compartmentalizing

I am nothing if not a supreme organizer, from my unending list-making to an unnatural love for bullet points. I like to think it's a simple sign of intelligence & efficiency but if I'm being honest, I'm pretty sure it comes from my desperate need to [pretend to] Control Things. At first glance over my life, it doesn't look like much was out of control - I only have 1 point for ACEs - but I've come to realize that even a single event in childhood can color the world going forward, and I have long had a stay-in-the-lines attitude that ended up being a hindrance, frankly; when getting hung up on How Things Look and How Things Should Be more than What Things Could Be, we miss a lot of exquisite little details. I still get hung up sometimes but I work harder at looking around corners and in the cracks, too. I'm working on crying out loud more, too, but in a controlled cute Rachel McAdams way as much as possible (it's never possible). 

On that note, here's a thing I wrote from a series of observations I was making when trying not to directly look an uncontrollable thing in the eyes. 

_________________________________________________________

I Practice Believing My Son Has Cancer

I sit in the hospital room on a dumbly comfortable recliner,

consolation gift for the parent who finds herself

in a foul game of fighting

disease by picking poisons that might or might not make him sicker today or later, really

nobody knows.

Don’t worry.

I’m offered a discounted lunch delivered with his free meal,
cheer the salad with salmon and blackberries, as if I’ve won a significant award.

My boy pores over his two-page paper menu with excited eyes vowing to try everything by the time he is done

in the fall, as if
that will be the bigger prize than
life past 19.

Don’t worry.

There is so much sun streaming onto my exposed neck, 

wrapping itself first around idiot yellow flowers staring over my shoulder at the magazine I took from the absurdly welcoming waiting room.

Everything a flavorless joke
reminding us that life goes fucking on outside of here.

Don’t worry.

I brought a book I will neglect in a bag full of other website-suggested things,

because mothering instincts say that if I have 

everything we need we will not need anything:

Not the extra soft socks or the unscented lotions or powerful sunscreens 

or ginger-infused organic candies meant to quell
toxic nausea. We are 

prepared and prepared and prepared
and...

Don’t worry.

mom of bad mom, revised

I wrote most of this for my mom's birthday a few years ago. Today I revisited & revised it thinking I might share at her retirement party, but we were laughing too much about this woman's shenanigans as lunch lady for 31 years for me to step in and squelch the mood with a Hallmark moment.
Yet I still want to put it out there, because she is pretty kickass and deserves the recognition.
________________

She's been a young mother, a single mother, a drag racing & dating mother, a working mother, a mother of two, a second mother to many, a mother-in-law, a grandmother.


We've done a lot of things differently through the years - I never did drag race anyone... - but I have never doubted the influence of my mom's example as a brave & decent woman.


My mom taught me
family is important, even if they can be embarrassing and exasperating at times.
My mom taught me
we help people whenever & however we are able.
My mom taught me
quality is key, in work + play:
we mowed lawns like John Deere and colored like Van Gogh.
My mom taught me
it's best to let go of things sometimes.
But when I say 'things' I mean hurt feelings and bad memories, because...
My mom also taught me
garage sales & thrift stores are far more marvelous than the mall.
My mom taught me
napping is allowed.
My mom taught me
ice cream is a food group and we should eat it often.

And my mom taught me
if something is valuable to my child,
it should be valuable to me.
There is a difference between time spent
and time invested.

My mom is extraordinarily full of kindness. I'm proud of all that she has accomplished in her life with astonishing graciousness. She's even managed to stay devoted to the Seahawks despite 40 years of relentless Cowboys fanhood by her husband & first born. I'm actually beginning to think she has willed the switch in talent between the two teams...

I should say it more often but again, my mom is one sharp, capable woman so I think she knows how awesome I believe she is.

My mom (plus me)
July 1968

yellow, for sam

This print belonged to my mother-in-law. After she died I decided I would like to have it, not realizing until I brought it home that it exactly matched the walls of our bedroom. I keep it above my nightstand and think of her every morning & night.

Sam championed just about everything I did - after not killing her son with my reckless driving out of the dorm parking lot where she stood meekly waving goodbye one sunny Pullman afternoon in 1989. She did not like it when I considered myself not good/smart/capable enough so she often praised my sense of style, my decorating skills, my writing, my teaching, and later my mothering. It took awhile for me to believe her but then I realized, she was not a woman who wasted time or energy with lies. Whenever I start to feel not good or smart or capable enough, I remember Sam's earnest face and I can hear voice telling me to just get moving. Try. Stop wasting time. 

Spirit. 

oxo

sisterhood

In the beginning, I was an only child. And it was good.

Or so I thought, because I was a spoiled, self-centered, sassy almost-9-year old.

 

July 1977

 

Then my parents apparently DID IT and suddenly I had a baby sister. Luckily they let me name her, which made this intruder seem more like a beloved pet that I could welcome into my teeny tiny single-wide trailer space.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before she could walk very fast and get into my piles of preteen stuff, I thought Michelle was pretty cool. And, of course, she thought I was AMAZING. This is always endearing.

 

 

 

Because Michelle is a Cancer and therefore extremely loyal to family, I was able to convince her to do anything I wanted. (For example, not remark about how horrid my hair looked in 1981). Also endearing.

 

But I did play Barbies all the time, giving important fashion & relationship advice and even made her some awesome records for their décor using the little album cover pictures from Rolling Stone magazine reviews glued to 2-inch-square cardboard pieces.

 

However, I also took a sweet little copper pot to college because I really liked it, then insisted it was never really hers and I deserved it anyway for making the albums. I found a similar one in an Amsterdam antique store five years ago and bought it for her. See, LOVE! After deception...Still counts, right?

 

 

 

Eventually we became actual friends. I don't tell her what to do anymore (except when I make her do fun things instead of boring obligatory things). I sometimes still make stuff for her and I no longer steal her possessions. I definitely love her with all of my formerly selfish-girl heart.

 

It is not lost on me that my daughter, also a Cancer, shares an uncanny number of traits with my sister. They are both wary of strangers. They suffer no fools. They have scowls that trump mine, yet they are inordinately kind when it is most important. They seek solitude with each other. And that, is good.

 

Happy birthday, baby sister.  

thankful: roots

A rerun for Thanksgiving

My first family - the one with my mom & dad & sister - doesn't read my blog much ever, which is fine. Sometimes the voice I use and the things I say are not likely part of their vision of me; I know I still feel mildly shocked when my baby sister talks about drinking (she's in her 30s) and I certainly get edgy if my parents remotely reference the fact that they do it. So it's cool that we have some separateness.

But I still need to acknowledge how grateful I am for their presence in my world, even if that presence is 6 hours of driving (and no simple plane or train ride) away. And that I miss them when we go long stretches without visits.

My favorite things to think about from my original family life:

• the way my mom can smell a bargain from 80 miles away and will not only seek it out for herself but also for friends & relatives (or friends & relatives of friends & relatives) who might be interested
• the way my dad keeps himself from telling me to shut up during the game when I have some piece of trivia about a football player, and that he still always wants to watch with me anyway
• the way my sister rolls her eyes if I start bantering with a store clerk I've never met, and the way she threatens to leave me behind if I don't stop talking TO A STRANGER (but she never does leave)
• our house on Whidbey Island, which is in the same spot and contains the same odd, short, makes-you-trip-when-you-run-on-it staircase as when it was built more than three decades ago, even though the entire downstairs is completely remodeled, and smells like dryer sheets & good food & my mom's hard work
• our garage, which houses dozens of boxes of my extremely embarrassing notes from junior high and Fisher-Price Little People (the ones that would spontaneously choke unsuspecting American children today), and smells like gasoline & oil & my dad's patience with me
• our driveway, which used to lead to my grandparents' house across the way (I could run there in 14 seconds; I timed myself once when the big light in the center was out and I had to get something from my grandma after dark)
• the cozy warmth when we light the wood stove then pull out old blankets and sit together, in front of the TV with ice cream

Young Bad Mom with the Good Dad who took her on all the scary rollercoasters

My beautiful baby sister, my beautiful mom, and me

fun #photoadayjuly

Silhouettes at night
A perfect night for fireworks
And memories made

18/365 "joy"

Grandma's recipe
With some chocolate chips thrown in
Still tastes just like love

17/365 "joy"

To condole the beasts young & old(er) who will likely be denied a snow day.

lucky thirteen



Saucy boy




Sassy young man

Happy 13th birthday to my Boon.

ambassadors

It is unfair to judge a nation solely on the people it allows abroad, but everyone unwittingly (I hope it's unwitting) does this. Think of the Asian Traveler as represented in every lame movie - carrying a camera, smiling & bowing, eating only noodles. David Sedaris observed American tourists' tendency to "visit another country dressed as if you've come to mow its lawns." Stereotypes exist because somewhere, someone has behaved that way; essentially prejudging people helps us to be prepared for an interaction. For example, when I braced myself for Parisians to despise me, I was surprised and relieved by their acceptance and immediately decided I could live there.

I have been concerned that, as generally congenial as the British tend to be, our family will be viewed as the Griswolds on their European vacation; I restrain myself from walking ahead and announcing WE ARE NOT STUPID AMERICANS wherever we go but that would obviously be counterproductive. I step out of our group to see us as Londoners might, if they slowed down long enough to actually look at us. I don't think we look like we've come to mow their lawns, mainly because I oversaw all packing of clothing. My boy, with his preteen slouch & scowl and the tendency to stroll 50 paces behind us rolling his eyes, probably resembles most 12-year old boys in the UK but then ruins the effect when he starts talking [loudly] in generalizations about how Everyone Here does This or No One Here knows That. Paige has a funky Andie-from Pretty in Pink thrift store style going on so, aside from her occasional panics about one of our party being missing from the group, blends the best. And as much as I like to imagine Stu & I looking sweet and sophisticated like Ben Affleck & Jennifer Garner on holiday with their charming children, I'm pretty sure we come off as benignly beleaguered characters from Desperate Housewives.

Regardless, we quickly schooled the kids on staying to the left when walking & to the right when standing on an escalator, plus implore them to try appreciating art & architecture and refrain from shouting references to Harry Potter wherever we go.

Instead we whisper them, giddily.

Cheers.

the girl goes to 11

My spunky baby girl

My stunning young beauty

Happy 11th birthday to bad mom's good peach.

mayday

All of the minor crises in my life are converging at this point to drive me to drinking four three four? glasses of Riesling at Sunday evening dinner. Too dramatic?

Things are feeling a tad overwhelming on this day, six Fridays from the end of the school year. Better?

I started this day feeling pretty good - after falling into bed around midnight following a successful and relatively fun prom at my school, I slept for nearly nine weird-dreamless hours and awoke to sunshine and a Facebook Friend Request Accepted by [supposedly] Garrett Hedlund (who cannot be on my Potential Second Husbands list because I could be his mother and that feels creepy but putting him on my Flings list seems even creepier so I don't know what to do other than revel in his cuteness and fine acting until I figure out a new category for him). Got to church basically on time, found a few delightful items at the antique store and spent nearly 3 hours grocery [and other kinds of ] shopping. I was called "bonita" by a gentleman asking for help identifying hairspray in one store and told my hair was "really great" by another guy at Borders.

Then, I came home. I looked forward to seeing my girl who had been away at Horse Camp for 24 hours but she was overstimulated & overtired and not at all excited to talk about her fun times. I hoped to witness progress made on my boy's mousetrap car but he had spent 3 hours arguing with his dad about the best way to approach that project and was banished from civilization. My man was spent from angsty engineering tutoring plus developing a sore throat while getting ready to grill burgers for dinner.

Because everything is supposed to be about Me, I felt a little let down. I started putting away groceries, thinking of how awesome lunches and dinners are going to be this week, but then got sidetracked by ideas for better organization in our household, which led to internal lamentations about lack of money for said ideas. Which then led to trying to decide if I should write down all of the great ideas and try to find ways of making them happen or just let them fade into the OCD ether.

Even after banishment the boy maintained his typical preteen attitude, leading me to shriek propose NO COMPUTER UNTIL SCHOOL IS OUT FOR SUMMER unless he can respond to all queries and requests from now on without sighing, sneering, groaning, or eye rolling. The sad & surly girl was sent to her room until she could respond to queries and requests without whining, screeching, mumbling, or crying. The man was allowed to continue making dinner with his sore throat but I did feel compelled to clear the counter and not micromanage how he should be cooking.

In the end, I did get reasonably compliant & respectful children along with a tasty burger and a bottle of wine though I have not yet made a list of Must Haves for the More Organized Household. Still, I think I can manage these last [37] days of the school year without a breakdown.

Maybe.

the letter

Our Year in Haiku, for you

[apologies to anyone who feels less-than because of my perfect family's escapades this year;
trust that I do not consider you so]

*

Doug ~ fine dad, grandpa,

Best father-in-law and friend,

Will be missed dearly.

*

Paige showed running spark,

Earning multiple ribbons

In her track events.

*

Mason joined stage band,

Jazzing up his trombone beats.

Next stop, New Orleans?

*

Disneyland again?

Oh yes, we are obsessive.

Well, Stephanie is.

*

Tumalo State Park,

Where chipmunks stalk the campers

But aren’t too vicious.

*

Cape Disappointment –

Lewis and Clark tried to warn;

We camped anyway.

*

Weekend in Vegas?

Friends, dancing, Crazy Horse show?

Can’t talk about it.

*

The 12-year old boy

Is involved in Drama Club.

A natural choice.

*

The girl chose strings class,

Picking up the viola

To marvel us all.

*

Gone: Mazda sedan

Purchased: rollercoaster-car

(Stu’s Mini Cooper)

*

Beautiful classroom

In a brand-new green building;

Blissful teacher dreams.

*

Kids beg for a dog,

Parents want live-in masseuse,

Yet all still feel blessed.

*

~ Wishing you a merry 2011 ~

thankful: times infinity

I am following the lead of my best friend Mama Milton who, though she had to move far far away (okay, about 2 hours) and start a new life without me, is posting thankfulnesses each day this month. I could use a powerful dose of Look How Great Things Are to counter my current state of What Bright Side? I Don't See Any Stinking Bright Side. And I will thank you for not pointing out that I am a day behind in this endeavor. It's what the "Post Options" button is for; you will magically see this appear yesterday. It's like I'm a time traveler.

For the 1st day of Thankful, I send my neverending, should-show-it-more-often gratitude to my family. These people love me when I'm crazy as well as when I'm kind and frankly, I think that must be pretty damned hard to keep up every day.

My man

My boy

My girl

I am blessed.

camptacular

I did, indeed, go camping yet again despite my vehement assertion that

I just read this brilliantly descriptive post at Practice of Madness about her recent venture into the wilderness. Interestingly, she experienced many things I have during a camping trip - getting lost, driving where most vehicles shouldn't be driving, being cold, feeling fury at the love of one's life - yet she was remarkably positive in her retelling. Generally, I take the martyr route when recounting my tales of being in Hell the woods. There is just so much this princess cannot take about such an outing.

Right after school was out this summer, Stu & I packed the kids plus a friend for each (to keep them company if/when we had to send them away from camp for bickering) into my Multi-Activity Vehicle [notminivan], which was equipped with a storage box on top and a trailer behind. If I am to give up precious summer vacation time to getting dirty and stinky and missing True Blood, I will have pillows and chairs and books and decent dishes and lots of good food & drinks.

We drove 3 1/2 hours southeast to a place that I was under the impression gets warm in the middle of June as it is called "High Desert." Well. I left 60 degree overcast weather so I guess 70 degrees was an improvement but I was glad I brought layers. Of course that didn't mean I refrained from complaining about the chilly evening, followed by complaining about the campfire smoke burning my eyes when I tried to sit five inches from the flames. Pretty starry skies what?

My joys in camping mainly come from watching people I love enjoying camping - the kids relish the freedom of riding their bikes around the campground with walkie-talkies; Stu feels all manly and capable collecting wood, starting & maintaining the fire, and cooking meals. (He once felt all manly and capable setting up the tent but I long ago squashed that quaint tradition by requesting a cabin or yurt at the campsite).

What do I do on this 'vacation'? I do my best to not bitch incessantly about the situation, I keep our supplies tidy & organized, I read a lot [I try to appreciate the Being in Nature thing by reading outside], and I take pictures. And if I'm allowed to be a truly bad mom, I will write blog entries or post updates & photos on Facebook.

We have one more excursion planned for this summer (because I so love my family! And hope this earns me points toward more momcentric trips to places where I don't have to sleep near dirt and get to shower daily), and I will try to look harder at the bright side like the author at Practice of Madness.

Stay tuned for notes from Cape Disappointment.

mea culpa

So I got excited about my generous man's offer to buy me a new laptop last week, even though I do have a soft spot for my ancient bestickered one, and it has been holding up fine despite its age. But then I was thrust to wits' end by the incessant, mind-numbing arguing between my husband and our preteen son; in a fit of desperation mixed with righteousness, I announced that ALL I wanted for Mother's Day was for the two of them to find a sensible way to stop the insanity. The middle school boy was properly terrified of his crazy mother chagrined, the grown-up boy took my offering of Love & Logic CDs, and I felt mostly better though a little melancholic for the laptop that might have been.

Now, I have found the perfect place to put any new stickers that won't fit on the old laptop - my fabulous garage sale rolling cart. And now, my dinosaur has started blinking intermittenly while the speakers, just as I've discovered the musical goodness of STEREOmood, are suddenly scratchy. All after I dramatically protested buying the shiny Mocha Digital Plaid beauty. But, I suppose if the father-son bickering is quelled, it's a reasonable trade.

Maybe I can have it for my birthday?

a visit from saint mom

'Twas the night before Christmas

and all through our home

Sounds of whining & groaning

heard wherever we roamed.

The stockings were hung

all set right on up

but there was great concern

about no milk for Santa's cup.

I in my foot cast

and Stu in his shorts

were in no great moods

to assuage the cohorts.

_____________________________________

Alright, I can't do anymore rhyming at this point. We just got home from a fantabulous party at the brilliant Shana's where my kids did have fun, despite the stories they told on the way home about somebody throwing a ball at someone's face and someone else saying mean things about other people. But it is rather late for them, plus NORAD has tracked Santa in the midwest - mere minutes away from our house in the Pacific Northwest! [Enter panic mode]

As we came in the door, Bad Mom & Dad remembered that the kids needed to help wrap parent presents, and kids remembered they needed to write notes to Santa & set out treats. [Insert more panic] Paige noted we were out of milk AND egg nog; Dad suggested beer to much eyebrow furrowing from the womenfolk; Mason pointed out that last year we put out a juice box and he didn't seem to mind.

Once we got snacks straightened out (reduced fat Nilla wafers and orange juice) and detailed messages completed (Paige has 2 stockings into which she would like her gifts evenly divided), we once again checked NORAD and the kids frantically got into pajamas and brushed teeth. Bad Mom & Dad lounged on the couch, marveling over their offspring's strange combination of intelligence AND nuttiness.

Now for the surreptitious filling of stockings and eating of snacks and disguising of handwriting on a note TO our children from a grateful Santa (who started this ridiculous tradition??). Then maybe a little metaphorical rockin' around the Christmas tree...

Merry Christmas to all, and to all

a *good* night.

road trip back in time

My nerdilicious son & his equally delightfully geeky friend clamored to see a local Civil War reenactment on Saturday and though I generally do not love outdoor activity, it seemed a fine opportunity to encourage study of history [read: war & weapons]. And to wear my supercute polka dot boots.

Make a Smilebox slideshow

michelle, my belle

On Being A Big Sister


I kicked & pinched the boy who followed me around the playground
chanting "Your mom is pregnant!"
because I was excited, at almost-9, to have a pregnant mom
even though I knew in the dark secret don't-you-dare-picture-it back of my mind
what that meant my parents had done.

I don't remember thinking about whether I would prefer
a baby brother or sister.
I just wanted someone, finally, to share the crazy love
that was our family.

When my parents said I could choose a name, I felt a little panicked.
I alternately hated & loved my own name - how to pick something
that would only be loved?
I settled on Michelle, for my good friend who was funny & sweet & silly & strong.
And for The Beatles song that had French words in it,
sung by Paul
who was funny & sweet & silly & strong.

I'm sorry it became everyone's favorite name
because even though that meant you would never not find
a personalized notebook or key chain or miniature license plate,
it condemned you to being always attached to our last initial
in classes filled with Michelles.

My naming you, I see now, was only the beginning of many small sorrows I would unintentionally inflict.
I thought by being nine years older, teachers would forget about me
and let you be quietly you.
I thought by offering to set up your Barbie houses & design Barbie outfits, it would be alright
if I didn't actually play Barbies.
I thought by flunking out of college my freshman year, our parents would appreciate
how capable and smart and thoughtful you were.

Yet
you have risen above all the inadvertant obstacles I created
to claim your own name, games, and place -
though you have matched my reasons for calling you
what I did.
Maybe I was supposed to be in your way
all this time.

Happy birthday, my Michelle. Love you so.

holiday

We started the 4th of July weekend a little differently this year. Our boy has been at Scout camp all week and won't be reunited with us until tomorrow around 0700; Paige & Bad Dad left home with the neighbors [minus my bff Jen, Assistant Bad Mom] at 0630 this morning to be at the nearest water park by opening hour; best friend & I loafed around all morning until it felt right to go get manicures, then it was time to have lunch at a local cafe before driving to the general area where our families were amusement parking it up, but instead of joining them we scoured the Nordstrom & GAP clearance racks. Finally, we waited for our men & children in the hotel lobby with complimentary wine & a stack of Entertainment Weekly back issues.

It's how we all do togetherness, separately.

An inauspicious beginning to our 3-hour drive
(this is 15 minutes from our house)

Mt. Rainier in sight means only an hour to go!
[Why yes, I did take this shot while driving at 65 mph]

Asleep at the remote

What bad moms do on family vacations