After the Move

After rereading my last three posts I'm thinking I made the right choice by deciding to write tonight. The summer hasn't been the positive slope graph I was hoping when I turned the maybe-divorce-won't-be-awful corner around my birthday. But not everything has been terrible. In fact, a lot of things have been quite wonderful.

For instance, the new house is great. It's about twice the size as my old place for substantially less rent and includes a basement, a bathroom on all three floors, and a guest bedroom for whenever you decide to visit. Yep, you. There's a pantry where I can store your favorite snacks and enough cabinets for me to finally put to use all the fancy wedding gifts that have been stored away. (Oh irony, such a tricky little friend)

The neighborhood is off to a solid start. There's a pool if you get here by Labor Day and it's never busy. Ever. Sometimes we're the only family there. Plus there are a billion kids ages 2-12 that rule this townhome cul de sac like a kid gang from the late 80s. PDG and MDG have joined right in with their training wheels and nerf guns. So many boys! When that's not enough exercise and excitement, we make our way to Fantasy Playground and make believe in the wooden castles, or check out what the library is offering that day. Reptile night has been the biggest hit so far. Camp Nicole isn't quite what it was the year of exploring A-town parks, but it's still suburban busy and scheduled around much needed midday naps.

Still, it's all hard. The uncertainties. The wondering if the kids are going to come through this all ok. The wondering if I'm going to come through ok. The quiet every other Saturday morning when I wish for tiny footsteps to come in the room and tell me the sun's awake and request cereal or frozen waffles. There were the accidents and bedwetting that first week after moving when their little brains and hearts and bodies were adjusting to a new home. My brain and heart and body had to adjust too.

It's all so new, and yet, so much is the same. MDG will be at the same daycare. PDG will be there in the mornings for a while too. I'll be at my same job with my coworkers who have welcomed me to the community with dinners and girls nights and play dates. The boys still have the toys and games and shows they love. We go to a church that teaches the same lessons from the same books and sing the same songs. At bedtime we pray and we tell the same stories. Even the princess story about me and J-Man. We see the people we love and they (you) find time to keep our friendships going.

There's a hole, of course, and there are plenty of people with opinions about how I should fill it and when. There are times when I push too hard and times when I still don't say what I want or need or think I deserve.

There's hurt. Specific hurt that warrants apologies and the broad hurt that no one gets to own more than another.

But at the core, there's so much love. I love my boys. I love my family. I love my friends. That other love I used to write about - I miss it. I'm sure I will for a while. Maybe one day I'll even feel it again. For now though, I'm going to keep counting blessings, finding silver linings, letting myself have a biweekly cry when the house is too quiet, and finding more ways to embrace the positive in the otherwise awful limbo of separation.

Flashback to the Fourth

This year we were tempted to do things the exact same way as years past for the Fourth of July. You know, pancake breakfast at church, parade in Barcroft, fingers crossed for good naps in order to stay up until dusk for driveway fireworks. And honestly, we mostly did. Except the threat of rain put a little hiccup in the plans.

Rather than waiting until Monday night to set off the fireworks, risking rain and resulting in me dealing with sleep deprived toddlers all alone on the fifth, we pushed the party up to the night before. As you can imagine, none of my boys were disappointed by one less day of anticipation. They'd already been setting off the pop-its and snakes (using a magnifying glass!) for days.

We invited the neighbors - including the ones who had just moved and we will miss terribly during our after school sidewalk scooter races - to fill the yard and benefit from J-Man's pyrotechnic love affair.

The show was a success, with two finales no less, and ended with pitch black bike riding and enjoying summer weather that was days away from shifting into a July inferno.  And when the boys still woke up at normal time the next morning, J-Man and I worked together to head to church for pancakes and overcrowding and small talk.

From there we changed things up and headed out to see Great Grandma M. The boys played well as we talked about the usual topics: Redskins, American public schools and education trends, family business, and the status of the neighborhood. PDG refused to take a picture, but we at least snagged one.

After all the excitement we snuggled down early as the rest of the east coast began their own celebrations. And we had zero regrets.

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.

Grown Up Time

This past weekend was the most adult interaction sans kids that I've had since maybe my solo trip to California in 2014. It was a little weird to see so little of my children, but it was also pretty grand.

First, on Friday night J-Man and I got ourselves a babysitter. We were slow in figuring out the logistics, but I decided to step outside my comfort zone and check in with a new friend at church who has twin sophomore girls and magically it all worked out. As a result we got to spend an evening eating grown up food with no one on our laps or pulling at our arms needing something every few minutes. We talked about grown-up topics, despite still using words like potty out of habit, and got seriously competitive in a guys vs girls battle.

My coca-cola (the first I've had in months which left me feeling like wheeeee!!!!) wore off by around 11 so we scooted out a bit early, but not before impressing ourselves with our weeknight stamina. It also should be noted that J-Man rocked his new suit.

Saturday morning reinvigorated us with kid time as PDG got to cash in his bedtime sticker chart for a trip to Chuck E. Cheese. I'd never been before, and I'd love to say I'll never go again. Talk about over-stimulation... Yikes. I mean, I know all we did was spend twenty bucks on tokens and play til they were all gone, but it felt like we'd forked over a lot more of ourselves than that one bill. Some of my sanity might've been left behind too.

As a result, I didn't feel so bad chatting with Miss M via facetime for the majority of lunch and naptime. She's far away in San Francisco, so there's always lots to catch up on, and all the usual grown up topics: babies, houses, bills, job satisfaction etc.

That evening I got to cash in my own Christmas gift and head to the Kennedy Center with my friend Miss S. There we got to see Darren Criss (Blaine from Glee) and Betsy Wolfe (whom I now want to see in more shows asap) sing along with the National Symphony. It. Was. Awesome. My musical theatre nerdiness was fully reinvigorated and J-Man spoiled us with super amazing seats.

If you're thinking, yeah Nicole, that's a lot of grown-up time, just wait. On Sunday, I had my Sunday School and Relief Society classes where I could enjoy lessons knowing that PDG was happily learning and MDG too. In fact, for the first time in the nine months since MDG has been old enough to attend the nursery program (like babysitting with a short lesson and snack and singing time), he finally went in without crying. Not only that, he ran over to the guy who always holds and comforts him while he cries, and gave him a big, happy hug.  I know the crying never lasts too long, but what a little miracle to see it not even start.

Then lastly, Sunday afternoon I went Visiting Teaching (every woman 18+ gets assigned someone to visit her once a month and/or check in periodically) and this was my first time going in years. My companion and I checked in with three different ladies, saw a couple beautiful A-town houses and chatted far longer than anticipated.

But as we soaked in the sunshine together as a family when we could these past days, there's been no doubt my favorite place to interact. With these silly, happy, loving boys of mine.

These Bodies of Ours

Two weeks ago was one of those magnificent weeks that we teachers survive our first quarter awaiting: only three days of instruction! November is pretty great like that. I mean, September only gives you Labor Day (which used to come before instruction even started) and then October gives you that awkward-to-celebrate Columbus Day nonsense where we have teacher conferences but November... I love November.

This year the end of the marking period lined up with election day, so we got ourselves two work days in a row. Not as crazy awesome as the kiddos, who got a four day weekend straight up, but still pretty sweet. On Wednesday when we finally started teaching, it felt like we hadn't seen these kids in ages. I'd almost forgotten what I was doing. I was rolling my cart back to the planning room for the last period of the day when I found out my work BFF Sra BK had passed out while teaching.

What?!?!

My Asst Principal joked that maybe Sra BK was preggo (which I'm sure Sra BK had NOT found funny when being wheeled out of the school en route to the hospital) and immediately the speculation began. Dehydration? Blood sugar? Overexertion? Something scarier???

I don't do all that well with mortality. J-Man finds that ironic since the LDS church is all about eternal life and heaven for everybody and a billion second chances to do things 'right.' Still, when people around me get sick, I freak out. My neurons start firing in crazy directions and I can't concentrate and temporary madness sets in. (If you're thinking I should tell a shrink instead of you about this, don't worry, I'm steps ahead of you).

So I called J-Man to tell him about my weird day and how I was worried about Sra BK and might be emotionally a little off for the evening until I worked through my feelings in the ways I've learned to calm myself down, when he told me he had a terrible day too. Turns out one of his coworkers, our same age, way more physically fit than either of us have ever been, black, Georgetown Law grad, nice guy, etc, just dropped dead on the basketball court the night before.

I couldn't believe it. J-Man couldn't believe it. We were both being in-your-face reminded that our bodies are unpredictable and unreliable at the same time, and neither of us liked it.

I know everyone grieves differently, and luckily on my end Sra BK ended up being totally ok, but it just started feeling a little overwhelming. I thought about the four high school suicides that happened a couple weekends prior in our county. I thought about the Statistics teacher whose 34-year-old daughter (1999 valedictorian from the school where I teach) just died while biking to work. I thought about the eleven year old grandchild of two retirees from my school who just died on a dirtbike. Suddenly it felt like no one was surviving and everyone's life was fleeting and I needed to hold on to my J-Man a little tighter and kiss my boys eighty more times at bedtime. 

When I saw the Stats teacher a few days later, I felt guilty standing next to my boys in their matching shirts and boots and ear to ear smiles. My heart is so full of laughter and hers was still so visibly breaking and I was helplessly out of words. Not that my words mattered, the moment wasn't even about me. Which only made me feel this selfishly uncomfortable form of worse. I wished I knew her well enough I could have just hugged her and let that speak for itself, sparing us both the strange moment on the sidewalk.

I walked away from that enounter and took time to look at my family, I know I'm lucky. I know I have so much to be thankful for. I know we can't live forever, at least not here on this planet. I'm glad for every moment I spend with them. And I try to snap out of too many sad thoughts, because I want to make the most of the time I do get here. It's the best thing I know how to do. Also, on a practical note, I should probably listen to J-Man and go up my life insurance soon. These boys are fun and cute and all, but they're not cheap.

MDG Summer of Crazy

The summer was hard for MDG. We're still not completely sure why. I suppose that the 18-21 month time frame is pretty overwhelming for babies. They're trying to talk, and failing, They're trying and failing to do just about everything independently, and no one knows what the heck they want.

this day apparently, he wanted an entire tub of aquaphor

At Big Sis's house, there was no pack n play or high chair, so he got thoroughly confused. Papa H started lying down with him on the air mattress for every nap and bedtime, which got him crazy spoiled. Then he got to sit on someone's lap at every meal, which got him even more spoiled. Throw in a couple tantrums and this mama was about to lose her mind.

Everyone there knew MDG as this happy-go-lucky fun kid, and then here I was with a little monster. Yes, we understood it was a phase, we aren't totally clueless, but the phase was passing slower than it had with PDG.

I don't think it helped that there was no daycare structure to his day. I tried the Camp Nicole approach, but things are always different with mom than with acaregiver. At church, when I tried to drop him off with his brother in Nursery, he flipped out. Lots of babies cry, and they're used to it, but this was the sort of irrational screaming that meant they came and found me to say either I stay with him down there or he'd have to stay with me in my Sunday School classes.

that's the wax from one of hundreds of cheese snacks we ate this summer

When it came to meal time, he mostly just wanted cheese. Not much else. Maybe yogurt. Some milk. Really he would've been happy if we just bought a cow for the backyard to be his own personal dairy supplier.

No matter what we were doing, he needed me. At the park, in the living room, walking from the van to the house. If I wasn't touching him there was a good chance he was crying. Even around other people he loved.

When he climbed out of his crib I thought I'd lost my mind. PDG never did that. PDG never did anything I mentioned in this post. PDG was this weirdly easy kid that I thought was a typical kid and now I had a typical kid that felt like an off-the-charts psycho. Had I changed? Was I a totally different parent? Could I fix it?

Nope, nope, nope. Turns out, kids are different. I should know this. Big Sis reminds me of how different she and I are all the time. My parents probably turned to each other almost daily back in the mid 80's saying, wow, Nicole sure is different than Big Sis.

At any rate, we did survive it. He's now back sleeping through the night in his toddler bed. He doesn't try to run out of the room purely because he's awake; instead he lies there patiently with PDG until given the go ahead to come out. He sits in his own grown-up chair at the table where he doesn't eat everything, but he does eat more than in July. He'll stay in Nursery with his brother as long as I disappear ninja-style while he's distracted. If he cries, he can be calmed with some snuggles.

The only battle still remaining is probably the scariest: the car seat. He unbuckles himself. We thought he was mad about me still keeping him backwards, so I gave in last week, two months short of turning two. And yet, still, I found myself pulling off the highway a few days ago because PDG (my resident whistle-blower) announced MDG was being unsafe. Sure enough, happy as a lark he'd still chosen to undo the clip and couldn't put it back together himself. If he were older I could reason with him better. As it is, it's tough to find the balance of scary enough discipline to fit how scary the consequence of this could be. I have no idea if I'm handling it right at all.

I'm hopeful, in the end, that this is part of a stage too. One that ends super duper fast.

Firework Time

Yay 4th of July!

Yet again this year J-Man bought far too many fireworks. It's the advertising, I tell ya. He just can't pass up a Buy X Get Y Free sale. If I had a psych degree I'd try to analyze what that says about him, but instead I'll just shake my head with a smile and be ok with the trunks full of explosives he keeps acquiring.

That's J-Man's 2nd most patriotic outfit. Keep scrolling for #1

I didn't take enough pictures of the day when you consider how packed it was. We had the church pancake breakfast (where we lost PDG, but thankfully later found him) followed by a nearly-rained-out parade with friends in the Barcroft neighborhood.

In the afternoon we headed south on 95 to a barbecue with so many meats J-Man thought he'd died and gone to heaven. When we left around 7:30 it had really just started, but PDG and MDG can be tantrum timebombs at that hour, and we figured we'd spare the casualties by heading out before the exhaustion set in.

from the week before. we started the buildup early

Back in our yard on Mormon Street, a handful of neighbors also were forgoing the big shows and planned to set off some fireworks in their driveways. We invited them to pull up a blanket and before we knew it there were seven families all gathered in our lawn as we alternated setting things on fire. You should see the pop-it graveyard of tiny white papers still floating around out front. And we keep stepping on unpopped ones too, much to PDG's delight.

MDG hated it. I mean, HATED it, so he hit the hay after about five minutes. Some of the other babies were rockstars and acted like the whistles and squeals (both of the big siblings and fireworks alike) were totally normal background noise.

By 10 we still had plenty left to set off, but there's always next year. Or next week, even. We G's don't have to adhere to the rules of when to celebrate what. I mean, that's what being a G is all about. That, and wearing shirts like the one below.

Was you first question, "Is that Monica?" because the answer is yes. Was your second, "Is that a saxophone on his back?" or "Is he stepping on an alligator?" or "Is that the joint he didn't inhale in his mouth?" because we're pretty sure those answers are yes as well.

Happy Birthday America

Happy Happy Halloween

If you know me, you probably know Halloween isn't exactly my favorite holiday.  Yes, I do love treats, but I'm just not the sort of creative brain that can design and pull-off unique, elaborate costumes. I'm far better at admiring from afar.

Being a mom, though, Halloween is a must.  I mean, I don't want these boys to grow up and wonder why we're the lame family that hates fun.

We did costumes the easy way - MDG dressed in a hand-me-down pumpkin suit (grandkid #5 to wear it), J-Man went as Russell Wilson by wearing all the Seahawk gear we already own, and PDG got to stand in Party City and point at the costume of his choice from a wall of possibilities (Spiderman).  As for me, I bought a $5 surgeon mask/gown that I never even opened.

My church does Trunk-or-Treat along with a massive pinterest-like party for all the families in advance of the big day. J-Man is a great sport every year, despite not even really being able to recognize the other ward members who tend to take the holiday far more seriously than we do. We went, got candy, played some games, ate pizza, and made it home before any G boys threw tantrums.  Success!

 

The following Friday, on the real day, I finally got to visit J-Man's new office for their office party.  It was A-Maz-Ing.  The whole place was decked out in cobwebs and black streamers and every cluster of cubicles had a theme to go with their giant bowls of candy.  In the biggest conference room were pizzas, snacks, a background for professional photographs and more. Who needed real trick or treating?

PDG won the slew of twenty-something techies over with his "happy happy halloween," "trick or treat" and manners that he actually decided to show off on command. MDG won them over just by being a baby.

It was a great afternoon that thankfully didn't need to be topped off with actual door-to-door treat-seeking, since we hit the road for more non-Halloween fun with the H Family.  (more on that sometime soon)

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.  

Going to the Temple

At the age of eight I was sealed for time and all eternity to my parents and siblings in the Washington DC LDS Temple.  It was a beautiful, perfect day and I remember feeling so happy I could taste it.  I loved my family and I loved the way I felt.  I wanted to come back one day, when I was all grown, and feel that way again.

Fast forward twenty-two years.  My personal faith and testimony have fluctuated all over the place.  Things I once knew for certain I've doubted more than once.  I've stopped going to church, started again, stopped and started, and stopped and started.  I've found peace, then let it be dashed.  Been angry at God, then changed my perspective.  It's been winding and long, but in the end brought me to where I was yesterday.

After careful consideration, I decided to go through the temple and receive my endowment.

Now, one thing most non-Mormon people know is that Mormons don't talk about what goes on in the temple. I had been through the NYC temple before its dedication, when it was open to the general public, but still was not quite sure what to expect from the ceremony itself. I even found myself jokingly asking my parents if anything crazy weird would happen - like, no bloodwork or creepy stuff, right?  To which Mama H laughed and responded "Do you really think Papa H and I would've stuck around if they took our blood?!"  Fair point.  It's just really personal and sacred.

So, as J-Man describes it, I became "more Mormon."  Which works as an explanation for me.

It was a wonderful experience.  Mama and Papa H were there, along with some friends from my current ward (our term for 'congregation').  I felt happy and loved and at peace, as much as that day ages ago.

I know that my J-Man and I don't have the same ideas about faith and heaven and religion overall.  I'm ok with that.  I love him with the entirety of my heart and that hasn't changed.  I know that the majority of my friends aren't LDS either, so this might sound strange or confusing.  I don't have all the answers, so if there are questions about temples, the best place to learn more is here.  What I can tell you is that I am happy. My heart is full.  I love my family and my friends.  I couldn't ask to be on this wild journey of life surrounded by anyone better.

Easter 2014

Before I forget all the details, Easter happened.

We got up and dressed in bright new outfits (courtesy of Mama H and some fun Spring Break shopping) and snapped photos before heading to church.  Can you tell that a certain someone is getting so big his mama can barely hold onto him anymore?

I love Easter Sunday at church because everyone looks like spring and the talks are all about new beginnings and forgiveness and moving forward.  And coming so late in the year this year, after all the blah winter weather and sleep and emotions.... Easter was great.

After church, while MDG and PDG napped (how awesome is it that they take afternoon naps together?!), the Easter Bunny even paid us a visit.

Then our friends came over and PDG and Lil O looked for eggs in our freshly landscaped backyard.

we went for "scattering" eggs instead of "hiding"

that $1 helmet he loves like crazy...

By evening, we were all pretty exhausted from such great spring break weekends.  Time to go back to work, turn the alarm on yet again, and start counting down til summer