Art and Life

These days people ask me a lot how I'm doing. Not everyone knows, and most who do know only the tiny bit I've shared with the public. It's just a simple greeting that's often followed immediately by "How was your summer?"

Typically I answer with "fine," or "too short" or "hanging in there, getting used to the new place." But sometimes I'm tempted to be super honest and return with "devastating and refreshing and confusing and the hardest right choice I've ever had to make." Or maybe I can get straight to the point by returning with a question of my own: "Have you ever seen The Last Five Years?" I mean, it's not a perfect analogy, but it might get the point across.

And while I'm on the topic of divorce-related entertainment, I've been watching Girlfriend's Guide to Divorce on Netflix lately. If you're concerned, I promise I'm not actually using it as a guide or reference source or anything more than post kid-bedtime amusement. I mean, it takes place in Hollywood and is nothing like my current situation. At least, I'm pretty sure I didn't turn into a best-selling author overnight and JG hasn't gone from lamenting my choice in television programming to hooking up with a CW actress half his age.

There are some points they do get right in the show. The question mark of writing truthfully about something as raw as losing a love you once relied upon for stability and certainty in the world. The first nights without the kids. The way that committing to change can still feel wrong even when it feels right. That dream of a "good divorce." And also how there's something that happens when you go through relationship trouble that allows people around you that you assume are happy in their own relationships to share the crap going on behind the scenes past or present.

And that element reminds me of when I decided to start talking about wanting a baby and I realized how many women struggled for the same thing. I felt so alone until I encountered all the other voices saying "me too." And now I'm a voice that says, to a certain degree, I've been there, at least enough to understand the emotion, even if not the full complexity of your individual situation. Because the most painful experiences of our lives shouldn't be the topics most closed off in the world. Shouldn't the hardest trials we deal with be the ones for which we get the most support? Not shameful secrets that we pretend aren't happening as we go about our daily tasks of just making it through?

Now that school is back up and running a coworker (and also an Ivy grad woman of color) was discussing a babysitting issue with me. She asked if I was married - probably because in our discussion of who would watch the boys for back to school night I didn't mention their dad as someone I'd asked - I decided to just let her know I was separated. Her first reaction was "I'm sorry," and then quickly she said, "Well, maybe I shouldn't be? If it's right. When I was separated I wanted people to be happy for me for getting out of a terrible marriage." We didn't dwell on it, but I thanked her. Not just for sharing about herself, but for so openly accepting how complicated it is when a marriage is ending. I mean, no one goes into marriage thinking it will end. But no one gets out of it if they were truly altogether happy in it either. I don't know that I want people to be happy or sad or any emotion on my behalf. This is just where I am now.

Something broke, so we're apart. Quite possibly forever. And coming to terms with that truth is a journey I've not yet completed. But in this stage here, I'm ok. And wherever I end up I'll be ok too. Even if it isn't my current best case scenario dream. I don't need movies or TV shows to tell me that.

And until I know where my journey is going to end, relationship wise, I'll keep working hard and playing hard and figuring out how to take a decent selfie.

May and Me

I've been trying to practice intentional self care these past few weeks. (Don't I sound so in touch with my 2017 self in that sentence?) For real though, I know there are plenty of self-help books to tell me how to navigate the incredibly emotionally exhausting roller coaster of likely divorce, but none of them are actually written just for me and my marriage so it's still a lot of trial and error.

You know, like how I spent the first full weekend J-Man got with the kids alternating between watching Thirteen Reasons Why and packing all his things - therefore obsessing over memories in certain clothes and sobbing over tucked away love notes. That was a rough forty-eight hours...

Instead, I've been using the month of May to avoid sliding into depression or terrible binge teen tv-watching by keeping busy. First there was  SA's wedding (I guess I should call her Dr. S, or really double Dr. S with the whole MD/PhD amazingness she has going on). Then a friend invited me to a hot yoga class. I should clarify it wasn't technically bikram because the thermostat only read 99 degrees but that's hot to me. And despite having to occasionally take breathing breaks in child's pose, I was pretty impressed with how well I rocked those 75 minutes. Also all the cheesy yoga talk about feeling open and refreshed and centered really applied. So the next week I bought a yoga mat and my first official pair of yoga pants and have been trying out videos in my living room since. Even the boys have gotten in on the action.

A different weekend I went to visit FR in New York. Sadly EK wasn't there since she is a a professional wedding attendee (or so it seems) but FR and I had plenty to keep us chatting. Our lives may not be mirror images, but I know I found it therapeutic and comforting to talk and talk and walk and eat and talk the whole time. She shared a favorite breakfast spot with me and I shared a favorite with her from my and DrDrSA's time in NYC - only 2.5 blocks from FR! - and we mutually indulged in our love of Central Park and Broadway. The musical we saw was War Paint, and those impressive voices almost made us dip into Sephora to buy some face cream. Then we decided that until we're real make-up wearers, we'll save our cash and pray the wrinkles appear slowly and gracefully.

This weekend, while I didn't expressly celebrate fallen soldiers, I did hang out with veteran Big O and KB's family for a fantastic cookout. I also did a 24 hour trip to Winchester where the boys got their rural activity fill by burning trash, riding the Gator, walking to the mailbox with Granddad, and checking on the garden.

Today we hit up a favorite A-town spot and watched the planes take off above our heads. They love the loud noise and the feeling like you can reach up and touch the giant jet-liners.

That and tossing rocks in the river, quacking at ducks, waving at turtles, and making new friends. For me it was a nice break from their recent need to be Captain Underpants. All. Day. Long.

All this to say that I didn't magically flip a switch on my birthday and stop feeling sad or crying, but May's been good. I'm being good to myself. So here's hoping June's more of the same, if not better.

Race Lesson Number One

Well, folks, the day has come. My PDG has made the inevitable discovery that he's black. I thought I might have another year before I'd start this complex peeling back of the layers of race with him, but alas it's started coming into focus over the past few weeks and just keeps on popping up.

In some ways it's cute. He thinks it's so weird that people would call him black when he clearly isn't. In fact, he's figured out just which brown crayon in the big box we each are. MDG and I share the same one. His own is one shade lighter and J-Man's the lightest. He has no color words yet to describe our white friends and neighbors. As for the preposterous black/white binary system, he is slowly conceding that we are dark enough to fall into "black" but still thinks his dad is more "blackish whitish." It's all the cute naivete of every kid ever saying "But no one is really black or white, Mommy!"

Tragically pairing his recent realization of race with the news the past month has been devastating. How do you look at your beautiful black son with bright brown eyes and a smile that stretches across his whole face and then hear about more unnecessary killing of black men at the hands of scared police officers? How do you decide when to start mentioning that the policemen we love to point out as "being helpers" or "keeping people safe" might decide that their own presumed lack of safety is someone else's death sentence? Especially if that someone else has skin like ours. Worse if it's darker like their grandfathers' or Big Bro's.

It's been weeks since those terrible two days in a row of Alton Sterling and Philandro Castile and I'm still tearing up about it. It's like the weeks after watching Eyes on the Prize in 8th grade and trying to rid my brain of the horrific images. Beatings. Lynchings. Emmett Till.

Let's step back from those horrors though, because understanding race is gradual and nuanced. First there are going to be the additional questions he'll start to have. We live in a white neighborhood. We go to a mostly white church. We have friends of color, but live a comfortable middle-class life which can make that line of identifying as "black enough" feel out of reach, even when almost every day he will look and feel much blacker than the majority of the people around him. How can we explain how deep blackness penetrates despite how light the surface of his skin might be?

I remember figuring out my blackness. (Ha! I just wrote that, as if I've actually figured out my blackness. Yeah, right.) Better said, I remember starting to figure out my blackness. Some years I was the only black kid at my 180-student private school. Definitely the only black Mormon family in my childhood congregation. I've spent my own life wondering if I'm just the token. How many people name me as their one black friend? How many times have I been in photos like this one, where even the camera doesn't know what to do with me?

I want to tell my sweet boy how being black is not anything to ever feel ashamed of or annoyed by. How he is beautiful, and not because he's light-skinned and stuck with that baggage of being fetishized by all the people who love caramel complexions (because they aren't too dark or sound delicious or whatever?). I want him to find pride in himself and his family without the burden of anger when he begins to understand the circumstances his ancestors endured. I don't want anyone to call him the n-word and have that be a defining moment of his life. I don't want the feeling of otherness to shadow his childhood. I don't want him to wonder if his accomplishments shouldn't be valued because someone quoted anti-affirmative action propaganda and the words "reverse racism" when he succeeded. I don't want him to decide over and over again how hard to defend his right to be smart or articulate or creative or promoted, or not to be athletic or a great dancer or the end-all expert on African American studies.

I want all of that and yet, I don't know what that life could possibly look like because I've spent the past thirty-two years wanting the exact same things for myself.

My greatest solace is that I have years to help him understand this all. He doesn't have to know tomorrow how race is a construct. We can wait until elementary school to flush out the words slavery and segregation. And maybe by the time we delineate between stereotypes, prejudice, and racism the world will be a little kinder, the policies a little more reasonable, and the news stories of inhumanely treated black men a rarity met with honest to goodness justice for all.

NYC Revisited: Day Two

The morning after the wedding we slept in until a whopping 8:30. (Full disclosure I woke up at 5:45 and remembered I could keep sleeping, again at 7 and figured why not see what happened, and then at 8:30 knew that this was the latest my body could possibly understand how to stay asleep).

After a cute breakfast enjoying outdoor seating and people-watching we lazily set up our plan for the day. It revolved around eating, and particularly tracking down a portobello mushroom sandwich with mozzarella and tomato and zucchini that had once made me briefly consider being a vegetarian. We've thought about this appetizer for years and were so excited to see that even though restaurants like Orbit and Creole and One Fish Two Fish are no longer in existence, Ricardo's still was.

J-Man and I soon set off to walk from 80th and Broadway across the park and uptown to 110th and 2nd. We stopped to take some photos, though J-Man reminded me that we didn't need many. After all, we once lived here, and we can come back whenever. Still, I wanted to capture some cuteness.

By the time we'd crossed the park my legs were already laughing at me and my suburb-driving self that doesn't exercise. My hips were like "you know we could've taken a cab right? or a bus or train or uber or horse carriage..." I grabbed a Snapple from a street vendor and told those legs to shove it. I'm still as city fit as I was at 22. In my mind.

Crossing back uptown was a fun adventure. The shift in color and culture of the people on the street came a little farther north than it used to, and people were actually brunching outside above 96th street. But soon enough we were back in our neighborhood. We blended in again, the Spanish chatter started to pick up, and the city transformed into what somehow once was home. Sure enough, as we turned the final corner, there was Ricardo's just as we'd remembered it.

Actually, it was busier than we remembered. And there was a DJ playing poppy hip-hop music. We waited for a table and looked over the brunch menu only to find... what?! No portobello?!?!? How had we not considered once that the menu could have changed in the eight years since we'd last visited? We had to laugh and roll our eyes at ourselves. Of course New York was changing without us. Luckily, the menu was still delicious, and while I'm not a food-picture-taker in general, I did snap this little beauty. Maybe it'll still be around in eight more years?

We walked another six blocks north to see if Mojitos was still around too. That place was our staple once upon a time. Work happy hours, late night tacos, flaming cucarachas. Not only was it going strong, but 116th had some sort of street fair happening. It reminded me of the week after I moved in and the Puerto Rican festival just popped up outside my window. I know when Papa H dropped me off in Harlem the day after my ivy-covered college graduation we were all a little nervous about the neighborhood, but I felt nothing but happy memories standing on the corner.

And J-Man had nothing but good memories standing on his own old stoop too, just a block away from mine.

In case you're wondering, my legs insisted that we cab it back and relax for a few hours next. We watched Spotlight and dozed before starting up friend time. Highly recommended by the way.

Our next food focal point was Tony's Di Napoli. I know there's tons of great Italian food in this city so not everyone will agree, but this one is our favorite. It was always a reliable meal I could take my parents to without exotic cuisine fusions dominating the menu. V joined us - providing stories that could prove to our other college friends that she does still exist and work and isn't on a top secret government assignment - and so did Miss F.  We ordered our favorite zucchini chips and ziti and J-Man's only acceptable chicken marsala. Conversation floated from stealing babies to AMNH exhibits to new job opportunities and of course, the boys we missed so dearly. Also, because V is quite elusive - I took some proof of life.

Back on the west side we finally got to see EK and her husband and thank them for letting us treat their apartment as our personal hotel for the weekend. EK, Miss F and I ate sweets and caught up on life while the boys chatted and discussed the Olympic gymnast's compound fracture.

It was all quite lovely. A perfect little trip. And exhausted we all headed to bed happy.

Oh, and because I like snapchat still, here's my story :)

Cuddle Bros

A week or so ago I was having a blah day, just chugging it out until winter vacation, and it felt like bedtime couldn't come fast enough - for the kids and for me. In an act of desperation gave in to yet another Daniel Tiger episode rather than be the screen time enforcer and went off to do something in the kitchen. When I came back to check on the boys I found them like this.

My heart melted. They'd found the mexiblanket on their own, and snuggled together without any prodding from me or J-Man. MDG had his "beeball," PDG one of his wrong-holiday books and someone had been obviously sneaking snacks on the couches, but otherwise it was perfection.

Pretty sure I went to bed with a smile that night. (probably around eight o'clock...)

Snug Life

November has been trying its best to be a depressing thirty days in the lives of us G's, what with the people getting sick, days getting dark, winds getting chilly and trees getting barren. That's why we've had to launch an all-out counterattack. How, you ask. Simple. Return to the past.

I'm talking Snuggies and episodes of The O.C. 

I'd forgotten how much I love my Snuggie. It got a lot of use when I first had it, but then, somewhere along the way, I smashed it alongside J-Man's UW one in the linen closet and completely forgot. Then when I had one of those moments where I wished I could be completely warm and cuddled while simultaneously perusing facebook and sneaking sips of juice while my toddlers were distracted, I remembered just the merchandise created for that purpose.

I've been kicking myself for having forgotten how awesome this backwards bathrobe is in the first place.

So, a few days after rediscovering snuggie heaven, I saw some stupid listicle about fashion on The O.C. and thought to myself, "hmm, that was a teen drama I watched some of once upon a time, I need to watch the rest. Stat." Netflix doesn't carry it, and neither do most streaming sites, except for this one oddly selective compilation on cwseed.com.  Weird name, weirder options. Not only does it carry The O.C. in its entirety (with limited commercial interruptions) but it has classics like The Ben Stiller Show, or Whose Line Is It Anyway, because those are clearly other shows that a teen drama lover like me would want to binge... not!  But whatever, CW. I haven't fully understood you since you stopped being the WB. I'll shut my mouth, stop complaining, and curl up under this snuggie for another 48 minutes or so to soak in some Seth Cohen nerd jokes, terrible lady-hats, and that song about California which is bound to be stuck in my head for days.  

And, should I get bored of the Ryan and Marissa wrong side of the tracks love story, I'll just switch back to letting Pretty Little Liars string me along with teases about who A could be. 

What Does a G Say?

This summer I spent a kid-free church meeting jotting down the random things my boys were saying back in July in the hopes of returning to blogging. Obviously I didn't do anything with the scribbled-on program. I think it's tucked away in one of my story notebooks or jammed between couch cushions along with a few spare raisins, some crushed goldfish and probably a rainbow of peeled-off crayon wrappers.

If I ever find it, I'll write it up and add a hyperlink here.

In the meantime, now that it's November, here are some soundbites a fly on our wall might encounter. Or more likely a spider. It is fall after all.

A-town Fair 2015

"Where are my paaaaaants?"
"Darn, darnety darn, darn, darn!"
"Everything is awesome..."
(can you tell PDG's been obsessively watching the Lego Movie???)

one particular bedtime the day after daylight savings, once the door was shut:
PDG: "Waaaahhhh" (crash, boom, sounds of flailing and overtired limbs)
MDG: "PDG, stop! PDG, no!"
PDG: "I don't wanna stop! I want another song. I want another song!!!"
MDG: "Mommmmmm-myyyyyy"
PDG: "She can't hear you, MDG. (pause) Let's try it together. Mommy!!!"
MDG: "Mommmmmm-myyyyyyy."
repeat for a good long while...

"Um, excuse me, what did you say?" - PDG inserting himself into any conversation

"MDG, what color is this?" (any person pointing at any thing that is any color)
"Geen!"

Who says this is PDG's bike?

"Anything can happen, anything can happen, anything can happen" - PDG channeling Ellie Goulding

"It's a hard knock life, for me"
"Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow..."
(there's been some Annie watching too. the 2014 black version. jury's still out...)

"What song do you want?"
"ABC's"
"A-B-C-D..."
"No, backwards!"
(J-Man, turning to face the door) "A-B-C-D..."
"Not that way! Like Mommy"
(Me, wishing I'd never shared my secret talent) "Z-Y-X-W-V-and-U..."

A few MDG frequent orders:
"Mommy, wait!"
"Mommy, come!"
"Mommy, stop!"
"Pees." (please)
"Mommy, carry you." (aka will you carry me?)
"Self!" (aka I can do this myself, yo - what do you think I am, a baby?!"

"I have a headache" - J-Man
"My back hurts" - me
"We're getting old..." - both of us

....
Yes, the photos are from August. Better late than never.

Deep, Deep Thoughts

Yesterday J-Man showed me a video that he thought I would like. It was a fair assumption. The video was deep thoughts with Anna Kendrick, so what's not to like? Perhaps you've already seen it and really liked it and laughed out loud. I'm not really sure why I didn't.

I love Anna Kendrick. I love her movies. I laughed til I snorted at Pitch Perfect and even went to the theaters for Into the Woods. Don't even get me started on how I ugly cried my way through The Last Five Years at 6am while my family slept soundly one Saturday morning. It was just after a big fight J-Man and I had (which I refuse to detail here because a) you probably don't care, b) it's been resolved, and c) it's not really your business even though you hopefully know that we are human and have been married seven ((seven?!)) years and therefore occasionally find ways to drive each other beyond insane before forgiving one another and making up and remembering all the reasons we love each other) ... where was I?

Oh, right, AK's deep thoughts. Man, I got off track...

I think I didn't get all giggly because when you say the words "deep thoughts," only one image comes to mind: a college classmate's Jack Handey AIM away messages circa 2003.

I told J-Man this and he did a half smile, but I got temporarily transported back in time. I mean, I used to spend hours upon hours in front of my super heavy Thinkpad "studying" and "writing papers" while obsessively staring at people's away messages. Remember these?

I used to try to write clever ones. Sometimes a profound quote from something I was reading for class. Sometimes a deep pondering of my own. Often something weird and semi-salacious like "showering with KB" because I was nineteen and still awkwardly trying to learn how to be flirtatious. Anything was better than the generic message above. Seeing that exact font sends shivers of anxiety through my fingers. Short-lived crushes began and ended over AIM, and an away message managed to say more than the hundreds of status updates I scroll past on facebook these days.

When my friend started doing Jack Handey quotes, I actually thought he was brilliant, a comedic genius. Call me naive. I'd watched SNL less times than fingers on my hand. I didn't know Deep Thoughts were a thing. I figured he was more intelligent than I'd given him credit for as a football player and continued my spiral of everyone-here-is-so-much-freaking-smarter-than-me-and-prettier-and-funnier-and-I-hate-them-all. At nineteen that spiral was mad deep like a cyclone.

How relieved was I to find out that he was just like the rest of us, stealing ideas to keep people interested. Borrowing from others to start conversations. Hoping someone had something to say about the tiny bat signals of loneliness those AIM messages really could be.

My mind wandered down those paths while I listened to this new set of Thoughts. I considered what a kid I used to be. I considered how insecure I felt, waiting for messages, watching names shift from black, to idle gray, to black again, wondering if certain screen names would write, or if I should write first, or if anyone watched niloha05 as closely as I watched them.

Sometimes I wish I were a college kid still: young, free, inventive, with endless life potential. And then, sometimes, I'm really glad to be in my thirties, settled and routinized yet brave in surprising new ways, not giving nearly as much of a flying fig what the cool kids think.

PDG Turns Three

Who told this guy he could grow up? Was it you? Is that what you've been doing while I've been buried by repeat snow storms and other writing projects instead of blogging?

Totally not fair.

Regardless, he's three years old now, and would probably like me to tell you a few fun facts.

 Likes:

• counting to 15 correctly and then randomly calling out any other numbers he knows in no particular order. this sometimes starts at 11 or 12 instead
• meat. all meats
• brushing his teeth by himself with the blue bubble gum toothpaste that he swallows before attempting to spit out
• teaching his little brother how to do things - particularly with electronics
• going potty (we did it guys!)
• being outside
• snow, if he has gloves on
• did I say meats?
• jelly beans, thin mints, jerky and everything else we bribed him with during his two month potty training marathon
• singing J-Man's rap songs on cue, and sometimes making up his own nonsense lyrics instead
• Taylor Swift's 1989 album (my bad...)
• turning the deadbolt and opening the door when J-Man gets home from work
• splashing in the bathtub
• bananas and milk before or daily trip to Miss S's daycare
• blanket forts and the baby burrito game in the mexiblanket
• berries
• putting on his own clothes (success rate aside)
• The Jungle Book, Cars, Dumbo, Super Why and Frozen
• echoes
• grocery carts with the mini-cars attached to the front

 Dislikes:

• The big light at 5:25am 
• Everything else that happens from 5:25-5:55am before his banana and milk
• being told to wait before eating something in sight and/or within reach
• naptime
• listening to NPR, aka news, instead of Frozen or Taylor Swift
• taking his shoes off because we aren't going back outside that day
• when MDG steals his toys and runs the other direction

Growing Stats:

• 4T clothes and size 10 shoes
• 37lbs (93%)
• 40in (95%)

Happy Birthday Little Big Man. Mama loves you to the moon and back

Fourth and Fireworks

Happy Belated Independence Day!

I think I've mentioned before that I'm not one for indulging in how-great-is-America? fests, but I do love a good hot dog and firework display and summer day with my J-Man. Luckily, July 4th gives me all that in one.

Also, it needs to be noted, this year might have had the best weather of my life for the holiday. Eighty degrees without humidity? Where was I, Tacoma?

Anyway, we had a lovely family day. We started with the annual pancake breakfast at the church. I know, what you're wondering: how does she get her non-LDS, non-pancake-eating husband to church at 8am for a social on his day off? One word. Love. He's awesome. It's great. Nuff said.

Then we ventured down south beyond where I teach to go to a barbecue at one of J-Man's former coworker's new homes. It was relaxed and comfortable. Their townhome is huge and new and has a kitchen every non-millionaire in Arlington drools over. We were almost in heaven and thinking, let's jump on this bandwagon. Then we had to hop in the car and drive all the way back. We remembered that we do still love it here close to the city where we don't have to fight crazy traffic to get access. So yeah, we're still signing our lease to stick around for another year and keep enjoying the parks and yard and walking distance to restaurants and easy public transportation (and tiny square footage).

But back to the Fourth. It took a lot to put off lighting up fireworks too early. We had already experimented a bit the day before and it was just enough for PDG and J-Man to be itching to light more things on fire.

Side note: sending J-Man to a firework stand unaccompanied is like sending me to Target solo.  We both leave with more than we need, spending more than we planned, yet somehow proud of what we "saved."

We held firm until around 7:30, distracting ourselves with PDG's newest Netflix fave Mater's Tall Tales. Unlike Super Y it has no educational value, but it's only 35 minutes and I have no clue how non-TV SAHMs do it. Seriously, ladies, how do you? A mama can only handle so many alphabet shows and the concept no TV at all is beyond my level right now. Maybe when I'm getting sleep again...?

Anyway, our neighbors were also debating whether to walk over to the Air Force Memorial or brave their office party in the city so we suggested they hang out with us and enjoy our G-show.  We broke out the sparklers and set off one after another of J-Man's prize purchases.  It was just right for their ages - not too loud or too high and all done by 9pm.  MDG even slept inside through it all!  Then PDG hit the sack, we watched some of the big city ones on TV, and followed right after.

A fourth of July success in my book.  

Haircut #2

Before I step back to review highlights of the last two weeks, I need to report on a pretty serious event that happened this morning.  J-Man gave our PDG his second haircut.

I knew it was about to happen.  I was finishing an episode of Vampire Diaries (finally, Elena has her humanity back, that plotline was getting OLD), and J-Man offered to get it started while I watched the last few minutes.

I heard some crying and assumed it was like last time.  I figured the noise of the razor scared him, but that he was just fine.  And, before I scare you, he really is just fine.

Just.... when I walked back there, I saw the haircut that would eventually become this:

My baby was practically bald!  Tears came to my eyes and J-Man told me I couldn't cry in front of an already terrified PDG or it would only end up worse.  I collected myself, smiled, and sang songs to the boy while his daddy finished evening it all out.

While the two boys showered and cleaned up, I called Mama H to say "I'm so mad at J-Man and I know it'll grow back but I swear it looks like my baby is sick and where are his curls and I need to get all this out so I can smile and be sweet to my husband by the time he's done with this shower."

Lucky for me, Mama H is wonderful, helped me gain some perspective, and reminded me that both it will grow on me, and it will grow back.

So, perhaps there will be curls by the end of summer?  Maybe?  Either way, he's still my baby boy and that toothy grin will still melt my heart every time I look at him.

Fleeting Fevers and Such

Today was a weird one for us G's.  Examples?  Here you go..

1) PDG woke up with a fever of 102 degrees.  No other symptoms.  Just a fever. That kid.

2) After making the decision to leave PDG home with J-Man, I found myself at school 20 minutes early, having forgotten that not having to buckle PDG into the carseat, unbuckle him at Miss S's house, chat cordially with her for a minute, and then continue on to school all take up a good portion of my morning commute.  (Did I use this extra time to lesson plan?  Of course not.  I circled the building saying hello to friends)

3) PDG woke up at 7 feeling fabulous (says J-Man) and fever free, followed by eight hours of eating/playing/napping with his pops (not in that babywise way, we had to give up on any sort of eat/play/sleep anything long ago when it was clear PDG needed to eat every two hours max, regardless of awake capability or nap length)

4) J-Man watched Titanic with me.  Ok, not the whole thing, but the part he did watch he was actively interested in for a while.  Obviously it was the first half (it gets way too depressing/boring after the iceberg hits and they've started to fall in love). Gotta love when I can rope J-Man into cliche romantic entertainment instead of artistic film-making.

5) (My Favorite) PDG decided to share his graham cracker with me.  I don't know if it's a milestone he could've/should've done months ago, but I decided to pretend to eat his food today, and he offered it with a smile.  Then, when I got all happy and clapping and saying "yay," (to encourage that other recent milestone), he kept taking little bites, then offering me more.  Enough to melt a mama's heart.

Thankfully, with the mystery fever gone, good spirits all around, and no new oddities to report, we'll be off to another day tomorrow.

Looper and Love

What's a girl to do when feeling irrationally emotional and her J-Man has left her for the evening to join a volleyball club?  Turn to the inter-webs, I suppose.

I could blame this odd heat wave that had me and PDG at the park this afternoon rather than our usual crawl-around-the-house-finding-stuff-mama-missed game.  (fyi - he was not impressed at all by the sandbox despite his fascination with overlooked sandy dirt particles here at home).

I'm pretty sure, though, that it's from watching Looper.  Why do I watch these time travel movies?  Without fail I get angry, emotional, or both.  I think they make me think too hard.  And the result of that thinking invariably leaves me annoyed with the complexities of time travel and the unexplored plot edits that a careful consideration would require.  I'm no time/space genius, but I am a former mathlete and I did geek out in my science classes and above all I happen to find consequences of actions to be incredibly important to weigh, no matter how minute the decision.  Am I the only one?


So as JGL and Bruce Willis and an adorable kid whose bright eyes and sweet cheeks reminded me of PDG, and the rest of the cast were winding through a plot that infuriated yet captivated me, I got all overwhelmed.  What sacrifices would I make for my boy?  What would he do for me?  What would I do to ensure a lifetime and beyond with J-Man?

I don't know if those are the questions I was supposed to leave with, but whatever.  After formulating an entire argument I'll have with J-Man about the film (I don't really need his side, I know what he'll say, but we'll discuss when he gets home anyway) I had to peek in and see my little guy.

It was a need.  Not a want.  A need.

If him sleeping wasn't so intricately linked to my sleeping, I would've picked him up and hugged him tight and kissed him and rocked him and told him how much I love him.  Yes, he would've cried.  But somewhere in his baby psyche he would've gotten my intentions. Of course, he'd only been asleep an hour so sanity won out and I grabbed the laptop instead.

I just sometimes feel so full of love and gratitude for him, and for J-Man, and for my family, and for my friends that I get all teary for no reason.

If I were pregnant I'd blame that, but instead I think it's just me being a little crazy.

Maybe it's time to turn on a crime drama and mellow out a little.  Those irrational plots are somehow much less disturbing.

Chimpanzee

I like to read articles about motherhood.  I read that when babies are this little they can sleep through just about anything, including movies.  I also read that a theater is a great place to practice nursing in public.

Put those two together and I had a pretty fabulous outing when PDG was 7 weeks old.  After dropping off his West Coast Grandma at the airport, we strolled around the Reston Town Center by J-Man's work.  The stores weren't our style, but the weather was, and who could pass up a chance to have lunch as a family?  We fit right in with other SAHMs with strollers meeting sharp-looking men in ties.

The nearby theater boasted $6 admission on Tuesdays and had a 1pm showing of Chimpanzee.

I'm not really a nature girl, and despite my good friend having just completed a major graduate project on an orangutan, I still don't know the difference between monkeys and apes.  But Jane Goodall had caught my attention, the movie would be short, and I had nothing else on the books for the day.

The theater was under construction so we had to maneuver through a work zone to get to the elevator, only to find a theater full of five senior citizens.  Yep, just those five and us.

Nursing publicly was a breeze in the dark without fear of accidentally flashing anyone.  To be honest, with that crowd, I'm not sure their vision would have seen much even without the dimmed lighting.  The noise only got to be too much during the heated territory battles, and otherwise PDG was perfectly content to sleep and eat his way through the film, much as he does through life.

The only time it was apparent I was a brand new mom was when my hormones (that I thought would've been calmer by seven weeks) made me cry like my pregnant self as Oscar searched hopelessly for his fallen mother.  Where could she be?  How could he go on without her?  What is life without one's mother when you need her just to eat and survive?

How would my PDG fare if that happened to me?  Would he search endlessly?  Would there be a constant hole, even if an alpha male was there to let him ride on his back and crack open his dinner in the nut grove?

Yes, I definitely cried.  I held my PDG close and said a silent prayer that by the time I leave my baby behind, he won't be a baby anymore and he will be strong and able.

My tears aside, it was a great film.  And a great experience.  And maybe when he's old enough to have a clue what is happening on screens, I'll show it to him again, and tell him stories about when he needed me like Oscar needed his mama.

The Cuteness

The system is down at work, so what better time to write?!

Last night, J-Man and I finished the movie Babies.  You know, the one where you just watch four super cute kids from around the world discover their toes and their balance and the universal mistreatment from older siblings.  It's darling.  And J-Man wins major extra bonus points for sitting through it with me.

Now we started this baby-watching experience on Halloween.  Why? You ask.  Well we needed something a little lighter after watching Teeth.

If you haven't heard of Teeth, you should look it up here.  I'd explain, but it's creepy and weird and yet kind of funny.

We decided after a fun weekend of Jon Stewart/Stephen Colbert rallying and pre-rallying and visitors from Pittsburgh we would chill for Halloween night and watch a scary movie.  And then afterward we decided we needed to restore our faith in the female reproductive system so we turned to these cutie pies.

It was classic.  J-Man and I are immersed in big decisions about what sorts of testing we're open to with regards to how much science we want interfering with our lack of success in the baby-making arena and so on and such, so in the meantime we just needed some cuteness.  Which is all it is.  Simple background music and adorably cute kids doing their thing.

Have I mentioned how precious they are?  Usually it's the toddlers that tug my  heartstrings but these here infants here stepped up their game.

Also, this makes you wonder about "modernized civilizations."  We have all these great toys and books for our kiddos but should we instead just let them roll around with the dirt, risk getting stepped on by cows and goats, let them eat toilet paper while chained to a bed just to see the satisfaction of baby independence and gummy smiles?  It's pretty tempting.

This is all to say nothing at all.  Except maybe.  Do you think we ever learn as much as we do during that first year of life?  Is anything ever as new and satisfying as first steps and first words?  Are we on a downhill journey where we peaked at twelve months?  Am I falling into the deep thoughts cyclone that ripped apart last week?

Here's one more shot to bring us back to the cuteness.

Future Shmuture

I've been thinking a lot about what I want lately.  Not the little things, like what I want for dinner, what I want the dirty dishes to magically do, what temperature I want every day in February to feel like, but the big existential answers.

You know, the questions you get at family events.  Aunt So-and-so pulls you aside and asks, "So Nicole, what do you want to do with the rest of your life?"  Or more accurately, "You've had a few jobs now, have you thought about your ideal career?"  Sometimes a good friend will probe about my feelings on my faith these days, or about must-haves in a future home. 

They're all such valid questions, you know?  Like, I've reached quarterlife, I should have some answers.  Right?  No?  Am I off the hook?  (I'm going to assume you answered no, right, yes and we'll stay friends)

But something, this little nagging bumblebee is buzzing in my ear that I should know.  And I want this hornet to go back and tell that queen to shove herself full of honey.  Or.  Well, something.  You'll have to pardon my metaphors as I'm a little mixed up about my future.

Here's the thing, I know a couple must-haves I want.  If you read half the posts you know that one thing, the thing, I want is a screaming, crying, keep-me-up-at-night, joy-of-my-life, funny-looking, chubby-cheeked, stinky-pooping baby.  I want the whole shebang, and I want it yesterday.  But that's out of my control for the foreseeable future.

I watched Social Network today and thought about how everybody's different.  I thought about how I want my family to grow and my love to be shared and my relationships to deepen, but that that's just me.  And while sometimes I even forget that other people see that as selfish, or confusing, or impractical.  We can both be right though, I think.  After all, for others the big goals are more creative or lucrative.  Starting a business.  Climbing a career ladder.  Changing the world, or the policies of the world, or making the world last as an eco-friendly something-or-other for many more years.  These are great passions too.

I'm getting all jumbled around here because, see, being existential isn't something I do too often.  It's like staring at the Big Dipper and wondering if there's an end to the universe, what's beyond that end? Can it really end? Wouldn't whatever be defined as outside the end of the universe just be part of the universe?  Isn't the universe all encompassing?  Deep, mind-boggling questions here.

I wonder all this right now because this was a week of getting what I don't want.  A single line on the test.  A slightly disappointing work week for J-Man.  A parking ticket to pay and DMV registration to complete and an endless closet of laundry that somehow regenerates at an exponential rate.

What I do want, besides the well-discussed obvious, is pretty simple.  I want lazy Sundays with my loverman.  I want ice cream that won't give me brain freeze.  I want sunshine and Christmas twice a year and the ability to make friends like four year olds.  Where you can just hold someone's hand, tell them they have cool toys and not feel self-conscious.  Ever. 

You know?

And I want you to know, that whether I get anything I want.  Whether I have a testimonial epiphany, or get a promotion, or get to see my adorable nephews I miss like crazy or buy a house or anything.  Whether I do any of that.  It doesn't really mean anything without having people around me.  Family. Friends. Etc.

As I sat around a table with one other young couple and three older couples, parents of teenagers, the best piece of wisdom I got was to live each phase in my life. To live it and love it because they keep changing.  Kids come, grow up, leave. Friends come and go.  Money, houses, jobs.  Even sometimes, despite one's best efforts, spouses can come and go.  I pray I never have to feel that.

So this is me, going to snuggle with my J-Man on the couch.  Watching whatever he wants to watch tonight.  Eating cereal for dinner, drinking juice from the carton, and letting the last load of laundry stay in the dryer until tomorrow.  That's my phase right now.  That's what I want today.

I'll let you know later if I figure out anything else.

Starship Morning

Today started off just right.  That's right folks, just right. 

For comparison, last night I was stuck in KingHenryZebra in traffic with my work mentor asking today why it had to be so... today..., preparing to take disciplinary action against someone I supervise, and wondering if anything else could possibly go wrong for us this week. (I'd elaborate but, let's be real, no one really likes to hear about work woes)

So this morning I knew I was off to a good day when a Twix commercial took me back.  Debating the daily question of hair up or hair down (up), I was instantly transported to 1987 singing along to "And if this world runs out of lovers, WE'LL still have each other, nothing's gonna stop us now..."

Mannequin?!?!

Let the world around us, just fall apart!  I know this song, and I looove this movie!

Before you get your hopes up, no, Mannequin was not airing at 8am on NBC4.  Imagine the day that could have been!  But nearly as good, featured in a mainstream commercial, I had a moment to reflect back on the good ol' days before Kim Cattrall decided to sleep with everything in New York City, back when she was a young, ambitious, plastic, leading lady.  Oh Mannequin.

It reminded me that just a year or so ago J-Man and I were discussing this epic film event and decided to give it another go.  See, I remembered it fondly.  He remembered it floppingly.  We both needed a refresher to prove the other wrong. 

We snuggled in tight in our comfy bed.  Giant comforter - check.  Dual-controlled heating blanket - check.  Netflix awesomeness - check.

And as the opening scenes commenced, we both were faced with a simple fact neither of us seemed to ever know before.  This movie starts in Egypt?  Whaaa?

That seemed absolutely crazy.  Of course current news events show that I am not up on Northeast African politics, so I can only really reference other Holywood Egyptian movies.  Blonde bombshell Kim Cattrall just didn't quite feel right as our Egyptian goddess soon to be trapped in a life-size barbie bod.  What I do know is that I've seen the Charlton Heston Ten Commandments enough times to have pretty good sense of what film Egyptians should look like, and this Nubian queen was not living up to the ripped, wind-torn, dare-I-say sexy Moses and his people for whom I used to sympathize every Easter season.  And obviously that's what counts here. 

PS - Don't judge me for thinking there's something just a liiiiitle intriguing about movie Moses. 

Story short, J-Man gave up soon after this culturally liberal exposition.  I pretended to also be bored, and secretly watched the rest while he napped later that day.  And it was just as magical and happy and fantastically eighties-in-love as I remember it.

So this morning, when I heard the theme song, followed soon after by a clip from my favorite musical (10 points if you know which) on the Today Show, I knew it would be good.

And would you believe it?  I was right.

Good Day DC.  Well done.

Superbowlin'

Last night we all know that the Packers won.  And in the G-money household, it was glorious.  There were chips, and pita chips, and pretend-to-be-healthy chips, and dips of all shapes and sizes.  There were pulled pork sandwiches that dripped everywhere, carrots that crunched magnificently, and his and hers valentine's cookies.

And when the game started there were cheers and there were curses.  There were pelvic thrusts and jubilation.  There were rape jokes.  (disclaimer: we do not actually think rape is funny. trust me. we do think it's a good joke opportunity when the quarterback who has been accused of sexual assault a time or two is losing and claiming injustice. good luck there, buddy...)

While all this was going on, I was thinking about my list.  You know, my celebrity list.  Everyone has one, right?  Where you and your lover decide what infidelities are acceptable, and limit them to some number like 5 or 10 or however many you can tap in one night.  One of those lists.

I have a list.  Except, I don't keep track of it very well. I add and subtract members on a whim.  These days it's something like this:

1. Morgan Freeman (ok, not really.  that's our favorite joke.  except maybe.  if he asked me nicely.  or if he stood on a table and told me he was the HNIC!)

So, Morgan Freeman
2. Don Cheadle
3 -? Any of the non-domestic-abusing men in Takers
and my token athlete - A-Rodg.

Yes, Aaron Rodgers has been the QB on J-Man's fantasy football team for two years now and his unshaken, boy-next-door smile keeps me cheering through 12 hours of RedZone Sundays week after week after week.  I imagine him walking to class, sliding in late next to his lab partner in college.  Playing Madden with his buddies in a dingy dorm room.  Just, you know, being a guy.  But a good guy.  Maybe holding the door for the girl behind him. Hi-fiving the screaming cheese-head fans.  Calling his mom on a Sunday that isn't Mother's Day - just because.  Holding my hand as I deliver his baby.

Wait.  Whoops!  Where's that delete key when you need it?!

Although, see, that's actually part of our clause.  With the others, J-Man and I have never discussed consequences.  It's a one-time-only sort of a deal.  But with A-Rodg, unprompted, he has given me his blessing to carry this allstar's baby.  (assuming I'll ever get to carry anyone's baby).  He says it would be worth it.  And everyone likes a mixed baby - look at how ridiculously cute my nephews are.  Painfully cute.  And imagine the money we could make.  And I bet A-Rodg would come visit once every couple years to toss the football with his kid and autograph my stretchmarks.  What a fabulous life we could have, me and J-Man and baby A-Rodg-G.

See, these are the things I was thinking.  Totally non-football things.  Completely, utterly, ridiculous scenarios that aren't tied to any actual information I've ever researched about him, his team, his mom, or his opponents.

Just me and my goofy imagination keeping me entertained between commercials. 

Speaking of which, jury is still out on which commercial was the best.  Probably the girl getting slammed with a pepsi to the head.  I told you it's funny when people fall.  No?

Dinosaurs

Last night J-Man and I were having a common disagreement: what to watch on TV

I suggested a brilliant compromise.  I watch 90210 (the new one - no I'm not embarrassed - yes I should be) and then J-Man can watch whatever he wants.

I'm an awesome wife, right?  I know.

So he let me get swept into the weekend getaway episode of the famous zip code.  Can you believe Adriana wants her baby back?  And that Charlie just gave up on Annie like that?  And don't even get me started on how they wrapped up the Mr. Cannon storyline last week....

Then it was his turn.

(diclaimer - this is where I stop being an awesome wife)

Everything he suggested sounded terrible.  TERRIBLE.  Remember a few days back when I mentioned our different ideas of comedy.  Well prime-time TV is just as rough.

I vetoed Arrested Development, SNL, Archer  (what's wrong with me?  These are great shows.  They even sometimes make me laugh.  But not when J-Man wants me to like them.  Am I awful?  I am.  I know it.  I should fix that)

While hashing out these options we had Step Brothers on in the background for oh, maybe the 57th time. The scene after the crazy wife wants to ball up the hairy brother and stuff him in her hoo-ha.  Where the brothers realize they should get along because they're both nutso.  And one turns to the other and asks

"What's your favorite dinosaur?"

Discouraged by our disagreement on quality television (where I recognize that mine isn't quality, but I want us to agree that low quality teen drama is in fact an ironic sort of quality) I turned to Jordan and said

"On the count of three, what's your favorite dinosaur?"

You know what he said?  You really want to know?

Pterodactyl!

He would pick an old-school bird with a big mouth.  Really?

Oddly enough, he had a similar response to my totally reasonable choice: Stegosaurus, of course.

Who can argue against that funny-looking chubby dino with spike-like fins all down his spine?  He's the first dinosaur I remember learning about and the only one I could ever muster to make out of play-doh.

Stegosaurus rocks.  Period

I took pity on J-Man with his flying favorite and figured, maybe he deserves to watch what he wants.  Archer it is.

Oh You Funny, Huh?

I was thinking last night, while trying to fall asleep to the sound of someone doing middle-of-the-road Cosby and De Niro impersonations… What is comedy?

Pretty existential for 10pm right?

Sidenote: Don’t judge me for going to bed at 10pm.  I am wholeheartedly satisfied with my sleep-life and would gladly defend my 9 hours to the death.  Or until my bedtime.

So, again, what is comedy?

I admitted to J-Man pretty early on in our courtship that I don’t find many things funny.  He thought that meant I was a bit of a comedy snob like he is (no offense, dearest) so I don’t enjoy pandering, patronizing, humor for the masses. Or something along those lines.  But I went on to say no, I’m not above it, I just don’t really like it as a genre.  It doesn’t make me laugh.  I like real, funny, stuff.

Before he became 100% certain he was falling for a crazy lady he asked me, “well, what do you think IS funny?  What is this ‘real, funny, stuff’?”

And this is where I almost lost him.  I hope I don’t lose you too…

I think it’s funny when people fall.

Truth. There – I said it.  That to me is one of the funniest acts on earth. That look of desperation as people slip and slide and have their legs fly up a bit.  It’s universally funny, and I’m not prejudiced in my response.  I laugh when I fall.  I laugh when J-Man falls.  I laugh when kids fall that are trying to lick their lollipop and turn to their mom while crying to say “I fell on my head!” It’s funny.  Strike that, it’s Hi-larious.  Sometimes I laugh until I cry.

Now, I’m not a bad person.  I always check to be sure the person is ok.  If I know them, or if they’re so close it would make me a jerk not to.  And then I chuckle until I have a stitch in my side.

So if that, to me, is comedy, what is this mess on TV?  How can you recreate such an unanticipated, sharp rejection of standard movement followed by a lack of balance and sheer confusion in just a one-liner?  You need a full story for it.  A crafted narrative with an unpredictable turn and best-case-scenario – another level beyond the first joke where you’re like “I thought it was funny but now this is so ridiculous I can’t help but let out a loud unsexy HA!”

There are experts at this, and when I find them, I lovelovelove them. 

In the meantime, J-Man and I will keep making our way through the 240 Netflix episodes of Comedy Central Presents…  we’ll stay awake and laugh and quote the really funny ones, and wait for the mediocre ones to gently lull us to sleep.