A Woefully Late Post of Thanksgiving





“I am grateful for what I am and have. My thanksgiving is perpetual…O how I laugh when I think of my vague indefinite riches. No run on my bank can drain it, for my wealth is not possession but enjoyment.”
-Henry David Thoreau

I meant to post earlier.  Like for Thanksgiving, I meant to.  I thought of it often - The abundance in my life and how thankful I am for all of it.  For the family that brought me here and supports me and loves me.  For the friends that are just like family and make my life richer.  For a career that matters and I know matters in spite of where we are right now as a nation and state in education.  For a house that keeps me sheltered and warm and full. And, also, keeps me in touch with both wildlife and my killer instinct. 

 For my little Fuss. 

Always for him.  Above all - I am thankful for Eli. I would not be here in this little state of gratitude if he wasn't in my life.  It is simply that simple.  It is his being that makes me know how abundant my life and possessions are.  He anchors me to life. 

It is an imperfectly perfect life we have.  Certainly, this isn't what I ever envisioned or planned.  It was all supposed to be just a bit more traditional.  But, it didn't work out that way and I wouldn't have it any other way.  A three year old doesn't usually tell his mom he would like a baby in the house so that he can have a friend here.  A three year old doesn't always bring his mom the phone and say, "Mom, call the doctor to see if he has more sperm."  No.  We are not traditional.  We are imperfect.  And all at the same time we are completely perfect.

But, I say again - It is our little nontraditional life that opens my eyes to the world.

I was so scared telling people my plan.  So scared someone would get all judgy and righteous WITH ME and I would get all angry and defensive WITH THEM.    And maybe, just maybe, if enough people were judgy and righteous maybe I'd second guess this all.  At the very least, I'd eat a sleeve of girl scout cookies and a pint of ice cream. 

But, nobody did.  At least not to my face.  Nobody burdened me with their reserervations and objections.  And nobody that really mattered to me ever let on to anything but love and support. 

This isn't what a parent dreams for their child.  I know that - I know that because I'm a mother now and I have this recurring vision of Fuss' wedding day.  He's grown and kind and ever so happy.  And he's about to make a family of his own.  He's going to have a wife and give me grandchildren.  And I am simultaneously relieved and joyful.  Relieved that his life will be full of all the joys that being human brings, but also full of the struggle and heartaches and humanity of life.  I am so relieved that, unlike me, he will share those joys and struggles with someone.  Someone to multiply his joys, and share the burdens of the hard times.  Someone to call his and someone to love.   And I am joyful that he is so happy.  Plus, also, I have a pretty f-ing fantastic dress and I've lost weight.  Also,  somehow I have heels on and really?  With feet this size and width heels are just out for me, but in my vision I have them.  And my feet don't even hurt.  So, really?  Why wouldn't I be joyful - My son is happy and I'm semi-thin and I'm wearing great clothes and heels?  

But, my point is - In spite of any denial she may make - This isn't what my mom would have hoped for me, so my heart fills when I think of how fantastic she's been.  My heart fills when I think of her.  She loves us so much.  Supports us.  She is Fuss' only grandparent and fills that role perfectly.  She fills it with endless love and chocolate milk and even a treat drawer.   She never once made me second guess myself when I decided to have a child.  And she was there every step of the way in ways I share and in ways I don't.   So, my gratitude cup could not be fuller.  Thank you.  Thank you. I appreciate you more than you will ever know.  And I love you so much. 

My sister did the single kindest thing for me that anyone has ever done.  I told her in December that 2008 was the year.  The year I'd stop talking and start basting (those of you around for the duration know what I'm saying).  She gave me the kindest gift at a time when very few people knew what was looming around the corner.  A book -  A pregnancy book.  And a sweet little onesie that I will have forever.  My first baby things - But, they were so much more.  Almost a silent nod of approval and gentle nudge to move forward.  To follow this dream.. They were exactly what I needed.  Thank you.  I love you. 

A special thank you to my sister's amazing boys.  He loves you so much - WE love you so much.  He may not have a father, but he has men (and a very tall boy) to look up to and love.  And love he does.  You fill such a spot for one little boy and I could not be more thankful.

My brothers, my sisters-in-law, my nephews, and my niece.  My nontraditional little family was welcomed into the bigger family.  And for that I am thankful.  It fills my heart to see Fuss' pure joy with his cousins.  I only slightly want to flick him in the head when he is thankful for his stuffed puppy and cousins and not me.  Only slightly.  Mostly, I love that he will turn his back on me to run off with his Uncle or cousin.  It has all been even more than I hoped.  Thank you.  I love you all.

My friends - Oh my friends.  Friends come and go in life - Move forward and back.  But, so so many friends provided support through my years of grieving the loss of my dream to the years when I visioned a new dream to the time I made it happen.  So many shared in my joy of this life and make this daunting task of parenting alone just a little bit easier.  And now still.  "That Girl" (you know who you are), I thank you often for your wise words, your counseling, and your humor.   And somewhere out there is a friend who is lost from my life.  But, she was there too. I miss the friendship we had, but am thankful it was part of my life when I needed it most.  It carried me often when I felt I couldn't stand.    And I am so very thankful for friends gone and friends here.  Thank you - I love you more than you know.

But, maybe today  my biggest gratitude is something I have been giving a lot of thought to.  At any given moment I have to power to say, "This is not how my story ends."  I have changed my story before.  A room away from me sleeps the bravest and hardest and most rewarding thing I have ever done. I am stronger and braver than I give myself credit for.  So, there is no reason that I can not change the things I do not like in life - Make myself healthier and better.  And change it for me, and for those I love most.   My story does not have to end like this. 

So - Here's to a giving of thanks.  There is so much to hold onto and embrace.  So much.  Abundance. 

 

2012: The Year of the Dead Animal

 

And, yes...A bird was harmed

 

It almost seems impossible that I would have another run in with a bird this week.   But, I did.  It's true.  Or rather, a bird had another run in with me this week.  Or with my house anyhow.

 

It was cleaning morning.  It wasn't necessarily going to be, but when Fuss was "Hi-Ya-ing his beloved stuffed friend around and I asked what he was doing and he said he was fighting the dust because we had lots of dust...Well, then I knew it was time.   So, cleaning it was. 

 

The late fall sun is brutal and unforgiving to an unclean house.  Every speck of dust floats in the air and mocks you.  Every streak of unlean on the window screams.  And there were plenty of streaks, I tell you.  P.L.E.N.T.Y.  This will be important to note as it speaks to my innocence on the harming of birds.  I have a bird grudge, for sure - And fairly so, if you ask me.  I had one barge uninvited and unannounced into my house for goodness sakes.  So I don't like them and they don't like me, but I wouldn't hurt one on purpose. 

 

Fuss was my fairly able assistant in the dusting.  In other words, he sprayed and halfway wiped and then I did quality control.  Like actually got the dust.  But, we did well.  A full bottle of cleaning stuff later and one shelf of the entertainment center was done.

 

He was happily spraying shelf two and there was a thud.  A loud one.  Like check the window for cracks loud.  And I had done everything possible to keep this from happening.  Surely, the bird that smashed into my window was visually impaired.  Or he'd just had a fight with his girl, or lost his job, or got caught doing something unsavory by his mother because those windows all but announced themselves.  They were far from clean.  In fact,  it was probably easier to see through the ground than these windows.

 

Fuss and I rushed to the window to see what was the matter.  There it was.  A beautiful, bright red, cardinal.  Dead.  Or rather dying -  His little birdie feet twitched and such as he said his final goodbyes to this world. 

 

I looked at Fuss.  He looked at me.  He looked at the bird.  In my mind I quickly prepared my grand parenting moment.  Oh, I would comfort my child, alright. I would teach him about life and spirit and heaven.  All whilst staring at the twitching legs of a red cardinal.  Certainly that was scary.  Seeing something injured.  Something that normally flies free or, you know, in my house.  I was about to impart what I believe in death and life and God.  It was damn good talk.  It really was.

Except...

"He's not getting up," Fuss tells me.   "He must be dead.  You should put him in the garbage can."

 

Okay.

 

That brings this spiritual party down a notch.

 

But, I'm still willing to try.  You know - My child needs comfort.  He just saw something die.  Of course he needs my words.

 

Only he didn't.  He just needed to keep on spraying.  I knew this because when I started talking about Heaven he told me as much.

 

"I just need to keep cleaning."

 

Maybe we can talk aferlife later, huh?

So I strapped on my gloves and got the small rake and the dustpan.  They have seen more than their fair share of critters this year.  I think of them as my coroner tools.  This year, many have met their demise here.

It began with beheaded critters.  Victims of an owl with a taste for brain, I presume.   Then the mice began to mock me and I had to declare war.  Then the vole.  I actually felt bad about the vole.  He was cute.  A lovely shade of brown, a tiny tail, and cute little digger feet.  I apologized to him, but explained my right to defend my house as I tossed him in the garbage.  Then the bird in the house that I saved.  Now the bird I TRIED to save from this fate by not washing my windows all summer. 

 

Well...My garbage is multi-purpose this year. 

 

The garbage man must be very curious.

 

I call it the morgue. 

 

 



 

 



No Birds Were Harmed in the Writing of This Post

"What is it about a beautiful sunny afternoon, with the birds singing and the wind rustling through the leaves, that makes me want to get drunk?"

Jack Handy

I'd like to say I was shocked about what I'm about to share. But, I wasn't. Startled, certainly, but not shocked.  In a year I have trapped several mice and a vole in my house, there is little left to shock me. 

 

Let me set the scene:

It was morning.  Fuss was playing some version of shooting bad guys and knocking things over.  I was polishing off cup of coffee number two. It was sunny.  Lovely.  Shaping up to be a fantastic morning. 

 

I was busy toasting a waffle. Store bought. I used to make homemade waffles for Fuss back when he was brand new to eating and I was all sure I'd do that forever. But, then I discovered the ease of toasting a store bought waffle. Turns out Trader Joe makes a whole grain waffle that's a a whole lot easier and a whole lot less messy. Who knew?

Anyhow I hear, "Tweet. Tweet. Tweet." (Which isn't really the sound a bird makes, now is it?).

That's not the would be surprising part. We have an unnatural number of birds in our yard due to the fact that my neighbor landscapes with bird seed and bread squares.    She also cuts tenderloin up for her dogs and serves it to them on paper plates along with a vegetable side dish. She's like a caterer to furry and feathered friends.  So, that explains that.  

Anyhow...It wasn't the tweeting that alerted me to possible trouble. It was the volume of the tweeting. It was as if there was a bluebird on my shoulder. Only there wasn't because I was inside the house and in the kitchen.

Ever. So. Slowly.  I crept to the door that separates the mudroom (the dirty little secret of my house) from the living space .  Ever. So. Slowly. I open the door just a hair to listen.  And there it is.  A sparrow roughly the size of a pterodactyl in full out tweeting panic.  Little bastard was in my house. 

Calmly and with great poise I slammed the door shut and screamed, "F&%K ME!!!!!!!!!!!" and ran for my life.  Three year old ears are not always reliable, mercifully.

"Why did you yell 'Oh me" mom?" Parenting disaster averted.

Ummmm.  I stubbed my toe?

But, wildlife disaster still in progress.

Plus, I had to save my child.  It's what mothers do.  We fight grizzlies.  We run through fires.  We wrangle sparrows. 

It did not seem right to dial 9-11. Even I recognized that. 

So, I did the only thing I could.  Wallowed in self pity for just a moment. Possibly two. 

Confidential to those who think it would just be easier to do this parenting gig alone:  This is a moment I would disagree with you and have a fairly good argument for my side. 

Birds are meant to be free. I would free the bird. He clearly was not content with the accomodations. And I was none to anxious to put him up any longer. 

And then I took action to save my child from certain wild animal doom.  My plan was as follows:


First - Do not let said child know what was going on.  While he fancies himself a great helper and I certainly have lied to him in the past about how great of a helper he is, this wasn't time to hone those skills.  Nope.  A three year old armed with a Nerf gun and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle moves could only make this situation worse.  Much.  Much worse. 

Second - Never go into battle unprepared.  Protect oneself first.  I needed a suit of armour.  Fast.  No need to risk being pecked in the head by giant bird.  Or worse - Pooped on.

I donned a laundry basket.  Don't judge.  It was perfect.  It had holes in the side that allowed me to see whilst moving through the mudroom to the escape door. With the stealthiness of a horrified elephant I opened the door and ran to the door to the outside to unlock it.  (Note to self:  Get a key made for the deadbolt so it can be opened from the OUTSIDE).

I then ran with same stealth elephant like panic back to the safety of the kitchen. 

Shout out in gratitude for the bird for not making an appearance or staging an attack while I unlocked the door.  He could have.  I was vulnerable -  What with a basket over my head and all.

With the basket still on my head, I ran a lap to the outside of the house, threw open the door, and waited.  An eternity.  Like 45 seconds of an eternity until the little SOB flew out to sweet freedom. 

He wasn't nearly as big as I thought he was.  I doubt he could have carried either of us off in his talons afterall. 

Next on my to do list:

1.  Call handyman brother to patch up the hole in the awning where the Sparrow family has set up residence.

But, not tonight.  Tonight I just may need a glass of wine. 

What exactly is it about birds in my house on sunny day...
 

That Hairy Thing Dodged a Bullet

It seems to me that we should really just have an "eject" button for those times when our cherubs horrify us. Like badly.

Eli and I have to work on reading three digits numbers, because that ability is the last thing between him and going alone to the male locker room at the YMCA.  That and the fact he's three.  The age thing is a barrier, fo' sho', but not enough that I wouldn't consider sending him alone if I knew he could get the locker opened and himself changed and, you know...Not be among naked  grown men. 

I mean, really.   Eli has discovered his love of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  It was love at first sight and he's fallen hard.   As a result, I am often the victim of really bad ninja moves.  The turtles were tained for 15 years, according the book I've read 432 times since Sunday.  Eli's only been in training for 2 weeks. And he's three.  And not a turtle, incidently.   So, the moves are bad, but not painful and that helps.

He knows no boundries when it comes to his ninja powers.  Home.  The Store.  The YMCA.  In the locker room.  While I'm naked. 

Tonight I was left searching for the eject button.  I'm in a half stage of dresshood praying he won't do his usual thing and say, "Booooooooooooooobs..." like a three year old pervert.  No worries.  He's honing his turtle moves.  My anatomy was seemingly of no concern to him as he jumped from a stool and practiced karate chopping me. Plus also, he was shooting at me, because even though the Ninja Turtles' weapon of choice is a sword, Eli can't let his boyness go long enough to stop shooting everything with imaginary guns (where the heck do they get this). 

Then, he says (and I quote), "I'm going to shoot your (pause while he searches for word)...I'm going to shoot your hairy thing." 

Yes, friends, THAT hairy thing. 

Oh.  My.  

Eject.  Eject.  Eject.

A rush of gratitude to the locker Gods that it seemingly went unheard by other ears.  Glad my hairy thing and I dodged the bullet of humiliation.

Tomorrow we begin three digit number instruction.

"I think he's mellow...Like me"

Confidential to Laura - I told you I was going to make you the subject of a blog.  Here it is...You're fabulous.  But, you aren't mellow. 


So...Last night was Book Club.  Or should I say, "Book Club."  The quotes are important -  What with the fact that very few of us actually READ the book and all (Except for Aileen the show off).   It's a term we use lightly.  We like wine and snacks.  But we like each other and enjoy the sorta, kinda regular once a month meetings nonetheless (which is a cool ass word, I might add.  I mean really - Three words squashed into one...AWESOME).

My dear friend Laura is many wonderful things.  She is kind and generous and funny and thoughtful and loyal beyond belief and full out fantastic.  She is not mellow.  In fact, she may be the antithesis (another cool ass word) of mellow.   Laura doesn't leave too much to the imagination when it comes to what she's feeling.  She isn't exactly known for being passive or quiet or really anything to the left side of alive.  It's what is best about her.  

It's also what is funny as hell about her. 

When Fuss was "a-brewin'" in my utero, Laura would greet us with her oxygen depriving hug (few things make you feel more loved than a hug from Laura).  She'd then get as close to the baby bump as possible and shatter the sound barrier with a 'HELLO  BABY!!!  IT'S LAURA!!!! HOW ARE YOU BABY???!!!!"   She'd stand back and make her intentions clear...She did this so that when baby exited said uterus and was out and about in the world, he/she wouldn't startle when she was around.   Incidently, it works - I've seen Little Laura number one sleep IN HER ARMS through some fairly intense noise.

Laura is a kick ass mom - She has two of the cutest, sweetest little people of her own now.  Which leads to the mellow thing...

So, she's holding Little Mr. Laura (carbon copy of Mr. Laura) at Book Club and we're all ooing and ahhhing about what a good baby he is.  Sidenote:  Good baby?  Like what does a bad baby do? Steal the car keys?  Sneak some booze in his bottle? Anyhow, Laura says (and I'm not making this up), "Yeah...I think he's more mellow, like me."  

Hush silence.

Glances at each other to gauge reactions. 

Followed by uproarious laughter.  

And then a night of teasing...

Mellow.  Little Mr. Laura is a mellow baby.   His mother is not a mellow woman.

I have danced on tables at Mexican Fiesta enough with this woman to know she isn't mellow.

I have smiled at people as our volume and energy drew attention to our table enough to know she isn't mellow.

I have eaten lunch and dinner and drank margaritas enough at LaFuente (sometimes both on same day) with this woman - I know she isn't mellow.

I have laughed until I wet myself with this woman.  She is not mellow.

I have seen her engage perfect strangers in political arguements. Mellow? Nope.

I have seen her take charge of a room or a situation and been ever so thankful that she is not mellow.

I have watched her make this lovely little life for herself.  A lovely little life she has fought for and worked for and MADE happen.  A mellow woman couldn't have done that.

I have known her and loved her and admired her long enough to know.  She.  Is not.  Mellow.

And if she ever changes her way and becomes mellow...Well, I would be heartbroken.

Goals

We should always self improve.


So....

I will proofread.  Sometimes.


I will learn to use Saran Wrap.  Eventually.


I will not scream my throat sore.  Most days.


I will only THINK but not SAY those four letter words.  But I will type them.


I will clean my house.  Tomorrow.