Fried Chicken and Tarzan

     Tonight we had fried chicken for dinner.  We all piled into the car and ended up at Fred Meyer after wandering around First Friday Artwalk in Old Town.  It was Family Movie Night.  We always have fried chicken for family movie night.  With my teen daughter reciting her monologue while the middle kiddo tells me about his future fantasy car and the youngest helps me wash the silverware, I sigh with contentment.  Such a day it had been and finally I smiled.  

    Today was my Last last day of class.  I have three finals next week and a graduation ceremony to attend and an internship this summer.  Then hello, official grown up status.  And that is what has been on my mind all day.  This is it folks,  in a few weeks it’s on me to find a job in this awesome profession and provide for these amazing little buggars.  Today, the weight of that hit with a force that made it almost hard to breath.  All sorts of stuff hit with a a force that made me an emotionally labile ninny today.  

    I woke in the wee hours to pee.  I hate when it happens so close to the alarm going off.  It ends any chance of further sleep.  The older dog needed to go out.  As soon as I had snuggled back into bed the young pup whined.  Billie got to take care of that one.  But soon enough, Lynda Carter came bounding back inside and leapt onto the bed and was wriggling all over me in no time.  As soon as she was settled back into her crate and I was trying to sleep again, the tears began.  I was immediately remembering when Bob used to bound into the bed with me after an early morning let out.  Bob would sit and silently stare down at me until I patted him and got him to curl next to me.  The tears squeezed their way out and I gave up any hope of going back to sleep.  

    I heaved myself from the warm bed and pulled on sneakers for a walk/run (school has really affected my fitness level and I’ve let the early sunlight pull me out) and I took Lynda Carter with me.  Once I was back home I was showering and that is when my brain took off with all that is before me.  My Last last day of class.  And I was having a monumentally bad hair day.  Something about a girl having a bad hair day and the tears just came.  And the panic.  I had a to-do list.  Hair was not on it.  

    I sat in my last class listening to my teacher, I adore her.  She makes me want to know more and know it all right now!  But I still have to make time to sit and watch Tarzan with almost 7 year olds and teenagers and almost 10 year olds.  Families are growing.  Changes are coming.  Keeping in mind the beautiful moments when we are still and together is why I set out on this completely different and blazing adventure in the first place.  

Bob gone

It's been one week.  Am I still sad?  Of course.  Am I ok?  Of course.  Did I expect Bob to come trotting around the corner at least 47 times?  Yep.  Just like you reach for the light switch in a power outage, I still found myself reaching for the same patterns with Bob.  Oh Alli, how about a playdate today?  Oh.  Shit.  Every time this week I reached for the food bins to feed dogs while at Billie's I winced and teared up.  Sorry doggies, I think you're going to need to go without food today so I don't have to think.  (No dogs went hungry during this week of mourning.)

I've heard many stories this week of people losing their dogs.  I've thought a shitton about people that have lost actual humans in tragedies.  I'm not talking grandmothers or elderly neighbors, but 19 year olds in car crashes.  Three year olds with tumors.  College students simply walking to class and getting run over.  I don't like any of it.  It makes me worry.  It makes me feel insecure about everything in my world.  I miss my kids.  I agonize that loved ones are at great risk.  It makes me question everything.  

So, how do I function?  How does anyone function?  Does it make us stronger?  Does it break us?  Does it change us?  We tell ourselves that everything will be ok.  Maybe it will be.  Maybe it won't.  But I have homework to do and smiles to bestow and hummus to eat and kids to hug and love to give and memories to share.  

This is not a happy update.

I really wanted to make a concerted effort to not write about sappy, depressing, or unhappy shit.  I mean, really... when things are going well we get busy and are so into soaking up all that happy crap we don't sit down to take a minute to express gratitude for those things.  I'm not ready to flip it and find the silver fucking linings or express gratitude for what I had.  Because I lost my fucking dog! I'm not grateful for that.  I see no stupid ass silver lining.  I just feel ache.  On so many levels. 

Yes, Bob was Billie's dog.  He lived at her house.  He was her souldog. But he was still mine.  I understood the bond they shared.  It made me downright gleeful that they brought each other so much ridiculous joy.  Hell, they looked alike.  When people complimented her while out walking that handsome mother fucker I just smiled knowing that he was mine, too.  I didn't need to say it.  I knew it.  

Alli and Bob and I went for jogs and walks up behind Stephen's often.  Especially when it was pretty outside.  They loved it!  I loved it!  Alli and Bob would run and run but they always kept me in their sight.  I would call them and they would both come running and I was terrified they were going to take me out at the knees and give me a concussion one day.  Alli is also a huge fan of fetch.  She gets her eyes on the ball and she is on it!  Bob's favorite thing was to chase Alli while she chased the ball.  If he managed to get to it first, he grabbed it and took off running.  Dancing around Alli, daring her to chase him.  He was not a graceful dog.  For the size and beauty he possessed he was really just a big ass clown with golden fur.  On multiple occasions he flipped over her and rolled and stood up with a bewildered expression.  "WTF just happened?"  Actually, I don't think Bob was a swearer.  He probably was thinking more along the lines of... "Wow!  Did you see that?  I totally meant to do that.  Heh... cool."  And then he was off again.  When they were both worn out and ready to go they hopped back into my car and off we would go.  Alli preferred to sprawl out in the back. Bob wanted the front seat any chance he could get.  

I got a kick out of some faux Bob jealousy.  Um, hey... how about you rub my head like you are rubbing his?  Dude... If you said hello to me the way you say hello to Bob, you'd probably get lucky a lot more often.  When Bob tried to get in the bed with us when we stayed together, he would stare at me.  I was in his spot.  Billie swears he didn't stay in her bed the entire time I'm not there.  I'd groan and roll my eyes.  But I didn't care, not really.  When she woke early to go write and sip coffee Bob would get into the bed with me.  He took up a lot of room.  Eventually, he would sit up and stare at me.  Fine, Bob.  Let's get up and go join everyone else.  

Friday was awful.  I can't get the images of my head.  He was so big and so warm.  I was worried about the bumping and jolting of the truck and was trying to keep his body still and safe.  His mouth was slightly ajar but I closed it and placed my mouth over his snout and blew hard.  I could feel it.  I put my head to his chest.  I went back to his snout.  Back to his chest.  I could hear myself sobbing, I realized it like I was sitting back taking it all in.  No polite sniffles here.  I looked into his eyes.  His eyes let me know he was gone.  Oh my god.  Deep inside I've been scooped out and all that is left is an aching pit and disbelief.  I want the ride in the truck to be done.  I don't want it to end.  I want to feel his size and warmth for as long as I can.  

I can still feel him.  I can feel the lack of muscle tone under his beautiful soft coat.  I can feel his warmth.  I can feel his cold wet paws as I held them one last time.  I can feel his damp nose in my hand as I kiss his head for the last time.

This sucks ass.  Just sucks.  (For those of you that missed it before, Billie and I are dating. Seriously.  There is a future in that. And that future included Bob in my household once again.  Under my feet daily. Stealing bread. Pissing me off with muddy paws on clean floors. Snatching waffles from the hands of unsuspecting boys. And a head in my lap every morning while I sipped my coffee.) I mourn Bob.  I mourn that Billie is missing her souldog.  I'm just so sad.  I'll let you know if and when any silver linings present themselves.  Until then, go pet your animals!  Brush their coats.  Give them an extra treat, and take them for a walk!

Sunshine, coffee, and Bob.

2015

How many people start out... oh my gosh, it's been so long since I've written anything.  Yeah... whatever.  I've been busy.  I have spent the last few months eyeball deep in life.  You know, out there, the real world.  And sometimes it really sucks.  Sometimes I think to myself, holy shit, if every day could flow like this one.  But do they?  No.

 I've gotten tired. I've gotten fat.  And my house got really damn messy, but I pulled out some damn fine grades.  However, if I had to take my finals over today I'd probably stare blankly at the page with only vague recollection of terms and ideas.  

I've been in school of course.  I'm quite ready to be finished, but a new semester starts next week and I hope to rock it.  A few great people will be taking the courses in a different town.  I think that's bullshit.  The roomy classroom will be super but the camaraderie will be greatly missed.   I'll piss and moan some more about it via Facebook as time nears.  

In other news, I spent the  last few days in Texas for my grandmother's memorial.  I heard my grandfather talk for the very first time about how they met one another.  Holy shit.  I'm 40 years old.  My siblings had never heard it either.  People, share your story.  Be it verbal, beautifully handwritten journals, chicken scratch on notepads, or crappy ass writing on an online blog... get it done.  Get it out there.  Your future grandchildren will thank you.  

I'll just say, stay tuned... I'll try and write some more crappy ass thoughts for my future grandchildren before 2016.  Cheers.  

Trips and Thinking

I’m always thinking.  Mind is always humming along in various directions.  Of course, there are times when it is slow, or even blank.  That’s pretty rare though.  

I want to talk about all of the crazy fun I had on vacation.  But one of the things that has been flitting back and forth in my head has been what someone said to me during my vacation.  

I had the opportunity to meet up with a “Board Mom”.  Those in my every day life have come to understand the terms “July Mom” and “Board Mom”.  I have to save the long story of their definitions for another day.  

Anyway... Portland. I met this friend of mine at a fountain in downtown Portland.  The boys get to play in the water and Billie gets to meet another mom.  Sweet! 

While one or both boys were off exploring the potty yet again with Billie, my mom friend asked how Billie and I were doing.  I was quite open with my grief when we broke up last fall but I never really said much when we got back together.  Interesting.  I assured here things were fine.  But that thought spent some time in my head on the way home.  

I feel good.  And solid.  And so does my relationship.  I think I might have been holding my breath for a bit.  I’m relaxed and going with the flow right now.  I really do my damnedest to stay present and in the moment.  It doesn’t do any good to worry about what ifs or try and imagine what might be.  I have moments, but I get back on track.  Right now... I’m happy.  I’m freaking stoked about school starting back up again.  I’m freaking stoked the kids are going back to school.  I’m in happy organization mode right now.  

As the anniversary of that weekend nears, I’ll focus on those moments some more.  But right now... I’m good and where I want to be.  I just wanted to you guys to know that.  :)

Vacation

I just got home from vacation.  I'm excited to write all about it.  But first.  I.Must.Sleep.  I am so very exhausted.  :)  Until coffee and tomorrow...

If you give a mouse a cookie...

I love that line.  

That’s how I’m feeling right now after a whirlwind couple of weeks gutting my drawers, closets, and the dark and scary recesses of the basement.  The kids, my girlfriend, and I are heading to the Oregon coast for a vacation soon.  I’m always getting rid of things here and there.  They go into a bag that sits in my front closet until I remember to take it to the Youth Ranch.  Recently as I was asking my kids to try and find some toys that they no longer play with so I could donate them, (I really just wanted to clear a little space and clutter. That is all!) They asked if they could sell them instead and pocket the money.  Eureka!  (dumbass) Let’s sell them but use the money for our Oregon trip!  And from here was born the decluttering of the decade.  

Not a kitchen cabinet was left unopened. Nary a drawer kept its items intact.  My dining room became ground zero.  Knick knacks, clothing, toys, books, and oddities (Is it cool or not so cool to sell intimate items with the tags still on them?) covered its surface.  The chairs.  The floor underneath.  And soon it began to spill out into the living area.   

My girlfriend made a face like she was choking when I told her our plans.  Yard sales, she loathes them.  No problem!  We are doing it on our own!  It’s a great opportunity for the kids to help and to contribute to the trip.  A while later, she said she was in.  Super.  We were even going to do it at her house.  Great. No problem.  Her garage is now stuffed to the brim and waiting for the big day.  So.Much.Stuff.

Speaking of stuff, going through all of that shit is quite the emotional process.  Not only did I go through things so I could sell them, I also decided to go through EVERY.FREAKING.BOX in the basement in order to just purge purge purge.  (I told you.  If you give a mouse a cookie... or a woman on a decluttering warpath an unopened box.) I’ve done a pretty damn good job getting all of the boxes in my head sorted and organized.  Time to take care of the real deal as well.  

I curiously opened boxes and lovingly poured over the artwork of my children. I smiled at the “I love you Mom” scribbles.  I traced my fingers over their flaking masterpieces of tempera painted stick figures and trees. And then I started tossing that shit.  Touch, smile, toss.  Don’t get me wrong, I saved some.  But it was really only the good stuff.  There are only so many “I love you Mom” scribbles a woman needs to save.  The first child, my god, I actually dated all of her scribbles and had a line or two on the back detailing what the scribble was.  Yep, tossed that, too.   

One of the greatest things about the kids’ school are their portfolios.  The teachers go ahead and put the best two years of their work into these ginormous binders.  No need for me to save any other stuff.  Rian had a couple of years at a parochial school.  I had to choose carefully there.  Finn went to preschool there as well.  The traced heart picture that said “I’ll clean my room for God.”  It was tossed readily.  The finger print insect picture... I’ll hang on to that little gem. 

There was much more than just kid shit here.  I have photos.  Oodles of them.  And love notes.  And poems.  And keepsakes.  From my marriage.  What in the hell do I do with these things?  Most of the notes and poems were those I had written. I saved shit I wrote to someone else.  WTF?  Do I save them so the kids can see them some day?  Do I toss them?  

It is pretty much organized down in the basement now (I cannot vouch for the room belonging to the teenager).  It’s organized up here in my noggin’ as well.  I am good.  I have a bit of lingering mess here and there for all the things that are staying and still need to put a few things in their places.  But it is good.  It feels good.  

(Yard sale this Saturday should you have any desire to take home a pair of high heels or hot wheel car.)

Date Night

The other night, I took myself out to dinner.  I have had a craving for tacos for a bit now and this morning decided today would be the day.  I really enjoyed the hell out of it.  Whether or not you are single or in a relationship or married or living with someone, once in a while... go out by yourself!  Not with friends.  Not with coworkers.  Not with kids or family. Take yourself. 

With me I took a book and a positive outlook.  I took a damn funny book so I snickered to myself through most of my dinner.  If sad and sappy is your thing, you just go for it.  I prefer sarcasm and the F word.   

I also walked to and from dinner. In my mind it was because I might decide to have a beer (I did) but I think I also rationalized it as a calorie burning endeavor.  

Sometimes it is hard to be by oneself.  Constantly having a plan and people around doesn’t allow it to happen any easier.  To some degree, I think it is a learned skill.   There’s the whole “ya gotta love yourself before anyone else can love you” mentality at work here.  If you can’t stand to be by yourself, you will likely suck the life out of those around you.  No one wants to be that person.  I sure as shit don’t.  But I’ve worked on cultivating a sense of peace with myself.   

I’m not antisocial by any means.  I enjoy the company of others and planning shit, too.  (So... dear friends... don’t think I’m being snotty.)  I just wanted to share my good day, my happy, and the infinite wisdom I possess since I’m just that awesome.  

All in all, it was a good day.  The evening was fantastic as well.  Finding one of my long missing earrings... Bonus. 

Twinkle twinkle

Purple lights adorn my little patio. Their soft hue casting over the hammock at night just tickles me pink. ;)

The kids and I played at the local pool this afternoon with friends. We had pizza for dinner while watching a Star Wars movie, and then we took in a beautiful sunset at the dog park. Hammock time is the cherry on top of a lovely summer day.

A Day Trip from Boston to Provincetown

On the ferry from Boston to P-Town I saw the deep waters of Cape Cod Bay.  I saw the plume of foamy water spewing from the blowhole of a whale just under the surface.  Men with perfect hair and brightly colored skinny jeans.  Older couples, gay and straight, holding hands.  Pampered pooches.  Shiny, sparkly baubles and tacky souvenirs with brash quotes.  Tattoos and flip flopped hippies and wild haired beach boys.  And flowers of every color and shape and scent dotting lawns both unkempt and well maintained.  Women in heels and little barefoot babies.  Steaming red lobsters and dripping ice cream cones.  

So much to take in. My day was a beautiful assault of the senses.  My mind whirred and ran at lightening speed.  And moments taking in a particular photo or painting stopped me in my tracks and the moment held still.  So many moments in this day.  My heart swelled to bursting.  My stomach felt about the same by the end of the day.  

I love food, and I enjoyed every minute of every morsel making its way past my lips from fish tacos to Portuguese pastries, up until the ferry ride back to Boston.  Then, not so much.  With a weak smile and a deep breath, I curled onto the bench and relived the day’s moments.  

I made new memories.  Relived old.  Wondered about making more.   By golly, this was just the first full day of my trip.  

Third Time's a Charm

It was just a blip on the Facebook newsfeed for most people, but the official switch to Pike was a big one for me.  I’ve been waiting, sometimes less than patiently to use it.  I didn’t even want to post on my blog until I was Pike. When I make a decision, it’s made.  I might not know which way I’m going to go with something until the last minute, but once I know... I know.  

This is how it went with my decision to “restore” (the legal terminology) my birth name.  Birth name is a term I learned from a friend.  I do like it so much more than maiden name.  It’s my name.  I’m Jena Pike.  I am no longer married, and it just didn’t feel right to me to keep a name I took when I married. It is an important step in reestablishing my own identity.  It was also important to me going into the summer with my name. 

Summer.  Oh summer.  I do so love summer.  But the last couple have been less than stellar.  I went into each with a sense of adventure and hope and positive attitude.  And they both held more disappointment and unease than I cared for.  This summer I have decided to take a much more subdued outlook.   

Summer brings an abrupt halt of routine and personal time.  I have kids.  And this is it folks, the last one as a stay at home mom.  I’m going to soak up the bike rides and picnics in the park.  But I’m also not intent on each moment being picturesque, perfect productions.   

The first week of summer has already shown me I am on the right path.  My 6 year old learned how to ride his bike without training wheels.  He’s so excited and wants to ride constantly now.  I enjoy those bike rides.  I walk (or jog with gritted teeth on shitty shins) while he pedals along.  And then after we get home and the teenager is grouchy and in my space and the brothers are quibbling over Legos I don’t lose my damn mind.  

I’m Jena Pike.  And I’m ready for summer.  

Fabulous...

In mere hours my 30s will be part of my past.  I am not in the mood to get very deep about it right now.  I have it all still circling just beyond my immediate reach (another description for how I process things).  It’s swirling like a cloud above me.  Chunks of stuff yet to be wrangled into a box is tumbling around up there.  

Suffice it to say, this last day as a 30 something was mundane and a little weird, too.  I woke early.  I was lying still in the dark until barking dogs suggested I get moving.  I only really got moving enough to let them out and back in, and then crawl back into the warmth of the bed.  I was here when Jack came in.  Sucking his thumb, he curled into me.  One arm always reaches around my neck. God I love that.  The whole package, warm little body with cold toes. An arm around my neck.  Atrocious morning breath. Little sucking noises.  We are quiet like that for a while.  When he finally speaks it is to ask for food. Duh. I suggested donuts.  Who can resist donuts?  

After I’m back with the goods, I make some “lil smokies”.  Salty is needed.  These were special smokies.  They had a coupon.  They had cheese in them.  Rian and I giggled at the overly processed little gems.  Finn turned his nose up.  Jack thought they were fantastic.  They went smashingly with my maple glazed donut and coffee.  

We puttered around the house and did just normal, lazy, Sunday morning stuff.  Everyone was kind and calm... well, the donuts might have gone to Jack’s head, a little. Later we loaded up the Bob dog and headed off to clean out a room at the kids’ other house and bring some stuff back to my house.  Tara met me and helped.  It was a nice way to comb through the piles.  Lugging some heavy stuff up the stairs, my thighs let me know I’ve been sitting on my ass too much the past couple of months. Can’t let that shit slide in your 40s, you know.  

The day ended with frozen pizzas, a birthday pie, and happy kids.  I enjoyed this day.  I will enjoy tomorrow also. Not just because it’s my birthday. It is also the first day of a ridiculously exciting semester, a return to routine, and regular gym time.  Hallalooyah. 

I’ll think on the age thing a little longer.  Plenty of people have told me their 40s were some of their favorite years.  I can see  how that might make sense. When you’re a kid, everything is great, or terrible.  My teens were a blur of big bangs and acid wash jeans. My 20s were just fucking weird. My 30s were good, with plenty of growth, but also filled with enough weird shit that makes me sorta okay with ending that chapter. What’s next?  My 40s.  My motherfucking fabulous 40s are next. 

Boxes

As I pulled myself to the waking world yesterday morning, I did as I normally would and reached for my phone (I know, I know) and began to check the usual things.  I check the weather, email, peruse Huffington Post, and FB.  It was on FB I began reading an article about the wreck the previous evening.  It was a pretty gnarly wreck and two people were killed.  The names had been released and as I was scanning the artcile I recognized the last name of one of the victims.  In an instant I connected the name and the age.  It was the son of my therapist.  Such a sinking feeling I cannot describe.  Oh no, oh no, oh no.  

My therapist, she is a fantastic woman.  I think I will call her Carla here.  I don't want to keep saying "my therapist" over and over and I don't want to put her name here.  I met Carla a little over two years ago.  I had a lot of shit going on.  Lots.  I met one therapist and saw her a couple of times.  I didn't like her and the fact that I really loathed the idea of therapy to begin with didn't help matters.  She kept suggesting my problems were rooted in shame and wanted me to go so far back in time.  Help me with present day shit, Lady.  

So the first time I met Carla, I was quite squinty-eyed.  I had agreed to try again though.  I just started talking, about the stuff that was on my mind at that moment in time.  I'd give her a little history, too.  She didn't ask a ton of questions.  She just listened.  In talking to her, she'd pull a little out of me and help connect things.  I have always described my method of thought process as organizing files and boxes in my head.  She used that and helped me organize and rearrange the stuff in my noggin.  Over this past two years the most time between appointments with her was 6 weeks at one point.  We decided that might be a bit much and have never gone more than 4 weeks since then.  There was a time this past fall when things went all to shit that I saw her twice a week for a while.  Our normal is every two weeks.  

She is a significant other in my life in that she has listened as I poured out my guts.  She didn't bat an eye when I swore.  She adopted my "language" and if I called someone a dumbass she would, too.  She would give me shit because I didn't really let my emotions out.  I've cried (ok, sobbed and snotted and hiccupped) in front of her three times.  One, when my marriage was obviously over, when I finally accepted I'm a lesbian, and when my relationship this past fall shit the bed.  And she always always listened and then helped me put it into perspective, helped me find the good in the most fucked up of situations.  I hope beyond all hope she has such a support network for her now.  

A friend pointed out that the death of Carla's son could have a huge impact on my life as well.  I feel so much for her right now, as a mother, as a human, as someone that has listened to stories about her kid.  I wasn't thinking about myself at all.  I am good.  I am in a very good place in my life and feel strong and able to cope with it all.  I couldn't imagine how it might impact me so directly.  And then it dawned on me... I would feel like a real shitheel ever talking to Carla again about the piddly shit in life.  I wouldn't dare complain about my teenager to a woman that lost her son. I don't want to talk about the stresses of navigating this world as a gay, single mom.  Holy shit.  I want to hold HER hand and listen to her pour her guts out.  I want to help HER!  

And there it is.  It is very likely the end of a relationship that has been a steady in my life for a while now.  It is sad.  It will be different.  But I am ok with that.  It's all a process.  I'll be organizing those fucking boxes in my head for a bit, but that's ok.  After all, she is the one that helped put those tools in place.  

Life

I let life get in the way here lately.  There have been finals and holidays.  I loved the holidays with the kids.  The finals weren't my favorite.  People walked around for days with note cards glued to the end of their noses.  I had papers scattered all over my table.  I recited formulas and cell processes in line at the grocery store.  And I ate my weight in hummus and junk.  When I study, I munch. Continually.  

Once finals were completed I could finally focus on the holidays.  We decorated late this year, but it was still beautiful.  Thanks to the addition of a crazy cat to our brood, the breakable decorations stayed safely in the bins. We enjoyed all of the purple and pink and turquoise and green plastic balls though! This year the kids were with me for Christmas morning.  I cannot even begin to describe the intensity of joy that I felt waking with my brood all in my room this year.  It is said Christmas is the most magical time of the year.  I concur.  It was wonderful. There was Monkey Bread and Christmas cookies and ginger bread houses and stockings stuffed with goodies and more Legos than you can imagine.  My kids were loving and kind to one another (there's my Christmas miracle) and that was one of my favorite parts of the day. I wouldn't change a thing.  Well, if I could eek out another Christmas miracle it would be that Moneky Bread is calorie free.  But only at Christmas!  I couldn't handle the temptation the rest of the year otherwise.  

Happy New Year everyone!  I love each and everyone one of you.  I wish you peace, light and love for the new year. I can't wait to see what 2014 holds!

why i love my kids: # 4,568

This morning as Finn and Jack were sitting at the table having breakfast and discussing Christmas wishlists I overhear the conversation evolve into a battle of intelligence.  

Finn:  Jack, you are not smart enough to be in third grade.  I am smarter.

Jack: I am smart enough.  I am smart.

Finn:  Ok, what's 100+100?

Jack: I don't have to tell you.  You should know that.

Finn:  Ha! You don't know it. You're not smart enough for third grade.

Jack: I am too! I don't have to answer you.

Finn: Jack! What is 300+300?

Jack: Walking away now. Walking away.

At this point he walks into the bathroom where I'm getting ready in order to relay the arrogance of his brother. Finn follows him, still intent on proving his point.  

Finn:  Jack, what is 1+1?

Jack: *sighs* 2

Finn: What is 4+4?

Jack: I am not talking to you.

Finn: Ha! You don't know it. It's 8.

Jack: Of course I know 4+4 is 8.  I am done talking to you.

I just love how Jack never missed a beat. He never got flustered or frustrated.  And Finn got to practice some math skills.  

Silver Linings

All this month folks have been posting daily on Facebook the things they are grateful for.  I am grateful that I have adopted such an attitude all the time.  It took a pretty shitty occurence to reframe my world.  In the end, I'm grateful for that as well.  Reframing my world with gratitude at the forefront has made a HUGE impact. Keep the habit up all year round and you will find yourself smiling more often than not, sighing with contentment often, and appreciative of so very much.  

Every time I have written this out I feel like I come across as preachy. That is not my intent at all.  I just feel so flipping good, and I want everyone to experience this!  If something has me down I just flip that shit!  Yes, I have even said that to my kids when they are not happy with something. Look at what you have, not what you lack. Turn it around.

Example: It is a damn dreary day.  Sun and warmth are lacking?  Time to catch up on a project, movie cuddle time with a kid, a nap in a warm bed are what I do have! And I am so damn grateful for those.  

I didn't do as well as I hoped on a test.  I am still grateful that I am in school and for the fire it lights under my ass to do better the next time.  

I find gratitude in many many moments in my day. Some are small.  But they are still a conscious action of gratitude.  I am grateful I remembered to pack my favorite purple pen.  I am grateful I was running late this morning because I got extra hugs from Jack.

I am grateful for some of the hardest shit I’ve faced in my life to date.  The one thing I can say about a completely shitty situation being the impetus for this faith in gratitude is that I do appreciate the small things.  I note them in my head, in my heart, in my journal, in my blog and to the dude standing next to me that thinks I’m a mighty creeper for pointing out an opportunity for gratitude.  I am not ridiculously positive.  I am just grateful.  I suppose that breeds a certain positivity. I think it is also purely practical.  For instance, today I feel a bit lousy.  My throat hurts.  I’m tired.  I have some wicked exams coming up.  Sooo… let’s flip that shit.  I am grateful I was running late this morning, yet again, because it meant I caught a ride from a friend part of the way to school.  I am grateful I have the opportunity to go back to school.  I am grateful I am not feeling worse.  I am grateful I have folks I can whine to about it.  

Again, I am not wagging my finger  and lecturing  on gratitude (at least I really don't want anyone to feel that way).  I am sprinkling light and love and hoping everyone can feel how grateful I am.

hammock time

While most rational people have stowed their patio furniture until next summer, my hammock is still swaying.  Some nights (the nighttime is mine) I have bundled up in my ugliest sweater and cocooned myself in a wool blanket and plunked myself right down in it.  I close my eyes and focus in on each sense.  When I close my eyes and just listen it is possible to pick out the thin metal clanking of the loose letters on the electrical pole, the traffic way out on the interstate, the leaves rustling, the crunch of gravel under a bicycle’s tire, and someone’s yippy dog several blocks over.  I can sometimes smell a fire burning in someone’s chimney.  I love smelling a grill working somewhere.  I can smell my roses.  Lately the air is growing cooler and I can feel my nose and fingertips rapidly cooling.  The wool blanket is scratchy on my cheek.  The rhythmic swing of the hammock lulls me.  Some nights, I can see the moon. There are stars.  I can see the outline of neighboring houses, my rosebushes, and now I can add purple twinkling lights to the mix.  The lights were added to the patio when my folks visited.  I’m making my patio my special place.  

I am making the patio my special place because I need it.  The hammock is the key element.  I love my hammock.  It is one of my favorite things in the world.  It is one of the best gifts ever after a particularly shitty February. On my hammock I sit.  I ponder.  I meditate.  My senses open  and I tune into each one.  When I am out there, turning into myself, it is the closest to prayer I have felt in years.  

I set out for hammock time with purpose.  It is good for me.  As a result, it is good for everyone around me.  Making time for myself is important.  Taking the time to sit and tune into myself gives rise to a multitude of benefits. It seemed incredibly hokey in the beginning, but now I look forward to it and find myself protecting that time.  I find myself doing many things differently lately.  Focusing on my needs has helped immensely with everything.  It has helped me reframe my world-- With my kids, my family, my friends, myself.  

And every.single.time that I announce to myself that it is “hammock time” I can hear MC Hammer crooning in my head.  Come on… can’t you just hear it? I might even dance a little jig on my way out.  *can’t touch this*

conquering the coaster

Roller coasters terrify me.  I hate them.  They provoke such a sensation of helplessness and loss of control. People think its a safety issue.  While it would totally suck ass to fly out of a roller coaster, I don't sense that is my issue. The fear has morphed into its own living, breathing beast.  I have been asked if I had a bad experience on a roller coaster.  There is nothing that I recall.  At some point in my childhood I think I sat on my sister's finger during one. I don't think I broke it, but she sure wasn't happy.   

This past Sunday I grabbed the reigns and took back control.  The first ride was the most pansy ass ride I've ever been on.  It didn't stop me from worrying before I got on it though.  I was sure (since I couldn't see where the ride went) that something terrible was going to happen. Surviving that one like a boss, it was time to move on. Rian wanted me to go straight to Wicked. Hell no little girl.  Hell no.  Instead we went to this rickety old coaster. People call it the White Coaster.  I rode it once last summer after a day of avoiding it.  I think I cried then, too.  I might have left a scar or two on my coaster partner.  I still freaking hate it!  OMG That one might be a death trap. I started sobbing in line.  I was still taking steps toward the gate, but I was a blubbering idiot.  Tara's kids, my kid, they were the best cheerleaders anyone could ever hope to have.  But I was so wrapped up in abject fear it wasn't sinking in.  As soon as the train left the gate I was breathing like I was in labor.  I closed my eyes, squeezed the hand of Tara's friend (a stranger to me-embarrassment wasn't even on my radar at the time) and I might have buried my head in her shoulder.  I recalled a dream that I had where I embraced my fear of roller coasters and tried in vain to summon that sensation.  I swore. I screamed.  I cried.  In my mind, I wasn't stepping foot on another one the rest of the day.  As I get off shaking and swearing Tara brightly suggests we move on to the next one.  Two more and she would leave me alone.  Sonofabitch.  I love you,  I want to punch you, but mostly I love you.  I shuffled on.  Kids cheered me on and kept telling me what a good job I had done.  I was secretly wishing for a burst appendix.  Yeah, I'll keep her. :)

The next coaster was called The Spider.  I cried and yelled some more here.  Rian sat next to me and talked so sweetly to me the entire time.  I might have scared her at the end of this one with all of my ranting and raving. Tara had promised this one would be better. Indeed, it was. It was fast and spinny and I held my eyes closed the entire insane ride.  I survived though, and I think I smiled.  

It was time for Wicked now.  Rian suggested I should take a break, but Tara was having none of it.  I could rest while we waited in line. The kids rode it two or three times in the single (non group) line while we waited.  Weirdos.  Who comes up with this shit?  The swearing and inner dialogue was just outstanding.  If ever I was close to a multiple personailty situation... this was it.  Finally strapped in with kids cheering me on, there was no crying, just severe grimacing and gnashing of teeth.  I kept my eyes closed the entire time.  As we plummeted down that first stretch I might have actually left my body for a split second- long enough to stand back and shout, "WTF are you doing Jennifer????" The ride was blissfully brief.  It slowed at one point and Rian's friend in a rushed and firm voice let me know, "It's not over yet! It's not over!."  I really appreciated that.  Hard to explain, but I think it might have kept me alive.  Yessssss!                                                                                               My girl :) 

As I disembarked with jelly legs and hair all askew, I smiled despite myself.  Congratulations from all of the kids as they ran off for the next adventure and I was just standing there grinning like an idiot.  I did it! I did it!  And I lived to tell the tale.  My three rides were complete.  Tara was letting me off the hook.  I surprised myself. Not only did I go on to ride five more rides that day, completely voluntarily, I enjoyed it.  I still can't say that I love roller coasters. But I do love my accomplishment.  I love that I went with my best friend, my favorite daughter, and a wonderful group of kids.  Can't wait for next season!

home

Is home a state of mind?

Home is where you hang your hat.

Home is where the heart is.

Once, in a book club, we discussed the meaning of home.  Everyone shared differences and common themes.  Is it where your stuff is? Is it where your family is?  Is it wherever you happen to be?  Is it a feeling or something more tangible?

When I go “home” to visit my folks I am not really going home.  I didn’t grow up there. The house where I grew up isn’t home.  I moved out as soon as I was able.  I have moved many times.  I’ve lived in apartments and money pits and beautiful houses on tree lined streets.  I live in a much older home now. It smells funny but has good energy.   

Home is where I feel safe mentally, emotionally, physically.  It’s a literal space.  It’s a space in my heart. My home is my sanctuary.  I’ve loved this house from the moment I stepped foot in it.  It feels so good to me. It feels safe and comfortable.  I look forward to spending time in it.  I live there with my little family.  And that, I’ve decided, is home.  My family is home.  Feeling comfortable in my own skin in my house with my little people, that is home.  

like me

This past Friday was National Coming Out Day.  Last year I did so very quietly, yet publicly, via Facebook.  Just copied and pasted a support message for equality and added two little words at the end, “like me”. While I am my own person and am constantly working toward being myself, my unique me, those two little words are still important to me.  To find people like me is an important part of my growth process, my awakening.  There is an extraordinary strength in numbers.  

In June I went to Seattle for my first Pride event.  It was absolutely one of the greatest experiences of my life.  To say I was overwhelmed and blown away is putting it lightly.  My senses were on overload.  My brain was taking in information faster than I could process it. All these months later, I still replay scenes in my head over and over.  There was an event called the Dyke March.  (should this be capitalized?) It sounded so flipping intimidating.  Not only do we have the small town girl in the big city thing going on, there is the fact that I’ve never been around so many gay people in my life. People like me!  I was a part of it!  I marched!  In this march… oh yes.  There were people like me. That looked like me.  That dressed like me.  That surely shared similarities as far as life experiences.  Hallalooyah!   I didn’t feel like I was stuck in suburban/mommy/heterosexual mode.  I was just me.  The feelings oozing into every pore in my body just cannot be conveyed, even all these months later.   Joy, exhilaration, freedom… they are just a drop in the bucket of awesomeness that was Pride.  

The parade was ahhhh-mazing.  Brain. Overload.  Tears.  Revelry.  Inside my head I’m jumping up and down and squealing and saying, “Oh my god” over and over and over again.  My eyes about popped out of my head with some of the parade’s marchers.  Again, small town girl.  The colors, the people, the smells, the sounds, the sun.  I really can’t say “wow” enough.   

These experiences in my life leave me realizing how grateful I am.  How lucky I am.  How motivated I am to be the best me I can be.  Because somewhere out there, there are people like me.  I am not alone.  I am not on my own.