sure I have mentioned before, it is probably just to fuck with your head.)

Culinary school is a bit of a trip for me. I am, more often than not, the person in the room with the strongest opinions about food. Not so much at culinary school. Listening to some of the Chef's talk about food is both amazing and highly amusing. Listening to some of my 18-22 year old classmates talk about just about anything is both amazing and amusing.

My first class is taught by a foriegn (french? I am sure he told us and I was too tired to remember on the first day.) teacher who is sometimes hard to understand but runs his class like a boot camp. The first week was a little lax, but now we are beginning to see the irritation when someone does not remember to put on a part of their uniform, or comes in late. The cuts must be perfect and everything must remain SPOTLESS while you are working. No dirtying up your cutting board by leaving scraps on it lest you be called a "Porky Pig".

My second class is safety and sanitation. Which, while being important, is a bit boring to both attend and (I would guess) to teach. So the Chef instructor (who reminds me of Pavarotti) ends up repeating himself a lot. But, he is a wealth of comments that I find hysterical some times......

- When asked if veal is mistreated his response was "well it's not a pet you know."

- When discussing meats, "Well SOME people believe that sodium nitrate is carcinogenic"

Then there are my fellow students. I haven't had a chance to talk to them much, beyond evesdropping on a lot of conversations that start with the phrases, "Well, we were at the bar..." and "Man, I was so trashed". But there are some stand outs. There is the 39 year old who has spent the last 6 years on a crabbing boat and is mysteriously silent about the time before that. He totally reminds me of the character Drew on the new Scrubs season, so I keep wondering if he was in jail too. Or the 22 year old with a 6 year old son in his hometown who just moved here with his boyfriend who has a blond mohawk and reminds me of Billy Idol. He cracked me up yesterday by getting all bent out of shape that he was rude to someone on public transportation and they had the NERVE to be rude back! There are the three 20 year olds who all know each other and spent yesterday talking about hooking up with their various boyfriends/girlfriends in the back rooms of their jobs. One of the students was a lawyer in Venezuela and decided to leave to come to culinary school. I haven't had a chance to talk to her, but I bet she will be interesting. In fact, this school could just be amusing as hell because the people are all just a little bit crazy.

Drinking the water

2010-04-07T17:04:00.000-07:00

“Yes, Chef. No, Chef. Thank you Chef, may I have another.” This week I started the Le Cordon Bleu culinary school if you didn’t know it already. What you probably don’t know, because I certainly didn’t before Monday, is how closely it seems to resemble joining the armed forces, or maybe a cult.

As they handed out our (butt ugly, except for the jackets) uniforms there was much talk about the reputation associated with them and the need to maintain discipline while you are wearing them and not bring shame on the institution. All uniforms must be impeccably clean and white. (Quite a feat with all white gear) All uniforms must be hemmed and pressed at all times. Your neckerchief must be tied in a proper Windsor knot and GOD HELP YOU if you show up to class without a part of your gear. In class the only answer is “Yes, Chef.” Unless of course the answer is “No, Chef.” Any deviation from this pattern is not appreciated.

There seems to be less verbal abuse so far than I would expect from the military, but I understand it comes when you get into the higher cooking courses. After all WE are paying THEM for this opportunity not the other way around, so it simply wouldn’t be economically advisable for them to scare us away in the first week. I image it works a little like domestic violence, they have to make us think that we want them and need them badly enough to tolerate any bad behavior before it begins.

I am sure that there are very practical reasons for both the uniforms and the conduct requirements, not the least of all being to show respect. (Which I whole-heartedly support) But mostly I think it is probably because it is a French founded school and the French just love to fuck with people.

So far there has been a lot of lecture and a little cutting. Pretty boring fare really. How to succeed. (Show up.) How to show respect and handle yourself in the kitchens. (Yes Chef!) How to cut carrots into itty bitty teeny tiny squares that I can’t for the life of me figure out what they could be used for.

So, if you are looking for some julienned vegetables (or the aforementioned teeny tiny squares called a fine brunoise) I am your girl. At least until we move on to boiling chicken carcasses. (Otherwise known making stock.)

Da, Dada, Daddy, Dad, Father

2010-03-30T11:59:00.000-07:00

Audrey has been talking a lot lately about daddies. Everyone is a mommy and daddy to her. When we go to other people's houses they have a mommy and a daddy. Animals have a mommy and a daddy in her little world. So I know the talk is going to come. Maybe sooner than I want, or than she will be able to understand.

Yesterday, she told me "we are going to go to Emma's house and see Emma and her mommy and daddy" and when I agreed, she further told me "and my mommy and daddy are going to be there." And I didn't have words.

When she calls someone else daddy (because that must be their name since someone else is calling them that) or talks about daddies, it is a little stab stab stab to my heart. I want to avoid the day when she realizes our family isn't like the others she sees. In a lot of ways this is because I don't know what I am going to say to her. My mother in law has already broke out the "Daddy is in heaven watching over you" once. But I can't bring myself to walk that party line for two reasons.

First: My husband was a good man in his heart, but he wasn't a religious man and sometimes he was deeply flawed in his actions. I am not sure even if there was a heaven he would be in it.

Second: The bible says that the dead will only rise when Jesus returns and calls them home, so even if there is a heaven, and he got in , he wouldn't be there yet. (At least that is what I was raised to believe. )

But, I can't really weigh down a small child with religious hairsplitting, and/or disparage her father (whom I very much loved). So I am at a loss. I know I need to figure out what I am going to say so I don't get caught flat-footed about it with a 3-4 year old looking at me expectantly, but anytime I try to think about it I just cry and can't come up with a good solution.

Random thoughts

2010-03-14T09:10:00.000-07:00

I haven't managed to put together a proper post, but here are some random thoughts for the weekend. They are most likely just a rant that I am too nervous about posting the full on diatribe on the internet where someone might tell my mother what I said.

Sharing a bedroom with a daughter and a mother that both snore and one of them is trying to sleep on top of you is NOT restful.
I really must figure out how to change my interactions with both my mother and my daughter, because the irritation at them is eating me up. (Possibly related to the first point?)
Is it normal to enjoy 75% of your extended family 90% of the time you are with them? And the other 25% somewhere in the 40-65% range?
I hate feeling like I can't win. If something bothers me and I speak up everyone gets super defensive and chastises me for making them feel bad. If I don't speak up and feel irritated about it, I am admonished for being "unpleasant" since my answers are short and a bit terse. I suppose the only option is to never be upset by anything. If you figure out how to do that please be sure to drop me a line.
Blow up mattresses are mighty freaking cold to sleep on unless you spread a heavy blanket or sleeping bag on top of them.
I have got to stop complaining about people my daughter loves in front of her. Which really means I have got to get out more without her so that I have some room to vent without doing it around her.
It is unlikely that I will ever become vegetarian even if raising cows organically and grass finished produces a ton of methane gas.
Engaging your aunt who looks rather gaunt while you are overweight in a discussion about food and eating habits will not lead to a happy place.

2010-03-09T14:38:00.001-08:00

Dear Universe,

I realize that you live to mess with people. Really, there is a lot of stuff that I am sure happens just to remind people that you have the power to knock people on their butts.

But, having my iPod choose a selection of sad, sappy songs (some of which were played at my husband's funeral) at exactly the moment that I am suffering from a minor (maybe major, it remains to be seen) household disaster was a bit on the cruel side. You see, when shit goes bad in my house, I miss my husband. I miss the ability to split the duty on taking care of the grunt work. I miss being the one who has to stay rational because Carl is the one losing his shit. And, frankly, I miss his income making sure that even if this turns into a strip the drywall off the bedroom and call in a contractor kind of experience, it won't be that major of a deal financially. So yeah, thanks for the reminder that I didn't need that I am alone in those tasks.

Alicia

Losing My Religion

2010-03-03T07:20:00.001-08:00

Faith. There is a loaded word. It is right up there with politics as a word that is fraught with tension in our society.

So fraught that I have written and rewritten this post several times and debated whether or not to post it. It seems so much more personal and possibly TMI than grief, in-law problems and sleeping issues. In the end, this blog is mostly for me and frankly, I am the queen of TMI sometimes anyway so, whatever.

Religion and faith have been on my mind a lot lately. I am (sort of) looking for a church to join and have been visiting a lot lately. This seems weird to me, because it is hard to find a church that really speaks to your beliefs when you are having a hard time figuring out what you believe.

My mom is pretty uber-Christian. She takes her bible very seriously and studies (even learning ancient greek so that she could read some older versions of the bible). Whenever I mention my conflicting issues with religion/faith she always has the same answer, read the bible and pray. Everything that you need to know is in the bible and God answers all prayers. Which is probably why I don't like to discuss religion much, because the statement that God answers all prayers makes me seethe. I want to shout, "No he doesn't mom" or (on a less generous day) "Do you really think that Carl died because I didn't think to pray?" (As if I would take my mom on as my spiritual advisor. I think all mother/daughter relationships are laced with enough button pushing without adding that.)

Also, if God doesn't answer your prayers most people respond with the idea that "God has a plan, even if you don't understand it." So, if God has a plan, and is going to follow his plan no matter what, why bother to pray for something to happen? Praying to be thankful for something that has already happened, sure, but if your prayer isn't going to make a difference then why? If it is going to make a difference, then why do some go unanswered? Was the woman praying for tickets to the Obama inauguration (to take an example my mom has given me of prayer working) more worthy than the people praying for more important things that went unanswered?

Reading the bible brings up even more issues. After a lot of soul searching I can definitively say that I believe in God. I think that there is just too much magic in the world to not believe in some higher power. Beyond that is where things get sticky for me. I have a hard time with the Bible (or really any religious text) because of the nature of these sorts of things. They are written by men, often long after whatever "facts" have passed. They are edited strongly with the needs of the church institutions placed above anything else. One only needs to read some of the passages about women or slave ownership to know that the texts are definitely influenced by the times and attitudes of the people writing them. There are certainly other religious groups who claim to have the "true" text. There are other people who have claimed to be the son of God and had good followings and were reported to perform miracles. So what makes the bible as we know it THE ONE TRUTH?

Yet through all this. I want to believe. Somehow with all the questions and issues that I have Christianity just feels "right". But I have yet to reconcile my logical mind with my faith and therefore feel a bit like a fraud anytime I go to church. If only God would speak to me. I imagine it would go something like this

God: "I know you have been struggling child"

Me : "Yep"

God: "Well, I am here to help you"

Me: "Great, can we talk about what religion is the best?"

God: "Well, they are all pretty good, but I am partial to Christianity. Jesus Christ was my son after all"

Me: "Really?"

God: "Yep. I mean, Buddha was a pretty awesome guy, and Mohammad definitely got a lot right, Pagans have some good points and the Mormons are just a little wacky, but you know how parenting is. JC will always be my kiddo."

Maybe if all of the Christians I knew weren't all SO faithful it would be easier. Most of the religious folks I know BELIEVE, while I often feel like I believe. But I want Audrey to grow up with some religious belief. Church provides a great community and even if I have problems with the larger macro issues, the teachings of the church (community, service, caring) are things I want my daughter to learn. So I will keep looking (when we are not too sick) for a church that doesn't make me feel too much like a fraud. And hope I figure it out a little more for myself before Audrey starts asking me questions.

Sick and Tired

2010-03-01T07:15:00.000-08:00

Sometimes people tell me that it must be very hard to be a single mother. For the most part, I don't feel like it is all that measurable different. (Not that it is easy, but I don't think motherhood is every really EASY especially when the kid is under 5 or so.) Since Carl was gone before Audrey came on to the scene, I have nothing to compare it with. It just is the way it is. In fact, sometimes I feel like it makes it easier. Carl and I never have to agree on rules, or punishments. There can be no feeling that someone is being too lenient or too harsh. Whatever I say goes, for good or bad. It can be quite nice.

That said, illness makes single motherhood HARD. If you are married and you or your kid is sick, you spouse is contractually required to return home. If you have a nice spouse, they may even come back early to let you rest. As a single mom, when someone gets sick some of your support systems jump ship. No one wants to get sick and I understand that. It is particularly hard when I am the one who is sick. When Audrey is sick, the only thing I have to worry about is the two of us going a little crazy because we are trapped in the house and only my mother will brave the illness. When I am sick and Audrey is well or on the upswing of an illness, that is when single motherhood sucks. And hard. All I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep, and all my daughter wants me to do is play and read and cook.

This year is Audrey's first year of preschool/daycare and the illness has been abundant. Today, I can feel myself coming down with yet another cold and I am tired. I know that this will pass, and the cuddling that I get when Audrey is feverish is downright adorable (and possibly why I am always getting sick). But how can you avoid illness when your child is dipping her germ infested fork into your food or sneezing in your face?

Why

2010-02-24T21:41:00.000-08:00

Tonight I spent the evening, as I do many Wednesdays, with my (former?) in-laws. When I came home I was tired. I wanted a glass of wine and some internet surfing to ease the sting of having my decisions judged wanting. I wanted to stop thinking about what is going to happen when I go to school. To stop thinking about how I am going to swing seeing the in-laws with my new schedule, when what I would REALLY like to do is go back to seeing them WAY less often.

And then I read it. A random blog, reached through a series of links, about a family with a daughter Audrey's age who has cancer. It was eerily familiar. The tale of being sent home with a life expectancy of months. The return to the hospital and the swift ramping downward of the estimate of time left. The excessive sleeping, the morphine, the panic, the fear, the regrets. It was all there. Except this woman was talking about her baby.

My breath caught in my throat and my eyes filled. I walked (only due to a severe effort to prevent running) to check on my daughter. I sat in the dark until my eyes became accustomed and touched her back, definitely risking a wake up. Almost wishing for a wake up so that I could spirit her into my bed for cuddling and monitoring tonight. I listened to her breathe and tried not to imagine what my life would be like if she was taken from me too.

That is why. Why, despite my Mother in law's habit of annoying me, her disapprovals and the the loss of the precious time with which I could be doing something I find more rewarding and enriching, I will be finding a way for Audrey to spend time with her dad's parents. Because that was her baby who went through that. And that is her grandchild that hangs by a string that could easily be snipped by me. I will put up with a lot of things for her to have a relationship with them as long as it is mutually beneficial (for the in-laws and Audrey), even if the benefits don't always fall into my lap and the cost of the relationship is sometimes thrust on my shoulders to bear. Because she has lived that horror, and deserves the small amount of joy I can give her. How can I not give that when the only price is an afternoon of my time and some minor annoyance.

Enjoying the Rain

2010-02-22T20:54:00.000-08:00

Someone asked me this week a question that gave me great pause. (And caused me to uncharitably think them none to bright) "What would you give to have Carl back?"

...Huh. First, let us set aside the fact that, at best, this is an awkward, tacky question. We will just ponder it for a moment.

What would I give up to have my husband back? The short answer which I am sure will leave no one satisfied is, almost anything and nothing at the same time.

Carl's death was, of course, an ordeal. In some ways one that I am still coping with. But it is not without it's own blessings as well. Death often can help us open our eyes to the people and memories that are important to us. I appreciate the things that I have more now. I make more time for the people I care about than I did before. The nine months between Carl's diagnosis and death were (for the most part) the best part of our marriage. It stripped away everything else and made us see what was important. Without Carl's death, I probably would not have Audrey.

To ponder having Carl back is like pondering a parallel life. Ultimately, the experience has changed me. Helped me grow. To pondering going back is to ponder hacking off parts of me that have blossomed under adverse conditions. I can't really fathom it. Life doesn't have a rewind button, but if it did could you push it knowing you would turn out a different person? That your child would? It is an impossible question.

The question stuck with me when I took Audrey out for a walk in the rain. I thought that my life now is all about taking a walk in the rain. I can't have Carl back and dwelling on what could have been or should have been makes me sad and resentful, I get stuck inside. Living in the fallout and trying to find the happiness in my life is like going outside and finding a great puddle to tromp through, it might be messy but it is so much more satisfying. So it is hard to imagine what I would give up to go back, because I am trying to hard too find my way forward. So, while I would probably give up anything except another person to have Carl back, what I have is pretty darn satisfying. (All sleeping issues aside.)

The Box

2010-02-20T15:51:00.000-08:00

I hope you all can forgive this crazy picture bit, because I can't figure out how to get them on the same line. We have bread, Audrey munching bread, and just a small bit of box goodies.

As many of you probably know, I belong to a farm delivery service (kind of a like a CSA without the commitment) and get a box of produce every Friday night from the farm. The farm is called Farm Fresh to You (www.farmfreshtoyou.com) and it is an amazing little operation. Opening the box every Friday night after Audrey goes to sleep to put away my haul is always a little thrill. What will I get this week? What will Thaddeus have to say in his notes about the farm? (Because the box also has a farm news letter, you see.) It is not a roller coaster kind of excitement, but a little zing.

I have been getting my farm box for over a year now. Last year for Christmas I gave a subscription to my brother in hopes of getting him hooked, it sort of worked. I have been saddened when I read the news about the family's loss of a brother and grandmother. I was very happy for them when they had a new baby. While I am sure they don't really know me from Adam, it feels good to support a family operation and hear the news. It just feels right.

So today, I am spending some time on my every Saturday business. I must figure out how to use all this produce. And while I am at it, I need bread. So a-baking we will go.

The bread came first. Audrey helped me knead. She calls it "pushing the bread". When we bake, she is constantly eating the dough. Today was no exception. While the bread was rising it was nap time. (Really the less said about that the better, since I am currently feeling all happy and domestic.)

After that, came the plan for the week. So here it is, a snapshot of the dinner menu at Chez Boyd for the week:

Saturday - Tritip with rosemary potatoes and Broccoli*/Carrot* slaw

Sunday - Asparagus and Morel frittata with a Salad*

Monday - Pork with Wild Rice Pilaf and Squash*

Tuesday - Chicken Soup with Potatoes* and Collard Greens* with homemade Focaccia bread

Wednesday- Someone else cooks

Thursday - Beef Stroganoff with noodles and Salad*

Friday - Cashew Chicken with Rice and Bok Choy*

*all of these are veggies from the box. I used them all and then some. The farmer's market has supplemented our box with asparagus from Brentwood, and some radishes, extra carrots, and onions from Gilroy.

Tired Mommy Rant

2010-02-19T07:06:00.000-08:00

People tell me all the time what a great mom I am. I am never quite sure if this is the truth, or the only comfort that they know how to offer me for the other losses in my life. I don't know if I would identify myself as a super mother. I am a pretty adequate mom. I am the best mom for my child, and I certainly strive to do the best I can at any given time. Sometimes I fear, the best I can do is not particularly good......especially in the middle of the night.

My child is almost 2 and a half. I have probably had less than a month of nights when she has slept through the night TOTAL. And frankly, I can't remember the last time except as a vague memory that is was sometime this last fall. This is getting old. Really old.

This summer Audrey had been starting to almost get to sleeping through the night by herself about 3-4 days a week. And then cold season started. And since October I think one of us has been getting sick, being sick or recovering non-stop and the sleeping has turned into a disaster. Now, when Audrey wakes up I briefly entertain a fantasy of duct taping her to her crib for the night. Or closing her room door and sleeping in the car. Clearly, I can't do this. The clingy, hyper-needy child that would result from that would make the whole effort not worthwhile. Oh, and it might be dangerous or get me in trouble or something.

I have briefly considered sleep training. If I leave her in her crib, Audrey will call out for a couple of minutes and then go back to sleep. But she wakes up every 15-30 mins to call out again. ALL. NIGHT. LONG. I suppose if I was able to do this for a week or so, perhaps she would give up the waking, but after one night of this I am so tired and filled with irritability and anger that there is no way we can continue. A week of sleep like that would leave me suicidal or possibly homicidal. So it is far better that I get up and bring her into my bed where I have a 60-75% chance of sleeping well the rest of the night.

Last night was one of the other 25% of the time though. Wherein I bring my kid to bed and she proceeds to talk her way through the night. "Look mommy a kitty." "He is going to get a time out for not listening to his mommy." "Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday dear DOLPHIN." Etc, etc, etc. Coupled with occasionally trying to smother me to death by sleeping on my face. (Oh NO, sleeping next to me is definitely NOT close enough.) I think she must be mostly asleep. (Because I assure you we don't have a cat and also, no dolphin birthday parties.) This would keep me awake even if she was in her room because I am a light sleeper, she is a loud talker, and my house is postage stamp sized with our bedrooms separated by 2 feet. And after a night like last night, I am left teetering on the edge of mommy-craziness and wondering how the heck Carl gets off dying and leaving me to tend HIS child. (Because she surely gets THIS from her father.)

Also, anyone who tells me that their under 6 month old kid sleeps through the night.....I call LIAR. And if you aren't lying, I don't want to know because then I would have to hate you with the fire of a thousand burning suns....or, you know, at least envy you for a week.

Two paths

2010-02-17T20:05:00.000-08:00

I had a very disappointing phone call with my MIL today. It has left me feeling a bit off kilter and discombobulated.

She wanted to know how my meeting with the culinary school went last week and we were discussing how I am pretty sure I am going to attend and all was going swimmingly. Until she asked me about the cost of tuition. I hesitated; I thought briefly about lying; I didn't think quickly enough on my feet to come up with a satisfyingly vague answer, so I told the truth. To which she responded, "Well, then I guess you aren't going because that is entirely too much. It's ridiculous and you wouldn't throw that money away." During the course of our remaining conversation she managed to very effectively convey without actually speaking the words that Her Son didn't work his bottom off for that money so that I could piss it away.

It was a sad conversation for me. The truth is, I have always really liked my MIL. She is a very nice woman with a good heart and she is a wonderful grandma to my child. However, my conversation today has driven home the knowledge that we don't agree on many things and there are somethings that I just need to keep to myself. It is sad because one of the things that I miss most about the teamwork of marriage is having someone to discuss large life decisions with, and maybe I have tried too hard to slot my in-laws and my parents into that role. Pushing them in as square pegs into a round peg hole.

It also makes me more acutely aware of how our paths are diverging, with the exception of the link of the grandchild between us. May will bring 3 years that Carl has been dead, by the end of the year the amount of time that he has been dead will surpass the amount of time we spent married. Slowly, my life is changing and those changes are sometimes things her son would have disliked. Her focus is to keep his memory alive, mine is to have a full life and teach my child how to have joy and follow her dreams. Even if sometimes that means giving away something that was hard won and/or cherished by him.

Meetings

2010-02-17T07:02:00.000-08:00

Last night I attended my first meeting for the Relay for Life team. It was a nice meeting and it was great to meet the team members I don't know and other mother's from the Livermore Mom's group. It also brought up a lot of feelings about Carl's death.

To their credit, none of the women there responded with either pity or platitudes about how strong I must be. Those thoughts or statements never sit quite right with me and end up weighing on my shoulders when they are offered. I think it is always uncomfortable to be pitied, and whenever someone tells me how strong I am I feel like a fraud.

Asking to share my story stirred up a lot of things that I don't think about that often. The initial denial of the diagnosis. (Of COURSE it's not cancer, it is going to just be a benign tumor, they will remove it and everything will be fine.) Getting pregnant, not entirely on purpose or by accident, when we were still a little in denial that the "post surgical changes" in the CAT scan was maybe not necessarily a recurrence of the cancer. The need to FIGHT to get anything done as the doctors discussed and studied the options to death while Carl's tumor grew bigger by the day with no treatment. The fights with Carl about trying to fight when he had resigned himself to death. The numbness of new widowhood when your skin just hangs on you wrong and you feel like you have stepped into an alternate world in which everything is just shifted slightly and you can't quite get your bearings.

I think widowhood, or maybe it is just profound grief, changes a person. Even now I have a hard time feeling like a part of a group. No matter how welcoming or wonderful the people are, there is always a veil between me and the rest of the world. I have heard that people who have lost a parent feel some of the same thing. You have joined a group that those who are not in it have a hard time imaging how fundamentally it has rocked your world.

Every time I am attending a get together where I am going to meet someone new, I always think that maybe this time will be the time I DON'T tell them I am a widow. Maybe this time I will just not bring it up, when husband's enter the conversation I will just be silent and let them draw their own conclusions. In the end I always end up telling them my husband died. Usually around the time they start to ask about whether Audrey will have a brother or sister some day. Maybe it is because I am still trying to process that this is part of my story. Somedays it is an excuse for something I feel is a less than ideal parenting decision. And sometimes it is just because I feel the need to clarify why I am a single mom before other assumptions are made about me.

Squash it.

2010-02-16T16:56:00.001-08:00

I have been staring down a growing pile of squash in my kitchen for some time. My farm box in the winter has a lot of squashes, and they are always one of the first things to be left over because they age so well. It is also hard for me to use them because Audrey doesn't really like them and they are a little too starchy to serve with another starch as side, particularly when one family member needs diabetic friendly meals, so often they sit for a while.

But I was inspired today. I figured that I like butternut squash more than pumpkin and actually find it sweeter than pumpkin so why not use some of it in a sweet application?

So I made "pumpkin" cookies with pureed roasted butternut squash. And they were pretty darn yummy. I think they were a little sweeter than the pumpkin, so I may have to cut the sugar in half if I make this substitution for other things, but that doesn't hurt either.

Maybe tomorrow we will try the "pumpkin" carrot bars.

Changes are afoot

2010-02-14T12:18:00.000-08:00

This week I enrolled in culinary school. Somehow, I had hoped that making a decision and moving forward with my choice would make me feel less stressed about the changes that need to happen in my life. This did not happen. If anything, I feel a little more anxious.

Attending school means that I can no longer afford a lazy, unhurried morning routine with my child. Instead we will have a concrete deadline every morning. I have committed to spending a large amount of cash on a degree that may lead to a career path that is less than suitable for a single mom, and certainly pays less than the Accounting degree I have considered in the past. I have agreed to spend a large amount of my time commuting into the city to attend classes.

But, I have dreamed of doing this since I was a child. When I was 10 I sold my own homemade cookies to my neighbors and delivered them fresh from the oven. When I was in high school, I convinced my friends NOT to make reservations for dinner before the homecoming dance so that I could cook, in my dress, for the lot of us. As an adult, I have sometimes bossily maneuvered others into letting me teach them to cook......whether they wanted to or not.

So I will go and give this a go. Maybe it will be the best career decision ever, or maybe it will be just a way for me to take a little more time for myself before getting my accounting degree and returning to the world I inhabited before Carl got sick. Hopefully, this change will work out for me in the manner that so many before it have; I will start school and wonder why on earth I was so stressed and waited so long because it turned out to be really easy.