A moment.

Today was hard, I think because it was so normal. And because normal in this household has become defined by hard. My husband works 7 dyas a week. We have two kids, we have a brother living with us, we have a giant dog, we have bills to pay. Christmas is looming, and with it my yearly anxiety attacks. Sawyers birthday is coming up, and 3 is very different than two.

So I was a bit introspective today, listening to music and pondering as I waited at one of Dovers longest stoplights. I was staring out the window at nothing, waiting for the green to mean go. Above the light, a bird soared on a thermal. I looked, and looked again, and realized it was a hawk. I wasn't far from home, so I wondered as I watched it if it was MY hawk, who hunkers down in my aspen tree from time to time. I thought it was funny that for years we've had crows in that tree, and now we have a hawk.

The hawk landed on a branch as I watched, and I glanced at the light, praying for red so I could keep it in view for a moment. I got my wish. I looked back up at the magnificent bird in front of me, and saw a speck beyond it, in the sky. A black dot, getting larger. With none of the dithering circles that the hawk performed, a crow landed in the same tree, a few branches away.

The birds both looked to the south, ignoring each other but completely aware of each other at the same time. I breathed a word of gratitude, and the light turned green. I kept them in sight in my rearview mirror for a block, after I turned, and they were still watching the south, seeming to look right at me.

I don't know how rare this is, but I have to imagine, pretty rare. It's a big city. There's a lot of trees. There's a lot of trees just where I saw these two, and either one could have had a tree to itself, plus a buffer of branches. But they chose the same tree, just feet from each other. Just when I was watching. Just when I was thinking.

So thanks, mothernaturegodgoddessrandomchance, for that moment. I'll be wondering on that for awhile.

The Softer Side of Sears

I've made it my personal mission, these last couple of weeks, to be a little more Willow, and a little less Cordelia. For the most part, this has meant me breathing lamaze style through moments.. occasionally hours.. of wanting to be blunt. Blunt like candlestick in Clue blunt. As for the effectiveness of the lamaze breathing? I"d like to remind the reader that I had two C sections.
The big problem, really, is that I'm just not a Willow. I'm a Cordy. It's an honest effort for me not to say what I'm thinking, when I'm thinking it; and I have a hard time accepting that rephrasing my truths isn't being manipulative. It's that balance between "I'm going to say it this way so you do what I want." and "I'm going to try to speak your language now, so that we understand each other."
Hence me spending a major portion of yesterday and the day before being enormously frustrated and irritated with someone. And then realizing, sometimes it's not me. I can phrase and rephrase and smile and breathe until I'm so zen I pass out, but if the other person isn't listening? If the other person is so wrapped up in their own world? I might as well sing Dixie at the top of my lungs and stick my thumbs up my nose. That, at least, would get their attention.
The one place where I've seen some pretty noticible results of this experiment is with my teen. I've read that non reaction is key when dealing with the pubescent race, but I didn't really get it 'til now. I'm not saying it's perfect, or that Tris and I have suddenly become a finly tuned team working in unison.. but the blow ups are shorter. I'm more aware of when the drama is running away with the actors. It's a good thing.
So, in a gesture of help me help you, I spent this evening with a sharpie and my groceries. I labeled everything. "Nope, has gluten!" or "This is just for Tris! Hands off!" I used the calculator and the interwebs to figure out how much insulin he needs to take for each serving of each food, and then a visual comparison of the serving size. So the granola bars are labeled (individually) "2u for 1, 4u for 2" and there's a note on the fridge that says "A cup of potatoes, 4u.' with a drawing of a cup. In scale. I even took a measuring cup and figured out how many cups of milk each of our glasses hold, and labeled them by type. The little blue tumblers, 2u. the big plastic glasses, 6u.
This is all stuff Tris knows. We're going on 10 years living with diabetes. BUT, his ratios changed, and doing the math and remembering the new numbers was a hassle. So I did it for him. I can't go to school for him, but I can do this, and he doesn't have to worry about it any more.
In return, I got blown up at. Because he's a teen. And human. And change is scary. And having things like your diabetes pointed out to you is embaressing. And it's easier to yell "yep! I'm a screw up! I can't do anything right!" and storm away than it is to remember how good you are at so many things, and admit you need help catching up in school.
Remember: However much you try to change? Give the people around you time to catch up. Or not. It's their call. You worry about you.
The upside is this: After the explosion and the storm, and a hot shower for him and a cup of tea for me, the kid came back downstairs. With a better attitude. And questions. And we worked together for a bit on the system. We didn't let the explosion carry us through the night, or the week, being mad. We set it aside, and found a solution to the problem.
That's the goal, right? Acknowledging the problem and finding solutions to them? There's no shame in that. Tell your kids. I think this is one everyone should hear:
It's ok to have problems. It's ok to make mistakes. Just focus on the solutions. Don't beat yourself up. Have the courage to find the answer. It's harder, but you only have to do it once.

Loons are Trains. Fact.

Sawyers Impossible Thing Before Breakfast: Loons are not birds, they are trains, because the baby rides on the mamas back and they sound like a train and they have fire in their eyes like the engine.

I can not argue with this.

The Blanket Octopus

Watch this.

Breath taking beauty, especially right around the 50 second mark.

LINK

A different point of view.

A fifteen minute video of the pepper spraying at the UC Davis Campus. Slightly less biased and more realistic, from what I've watched so far, than the clips and memes that have been flying around the web. Remember the motto:

THINK TWICE about EVERYTHING you see or read on the web.

CLICK HERE for video.

Thanks to Mr. Ballin for pointing this out.

B.C. (Before Coffee)

We're going to try something a little different this morning. Instead of sitting down to write after a full day and a couple of beers, I'm going to start typing while I sip my first cup of coffee, and see what strange subconscious nuggets float to the surface of a relatively sober brain.

First of all, I say relatively sober not because I've got a shot of whiskey in my Folgers - I don't - but because I'm suffering the lingering after effects of taking a 1/2 dose of Tylenol PM at 10.45pm, and then being woken up less than half an hour later by a sleepless toddler. Half a cup of Folgers is not going to solve this. This may be a 'drink enough Folgers to be able to drive to Starbucks' morning.

I don't know whether to blame the Tylenol PM for this, but I woke up with Creedence Clearwater Revival stuck in my head. Not just one song, either. When I noticed I was hearing it, the song switched from something about a river to Down on the Bayou. It's now pretty much just that, now. "DOOOOWN on the BBBAAAYYOU." over and over again. Because I don't know any other words to that song.

The OCD soundtrack is competing with the sweet sound of Sawyer playing coming over the baby monitor. It sounds something like this:

"Oh No, a fire! OH NO, A FIRE! What do we do? Dinosaurs! Weee-oooo weee-ooo weeee-oooo" (This is the sound of dinosaurs in a firetruck, I think) "Hey Joel, whatcha wanna do today? (Joel is not in there.) Oh NO! A GHOST! Hi ghost! joel, looook ouuuuut! There's a ghost behind you!"

Due to a run of Scooby Doo on our family TV, everything is "BEHIND YOU!" Specificly ghosts, monsters and dinosaurs, but also "Mom! FIRE! Behind you!" (that'll get your attention.) and "Dog! MOM! There's a DOG behind you!" (That's a given. Sawyer could yell that at random and have it be true more often than not.)

And now the soundtrack over the monitor has moved to "MooOOooM, Wheeeere AaaaAaare YOU?!" accompanied by the hammer of a wooden mallet against his door. Time to release the lil'Kraken.

I hope you have enjoyed this foray in to our home before coffee. (Exits stage left, humming Down on the Bayou.)

This one is for Jason

Earlier today, I posted a link on my Facebook account to another blog: Parenting, with Crappy Pictures. The author had updated her status to "I can't do these dishes, I'm too busy drinking wine out of a mug and eating cold spaghetti with a spoon." Now. If you have kids, you are on the floor laughing right now. And if you don't, you should. Not to sound like your grandmother, but kids are great. Plus, an excellent excuse for wine in a mug and eating leftovers at the counter in your jammies.

(Many of my friends are saying to themselves "I have chosen not to have children, which I think is good and right.. but I still drink wine out of a mug in my jammies at the counter with a fistfull of left overs?! Am I a bad person?" No. No you're not. You're probably a better person than me, for not inflicting such behavior on children. But I, I have an excuse.)

In response to my Facebook post, one friend of mine, Mr Jason, said: "But what of YOU? We need a link to YOU so we can post it on our walls and tell others how we love YOU!"

Now, it always freaks me out a bit when people say stuff like this, because I just assume (being a mom) that no one is listening to a word I say. So, to have someone be so complimentary when I was under the impression I was yelling in to the abyss? A little weird. In a good way.

(Jason and his wife have already given their son the middle name Tiberius, which will endear them to me forever.)

This one little comment of Mr Jason's started a landslide of thoughts in my head. How long had it been since I posted to my blog? Who was reading it, anyway? WHY?!

All of this circled around to the following subject: Guys who are awesome influences on my teenage son. (Another benefit of having children: Large leaps of logic and continuity are not 'plot holes' they are 'mom brain.')

Mr Jason is certainly one of those people. Each summer, I yell at my eldest man child "Get your clothes on, we're going to a BBQ." and he replies "Is Jason going to be there?" After I confirm the presence of the all knowing Jason, the boy condescends to wear pants. Jason, you're my hero!

In addition, there's Mr Clow: (No need for sbuterfuge with names here, we call him Mr Clow.) Mr Clow is responsible for the donation of vast amounts of comic books and vampire detective stories. He's also, when in the midst of cooking a BBQ dinner for the entire town of Dover, willing to divide his attention and make my man child feel entirely grown up with a discussion of all things metaphysical, over an open flame. Plus, he makes mix CDs of Soul Coughing's greatest hits. Mr Clow, I salute you!

Mr Graham, also should be mentioned. My son does not 'do' sports. He also does not 'work.' Unless Mr Graham is involved. Then it's wiffle ball tournaments and cleaning the garage for Magic cards all over the place. Thanks, Mr Graham. sincerely.

There's a dozen or more names I could mention here, some female.. some new.. some related to me.. but my mug is empty and we're out of leftovers, so I'm going to go to bed with this note:

It takes a village to raise a child. If you're wise, you'll choose the village. If you're incredibly lucky, the villagers will choose you back.