And then almost a month goes by.

It's no use, really, to try to update on a month's worth of activities, so I'm just going to jump right in with what's on my mind now. I continue to stew in my contentment and moments of discontentment (those continue to be mostly work-related). But the satisfaction of being where I am seems to be here to stay, and it's most welcome.

One of the last times I posted, I mused about my lifelong lack of long-term commitments. That theme has continued to be on my mind during my radio silence. As someone who married late-ish, then as someone whose spouse died, I've given my fair share of thought to the long-term commitment that is marriage. I have deep admiration for those who sustain a life-long partnership, to be sure, but also the realist's understanding that some of that longevity is circumstantial; if you meet someone later in life, biology prevents you from reaching the milestones that are within the realm of possibility for those who marry at a younger age. Wonderful partnerships meet untimely demises. Other marriages end more by choice or necessity. I proceed with caution in revering those with long marriages/partnerships as somehow inherently more worthy or generally better than those who have shorter partnerships, but understand all the while that to make any relationship work over years and years takes work and commitment and dedication.

It took me a long time to be ready to be in a long-term partnership, and I felt ever the more wronged by having that readiness mocked by the universe when John got his terminal diagnosis. Since John's death, my lack of long-term commitments has continued to grow, and I speak her not only of dating but of life choices in general. I moved out of our condo less than a year after John died, moved to Oregon months after that initial move, and have changed jobs twice in the 4.5 years since he died.

Making the commitment that John and I made to each other was the last time I felt the kind of settled contentment that I've been feeling over the past months. It's no surprise, I don't think, that the experience of John's death made me skittish. But here I am, 4.5 years later, getting it back again. Feeling settled enough to buy the house was certainly huge, and continues to be huge, and welcome, and wonderful. And my job is a commitment in a way, too; it's not perfect, but it's a long-haul kind of job that work every day to have peace with, and I make work decisions with the idea that I'll be there for the long haul, not with one foot out the door.

I'm getting there with the dating, too. I have a loooooong history—a lifetime, really, minus John—of dating Perfectly Fine but Wrong for Me people. To put a finer point on it, before John I dated either Smart, but Emotionally Unavailable or Dumb, but SO NICE! Then there was John who was smart, emotionally available, and nice: I finally got it all. Then he died, and since he died I have really dated Just for Fun. Which has been, uh, mostly fun. But I have found that Fun also gets Unfulfilling pretty quickly, so I've also dated Briefly. I've made nods at finding something real in the Fun, but nothing has been a natural fit to be sure.

But now I'm in this situation that is Fun, but also Real. Or that could be Real. This is a genuine person, not a career-focused guy who's about to move overseas or a bitter, recently divorced guy or a consultant in town short-term. No, this is a guy who like me saw the untimely demise of his partnership (although under different circumstances) and who understands how that feels, but also focuses on putting one foot in front of the other. He's ridiculously smart, incredibly generous, and funny to boot. Things are just meandering along in a lovely and happy way, slowly and sweetly. We are spending more and more time together, and talking about what that means, and musing about meeting kids. It's really great.

It's in fact great enough that I have been loathe to blog about it or talk about it much. I felt the same way about buying the house. I selfishly wanted all that goodness for me. Plus, I have that jinx-y feeling that comes from talking too much about a good thing and somehow thus causing it to implode. But it's what's on my mind lately, a lot. So I've said what I feel like I can say right now and hopefully it wasn't enough to hex it.

But just in case, I'll end by changing the subject. Halloween was awesome! Maddie was a Pegasus unicorn (thank you, eBay), Riley was a Jedi knight, and I was Princess Leia. Kindergarten has settled down and both kids seem quite content. Both of them are really into art projects now, Riley preferring to work in 3D and Maddie with a love of coloring/writing/drawing. We're going to Michigan on Saturday for our traditional Thanksgiving trip to see John's family; I always approach that with mixed emotions, but I'm always glad we go. We've been to the beach a bunch lately, and there's nothing but good about that. And then almost a month goes by, and we're still boringly happy and living our life or normalcy and about that, I have no complaints.

Bowling Birthday

Riley had his birthday party today. It was at the local bowling alley. Unlimited bowling plus pizza and drinks and balloons made for a very, very fun event.

It was so much fun for me to see Riley with his friends. He invited five boys: four from his class plus a cousin, and then Maddie was there as the "bonus kid." Oh, and Riley invited our former neighbor, his football/general sporting buddy we'll call Indy. No one cried, no one got hurt, the kids took turns without being told to, there was no cutthroat competition, no overly rowdy behavior, and there was lots of camaraderie, support, hugging, and good sportsmanship. It really could not have gone better.

I've heard that these are the magical years, these early grade school times from five-ish to eight-ish. I've also heard lots of things that turned out not to be true about sleeping and tantrums and improvements in attitude or other behaviors that turned out not to be true. But this mythical idea of magical years, golden years, I'm starting to buy it. We have so much fun together now, me and Maddie and Riley. The kids are, for the most part, rational beings. Funny, smart rational beings, to boot. They are personable and curious and unendingly friendly. They are generous and kind and just plain happy. Sure, I'm biased. But they're pretty darn awesome.

I remember reading parenting books and advice columns and such in which people would express concern about how long it took them to feel really bonded with their kids. There's an expectation that if you parent someone that the bond is near instantaneous, the connection undeniable. I was always relieved, if a bit ashamed, to find that I wasn't alone in not feeling that immediately after Maddie and Riley were born. Oh, sure, I loved them immediately. But it's different now, and much, much deeper. I don't know how to explain it, exactly, and I'm way to exhausted to even be trying right now.

So I'll go to bed. Tomorrow will be Maddie's party. This is the first year they are having separate celebrations, and hers is unlimited rides on a fantastic local carousel + sack lunches + face painting. Riley is her "bonus kid," of course.

Everything feels different this year. I like it.

Christmas

I am ambivalent about Christmas. I'm not Jesus-religious, so the whole birth of Christ thing is not especially meaningful to me. I outright loathe the commercialism, and in general I'm not a gifter. John and I were on the same page in all regards here, so the few Christmases we had together were low-key affairs.

There is something, though, to this whole "Christmas through the eyes of a child" business, I have to concede that. And this year, as the fog of parenting babies and toddlers has turned into the (for me) more rewarding and enjoyable parenting of preschoolers, I've been much more in the Christmas spirit than in years past.

I come from a strong Christmasing tradition, in the most American sense. We rarely (never?) went to church on Christmas, and the Jesus part was but a blip on the radar (save my mom's loathing of the shorthand "Xmas"), but we did the secular aspect up right. We always got a huge tree right after Thanksgiving, there were lights on the outside of the house, the special Christmas glasses made an appearance, and there were gifts. Oh, there were gifts. My parents are the definition of gifters, and they really spoiled us even when times were tough. I enjoyed all of it as a kid and young adult: the fireplace, the music, the presents, the time together.

As an adult, I'm a bit shocked by my obliviousness around it all. I said "Merry Christmas!" to people with wild abandon, never stopping to think about the fact that some people weren't celebrating. I just listened to a Barenaked Ladies/Boston Pops rendition of "Do They Know It's Christmas?", that classic from 1984, and its earnestness astounds me. Do they know it's Christmas? Guess what? Many of "them" don't celebrate Christmas! Yet at the time, I remember being so moved by the gesture, so grateful for what I had, so empathetic for those who were missing out. Now the whole thing just seems so naïve, so well meaning if maladroit. Sending starving people food is a wonderful thing to do, but to condescendingly link it to their lack of awareness of Christmas? It feels so . . . well, I think I've made my point.

I overthink it all now. Do I feed into the Sana myth? How many gifts is too many gifts? How can they survive when all they've eaten for days is Christmas cookies and eggnog? How do I make them aware of other traditions and beliefs? Is "season's greetings" just a veiled "merry Christmas"? Should I just pretend it's not happening (as is my inclination)?

In the end, I'm letting Maddie and Riley be my guides. They wanted a tree, so we got one. Our guideline was that it be taller than the kids, but shorter than me. We put up lights and decorations. We've been singing our nightly songs by the light of the tree rather than in bed, and it's been charming and cozy. Maddie and Riley love the lights that are up around the neighborhood; Maddie in particular gives audible gasps of wonder at the most gaudy displays. For the first time ever, I've bought them gifts and I've enjoyed it. They have interests and desires now, clearly expressed, and it's fun to bring them the joy of satisfying those desires.

I still don't enjoy the overblown hoopla. Thanksgiving has always been my deal: family and food and time off, those are the things I enjoy. So it is with Christmas. I focus on the things that bring me joy, try not to let myself get sucked into the crazy, try to keep it simple and sweet and manageable. No malls. No last-minute shopping trips. I prefer more time by the fire and a second glass of wine.

We'll go spend the night with my mom on Christmas Eve, probably again on Christmas Day. We'll go to the Christmas Eve service at our church, for which we helped to decorate tonight. There will be football and too much sugar and too few vegetables. I might take M&R to their first movie in the theater, and perhaps we'll go bowling, as Riley has been hankering to do for months.

I love my life. Of the things that are in my power to change, I wouldn't change a thing. I am in a place of peace with most of the things I can't change. To the extent that Christmas is a time to reflect on such things, I could not ask for more.

Pow! Bang! Kerblam!

I feel like everything is exploding these days.

Work is a total disaster zone. I don't like to blog about work, so I'll just say that I have too much to do, too little time to do it in, and too many personnel issues keeping me from the tasks at hand. Why can't we all get along? Sigh.

My immediate family is in good shape, thank goodness. Going home each night is a joy, even when the kids are not joyous. In truth, the kids are often defiant these days, testing limits and struggling with the transition to having another person live in our house. The Z situation is without a doubt to the good, but it's a change, and change is hard, and when you're four, when things are hard, you whine a lot and pitch fits about things that to an adult are totally inconsequential, and you save all of your crappy emotions for your safe person, which for M&R is, of course, me. Sigh. But still, being home is truly a refuge for me right now. Z is lovely and helpful and I'm beyond thrilled that this situation that I had so long desired is everything I had hoped it would be and then some. Maddie and Riley are completely hilarious, sometimes even when they are pitching fits. The home front is keeping me going right now.

Outside our little nuclear family, the broader but still pretty immediate family struggles. My stepbrother and his wife are on the skids, which has repercussions for my mom and stepdad. I feel for all of them. We're gearing up for our annual pilgrimage to see John's family in Michigan, which is searingly emotional every year, and although it's ultimately positive, it's certainly intense and draining.

An old friend of John's called me the other day out of the blue. He and his wife are people I have always admired and enjoyed, although we have not spent much time together. They are just good people, the kind of people who upon meeting, you know you can immediately trust and respect. His call was a ray of sunshine, but from behind a dark cloud: his brother has metastatic pancreatic cancer. It's like a knife to the heart. To make it all even that much more intense, his brother just got married a month ago.

My whole body aches with empathy. I gave John's friend—my friend, our friend—the URL to my blog to give to his sister in law, with the warning that it might be too much for her to deal with right away. John's friend is a doctor, so they don't need any medical advice, not that I'm qualified to give it, but John had access to some (at the time) pretty cutting edge chemo that not everyone could then get, so when I've heard from others facing a pancreatic cancer diagnosis, I've often shared that information. These friends don't need that. They need friends. I'm glad they felt they could reach out to me; I hope I can give them some of what they need.

These are not the only friends dealing with cancer. They are just the most recent. We're too young for this. Or are we? Is this just a part—the crappy part—of being in your late 30s? Is this when you suddenly wake up to find that your parents are not young, just young for their age, and that you and your friends are not immune to the scourge of disease and the tolls of time on the body? When does it stop being a fluke, a mistake, and when is it a horrible but unavoidable part of life? In the end, no matter. It's not fair, and it's devastating.

Maddie and Riley are reaching a point where it's a real challenge for me to pick them up and hold them for any length of time. I have not been sentimental in bidding farewell to babyhood, but this transition feels as huge as the weight of their cumbersome bodies. To pick them up and carry them, this is to be the mother of a small child. To no longer be able to do so is to be the parent of a big kid, official. Like so many other things in life, this is a painful if ultimately good transition.

I'm nostalgic these days, for my old body, for small children, for John, for the invincibility and endlessness of life in my 20s. I don't want to go back; what was difficult and painful on that journey to where I am now would be too much to bear again. I would make the same choices. I am without regret. But I am overwhelmed by the fullness of it all, and how that fullness it seems to be bursting out in uncontrolled and uncontainable negative ways. We were reminded in church on Sunday to slow down, and there is wisdom there, I think. I am walking rather than running these days, doing less in the evening, sleeping more, getting by on the minimum. I feel a need to hoard my reserves; each day draws on them in unexpected ways.

Speechless

Today is my dad's 65th birthday. Happy birthday, Plain Ba! We lured him up here to celebrate and we had a rockin' good day that involved the twins sleeping until 6:30 a.m. (late!), breakfast at Grand Central, college football on TV, a bike ride (me and the kids), and dinner at the Old Spaghetti Factory. After dinner, we sent him on his way home with a six-pack of homemade chocolate cupcakes with chocolate frosting and lots of sprinkles; we'd hoped he would spend a couple of more nights with us, but he had to get home to view the last Formula One race of the season with his racing buddies, live on TV at 4:30 a.m. tomorrow morning. That's dedication.

It was an Oregon day today. It was chilly, and it rained nonstop, never hard, usually barely qualifying as rain, in fact, more of a steady mist. I started to get cabin feverish around 2 p.m. and decided to head out for a bike ride with Maddie. Then Riley decided to come along, so we were a full load on the three-bike. The twins are imprervious to cold and damp and I was happy to get the fresh air. We had a lovely ride of 6 or 7 easy miles. There was one lost (and found) scarf along the way plus two stops: one to pick "wildflowers" (some kind of flowering weed?) and one to admire a lovely flowering garden. We sang some songs and waved at other bikers and it seemed to be refreshing for us all.

Oregon is a very bike-friendly town. I bike commuted to work for a while when I lived in Boston, and I regularly had unpleasant interactions with car drivers, ranging from a complete lack of awareness of my presence to a complete lack of understanding of bicycle rules of the road to outright hostility that I'd have the right to be on the road in the first place. Sometimes it was a combination of those three things. Here in Portland, I've encountered very little of that type of behavior. Some of that is due to the large and ever-expanding selection of well planned bike routes around the city (a mix of dedicated bike lanes, bike boulevards) and a higher than typical general awareness awareness of bikes on the road. Some of it is that there's just less congestion in the areas in which I ride, so there's less chance for a negative encounter. Some of it is just luck, I suppose.

Our route today forced us to spend just two blocks on a somewhat narrow and somewhat busy somewhat major street. Some people were getting out of their street-parked car as we went by; I checked behind me (no traffic) and then moved out to go around them as they got out of their vehicle. I was well within my lane, and was not in violation of any laws. They people in the car waved at M&R, who are like little neighborhood ambassadors on the back of the bike. A vehicle was approaching in the oncoming lane, which barely registered for me since I was not in any way impeding its passage and was about to take a right turn off the main drag anyway. But the oncoming vehicle slowed, the window came down, and a gruff male voice yelled, "STUPID BITCH!" before the SUV picked up speed and continued its journey.

He was clearly talking to me. The people who had just waved at Maddie and Riley exchanged puzzled looks with me, we turned, and it was over. I don't even think M&R noticed. I am sure I was not disobeying any laws, and I have no idea what the guy was even thinking. Am I stupid for riding a bike at all? For riding it on the street? For having kids on the back of the bike? For wearing a helmet? For being out in the rain? For existing? Who knows. There's certainly no reason at all that a complete stranger in a car should be able to judge whether or not I'm a bitch.

It's probably just one of those instances of car/bike hostility. He probably has no ideas what the rules of the road are for a cyclist. That certainly doesn't make it right to yell derogatory jeers at someone. It would be easy to shake off if the guy hadn't yelled such a thing at me with my children on the back of the bike. I'm glad they were focused on other things.

My life contains many instances of the good of humanity. It's so disconcerting to be reminded of the bad and the ugly.

Vintage Maddie and Riley

Check out my friend Jen's blog, the Duck Flies, for some vintage pics of and stories about Maddie and Riley, plus some great photos of her own son, Ben.

Miss you too, friends.

Away; Back Again

I was away for a few days. My grandmother, Mama Doris, died. It was not unexpected. She was 90, and her health had been steadily failing since last summer. She spent the last few weeks of 2009 expressing her readiness to die.

She was a strong, difficult woman. I had a good relationship with her, mostly because I had a life that she considered successful and, due to geographic distance, she didn't witness my myriad daily screwups. She had high standards for everyone, herself included. She had a way of turning a compliment into a criticism, and a personality that brought out any inkling of perfectionism in anyone who encountered her. She and my grandfather were married for 66 years, until he died almost exactly two years ago. I don't think I've ever known a happier married couple.

I went to her memorial with my father (Mama Doris was his mother), my mother, and my stepfather. My mom and my grandmother remained close even after my parents divorced, and Mama Doris was always warm and welcoming to my stepdad, too. The memorial was held in Southwest City, Missouri, the town where she and my grandfather had lived and raised their four boys, and near where much of my father's extended family still lives. My two uncles, six cousins, and all the spouses were there, and it was fun to catch up, tell stories about Mama Doris, and enjoy each others' company. I suppose that for some families, the presence of my mom and stepdad might have been awkward or unusual, but it was all OK for all of us. In some ways, my extended family is pretty open-minded. If I've never mentioned this before, now would be the time to say that when my mom married my stepdad, my father is the one who walked her down the aisle and gave her away. Yes, you read that correctly.

I've put off writing about Mama Doris's death and the trip to the midwest, mostly because it's sad when people die and latley I don't feel like writing about sad stuff. For the most part, I've felt pretty happy these days. As I have alluded to in recent posts, the arrival of 2010 has felt like a fresh start in a way that the new year usually does not for me, and I find myself rejuvinated and refreshed. Sure, some days are not so good. I can still be impatient. The other night, I yelled at Maddie for something silly then yelled at Riley for good measure. The cleanup that needs to get done from December's burst pipe is still not complete. My grandmother died. Annoying, sad, life-changing things continue to happen. But the underlying feeling is one of optimism, and I had felt hesitatnt to burst that bubble with a big, heavy post about Death.

To lighten the mood, here are a couple of amusing anecdotes from my trip to the middle of the United States:

• Our hotel was across the street from a gas station/convenience store called Kum & Go. I bought a travel mug out of amusement/disgust.
• The first night there, we ate at a restaurant called the Rib Crib. It was about three blocks from our hotel. My uncle suggested that not only should we drive, but we should take two cars in case he needed to leave earlier than the rest of us. We convinced him that we could all walk.

I'm sure there is good food to be had in that part of the world, but I did not have it. My life was devoid of decent coffee for three days! Woe is me, I know.

It's good to be back. I'm wearing one of Mama Doris's signature costume jewelry necklaces today. I miss her.

Mom = all clear

I can't believe I forgot to post this, my my mom got the all-clear from her doctor. Her chest x-ray was clean, and her cough started to abate just by virtue of her making the appointment.

Thanks to all of you for caring and inquiring.

Ruminations on Habits

General Thoughts.

Habits are tricky. Good ones are so hard to establish, bad ones so temptingly comfortable.

I don't think I'm that unusual in that when I establish a good habit or correct a bad one—working out regularly, going to bed at a reasonable hour, not eating an entire bag of chips every night—one little slip-up can get me right back to that familiar comfort zone. Missed a day at the gym? Guess I'll stop going altogether. I know this about myself, and thus can be a little manic about maintaining the habits I work hard to establish. The idea of months of effort being undone by one day off the wagon is just too much to bear.

I'm trying to be more mindful of finding middle ground in these efforts, in not being so black and white. Working out once in a week is better than nothing. Eating a handful of chips is better than eating the whole bag. A lifetime's worth of struggle with perfectionism comes out in all kinds of ways, habits not excluded from that list.

The Habit of Writing.

Writing is, for me, like any other good habit I managed to get into place. Doing it regularly takes effort, but it's effort that's well worth it. One missed day, though, can so easily become two or three or five, and then the excuses come in and it's back to almost nothing.

I'm happy to have made this month NaBloMoreThanItHadBeenMo. It's not perfection, but it's more than I've been doing, and that has been good.

The Habit of Eating.

I'm a comfort eater, and I like to reward myself with food. I enjoy the rituals around food, I love the way food tastes, and I get great pleasure out of the wonderful way food can bring friends and family together. I do try to eat in moderation and to eat a variety of healthy food, but it's easy for me to get into bad habits around what goes into my mouth.

In the craziness of moving away from Boston, starting a new job, and settling into a new house, I had established lots of poor eating habits. Serving sizes were at an all-time high, I often ate dinner twice (with the kids and after they went to bed), plus some kind of snack and a glass or two of wine once the twins were asleep. I was exercising more—which I continue to do—but not enough to offset my consumption.

It finally got to the point that my pants no longer buttoned without significant effort. My hatred of shopping and my cheapness were enough for that to be the straw that broke the camel's back. And so, for the past three weeks, I've been doing Weight Watchers again.

And I've lost five pounds! Additionally, I've been eating tons more fruit and veggies, and so have the kids. So it's all good. I want to lose about five more pounds—the pants now button, but they are still giving me the squeeze at the end of the day. It feels good to have good food habits in place again, though, and to just have a more realistic gauge of what a serving is. This will be the second time that I've been seriously doing WW over the holidays, though. It's a blessing and a curse. Trying to focus on the blessing part.

The Habit of Self-Care.

I started this post about six hours ago. Six hours, one trip to the doctor with Maddie (she's fine), one evening of dinner/bath/stories/etc., one hour spent cleaning the house, and two glasses of wine ago. I'd typed in the heading "The Habit of Self-Care" before hitting the save button, but now that I'm back to the post, I have no idea what I was going to write about. Huh. Guess my thoughts on self-care will have to wait for another day.

Holiday Habits.

For a bunch of logistical reasons, John and I got into the habit of spending Thanksgiving with his parents and Christmas with mine. The twins and I have kept this up. If memory serves, we missed the first Thanksgiving after John died—I'd have to look back in my archives to see what we did that year—but the following year we headed to Michigan and this year we'll do the same again.

I'm truly looking forward to the trip. I find hosting my parents-in-law quite stressful (although less so the past few times), but being at their house is a real pleasure for me. They take excellent care of me and the twins, and my mother-in-law is an amazing Korean cook. While my family can get carried away with plans and togetherness and FUN, John's family knows how to capital-R Relax. I'm planning to see a few of John's friends, and my sister-in-law has already laid in some wine. It should be a good trip.

Much to my surprise, I find myself wanting to go to John's grave site. The idea occurred to me just today. I've been fearful of feeling pressured to go to the site on past visits, but this time, I find myself ambivalent at worst and interested at best. I don't plan to push the issue, but if it comes up, I'm open to it. There are a lot of other things going on—Thanksgiving dinner, visits with friends, yoga, a family portrait—but we'll see. It's an immense relief not to feel dread at the idea of the grave site visit; I was so turned off by the idea of it as to not want to go to Michigan at all in years past. Progress.

Kind of Freaking Out

My mom has had a cough for about a month now. Nothing serious, but not connected to any illness. Just a dry cough, relatively infrequent, not getting better, not getting worse. It doesn't prevent her from doing anything she likes to do in life. It's just kind of annoying.

My stepdad has been asking her to go to the doctor and have it checked out. We're not really doctor-goers, my mom and I. She was married to a doc and I'm the child of one, and in general the family members of doctors don't go see their physician unless they are bleeding out or have a compound fracture, and even then they skip their family doctor and just go to the ER. But last night, when my stepdad mentioned to me how long my mom has been coughing and how he wishes she'd go to the doctor, something clicked for me. "Mom," I said, "GO TO THE DOCTOR. Sometimes people who have a random cough like this have lung cancer, and I need you to prove to me that you're not one of those people."

She e-mailed me today to say that she had an appointment for next week, which makes me happy. Not a moment too soon, I say. And I was calm, and hopeful that it will be nothing, a wasted visit, an unnecessary copay, and then we can all rest easy for Thanksgiving and the arrival of my stepbrother's new baby and my mom's birthday and all the rest of the holiday fun that lies ahead.

Then I read this.

And now I'm kinda freaking out on a lot of levels. I've read Melissa's blog for a while now, so I'm freaking out for her, hoping that it's nothing but feeling an awful twinge of the familiar. And I'm freaking out for my mom, because wow, well that cough could actually be something. And I'm freaking out for me because since John's death, I've been acutely aware of the fact that my parents are ageing, and that I don't know how I could live without any of them. They are all healthy and vibrant and unbearably important to me. They aren't allowed to get old, and they are most certainly not allowed to get sick. And no one else close to me, certainly not the person closest to me after my husband and my children, is allowed to have cancer.

It cannot be so, not for Melissa, not for my mom. Mom, prove to me next week that it's not so. And thank you for going to the doctor.

Thanks, Mom

My mom came over tonight for dinner, which was a lot of fun. Maddie and Riley adore her, and she and I had not had a chance to spend any one-on-one time together for a while, so the glass of wine + truffles + chatting after the kids went to bed was especially nice.

There are things I miss about living in Boston, but being close to family is a very sweet part of moving home.

Better Day

Today is a much better day. Actually, I was feeling much better by the time I left work yesterday. How could I not be when my evening-into-morning included:

• spaghetti dinner, complete with kids trying to twirl spaghetti and getting sauce all over their faces and hands and hair and bibs and . . .
  
• hassle-free bedtime
  
• my dad's flight arriving 40 minutes early
  
• my dad arriving!
  
• a large bowl of chocolate/peanut butter ice cream
  
• a decent night's sleep
  
• a three-mile run with a friend
  
• hearing the kids speculate about who was going to get them out of bed ("Ba gonna come get us! No, no, my mama gonna come! No, my mama! Maybe ALL OF THEM gonna come!")
  
• seeing the kids' faces light up when they saw Ba
  
• watching my dad interact with the kids
  
• breakfast from Panera
  
• a quiet day at work
  

The quiet day at work is a mixed blessing, of course. It may well be that when I return to work on Tuesday, the only reason I'll be there is to pick up my paycheck and clean out my office. I am having a hard time being all that stressed out about the near-certainty of losing my job. I think I'm just saving the stress for when it happens.

I have plenty to do tonight to get ready for Florida. I'm really looking forward to hot, hot weather, pool time, coconut shrimp at least twice a day, and, of course, spending Mother's Day with three generations of moms and four generations of family. Let's not think about the fact that I have not done a damn thing as far as getting Mother's Day cards or gifts for the moms that are not me. Huh. My complete paralysis around gift-giving, seemingly brought on by widowhood, is a post in and of itself.  

Happy weekend, one and all. I'll try to get some good pictures of the kiddos in Florida. Maddie and Riley are both obsessed with the pool right now, so we should have lots of photo opps.

Today is hard.

Today is hard. My litany of complaints is no different than anyone else's. The specifics might vary, but it's the same old stuff: I'm tired, I'm worried about my job, I continue to fret about Maddie's behavior, I wish that Riley weren't chronically constipated, I fear that my condo will never sell, I'm stressed about getting ready for our Florida trip (even though I'm seriously excited for the trip itself).

Oh, and I miss John. 

Something made me think of wedding anniversaries last night. I don't remember what. The milestone dates since John's death have generally not been any harder for me than other days since he died, but our anniversary is the exception to that. There's of course no guarantee that if John had been healthy, we would have stayed married for years and years and years. Everyone wants to believe that theirs is the marriage for the ages. My feeling that John and I would have been that doting, still-in-love-after-fifty-plus-years-together couple is the same feeling that everyone else has when they first get married.

But I never got to find out. I never got to have that unfold. In fact, I never got to experience the regular old ups and downs of married life because three weeks after we tied the knot, John got his terminal diagnosis. I wrote our thank-you notes in the chemo ward. I remember sitting on the couch in our apartment the day after John got his diagnosis, looking down at my still-near-perfect wedding pedicure and thinking, "The paint on my toenails isn't even chipped yet. How can this be happening?" So trivial and silly, but true.

And yet things do happen and they did happen and so our entire marriage was cancer this and chemo that and MRIs here and CTs there and tumor markers and acupuncture. It was also love and support and caring of the highest order, because like any major stress in life, what John and I went through was the kind of thing that either brings you as close together as two people can be or completely drives you apart. Clearly, it brought us together, which just solidifies my feeling that we would have celebrated many years of joy and sorrow together if that had been the hand that we'd been dealt.

What this means for me is that my lack of an anniversary brings up a lot of bitterness for me, and I get unbearably, irrationally jealous of people who are celebrating any anniversaries, but especially milestone anniversaries: 5, 10, 20, 25, more years. I want to be celebrating like that. Wedding anniversaries turn me into a bitter, grief-bloated shrew. Not that today is even my anniversary! Or a friend's anniversary (that I know of; if it is: happy anniversary)! It's just on my mind, for whatever reason.

My dad's arrival tonight will make things easier. My dad is great. He is probably the best listener I know. He is completely without judgment and always supportive and encouraging. It will be extra-great to have his help on the trip down to Florida on Friday. Of course, I have trip concerns, too; my grandmother, who is 90 (!) and lives in an assisted living facility in Tampa, has had in the past few days a sudden onset of memory issues. She's having trouble, for example, remembering basic things like what floor her apartment is on. I'm so glad we planned this trip so that she will get to see the twins and we will all get to see her but it could be a difficult trip.

For now, though, on with the day, grateful for the catharsis of the blog.

Visitors

My in-laws—all of them—get here today for a weekend visit.

When John was alive, he and I rarely argued. Oh, sure, we'd snip at each other at the end of a bad day, and I know I had personal habits that annoyed him just as he had his that annoyed me. But down-and-dirty, knock-'em-out fights? Pretty much never. It took until my kids were toddlers for me to find my yelling voice (as has been well documented here), and John was not one to raise his voice, either. Certainly we were far too civilized to hit or throw. So even on the rare occasions that we truly argued, it was a restrained affair, more along the silent treatment and sulking lines than anything.

Nothing could cause us to give each other the cold shoulder like the impending arrival of John's parents. The week before their arrival, I would inevitably be in a state of constant bitchiness. My relationship with my parents-in-law has always been so volatile, so charged, that the idea of their arrival would send me into a tailspin of latent stress. It was a pattern known as Low Expectations Yields High Results: I would decide ahead of time that their visit would be awful, pure torture, offensive and untenable, then be surprised each and every time that it was never, ever as bad as I thought it would be. The fact that the visits were ultimately relatively enjoyable is the good news. The bad news is that, despite numerous lessons from history, I could not stop expecting the worst and behaving like a brat because of the angst created by that expectation. 

And now? The cycle continues. I'd pushed the in-laws' visit to the back of my mind for a while. I've had so many other things on my plate between work and the move and all that it was easy to forget the visit was happening. But it's been on my mind this week, although I thought I was feeling pretty calm. But this morning, all of the worries that I had not even recognized were there turned me into a venom-spewing Medusa in the car on the way to daycare.

Ugh.

I felt horrible after I dropped the kids off. It was Riley who bore the brunt of my irritation, ostensibly because he wasn't listening to me, which is true. But my reaction was way off the mark and was just a way for me to release this in-law related frustration. I recognized it as that in the moment, but still wasn't able to rein myself in. All I can do now is try to do better next time.

We do have a nice weekend planned. Tonight we'll all meet up for dinner. Tomorrow, I'm taking the kids to the hotel where everyone is staying to swim in the indoor heated pool in the morning, then in the afternoon, it should be nice enough to go to the park. Saturday night, after the kids are in bed, I'll sneak out for some down time with my sister-in-law. Sunday, those who want to will go to church and those who would rather relax in a Harvard Square coffee shop can do that. It makes my in-laws so happy to the see the kids, and vice versa. We'll have fun, if I can just let myself believe it to be so.

We Came, We Saw, We Thanked

The short version of our Thanskgiving trip is that is was good.

The flights went off without a hitch. The kids were really happy to see their grandparents, aunt, and uncle, and the relatives were equally if not more thrilled to see the kids. Maddie and Riley were showered with gifts, love, and attention. The twins did not sleep very well, but that's to be expected being in an unfamiliar place and in Pack'N'Plays, for which they are really too big. Riley was sick one day we were there, and now I have the parental rite of passage of Kid Barfing in Public out of the way with one of my two. I got out for a run one day and did a long session on my brother-in-law's gym-quality elliptical trainer on another day. The exercise felt GREAT.

The details of what we did on the trip are not very interesting, really, as evidenced by the above paragraph. We spent time together. We ate some great food. We took the kids on a couple of outings. We had what feels to me like a typical Thanksgiving weekend.

In some ways, being at my in-laws' house was easier than I expected. I realized while we were there that my parents-in-law and I don't really have anything to argue about anymore. When John was alive, everything was a battle. We fought over John's time. We fought over John's treatments. We fought over what John should eat, when he should rest, how our house should be decorated. We fought and fought and fought. We were stressed out and frustrated and angry and we took it out on each other at every turn. Now that John is gone, we no longer have anything to argue over. My in-laws are remarkably tolerant and non-judgmental of my parenting, so that possible point of contention is happily not an issue. They want to spend time with Maddie and Riley, help me, and support us in any way they can. I'm able now to see my parents-in-law in a way that was not possible for me to see them before. I've always known that they are loving, caring people, but in the past, the way they've expressed that has often felt abrasive or intrusive to me. On this trip, it didn't, and I was frankly more comfortable in their house than I've ever been before.

There are some things I will do differently when we next visit. One of the things I'd been looking most forward to was being able to get some breaks for myself. I figured with all of those relatives around to help, I'd be able to sneak in a few solo outings or grab a nap here and there. That didn't really happen. My in-laws were all so respectful of how I manage the twins' time and behavior that they didn't step in much unless I asked, and I was not very good about asking. I struggle with asking for help as a general rule, and then there's the fact that when it comes to parenting, I generally don't have anyone around to ask for help from. If I'm at a restaurant and Maddie and Riley start acting up, it's up to me to control the situation. There's no one else around to pitch in. If things go haywire at home, I'm the one who has to find the calm. Because I'm so used to doing things on my own, it just doesn't occur to me to ask for help. I'll be more aware of that next time, and I think we'll all benefit.

Things reached a critical head on Sunday afternoon. Being around so many reminders of John was hard for me; the family home is filled with photographs and mementos. The five-year anniversary of our engagement was the day after Thanksgiving. And just being together—the bond all of us share is John. There was So Much John, All the Time, even though we spent remarkably little time talking about him. All of that was weighing on me more than I realized, and by Sunday, I was a potent emotional cocktail of anger and sadness and frustration and resentment and tension. I was weepy and short. Riley was not in the best of moods all weekend, and he was really pushing my buttons. We had planned to take the kids to the library on Sunday afternoon, and when Riley staged a full-scale whine-fest about putting on his coat, that was the straw that broke the camel's back for me. I told both the kids, in a rather nasty tone, that I was staying home while they went to the library, have a good time, see you later. My father, father-in-law, and brother-in-law packed the kids off to the library and had a great time; I spent the afternoon crying, stressed out, and upset. We all needed that time apart.

It's embarrassing for me when my family sees how hard our life is and how poorly I sometimes do at managing it. It's shameful to lose my temper with the kids in front of my relatives, and I felt overwhelmingly vulnerable when, after the kids left for the library, I sat at the kitchen table and just cried out of frustration and sadness and grief. I want people to think we're doing OK, not see that I'm barely holding it together. If I've learned anything from the past few weeks, however, it's that I need to be more honest with myself and everyone around me about what my life is really like. Filled with good things, yes, but also filled with grief and anger and stress and too much stuff for one woman to handle gracefully. I'm doing the best that I can, but my best feels like utter crap and it would be better if I would get over my need to be perfect and let people help me.

We had a bit of a rough re-entry upon returning to Boston. I woke up on Tuesday morning to a screaming Maddie wailing, "My neck! My neck hurts, Mama!" Much frustration from everyong and a trip to the doctor later, the diagnosis was wry neck, a crick from sleeping in an awkward position on the plane. It was scary and not fun for anyone, but the good news is that she's totally fine now. After a back-to-reality doctor's visit with Maddie and subsequent late arrival at work and daycare, I was greeted at the office by the news of massive layoffs. Thirty percent of the staff. Not me. But not good news ever, especially at the holidays. Ugh. To add to it all, Mr. Coffee and I have exchanged a frustrating series of phone calls and messages, and I'm not quite sure what's going on there.

So we're back. We're trying to get back on track. My dad flew back from Detroit with us and has extended his stay until Sunday, which will be great. An extra adult in the house is always good for my mental health and the extra set of hands is great, too. When my dad asked me last night if I'd like him to extend his stay–his original plan was to return to Oregon today—my initial thought was, "Oh, that will be expensive, we'll be fine, etc." and then I thought, "FOOL, HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING?!?!" and told him I'd be thrilled if he could make it work. Much better answer. My mom and dad colluded on the phone yesterday to come up with a plan to keep the twins in Oregon for an extra week at the holidays while I come home and enjoy some time to myself; again, my first thought was, "Oh, that's too much for them to do, I can't take them up on that, etc." but I came around rather quickly and am now quite liking the idea.

I'm learning, slowly. I'm letting people help, but it's not easy and I'm not ready to let everyone be part of the solution. Yet. I'm getting there.

And so that was our Thanksgiving, at least the Thanksgiving that went on in my head. Now we shall gear up for Christmas. I actually thought about buying Christmas gifts today, an idea that I did not think I'd be able to handle at all, so amidst all the tough stuff that Thanksgiving brought up for me, there must have been some healing, too. And for that, I am grateful.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I like that it is secular and based on food and family. Food and family! Two of my favorite things, if not my two favorite things. I also like that, all things considered, it's pretty non-commercial. And I like that it's a time to focus on the things I have in my life for which I am thankful. There are many such things, and it's good to be reminded of them, especially while eating good food in the presence of family.

John and I always spent Thanksgiving with his family and Christmas with mine, even though I would have preferred to do the reverse. John worked in the schools, so he couldn't really take extra time off at Thanksgiving, and the Boston-Oregon trip, while doable over a four-day weekend, is much better done over the 10-or-so-day Christmas holiday. Detroit is an easy two-hour flight from Boston, and we got in the habit of skipping the crowds and just flying out there on Thanksgiving morning, arriving in plenty of time for dinner. Not only was Detroit for Thanksgiving/Oregon for Christmas logistically easier, but John and I got engaged in Detroit the day after Thanksgiving the first time we spent the holiday there, so it always had special meaning to go back. I still would have preferred to go to Oregon, but being married involves making some compromises, and logically what we did made the most sense by far.

Last year, I was daunted by the idea of going to see John's family for Thanksgiving. My sister-in-law, with whom I have a very good, close relationship, had already decided that being home for the holiday would be too painful for her and had booked a trip to a tropical clime. I just couldn't stomach the idea of the flights with two eighteen-month-olds and a long weekend filled with bittersweet memories and depressed family. I stayed home with the kids and spent the holiday with a friend and her family. It was fine, even fun at times, but hard: first Thanksgiving without John, being away from family, thinking about my engagement four years prior, etc. 

This year, I felt ready to travel. I suppose I could have taken the whole week of Thanksgiving off and gone to Oregon as I'm no longer bound to the school schedule. But. My daycare does close for an entire week at Christmas, so once again it makes more logistical sense to travel the longer distance when it comes time to deck the halls. As I pondered my Thanksgiving options, I decided to go ahead and go to Detroit.

My relationship with my in-laws is complicated. They love me, and I love them, that's never been questioned. But we have personal and cultural differences which often clashed during John's illness. I felt like they were trying to control John's and my life; they felt like I had taken their son away. Makes for a lot of bad blood on both sides. At this point in our relationship, we've reached a stage where we maintain minimal contact and try not to step on each others' toes. I think my mother-in-law and father-in-law both worry about doing something that would anger me to the point of not letting them see the twins again. I can't imagine what they could do that would make me do that, but given some of the blow-outs we've had in the past, I can understand their fears.

We're in an really awkward situation. If Maddie and Riley weren't in the picture, I'm not sure I'd ever talk to or see my mother- and father-in-law. It's so painful for us to interact. I'd like to think that we will someday get to a place where it's healing for us to be together, but 1.5 years out, mostly it still just hurts. But they are Maddie and Riley's grandparents, and that is a relationship I want to honor. This is not about me, it's about the twins. Not only do M&R deserve to have a relationship with John's parents just because they are John's parents, they deserve to have a connection to their Korean heritage. I am prepared to do what I can to teach the twins to be proud of their Korean-ness, but I don't know what it's like to grow up Asian in the United States. I don't speak Korean. I don't know a whole lot about Korean customs. I'm just not Korean. And John's parents are. I want Maddie and Riley to benefit from that, as well as from the unconditional love and joy that grandparents can have for their grandchildren.

And so we will go to Detroit. John's parents to visit us in Boston from time to time, but that's our home turf. They don't feel as free to relax with the twins in our house as they do in their own. And, frankly, I recognize that I can be very controlling when we're at our house. I want things done our way in our home. When we're at halmi and hatchi's, it's easier for me to let my guard down and allow things to be done their way. The twins deserve that.

If I can let go a little, I think we'll have a great time. I know my in-laws have stocked the house with toys and gifts for the kids and that the kitchen cabinets are filled with Maddie and Riley's favorite snacks. There will be no shortage of loving, capable hands to help with childcare, so if I want to get out for a run or a coffee or a trip to the mall, I can do that. I just have to be willing to let go a little, which will be a good lesson for me. I'm friends with some of John's high school and college friends in greater Detroit, and I'm hoping to spend some time with them, both with and without kids. My mother-in-law is a fantastic cook and I'm eager to fill up on Korean cooking. I look forward to some quality time with my siblings-in-law. And my awesome dad will be staying at a hotel down the road, so we'll even get some time with Ba.

The one thing I'm quite worried about is the possibility that John's family will want to visit John's gravesite.  When John died, he was cremated and his ashes were split between me and his parents. That in and of itself was one of the most traumatic decisions about John's death. John's family had his ashes buried at a cemetery in a very traditional ceremony. They visit the plot weekly, and for them that is a very important ritual. I have no interest in going to the cemetery. I don't feel so negatively about it that I would cause a scene in order to not go, but I'm hoping that it's something we can avoid doing. If I have to go, I have to go. If it's that important to John's parents, I'll do it. I'm a big girl. But I'd really rather not go. If we do go, I'm planning to tell the twins that we're going to a park to think about Daddy. I hope we can keep the explanation they get to that minimum. I don't feel that they need to know any more than that for now.

I think it will be a good Thanksgiving. We won't have a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, and I'm sure there will be ups and downs to the trip and to the interactions I have with my family. But in the spirit of the holiday, I hope to focus on the ups.

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Any readers out there who live in greater Detroit? If so, do you have any ideas about kid-friendly activities we could do over the weekend? We just went to the Harvard Museum of Natural History, which was a big hit; anything like that? Indoor play spaces? Other ideas? John's family lives in Bloomfield Hills. Any input appreciated.

Soldiering On

The in-laws came, the in-laws went. All in all, they were very respectful of my time and space, and considering that the weather kept us cooped up at home for a lot of the weekend, the visit went really well. The kids are at an age where they are less needy of me and more willing to go to their grandparents, aunt, and uncle, and that makes everyone feel good. There was much less judgment than I expected, and some nice compliments on my parenting and, of course, how wonderful the kids are.

I was a bit (OK, a lot) short tempered on Sunday morning, though, because I barely got any sleep on Saturday night. Riley was up for a solid chunk of the night. He woke up screaming at 1:45 a.m., seemed to be comforted by a hug and reassurances that Maddie was in the crib next to him, I was next door, and he had his froggie to keep him safe. An hour later, same thing: screaming. That time, the comforting only worked for 10 minutes, and he was screaming again. After a couple of more back-and-forths of no more than five minutes' down time, I brought him to bed with me. He gouged me in the eyes ("Mama, ojos.") and pulled my hair ("Mama, hair.") for 45 minutes, then went to sleep. I slept fitfully until he was up for good at 6:00 a.m. Ugh. Long/short night.

I had hoped that it was an isolated incident, but last night he woke up at 2:45 a.m. This time, he just talked to himself for about ten minutes, the started to cry for me. I decided to go hardcore since he didn't seem scared, just desirous of time with me at a totally inappropriate hour. It was pretty much return to Ferber, with five minute crying intervals. In only (only!) had to go in and comfort him three times, but he was up and futzing around for an hour and a half. He'd be quiet for five minutes, the cry for thirty seconds, quiet for a few minutes, cry for a minute, etc. So I wasn't sleeping. Finally, it was all quiet for good at around 4:30 a.m., and he slept until 6:30 a.m., then woke up happy. Ugh again. Another long/short night. I hope tonight is better.

La la la la. Boring, boring, boring to read about sleepless babies.

Riley loves all things gadgetry. He likes cell phones and cameras and remote controls and computers. My in-laws were very indulgent, letting him hold their cell phones and push buttons on their cameras, something I never do. As I was going through my kitchen junk drawer last night looking for my cell phone charger, I found John's old cell phone. I decided to give it to Riley. He is thrilled beyond belief and has been carrying it around nonstop. When I ask him who he's calling, he'll say, "Ba!" or "Moo!" and open the phone and put it to his ear. It's sweet. I told him the phone was his and his alone, that is used to be his daddy's, and that he did not have to share it—even with Maddie—unless he wanted to. (She has a special purse with the same rules; the gender stereotyping there is a topic for another post!) I asked his paternal grandparents to get both him and Maddie kiddie digital cameras for their second b-days. I think they'll have a blast with them.

So now it's back to work, a new week, an upcoming weekend with no visitors. I'm already thinking that if the weather is good (read: not snowing), I'll take the kids to the zoo. They are really into birds right now. Whenever we go outside, they say, "Birdie? Birdie?" and scan the sky. I need to get a bird feeder to put outside our kitchen window. During breakfast, birds will sometimes happen by, which causes the kiddos much excitement. When the birds fly away, I get plaintive cries of, "Mama? More birdie? More birdie?" They don't understand that I can't make the birds stick around. A feeder would help.

And so is life on this first Monday in March. Pretty mundane, but somehow it turned it into a rather long post.

Mostly Status Quo

Not so much to blog about these past few days. My mom is visiting, so I've been focused on that. It's always really motivating to have her visit, and she's such a help to me and the babes. I have actually gotten through a few long-put-off personal projects with her help, and my freezer is filling up with delicious food for the twins and me to eat in the coming weeks. Yay for moms!

I went to a party on Saturday night and left my mom on babysitting duty, which she was happy to cover. Even better, she let me sleep in on Sunday. I stayed in bed until 9:00 a.m. I have not done that since the twins were born almost two years ago. It was heavenly. I was not fully asleep from about 6:45 a.m. on since the twins were up, our place is small, and they are loud, but it was still wonderful to just lounge in bed and doze. Delicious. We kept the "lazy/relaxed" theme all day; no one took a shower and I basically wore my pajamas even though we took a walk to get a coffee and then took the kids to the coop in the afternoon. I was wearing fleece pants and a sweatshirt, so it was OK. I guess.

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On Saturday, we had a surprisingly fun morning at the mall. I had made an appointment for the twins to get their pictures taken since I missed out on that at eighteen months. I tried at eighteen months, but it just didn't work. The photographer was a dud, the kids were cranky, and it was clearly not meant to be. So I waited for my mom to arrive and help me out and off we went.

It could not have gone better. The photographer was excellent and the kids cooperative. Maddie was not feeling great, but she rallied, and Riley was a total ham. I got great individual shots of them, a nice one of them together, and one of the three of us. I even got one of me with Maddie and one of me with Riley, too. After the photo session was done, we did a bit of shopping and found Maddie an adorable outfit for her second birthday (love it when Mom is buying!) and then had some lunch. It was one of those mornings where everything just worked. Now I need to get the photos in frames. I may have a friend scan some of them (naughty me, and I work in publishing, which makes it even worse), and if so, I'll post some of them.

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When my dad was here last week, we went out to a local burger joint for dinner one night. The twins were very concerned that a baby at the next table was going to eat their fries. They spent most of the dinner saying, "Baby no fry. No baby fry." My dad and I were amused by their concern as it was clear to us adults that there was absolutely no danger of the baby touching the fries. So every time one of the twins would say, "Baby no fry," we'd chuckle and reassure them that there was nothing to worry about, the baby was not going to eat their fries.

Both kids have latched on to saying, "Baby no fry!" now and will randomly just blurt it out. Riley likes to shout it at the top of his lungs when he wakes up in the morning (which has been around 5:30 a.m. the past few mornings). I'm sure it doesn't help that I've been singing, "No baby, no fry" to the tune of Bob Marley's "No woman, no cry." How was I supposed to resist?

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One of the long-shelved projects that I've managed to get started on since my mom arrived is the creation of a budget. It was as depressing as I expected, seeing as I had to acknowledge that indeed, the money I have coming in each month is less than my fixed expenses. So I need to make more money and stop eating, putting gas in my car, and going out for coffee. Sigh. I'm not exactly sure what to do about this. Clearly I need to cut back on my monthly Roth contribution as I max it out every year and that just might not happen for the next little while. I'm also considering using some life insurance money to pay off my car and free up that bit of monthly income. It's not like I'm a frivolous spender, so the whole thing is really very disheartening. We're lucky to have some savings and some life insurance money, albeit not much of either anymore.

Then there's the fact that I'm in a bit of a strange financial situation at daycare. Since John and I started the twins at their daycare, we have paid $X/hour based on actual hours the kids are there with an eight-hour-per-day minimum charge. They are there eight hours/day (9-ish to 5-ish) and I continue to write my check accordingly, based on the fee that was set out when the kids started there sixteen months ago. 

Well, the daycare has grown a bit since we started, and they now have a website that one of the women who works there was proudly telling me about. I made a mental note to check it out and managed to do so last week. The fees are posted on the site, and it would appear that new clients pay a flat daily or weekly rate for an 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. day rather than paying by the hour.

Here's the clincher: the weekly rate is $70 per kid more than I  pay right now. So I'm paying them $140 less per week than I would pay them if I were a new client. Of course, it's their responsibility to tell me if tuition has gone up, and they've never said a word. And the twins are there for eight hour days rather than nine, but so are many of the other kids whose parents pay for nine hours regardless of whether or not the kids are there for the entire nine hours.

Because I am who I am, I feel guilty about knowing that new people pay so much more than me even though I know that I'm not the one who should have to bring this up. It's weighing on me, though. The people who own and work for the daycare have done so many favors for me, and even at the new price, they are still cheaper than basically any other daycare I found when I did my initial research. If I already can barely afford to pay them what I pay them, it's not like I have cheaper options. 

Come to think of it, months ago, one of the women at daycare told me she had a personal question for me and then asked how I was doing financially. I'm close to this woman, and I assumed that she was just worried about how I was managing after John's death. I'm sure that's true. But perhaps that's when they raised the rates? Who knows.

What I want to do and what I think I should do is have a candid conversation about the fact that I can't afford to pay more than what I'm paying, I know that what I'm paying is less than what they could be charging, and I just want to clear the air. I'd feel a lot better if that was all on the table. And if I need to start paying more? Well, I'll just have to see how to deal with that.

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There are, of course, drastic solutions to my financial situation. 

I could sell my house (or try) and move back to Oregon or to a smaller, cheaper rental. The twins and I could live in a one-bedroom--they could have the bedroom and I could sleep in the living room, for example. I know we could get a one-bedroom for way less than my mortgage.

I could not work since a big chunk of my income goes to daycare, and if I weren't working I'd get Social Security income in addition to what the kids get. But I don't think the math works out on the money there, either, since I'd have to buy private health insurance and what we'd get from SSI would still not be enough to cover our fixed expenses as they are.

In the end, I'll probably have to ask my parents for money. When will I be a real grown-up?!

Every week. Every freakin' week!

OK, this kid on Idol, David Archuleta, is too cute for words. I cannot get over it. As a parent, I can only imagine what his parents must be thinking and feeling. If I were his parents, I'd be getting those awful T-shirts made—you know, those ones from the kiosk in the mall—with his face on them, and some caption like "My son is America's next Idol!" I'd wear mine every day. Hell, I'd do that for Maddie and Riley now, based on nothing more than them being able to correctly identify the color yellow about 50% of the time. Having your kid rock the house on Idol? And be so sweet and charming and genuine to boot? Wow. They must all be on cloud nine.

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Work is busy. I like it, and I feel like I'm doing a good job, but it's busy all the time. I had to work yesterday, and others from my department were in on Saturday and Sunday. I am assured that this is not typical, I just happen to have started at a busy time. I hope that's true, because longer hours are not appealing to me. We'll see how the next few weeks go.

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I'm hosting book club tomorrow night. I still have sixty pages to go. What am I doing? Watching American Idol! Heh.

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My dad was here for a long weekend. My mom gets here on Thursday for a long weekend. Then John's family comes for a short weekend. That's a lot of visitors. It's mostly good. I generally have more patience with the twins when I have some help, but I also get even more down on myself when I lose patience with the kids in front of someone. It's so embarrassing to snap when there's someone there to witness it! I know my dad isn't judging me, or my mom for that matter, but it still bothers me. And John's parents? Well, I'm not so sure that they aren't judging me. In theory, their silent judgment doesn't matter to me. I know I'm doing the best I can and that sometimes that's pretty damn good. But it's hard not to take it personally. As usual, I need to think about some Al-Anon principles related to minding my own business and remembering that I can't control other people: I can only control myself.

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I don't get the appeal of dreadlocks. What am I missing? But I do like this Jason Castro kid. I'm starting to feel like some kind of pervy old lady. Sheesh.

Leaving on a Jet Plane (again)

I'm off to my grandfather's memorial tomorrow. The service itself is on Sunday, in my grandfather's hometown in the southwest corner of Missouri. I have to fly to Tulsa, OK, where I'll meet my dad, then we'll drive the 1.5 hours to the small Oklahoma town where many of his cousins and other extended family still live. There are no direct flights from Boston to Tulsa, so even with the time change in my favor and a short layover, a 12:30 p.m. departure is getting me to Oklahoma around 5:00 p.m. We'll go to the memorial on Saturday morning, tour Daddy Gene's hometown in the afternoon, then have a big family dinner in the evening. I'm on a 7:00 a.m. flight on Sunday that will get me into Boston around 1:00 p.m. Quick trip.

I'm dropping the babies off with friends tomorrow morning. Brave friends. They have twins of their own, six months older than Maddie and Riley. The kids know each other as well as kids of this age can, and, in fact, Maddie and Riley often asked for these friends when we were in Oregon. The kids are all more-or-less on the same schedule, so while it will be lots more work for my friends than their usual two, it will be as easy as it can be for everyone. I think. I hope. I'm so grateful to my friends for being willing to take the kids and make it possible for me to go to the memorial.

Frankly, there's a lot to look forward to about the memorial. Of course I'm sad to lose my grandfather. But I haven't been to his hometown—the town my dad grew up in, too—since I was in high school (?). And all of my first cousins will be in attendance, the first time we've all been together since my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary many, many years ago. In that time, we've become adults. Many of us have married, and the youngest of us is in college. Two of us (three if you count one by marriage) have completed service in the Peace Corps. Two of us have kids. It will be nice to catch up, and nice for me to be able to concentrate on catching up rather than focusing all of my attention on Maddie and Riley. I'm sorry that M&R won't get to meet all of this family, but at their age it wouldn't mean anything to them anyway, and the trip would be a huge hassle for me with them in tow.

Instead of a hassle, this trip will be a bit of a luxury. For the first time that I can remember, I'm thrilled that I'll be trapped on an airplane for hours. I decided against bringing my laptop or a portable DVD player. Instead, I have a book, a journal, and some Sudoku puzzles. My phone will be off, I'm going to get a big ol' latte before I board, and maybe I'll even take a nap. I'm going to brainstorm some writing ideas (blog and other), and just relax. I don't do well at creating that kind of time for myself, but when it is forced upon me, I'm very good at maximizing it.

This will be the most time I've spent away from the kids since they've been born. This feels like the right age and developmental stage to me for us to be apart for this long. I know Maddie and Riley will be fine. I hope my friends are still speaking to me when I get back.

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I took the Monday after the memorial off for some recovery time. As it would happen, I got a call for a job interview earlier that week that I managed to schedule for Monday afternoon. No rest for the wicked, that's for sure.