Of Menopause and... what was I saying?

 While I've been sick the past two days, I ran across my blogs that I wrote when I was pregnant with each child and then when they were little. I was cracking up.  Also, I ran across my blog as I upended my life as I knew it and divorced. 

Each time I begin blogging again I remember that I intended to blog the whole time.  To chronicle the adventures of our crazy little family that grew to be our crazy big family as I remarried and gained two bonus children... but you know what they say about good intentions and the road they pave.  Apparently, however, mine pave the road to senility, but perhaps it's the same place.

I'm in a new stage of life and, as I always write to stay sane, I figured it was best to start again.  It's one of the ways I take care of me and I haven't been. Plus, hitting my 50's, menopause, children fleeing, uh flying, from the nest certainly provides fodder, both comic and tragic, for any writing.

Menopause.  Why do they call it that?  There's no pause.  It's not like this shit is coming back.  We're done kids.  All kinds of things are done.  Periods? Done.  Nice dewy skin? Done, replaced with this crepe paper I'm trying to moisturize back into some semblance of youth.  Moisture ANYWHERE in the body it used to be? Forget it. Good night's sleep?  Um no. Done.  I wake at least twice a night to pee and then usually the brain rot sets in and I'm thinking of grocery lists and credit cards and vacations I want to take and wondering about weird shit like who gets to come up with dinosaur names. Gone is muscle tone and easy weight loss.  Now it's a fight NOT to gain more than the FORTY I've already gained and somehow bring it back down.  And overnight I can't get up off the floor.  I'm not kidding.  Like one day I could and now I can't.  I'm pulling up using furniture like a toddler who's learning to stand. And what's with the hip pain?  My hips hurt ALL the time!

Worst of all, any chance at clear thinking and not seeming like a senile old lady? Yeah, done. The brain fog is real. Shit, I'd better start blogging just so that maybe I can remember what the hell it is I'm here for and trying to do.  Seriously, I now find myself, DAILY, standing in a room with no idea why I'm there.  No clue.  It's like my ADHD, but worse.  At least with the ADHD, my brain was just so busy that I was often 3 steps ahead and that's why I'd set my keys down in some weird place because I always started 5 tasks at once.  Not now.  No... the brain fog is different.  My brain isn't busy, it's just... what was I saying?  who am I?  it's like... Jesus, what is it like? It's like spider webs and dust and ... nothing.  I'm just constantly wondering what I'm doing.  I think my kids are starting to pity me.  THEY know what I was doing, I just don't.  I'll be standing there, in the middle of the kitchen mumbling "now what the hell was I..." and Frog will be like "MOM! You said you wanted coffee, remember?"  They look horrified as they notice that this is the third time I've said I wanted coffee... but I walk in the kitchen and walk right back out again, sans coffee.  I've forgotten that I put the dogs outside and go looking for them. I started the coffee pot... with no pot.  That was fun. I've washed a clean dish that I JUST got out to use and put it away, only to pull it out again. I've gone back in the house for my keys and grabbed my phone instead. I recently put my jeans on backwards and my yoga pants on inside out.   My husband was amused... and I think also a bit horrified.  He met a thin, athletic, 41 year old who he thought was hot and looked great in jeans.  Who was funny and witty and weird like him.  Now he's got this nearly 52-year-old forgetful and often moody woman who apparently cannot even dress herself.  It's going down hill kids.  I keep telling him he'd better trade me in for a younger model.

I remember being a senior in high school and one of our teachers, Mrs. Perkins, wore her slip outside her skirt one day.  She seemed so OLD.  We felt so bad for her.  I'M BECOMING THAT WOMAN.  Jesus.  I went the WHOLE DAY with my jeans on backwards.  How does one even do that? I was wearing a long hoodie, so no one noticed, but then my husband did when I removed the hoodie.  What in the? I don't even know where to start with that one.  He asked, half laughing, half horrified "did you not notice?!" and I said, "well I thought they felt a little weird, but figured I was just bloated or something."  That's it, sign me up for the funny farm.  I can't imagine that it gets any better.

I'm trying to be grateful for the last little remnants of this crazy, fun family that are left, but the time is coming.  Jayden is talking about moving out now that he'll be finishing up college.  William left for college, but came back (that's a story for another blog), but is rarely home between work and friends.  Delaney is certainly loving the freedom that comes with a car, a job and her own money as she hurtles headlong into her senior year.  Frog is usually here and reminds me all the time that, due to their autism, they might be around a bit longer than their siblings, but they're often in their own room or asking to meet their friends.  But the house if often empty now.  The kids are ships passing in the night or the whirling part of the tornado while Jason and I sit still in the eye.   So when we have a night where suddenly all or most of us are here, I grab onto in like a life raft.  When we have a day like Saturday where the boys hit the lake with us to fish, I'm in heaven.  But I know the letting go is healthy.  I know they need to fly.  I hope we can always be a safe landing spot when they need to rest, but that they feel strong enough to fly.

Of course, give it a couple years and I'll be standing in the kitchen wondering where the kids are, forgetting who does and doesn't live here... and STILL forgetting my coffee. Probably with my pants on inside out.  But hey, better than no pants.  I'm sure that day is coming too.

Bird Launching

My firstborn leaves in two weeks.  TWO.  I'm trying to be ready.  Trying to prepare.  My heart seizes up often though.

Tonight, as his sister complained about dreading starting school tomorrow, he said without hesitation, "want me to take you... for old time's sake?  I'll get up early and take you."  I had to look away.  My eyes were filling.

That's happening a lot lately.  As they helped me wash dishes tonight, they were cracking each other up.  They have mind-meld despite their nearly 3 years age difference... it's like they speak another language.  They were doing these weird poses and just howling with laughter.  Then William, true to form, broke out into the "sprinkler" dance.  You know the one?  I think it's older than I am.  And Frog said, "man, I'm going to miss that... no more walking out of my room to my brother breaking out the sprinkler for no good reason."  Cue the tears again.

This weekend, as we took our annual Labor Day vacation together as a family, I had a lot of those moments.  He helped me pack and unpack, clean and cook.  William has become the consummate helper.  He ALWAYS asks if he can help... with dinner, with dishes, with chores, whatever.  He doesn't want me and/or Jason just having to do it.  I've become used to "what can I help you do before I head to (fill in activity here... the gym, out with friends, whatever). This weekend, we walked to the beach together and I watched him swimming in that ridiculously cold Oregon water until I had to join him. It wasn't all that cold, he was right.  And as we climbed out and it starting pouring rain, the laughter as we hiked up back to the vacation house about how we were already too wet to feel the damn rain was priceless. Shelling POUNDS of crab together when we got home.  All of it... I wanted it to last forever.

I find myself frantically grabbing onto the memories like trying to pull too many marbles to you, but your arms can't hold them all.  The first time I took him to a little league game - we didn't know anyone, but there was that beautiful stadium and all my toddler wanted to do was watch the boys play.  So we walked into the ballpark, got hot dogs and sat and watched strangers play baseball.  His look of joy when a little breakfast plate I made him announced in icing that he had made Rookie Majors. His brave little face when he got stitches at a mere 3 years old. His sweet bravery at not-quite-7 years old as he had to run for help because an unknown ovarian cyst burst inside me, his Dad was in Vegas, and I needed to get to the hospital. How he made his tiny sister laugh and would sit on the floor with her during her "tummy time" just so she would stick to it. His trying out flag football and tackle football, one time impressing the Oregon Ducks coach with his passing ability despite being one of the shortest on the team.  Watching him become the "play every position player" one year in baseball when he LITERALLY played every single position in one season. Watching him learn to pitch and then having him try to teach me. Seeing him tutor his sisters.  Going to the Gaming contest to see him present his first video game design.  Being inspired by a devotion to get in shape. Watching him go to his school formals, meeting his amazing friends as he hosted D&D nights or game nights at our house. Seeing him grow into this funny, creative, brilliant, inspiring, loving young man.

I know in two weeks, I'll feel a little lost and a little broken for a while.  He's the first to leave.  Thank God he's not going too far.  I'll look on the bright side.  He's only an hour away.

A client of mine just got back from flying to Florida to see off her son.  I asked her how it was.  She said, "I was fine until I drove away back to the airport."  My mom has said the same.  When she dropped me off at U of O, 900 miles from home, she was okay... until she left.  So my client said, she reached out to a friend while bawling her eyes out and her friend said (because this is her one an only, so she's now an "empty nester"), "Don't think of it in terms of emptying.  You're not an empty nest, you're a bird launcher."  My client said, although William is the first to leave, for me to think of it the same way.  Every time one more flies away, don't think of it in negative terms, it's not about THEM leaving.  It's about us successfully launching a beautiful bird so we can watch them fly.

Bird launching.  Yeah, let's go with that.  He's an amazing, amazing man.  It will be a beautiful launch.

There will still be tears, I know.

But I will learn to celebrate the "bird launching."

 

Of Frogs and Autism

We got the confirmation today through CDRC (Oregon Health Sciences University Hospital's Autism "experts" and child development branch here in Eugene) supporting the diagnosis we received from the school psychologist of Autism and confirmation of qualification for an IEP for Frog a couple weeks ago.  After the school's confirmation I instantly messaged my cousin Pam and my friend Annie who, though far away, have been my rocks and advisors through so much.  They know the struggles in different ways, because every child... neurotypical or neurodivergent, on the spectrum or not, is unique.  Pam and Annie both congratulated us and encouraged me... Pam with a "yeah! I always say it's what Megan has not who she is" and Annie with a "Celebrate! the title means nothing and the door opening means everything!"  They knew.  They knew for me this was not bad news.  Frog asked me "mom, is this good news?" and I said "what do YOU think?" and Frog said, "I think it is, I feel validated. I don't feel crazy."  What I didn't tell Frog is that when I heard, I cried.  I cried IN RELIEF, on the way home after they confirmed ASD.  You read that right.  Happy tears.

It's been a long road, with lots of twists and turns... and yet I've always known the destination.  I've known it since Frog was tiny.  From the time a little toddler freaked out in Walmart because they could hear the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above everything else, or a 4 year-old wannabe gymnast who was afraid to be tipped upside down and who stood out because they toe-walked and jumped around when all the other kids were standing in their circle or walking on the beams, or a 1st grader who crawled under the table and plugged their ears because the laughter of their classmates was too loud.  I knew.

But I didn't.  I trusted the experts, kind of.  I mean, I did have Frog evaluated 3 times.  Because of the toe-walking and slow potty training and tantrums and because they vomited up everything they ate.  And so it was Sensory Processing Disorder.  And then because of the "stimming" (repetitive behavior), and the ear plugging and "check-in/check-out" program at school for behaviors and the trouble fitting in.  And a 3rd time I asked the school because a 504 for Sensory Processing Disorder and ADHD didn't seem enough. Each time it came back the same.  No Frog is not on the spectrum, no Frog doesn't need more than a few accommodations, they're just being stubborn and they probably have Oppositional Defiance Disorder.  Frog knew better, they told us, Frog just needed some guard rails to help with behavior.

But as Frog went through middle school and puberty hit and social constructs got harder and more nuanced, THEY asked this time.  I'll never forget it.  "Mom!" Frog said, "this is me! Read this.  Mom are you sure I'm not autistic?" Frog showed me how AFAB (Assigned Female at Birth... Frog is nonbinary and doesn't feel they have a gender) kids are often late-diagnosed.  Especially very high-functioning spectrum kids.  They mask the symptoms better, they imitate social behaviors better, not until puberty and social interaction becomes more complex, does it become more obvious. But Frog showed me the "tipoffs", the common signs missed or misdiagnosed, the behaviors and the struggles.  Frog wasn't wrong. It literally described my youngest.  It WAS Frog.  At first I resisted.  Tired of the doctors running us through a battery of questions and tests to be told it's Sensory Processing Disorder, told they have Opposition Defiance Disorder, told some more Occupational Therapy and vision therapy and counseling will help.  Adderall for the ADHD. Help them become more self organized. It will all be fine.  But Frog pushed.  Good for Frog. They advocated for themselves... they don't do this often.

So Mike and I tried again... we went to the doctor and back to CDRC and back to the school... In MARCH OF LAST YEAR.  Finally in November, we had one more evaluation. Well 2, one at the school and one at CDRC on Friday. The psychologist seemed almost apologetic, the school one, that is. As we walked through the questionnaires, and Frog's interview and observations from the psychologist and the Speech and Language Pathologist, and the teacher's comments, and ticked off more and more boxes she expressed some surprise that no diagnosis for ASD had ever been given.  There's a scoring system on these evaluations and questionnaires.  Over 10 shows that a person is on the Spectrum.  Frog scored an 18.5.

Mike forwarded me today the doctor's opinion from CDRC.  They are in agreement.  All of them.  Frog has more than enough markers of ASD. Frog would benefit from an IEP.  Frog will benefit from remaining in General Education, but with special support from the resource room 90 minutes a month, possibly a quieter place to do some work, longer time to process instruction because Frog's IQ is high, but processing speed is low, Adaptive PE might help and some Physical Therapy for the toe walking.  More to come on all of this.  More supports and resources to help them use their high IQ and succeed, but with the tools they need for the pieces of this world they don't get or don't fit into. They tell us there will be more as the IEP gets built out. There will be more as the "academics" get addressed, because first were the "pragmatics" (ie. social skills... understanding non-verbal cues, conversing attentively and appropriately, advocating for themselves).

I know will be a lot of "I'm sorry" or "oh no!" coming our way.  I know, because I've gotten some already.  Fear that that means Frog won't succeed or is "Special Ed." They don't understand.  They don't realize that the label means nothing to me, nothing to Frog, except validation and a door open to resources to help Frog.  Frog has become increasingly frustrated at their inability to keep friends, to converse easily, to be amongst people, to handle noises like kids chewing gum or tapping pencils.  For Frog they're not minor annoyances, but like needles on their skin.  I get it.  I have some of the same sensory issues.  So many of those kinds of noises literally HURT me. I and Frog can hear people chewing when no one else can. Frog has become increasingly frustrated at being the "trouble" in class because they can't focus or can't sit still, because they can't process verbal information well as quickly as the others.  Frog is frustrated at hating group work because while complex math is easy for Frog, conversing with others is not. Frog has a great sense of humor about it.  When they lost all their friends right before 8th grade, after being very heartbroken, Frog said, "guess they couldn't handle the 'tism' Mom." When I asked what they meant, they said "Autism, Mom, I think I have Autism."

If you read this, celebrate with us.  Be relieved with us.  Feel validated with us.  Because now we have yet another adventure, another amazing mountain to climb.  We have the chance to find Frog's Super Powers.  To have resources to help Frog understand how they might grasp friendships, or social interactions, what tools they can use to succeed in a world that still fears the neurodivergent and calls them 'weird' or worse. Years ago, I wrote a blog about Frog, back when they went by Lizzy.  About how they struggled and yet had overcome so much.  How they had lifted their head high, walking into the school they feared and said they could DO IT. I said they would be Super Lizzy.

I've watched them make new friends after being crushed by the former friends who, understandably, couldn't connect with Frog because they've not yet learned to connect or maintain friendships and zone out on their phone often just to cope.  I've watched them advocate to be tested again.  I've had them brave enough to stand up to me and say "mom, you aren't LISTENING, you don't understand what I'm trying to tell you." I've seen them remind me that while they may be gifted like their brother, there is so much that's easy for William that will never be easy for Frog.  They are both so amazing in their own way, but I also know that it's been hard on William to have a sister that might need us more and it's been hard on Frog to have a brother who is the apple of every teacher's eye. So I'm excited for Frog to get to forge this road with help.  I'm relieved to have more resources for them.  I know there is so much they can do, they just have a different path to the "doing"... like headphones, or quieter rooms, less social jobs some day and resources to handle college some day.  They'll fly.  I know it.

They won't be Super Lizzy though.  

They will be Super Frog.  And that's just perfect.

Aunt Carolyn

 My dad called last night to tell me of the passing of my Aunt Carolyn and although it has been a number of years since I have been able to see her, my sister and I immediately made plans to get down there for her service.

She is not the Aunt you just send flowers for and say it's too far to travel. No, not for all she has been to me and all she has done for us.  Even if it had been decades and not just years since I had been able to see her.

My Grandma Cooper, her mother, passed when I was very young, 3 or 4 years old.  And when she passed, Aunt Carolyn quietly, without fanfare, became the matriarch of that side of the family. She wasn't loud nor bossy nor controlling, but without her, I'm rather certain Dad's side of the family would not have had the gatherings I remember so fondly that lent stability to a split-holiday childhood that comes with divorce.  The Thanksgivings and the Easters and the Christmases or just times at her house are memories that mean so much to me, I suppose because my Dad did not remarry for any length of time until I was 23 and so Aunt Carolyn was my female role model when we were with his side of the family.

She did not have a child of her own until Lori and I were 10, but we still had Easter Egg hunts at her home and the best red velvet cake you'll ever eat and wonderfully colorful Jello salads and beautifully, yet simply set tables that we all gathered around for our meals.  She made sure, along with my Dad, that we had wonderful kid-friendly holidays to remember. My memories of those meals are simple - perfectly baked ham at Easter, perfectly cooked peas that would pop (in fact, I wouldn't eat peas nor nearly any vegetable as a child, but I did at her house), iced tea in these heavy glass goblets that was simple and unsweetened and she'd make sure to ask us about how we're doing and actually listen while we ate.  We knew good manners were expected and it never took a raised voice to get them.

 She'd walk with us through her garden or yard, shake her head at her shy cats and her quiet humor was a wonderful foil for my Uncle Brent (her husband)'s humor when he would say things like "don't tilt your head while drinking your milk, it will come out your ear."  Her wonderful laugh and "now Brent..." warning would make me laugh. Something about Aunt Carolyn was just pure... safety, for me.  Also, she could sew like no one else.  In fact, thanks to her, although we had very little money, Lori and I had more clothes for our Barbie dolls than any little girl we knew.  Aunt Carolyn could sew the most beautiful, teeny, Barbie clothes.  My dolls were dressed for success I tell you.  She made dresses and coats and pants and skirts and shawls and wraps unmatched by anything you could find in a store.  I adored showing my friends my beautiful Barbie doll clothes.

My mother often said that, although I missed out on my grandma, I got a glimpse of her by getting to have my Aunt Carolyn in my life.  Apparently she was a lot like her mom.  She was an incredibly strong woman who didn't need to shout it from the rooftops, but just quietly and firmly lived her life.  She was a strong woman of faith but had no need to shout that either, nor force it on others, but to live it purely by example and felt no need to loudly judge or contradict, but instead to love.  If she ever disagreed with my choices, I wouldn't know, I don't know that she thought it her place to do anything more than love others and live her faith and beliefs by example.

She was a role model for me in many ways... I don't know that she knew that. She is the example I often kept in my head as my kids wanted to carve their own paths, particularly when it came to appearances.  Looking at her, one might be shocked to learn she fought for her daughter's right to dye her hair black at her Christian school.  Carolyn looked and often acted liked a throw back to another time, like maybe she should have been an adult in the 1940's or 1950's.  But she told me once, when I had kids of my own, not sure if I was already struggling or she had a sense I needed to hear it, about how the school said her daughter Shaneen couldn't have black hair because it looked too "goth" or "evil" or something.  Well, Carolyn told me she firmly believed that God looked at the inside, not the outside and went straight to the dress code and saw that it allowed natural colors.  She argued that black was most certainly a natural color as my mother, of Asian decent, has black hair, many girls at the school had black hair, so her daughter was going to have black hair and if black was evil, why would God allow anyone to be born with it.  She won the argument and my cousin got her lovely black hair.  And I sat in admiration of my incredibly strong Aunt who didn't make a huge deal of it at the time nor when she told me the story.  But in her quiet voice all the Coopers have (Cooper is her maiden name, she is my father's eldest sister) she matter of factly stated that she wasn't going to allow judgement at a school and within a faith that was supposed to teach the exact opposite.

Years ago, she and Brent had thought of leaving California and had talked about Oregon or Idaho.  I had selfishly wished for Oregon.  I had been up here for so long and sure wouldn't have minded having my Aunt close again.  She was easy to talk to, easy to laugh with and kindness personified.  They ended up staying in California.  In the same familiar house that carries all my lovely memories of her.

Lately my Aunt had gotten sick and unable to see, so the last time I was making travel plans she was unprepared for visitors.  It has been too long since I've seen her.  But that doesn't change the love and admiration I have for someone who took such great care of us, who was such a center for the family, who helped shape a lot of how I think one lives their faith and integrity.

Rest in peace Aunt Carolyn.  Give my love to Grandma, you'll get to see her again.

Be Careful What You Wish For - We Signed Up for This

 There was a time, when Jason and I first moved in together, when we all sat down to our first big dinner... all 6 of us, and the noise was deafening.  The boys are only two years apart, the girls only one year apart and because they get along great, dinner was noisy.  Like, crazy noisy.  Not ill-behaved, not rude, not fighting.  Just excited, laughing, sharing, chatter.  But to adult ears, trying to hear above the cacophony of whatever the heck the boys were discussing and whatever the heck the girls were discussing, it was pandemonium.  I remember smiling wryly at Jason and saying, "remember we signed up for this."  

This would have been about 7 years ago.  The girls would be 6 and 7, the boys 9 and 11.  I'd found a rental house large enough for us all, smack dab in the middle of their two schools as none of the kids wished to change districts and their other parents had remained in their old neighborhoods after the respective divorces.

There have been times, in these past years, as there have been loud voices, or squabbles or the general din of bodies shuffling in the "get ready for school" routines, or one too many "mom/Mariska where is my" followed by a day of work of "Mariska I have a question" to come home to more voices, that I have wished for silence.  Just some peace.  Well, you know the phrase "be careful what you wish for?"  I get it now.

Mike got Covid over a week ago and then the day he sent over William because William tested negative (we figured he would, he just had it in June) but had to keep Frog, things took an interesting turn.  Jason was strangely tired and by evening shivering.  And then WE tested positive.  Jayden hasn't had it, but he lives with us and had been traveling with Jason so we couldn't send him to Kelly's where Delaney already was because he might infect them.  And so began the great isolation.  I worked from home in my own space downstairs because having had it before it was mostly manageable with some Tylenol. Jason (who hasn't had it, but I had) slept a ton in another room downstairs because it hit him harder. William and Jayden lived upstairs in their rooms.  Mike and Frog lived at Mike's.  Delaney lived at Kelly's.  It's been like this since Tuesday.  All of us spread apart.

And the silence has been deafening.  Especially today.  

Today, I turned 49. I've never been a "please make a big deal out of my birthday" person, so it's not like that's why the silence was so awful.  But, you see, normally, all I ever ask for, is to spend it with the 5 people who live under this roof with me.  Jason, Jayden, William, Delaney and Frog.  That usually means taking off for a day at the coast just to be near the ocean, be together, relax and enjoy our family. It's all I usually ever want.  The 6 of us and the ocean.  That's my heaven.  That's my dream birthday.  Not a ton of attention, not extravagant gifts or dinners or big parties or exotic locations.  6 of us and some sand and water.  Whatever food we eat when we come home, be it take out, something Jason grills, whatever, I don't care.  

But at midnight, as I received the most beautiful text from Delaney, I already realized it would not be that kind of birthday and I cried.  I cried at how sweet her words were, how much I missed her and everyone together... and I cried at the sheer silence of my home.

I slept in today. Not really wanting to wake up.  And then I woke up horrifically sad.  Jayden had to work early and then was gone for a good chunk of the day.  William was upstairs asleep still in isolation mode.  Frog and Delaney were still at their other parents.  And the silence was awful.  I sat for a long while outside. listening to the waterfall in our pond, trying, unsuccessfully, not to cry.

You may think "woman, you are never going to make it as an empty-nester!"  The thing is, I'll be preparing myself by then.  And I'm not kidding myself, it will be hard.  I'll have some tearful moments.  I'll miss socks strewn about where they shouldn't be and conversations about memes and videos and shows and artists that Jason and I are clueless about.  I'll miss the noise and the pandemonium of realizing there are conflicting events.  But I'll KNOW it's coming.

This was unexpected.  A perfect shit storm of illness and isolation and weird circumstance that left me with an odd, odd birthday.  And so I was horrifically sad this morning.

Jason, god love him, masked up and muscled up and went and got the traditional birthday donuts, but my heart wasn't in it with no one to share.  But then Mike and Frog masked up and agreed we could all eat outside with lots of space and Jason muscled up some more and made us some eggs and fruit and we had a brunch - me, Jason, Mike, Frog and William.  Then,  Kelly let us have Delaney and Jayden came home and suddenly there were the voices and faces I love so much all together and the laughter rose and the noise level rose, even with everyone masked up and even with most of us still tired.  Jason even baked a cake and Delaney frosted it.  We summoned up enough energy for some rounds of the card game War.  We ate dinner again spread out outside.  And yes, we're all spread out in different rooms again tonight.  Masks on and exhaustion touching us earlier than normal.  

But we're together.  And it's not so quiet.  And I think next time, that little voice in my head dares say "I wish for a minute everyone would just leave me alone" I will tell that voice to go to hell and remember this week and remember waking up on my 49th birthday feeling horrifically sad and alone.  And I will remember how much my spirits lifted as my favorite people were all together as we ate the silly dinner I wanted (okay, I just wanted corn dogs, so we got burgers and dogs from a local place) and I'll remember my husband's hugs as he showed me the cake and my laughs with Frog and Delaney as we played War, and William's wry smile as he was beating me at cards and Jayden's excitement as he added a new fish to the pond.  And I'll remember that peace doesn't have to come with quiet, rather with contentment. 

"Remember we signed up for this," I said to Jason that first loud dinner.  I guess you could have also told us then to be careful what you wish for.  But in that case, wishing to blend our little families of 3 into one big family of 6 was nothing to "be careful" of because it's been the biggest blessing that I never saw coming.  As the kids grow up and fly with those beautiful wings, I know there will be some silence.  But for now, let's enjoy some noise.  Because it means there here with us.

Oil of Old Lady, Mario Who? and Beauty Routines

 Jason and I are standing at the Ulta counter because I promised the girls I'd find Delaney a decent straightening iron and Frog a good round brush/drying brush and the VERY YOUNG girl is kind enough to tell me that since I'm opening an account to save myself 30% or 35% (I don't remember, I paid it off the minute I got home), she'll select a few things from the huge selection of exclusive skin and/or hair care free gifts to give me.

Today, I opened up a little tube she gave me only to see it's... wrinkle cream.  WRINKLE CREAM.  I died laughing.  Apparently she thinks I'm old kids.  That sweet little 20 something apparently viewed  my unmade-up visage and decided that besides a lightweight hair oil for my obviously drying tresses, "radiant exfoliator" for my pathetically dull skin, hydrating spray to brighten my face and gentle foaming cleanser, this old bag need wrinkle cream to save me from the ravages of my 48 years on this planet.

God love her efforts.

"Have you heard of Mario-what's-his-nuts?" (not his real name, I still can't tell you whom she was referring to) she asked sweetly as she held up a nauseatingly sparkly, velvety cosmetic bag with little bottles of "free gifts" to aid my aging face.

"No, I haven't." I smiled through my mask, polite and just trying to get out of there and not miss the Duck game.

"Have you heard of "Verb-Ghost-who-gives-a-shit?" (I'll admit I'm staring at the card thingy right now because I want it to say "approved" and "remove card" so I can make kick-off).

"Nope."

"Clarins?" (She's sounding slightly less friendly now, but trying still).

"Um, I've heard that name before"

"Oh great!  Well, I'll give you all of this, you're approved and you're set!!  Thanks so much and we'll see you again soon".

Folks, if she can't tell by the fact that I'm standing there in zero make up, in yoga pants and a Duck t-shirt and my long hair in a knot on top of my head that my beauty routine on WORK days is LITERALLY two minutes parked in my ex husband's driveway, in his guest bathroom or in a school parking lot in between one of two school drop offs and there will be no returning for ANY beauty products, she's got a lot of learning to do in the art of observation.

I wasn't always this way, true.  In middle school, I think my sister got tired of waiting for me to finish my hair and makeup.  My mother thought it would take a putty knife to remove my eyeliner.  In high school, it went by mood. Some days, I used enough AquaNet to single handedly destroy the Ozone Layer and probably drove up our electric bill with the hairdryer and applied enough eyeliner to make Robert Smith of The Cure jealous. But by the end of high school, save the formal dances, I counted on the weight of my hair to straighten it, the California sun to highlight it ,and, tired of the makeup required in cheer and drama, mastered the art of either makeup done in 2 minutes or loving the "makeup" that sunshine and freckles afforded me (ie. none).  I had lost the desire to fit in and rather relished "bucking the system" whenever I could.

Starting in college and ever since, make-up has been kinda... optional.  I just don't care enough.  I'll admit it.  I have better things to do than style my hair and my face. Or I'm lazy.  Take your pick.  Call it what you want.  Lazy, don't care, low maintenance.  I don't know.  I'm just not that girl.  About anything.  I don't do brand names, or fashion, or purses, or dressing up.  I don't care about fancy restaurants (in fact, I'd rather find a good hole in the wall).  I don't do resorts (I'd rather find a fishing cabin in the middle of nowhere).  Starting at about at 18, I found me.  I likes shoes, sure, just funky ones that no one else has, even if they come from a thrift shop or look like they come from 1939. I might like to wear a dress to work, but mostly because it's comfortable, or funky, or has polka dots, or pinstripes... but not because of who made it, or because of what it cost.  I do not have the time to apply makeup for an hour.  Not even 20 minutes.  If my job didn't require a more professional appearance, I'd live in Duck T-shirts, Vintage finds, Hot Topic weirdness, Doc Martens  or bare feet with my hair in two buns on top of my head with hair sticks.

You know the moments I've felt most beautiful lately?  Friday night, as I walked toward my husband in an $8 vintage store sweater I stole from my daughter and his eyes lit up at how I looked in it.  Thursday morning as I laughed with my stepdaughter Delaney in a Starbucks as we had breakfast together and I had yet to put my makeup on (I did it after I dropped her off, in 2 minutes, parked on the side of a street).  As I did a RIDICULOUS dance to make my son William laugh on registration day so his school ID picture wouldn't look like a damn mug shot and I had no makeup on and my hair in two "space buns" on top of my head.  As I posed next to my stepson Jayden after watching him play football and I'm in a giant sweatshirt and Doc Martens that I threw on after work and my hair is in a hasty ponytail or bun or something, I don't remember. As I walked in the Rose Garden with Frog and my sister and took pictures of flowers... no make up, bike shorts, long shirt, tennis shoes, hoodie.

My beauty routine is smiling, love, my family, positivity.  My riches are the air I breathe, the people I love and things like fishing, Duck football, walking my dogs, laughing.  

You can try to sell me Oil of Old Lady (as my cousin Pam calls it) or Wrinkle Creams or ridiculously priced cosmetics or procedures all you want.  You can try to convince me that I could benefit from different clothes or a better eye to fashion.  You can try to tell me to act my age. You can call me weird or convince me that I should get pedicures or exfoliate or cover my grays or, or, or.

Sorry, though, I can't hear you over all the fun I'm having living the good life.

Your Parents Put It Together!

Do they still say this at the end of commercials for kids "toys" that involve lots of tiny pieces that you have to punch, bind, bolt and/or glue together?  Anyone remember those?  I do... I remember getting a Barbie McDonald's and my sister and I were SO PROUD that we put it together ourselves to spare our father the agony because the end of that commercial said in a cheerful voice "your parents put it together!"

I thought of this over xmas as Jason and I had the BRILLIANT idea to re-do the kids' rooms as their gift/part of their gift.  Did you know there is tons of wonderful, well-built pieces of furniture out there that are now affordable... AND get delivered in pieces that you have to put together?  Yep.  No longer does IKEA corner this market boys and girls.  No! No!  Many places have gotten into the act.  And it is spectacular! (insert sarcasm here).  

And, by the way, if you are wondering about the strength of your marriage and/or your ability to apply humor... put together a few pieces of furniture with your spouse.  I'm serious.  I'm happy to report both Jason and I have a sense of humor that can carry us through trying moments and we apparently have a marriage strong enough to withstand putting together two beds (a full size high loft and a full size bookshelf/dresser daybed), two computer/drawing/bookshelf desks, two vanity/writing desks and a massaging recliner.

One might think the beds would be the worst thing.  We already had some giggles while putting together the loft bed as we smacked our heads a few times and enjoyed the joys of misplacing the allen wrench and making sure pole A was facing pole B and that we had 3 E's to support the structure.  But oh... we were just getting started.  

The vanity desks were a case study in ease.  Thank God.  And... God's little trick to make us think we could get all this building done in a weekend.  Oh how wonderfully mistaken we were.

Fast Forward to later in the evening, we're sore and tired and have ordered dinner because the boys desks, which are a tall bookcase on one end, a computer/tower stand on the other and a desk that has a portion on a hinge to allow it to tilt up into a drawing/drafting table in the middle are yet to be completed.  Feeling optimistic, I take one room and one desk and he takes another.

Pouring out the boxes should have been the first sign.  Metal poles, heavy wood pieces, hinges and then BAGS UPON BAGS of screws, bolts, nuts and an allen wrench pop out along with a whopping maybe 9 pages of instructions that consist solely of pictures.  NO WORDS save the first page that contains one lovely hint "wait until finished to fully tighten all screws".   Yeah.  Thanks.

So as I'm starting in Jayden's room and and Jason's in William's, the yelling begins.  Not angry, we're just comparing notes between rooms while building.  It goes something like this:

Me- honey, when it says not to tighten them all, how loose are you keeping it?  mine is now the leaning tower of Pisa, I don't think I'm supposed to leave it that loose.

Jason - uh what step are you on?

Me - Uh.. like 3 or 4?  I don't know it's all stupid pictures.  I'm putting in the shelf before I have to start assembling the long bars that hold the desk. Where are you?

Jason - kinda the same place... did you do it right?  Mine isn't leaning too bad but... (in response to the crash coming from my area) You OKAY?

Me- umm.. yeah, just leaned too far, standing it back up.  Wait, I'm putting it upside down.

Jason - Hang on, I'm coming to see your.... hey, um, which screws are C?

Me - well, aren't your baggies labeled, mine are labeled?

Jason - yeah, don't know if you saw, those labels are little stickers and all mine are coming off.

Me - oh shit! Man, I'm going to check all my stickers and bring you some C's to compare. Oh, nevermind (he's walking in)

Jason - hey... honey, I hate to tell you this, I think you built the bookshelf backwards.

Me -but it's reversible

Jason - No, but look at the picture, these 3 little holes are supposed to be on the outside of the shelves no matter which way you're building

Me - okay, shit.  I'll start over.  Guess that's why they say not to tighten anything too much. These are the C's (we're now holding up multiple screws to make sure his C's and mine are the same)

I help him locate and re-label his bag of C's and start working on mine again and the shouting back and forth is turning into laughing as we try to identify why screws H and L seem so much alike and do you put shelf D on the top or the bottom and does it matter and where the f*@! is my allen wrench... and fast forward to us both having our shelves built and on to these long bars that connect the bookshelf side to the other side and hold up the desk.

Jason - hey honey, does yours look like this?  My picture is so tiny I can't tell what...it's saying the something about the "longer side" what the...

Me (bringing in my book - I don't know why, it's the same shitty set of instructions) -  well, what the hell?  The stupid holes look equidistant to me, what the hell "longer side"? Maybe we'd better do this part together.  

Now we're both crouched down over our books and looking at the stupid pictures and holding up 3 very long metal bars and positioning and re-positioning them to try to replicate the picture in the instructions. I'll have you know Geometry and Trig were not my favorite, I'm more of an Algebra girl so this trying to match up pictures in 3 dimensions is not great.  It's getting hot upstairs, Jason is injured but insisting on continuing and I'm getting hungry again because it's late.  We finally figure out the picture only to have to set it all down and hunt for our allen wrenches that we've both set down and to count the number of H screws we have because suddenly it seems like we have an odd number when we need an even number and the damn H sticker is sliding off that baggy too.

As we piece it together we realize that, despite their best efforts to make it make sense, really step 6 should be step 5 and vice versa because step 6 has the end to hold the tower and to thus support the bars that we've now attached to the damn shelf side but are so long they're pulling the shelf over.  So being lower to the ground, I sit so the bars rest across my head and shoulders and we quickly build his tower so we can rest the bars on it.  I go back to Jayden's room to do the same with mine with his help and then we separate again in a "divide and conquer" strategy that turned more into divide and swear.

Jason - um... is your desk hard to attach? the holes aren't lining up!

Me - so far so good, I've got one attached, now two, now... oh, I see what you mean.  what the F*@! How the.. did we attach the bars right?

Jason - this is impossible, but it matches the picture.

Me -let's work together again, be right there.

I traipse over with my damn allen wrench and we're now using our phones as flashlights while I lie on the ground like I'm working on a car and he's standing over it hoping if he shines a light through the hole in the desk and the hole in the bar we can line it up.  (keep in mind neither desk is together and we've now spent more time than we spent COMBINED on a loft bed, two desks and a recliner).

Me - I'm going to have to angle the screw and tighten... F*#! I keep dropping it.... GOT IT, little f#@!er.  (this is after I've angled the screw and about the 5th turn of the allen wrench we hear a cracking noise... I think it was the wood squeeeeezing into place).

Jason - okay let's go do yours too.

Same story, the damn holes don't line up and after sweating, pulling, swearing and shining lights in each others' eyes, we get the desk attached and it's time to attach the hinged piece that tilts for drafting/drawing.

Jason - let's finish this tomorrow.  This is crazy.

It's like 2:00 a.m. by the way.

Next day we do some cleaning up, eat brunch (we got up late because Saturday killed us) and start on the desks.  Each determined to finish one, we've split up again.

Jason - NOOOO!  Motherf... I think the desks are on backwards.

Me (flipping frantically to the picture) - no they're not look I... oh shit, you're right.  NO WAY.  That's what they meant by the "longer piece" dammit!  The bar wasn't longer, two of them are closer together!! Jesus, now we've got to attach those desks again?!

We decide to work together again to unscrew the damn screws that didn't line up, re-attach the desks the right way, and the screws still don't line up.. and after WAY too long, we finish that and get to the hinged part that we assume we can divide and conquer again... after dinner because now we're hungry again.

Desk time and almost immediately...

Jason - shit! HONEY.... do YOU see where the hinges are supposed to go?

I start looking at my pictures, only the bar that holds the hinges in the step where we first attached them SHOWED NO HOLES.  But in the step I'm on now, that same bar miraculously has 4 tiny holes that are supposed to be facing outward.

Me - you've got to be shitting me.  Um.. feel on the inside of your bar... are there 4 tiny holes that weren't in the first picture but now show up?!

I join him in his room to see his face drop as he finds the holes.

Jason - we ARE NOT taking this thing apart for a 3rd time.  I can't even... fuck it, where's the drill?

Me - are you just drilling your own holes?

Jason - yes, that's exactly what we're doing.

So now I'm laughing and swearing and he's drilling new holes in metal bars because we are NOT reattaching those damn desks again.  We finish William's and it's like 1:00 a.m.

Jason - I'll finish Jayden's tomorrow while you're at work.

Me - uh, you're injured remember, why don't you wait for me to come home.

Jason - but we've still got Laney's bed

Needless to say, when I got home the next day, Jayden's desk was done and Laney's bed was ALMOST done, but I come home to:

Jason - honey, I'm going to need your help finishing Laney's bed, there's no room back there and I already got trapped once.

William (who is Gumby) and I crawl into tiny spaces with phones as flashlights again and bend our bodies around in a way that it made sense that no 6'6" man was going to finish even if his back WASN'T injured.

By xmas, even before, the boys had beautiful new desks in their rooms with shelves and the girls gleefully turned their space into a homey room full of personality.  

And Jason and I ... well, with ice packs for his back and Advil for us both and heat for my arthritis and laughs and hugs and a whole lot of swearing... we could feel secure in the knowledge that our marriage and humor can withstand furniture assembly.  Not that I want to do it any time again soon.

And by the way... were we supposed to have 3 H screws left?  Because we do.  And I don't know where we put the allen wrenches when the day comes to take the desks apart.  Boy, I'm kinda wishing for a "your parents put it together!" Hot Wheels Track or Barbie Motorhome about now...