These Do Not Go to Eleven

Ok so maybe promising part two of Liebster the next morning was too ambitious for me. 

Here it is, a few days later, but not any less enthusiastic. 

As the rules state, I am to nominate my own 11 Liebster Award Recipients but there is fine print saying they must have fewer than 100 readers.  Let's pretend I'm not wearing my glasses and didn't see that fine print.  Let's also pretend I actually own glasses and read more than three blogs. 

Because I honestly only read three blogs, I am going to list all the blogs I thought enough of to save to my desktop over a year ago.  Unfortunately, their status as "people I am afraid of because of no rational excuse I can come up with" precludes me from actually contacting them to tell them about this award.  I know, such a loser,  I'm sorry.  Yet still, hoping two out of the eleven will play along and at the very least, you will have an arsenal of kickass bloggers to visit. 

1.) SpeckT from A Speckled Trout.  She has way more than 100 followers and a real name which is lovely but I can't bring myself to call her anything but SpeckT.  I love me some SpeckT.  Out of all my blog friends I don't really know in real life, this is the one I'm sure I will meet some day soon.  Obviously, I am not afraid of SpeckT although she could slice me and dice me in a write-off.  We are buddies and I will tell her you guys are coming over.

1b) Anna from An Inch of Gray.  You guys already know her.  She's got followers coming out of her ears but I adore her too much not to add her in here.  Go visit Anna and send her some love.  Christmas is hard for anyone who has lost a loved one.  It is especially hard when that someone is your little boy named Jack.

2.) Cristie from The Right Hand Mom.  She also has far more than 100 readers but hey, I'm breaking the rules right out of the gate.  Cris and I were roommates in college and even shared bunk beds.  I kept her awake most nights asking if she liked Butterfinger or Snickers more mixed in with why people pray.  There was this one time I almost killed her by giving her grapefruit juice when she had walking pneumonia.  Her tongue swelled and she had to go to the ER because I was sure acidic juices were the answer to a problem I didn't understand.  She didn't leave our dorm for a week.  Oh, we also shared a boyfriend!  (Not at the same time, it wasn't that kind of college.  Actually, it kind of was.)

3.)  Linda from All & Sundry (She's as famous as Dooce so not a chance I will contact her to let her know I'm nominating her for this.  Linda has an unmatched wit and a journey that never quits.  She lives where I want to live someday.  Her kids are precious and her husband's adorable too. Go see.)

4.) John from Black Hockey Jesus (Same as Linda, he has a million billion willion followers.  Sorry, I'm afraid of him, too.  This guy's veins explode words and sometimes you are left wondering where the damn bleach and sutures are to clean up after reading him.  Part folklore, part tragedy, he's always an interesting read.)

5.) Ashley from The Sullengers (Lovely Ashley.  She too has like 2k followers but don't let that stop you from becoming one.  Her story is achingly beautiful and so is her soul.  And yes, I'm afraid to bother her also.)

6.) Fluffy Bunnies.  I have no idea who this lady is but man can she take some pictures.  Her style is very artistic and you feel like you are soaring inside a cloud with a magnifying glass when you finish reading her posts.  That is a weird way to say she brings you right into her world with such intriguing detail you feel like you're getting away with something.

7.) Momastery.  Dear Lord go read Glennon if you have not done so already.  She is a feeler, thinker, lover, do-er, healer of all things hurting.  I don't know her but I can claim to have met her in the bathroom at one of her talks in Virginia, before she was famous.  She had stage fright and we hugged it out right next to the mouthwash.  I've never felt so importantly invisible in all my days.  Next to motherhood, that is.

8.) Are we done yet?  I'm running out of apps.  How about AccuWeather?  You guys like her? 

9) The Big Piece of Cake.  Kate is awesome.  She is a busy lady who is now making her FB statuses her blog posts.  It's oddly hilarious.  Kate is well known also and I can see why.  She's a great writer with a dash of humble pie.  Also, she's gorgeous in real life with a firm handshake and a real person's connection.  Go see and bookmark her page. 

10.) Kelle from Enjoying the Small Things.  I haven't read her blog in ages but her pictures inspire me to blow the dust off my Nikon.  Her voice is down-to-earth and upbeat.  She puts a positive spin on things that might otherwise fall crooked.  I appreciate her sunbeam on a cloudy day.

11.)  YAY, I did it with only cheating once!  Kate Ingliss from Sweet & Salty.  She is a dreamy artist who oozes talent, sadness, and hope all in one.  She suffers in private but then lets us all in to pull her back up from the cellar.  She's the goods, man.  Also, she lives in Nova Scotia which is a close second for me to Oregon. 

Oh crap.  I almost forgot to ask them my own 11 questions.  Let me give that a shot before succumbing to the walk my dogs are beaming into my forehead as I type.

1.)  What's your favorite thing about yourself and why. 

2.)  Do you believe in afterlife?  If not, why not how come what for?  Also, do you feel life has a purpose or is it just randomized units of energy bumping into each other?

3.)  If you found a stray animal that was hurt, what would you do? 

4.)  Do your days bore you, enlighten you, weigh you down, or other?

5.)  If you could do anything at all without any concern about money, what would it be and why?

6.)  What is your favorite memory as a child?  Teenager?  Adult?

7.)  What is your internal dialogue saying?  Do you speak kindness to yourself throughout the day?  How does doing this or not doing this impact your actions?

8.) Where would you rather be right now and why?

9.) Describe your perfect afternoon.

10.) Are you doing what your 15 yo self wanted you to do?  If not, what is stopping you?

11.) What kind of people make you happy/inspire you/intrigue you?


Thank you for not giving up on us here at OSMA.  The last couple of weeks have kicked our butts.  Our entire household has gone through every known illness known in Louisiana with two migraines (one Grayson's, the other mine) thrown in for good measure.  We are starting to feel human again just in time for the stress of Christmas.  Although this year, hopefully we can keep that to a minimum since we aren't going anywhere.

What are your plans for the holidays?  I will be hoping for stress free minds for you all, too. 

Here are a few pictures Abby took to decompress.  I love a five year old's perspective and how everything is so relaxed in her presence: 

 

 

 

 

You Say Liebster, I Say Lobster

While I was down and excessively out with some vindictive ex-boyfriend-like stomach bug that refused to leave without a restraining order and a trip to the ER, something awesome happened.  No, not snow.  Oh how I wish it were snow.  We are in the land of the snowflake-less.  Although Louisiana is quite chilly here (in the 30s this morning), we don't get our hopes up that we will spend any time making snow forts and/or have ice ball wars.  We also left all of our cold weather things in boxes up in the attic.  I refuse to go up and rummage through by myself.  Attics freak me out.  There could be cohabitants up there I don't want to know about.  Mice, lizards, squatters.  I see the light on up there sometimes and just leave it on.  Even squatters should be able to see their way to the (our - eek!) bathroom at night.   

What happened to me while I was in the throes of tea brewing and broth sipping is an award!  Not just me but lots of us bloggers won an award...it's called The Liebster!  Which is only one vowel away from another really cool thing I imagine happens in Maine involving toasted rolls and too much mayo.  Mmmm, I bet Maine has snow.  

SO The Liebster is an award given to you to by your fellow blogging soul mates because they like you.  And because they want to recognize their fellow writers for posting anything at all between hurling and helping with homework.  Bloggers are compassionate lovies that way. 

I am honored.  Mostly because my blog friend Andrea, a gifted writer at About 100%, gave it to me.  This woman has me giggling in one post about Labor Day and aching in my heart about her grandfather in another.  I actually went to text her about something funny the other day because I get confused and think we are friends in real life.  Maybe one day we will be but then I'd have to let her know I sound like a thirteen year old over the phone.  It's true.  In person I never get carded.  Over the phone everyone asks to speak to my mom.  I hope she won't break up with me over that.  I still love her and her half thumb.  Go click on her site, she'll explain.

 

 

The Liebster requires me to list some things, answer some things, and ask some things.  Then, I will pay it forward to my own favorites. 

Let us begin the madness: 

11 Facts About Me

1.) I don't use hair conditioner anymore.  This might not be a big deal for normal people but it is HUGE for me.  I've used conditioner for 35 years and have been on a quest (a QUEST people) for healthy hair for most of those 35.  Finally I find Lousiana's answer to Jose Eber and he tells me I need to stop using conditioner, by God I stop using hair conditioner.  So now I use this leave-in detangling mousse product made of milk called "Milkshake" which smells like McDonald's vanilla single scoop and I'm pretty sure that's what gave me ecoli for the last 2.5 weeks.  I'm a slow learner. 

2.) I love dogs more than people.  I can empathize with animals more than I can empathize with people.  I am probably a descendent of stringy-haired Airedales and beat canine blood through quasi-human veins.  I am totally fine with all of this although it probably won't get me into heaven.  I'm sad about that but can't immediately vibe with love for fellow humans the way I can with fellow dogs.  They're just easier to be around.  Overall pure hearted.  Amazing snuggle bunnies.  Nobody talks much.  Forever warm.  Everyone of them likes to play.  (Andrea, keep reading, don't give up me just yet.)

3.) Every day I wake up and am shocked not to be 18 anymore.  For some reason I always think I'm 18 when I wake up.  Imagine my surprise when my children come running in with their complicated breakfast requests and am forced to heave my very much not 18 year old bodice out of bed for other people.  Shocking, every time.

4.) I can never see how I truly feel about something until I'm alone.  A friend I run into at the carpool line asks, "Hey, grab a coffee?" and I just don't know while she's standing there.  I have to make up a reason to go back to my car, sit there a minute, and find out if I really DO want to have coffee or if I'm just afraid to say no.  Chances are, I want to have coffee. 

5.) I volunteer a few hours a week at a local dog adoption center and have not taken one dog home with me yet.  Maybe e-coli hitched a ride on my jeans but I'm kind of still going with milk mousse.  So. Dumb.

6.) The longer my marriage goes on, the more I feel like it's a "We vs.Them" happening here.  We being me and my husband.  Them being the children folk.  This is new for me.  I once was a big loner in our marriage.  It was years before people even knew I wasn't an only parent.  It was all, "When I put them to bed at night.  When I take them out to breakfast."  Now, it's both of us - I bring him into the equation out loud.  Probably just nature's way of making sure I don't disintegrate into crazy dog lady as the kids move on without me.  

7.)  I held my grandma's hand as she passed away.  And sang to her.  I couldn't leave her.  My step-dad was with us.  He couldn't leave me.

8.) I don't have one best friend.  They're all so uniquely precious to me, I can't pick only one.  I also don't keep very many close friends.  Small talk makes me nauseous. 

9.) I find it difficult trusting people who keep themselves busy every single second.  What are they running from?  What happens when they stay still?  Is it that awful to be you?

10.) I never wanted to be a mom.  One time in 10th grade History, a clairvoyant friend went around telling everyone her prediction of what the rest of us would be when they grew up.  My friend Karen, she said would be a lawyer.  (She is.)  My friend Doug would be a mechanic.  (He is.)  My friend Matt would work with kids.  (He's a teacher now.)  She kept skipping over me and finally, sensing my worry, she looked right in my eyes and says, "I'm so sorry, Erin.  I can only envision you as a mom."  I was crushed.  Look at me now.  Wonder where this girl is these days.  And if she's using her powers for good.

11.)  I once dated my college professor.  After graduation.  It was a fairy tale romance until I realized we were 30 years apart and lookit there, I wanted kids!

Ok, now for Andrea's questions.  She asks some toughies (and perhaps even one I needed to Google the meaning of, oy vei.)

1.) What embarrasses you?  

Singing in front of people.  Which was a problem when I tried to do that for a living for a while.

2.) How much do you swear around your kids, if you have kids?  If you don't have kids, how much do you swear in general?  

 Let's just have Abby's often and regular use of swearing speak to this question.  Things got really bad when Andy was deployed.  I was four word slinging with the best of 'em.  When Andy returned and I found Abby in his football hold at REI, I knew I let things go too far.  She had cursed him out asking for her "effing mommy."  Or the time Grayson told Pop to watch out for "those damnbees" on our deck.  I am really trying hard to clean up my act in general.  If I slip up, Abby tells me it hurts God's feelings to talk like that and I shrink down to the shrew size that I am to ask forgiveness.  It's effing hard.

3.) Do you speak a foreign language?  Why or why not?

Je parles Francais.  Un peu.  Mais...not really at all anymore even though I was almost fluent in college after six ans.  J'oublie tout le Francais parce que Je ne practice pas!

4.) If you could live anywhere else in the world, where would it be?  It's okay if you say "right where I am now."  I won't judge you for being boring.

If I could live anywhere else in the world it would be somewhere mountainous.  Maybe Switzerland.  Maybe the Rockies.  Maybe Nepal.  Mountains thrill me and let me know there was so much going on before we humans arrived and will always be happening long after I am lilies on a gravestone.  With mountains you get gorgeous wildflowers and crazy unpredictable weather.  I love the excitement that comes from that environment and the feeling that you're on holiday because exciting things abound.

5.) Outside of your family and yourself, what is your biggest love?

Dogs.  Sorry, Andrea, I just really love them critters.  If not dogs then my biggest love is artistry whether that means writing, woodworking, painting, listening to music, making music, watching dancing (I do no dance well anymore myself), or hanging out on a rickity wooden pier during sunset, J'adore L'Art!

6.) What is one thing you are terrible at?

Only one?  Ok.  I am terrible at cooking.  I don't enjoy food related things.  Growing up, food was always just that happened while we did other things.   We ate a bowl of Cheerios while playing a board game.  We grabbed apples and peanut butter before a hike.  It was never the focal point of anything.  Other than Thanksgiving.  And that's my favorite holiday, weird.  Well, regardless, I am terrible at cooking and putting together meals that entice my family to enjoy them.  I make healthy things, just not very delicious things.

7.) Your dream job.

Oh, this is one I think about all the time.  I think my dream job would be writing from home while welding jewelry or other art out of copper and other metals while also making my own frames for my own pictures to be sold on my own blog.  You know, nothing narcissistically grandiose or anything.

8.) What is your biggest sociopolitical concern?

I'm really quite underwhelming in this department.  As a military wife, I should have so many sociopolitical concerns that keep me up at night.  Truth is, I am mostly concerned our children and our children's children won't know how to feed themselves non toxic food or won't know how to keep themselves competitive with a capitalistic market that is always so near collapse in America.  I do worry about disease and war and GMO famine but an issue that is near to my heart these days is the holocaust quietly sweeping the nation. 

The euthanization of our homeless pets who have been dumped at "Animal Care & Control Centers."  Over 30,000 healthy adoptable pets are put to sleep (which is the nicest misnomer as many places still use the grotesquely painful and inhumane heartstick or gas chamber method to killing animals - I've seen the videos and pictures and THOSE keep me up at night.  If you haven't looked, don't.  It is by far THE most disturbing image to witness.  It gives you dark sick feeling in your gut that people like you and me do this EVERY day and think it's ok.)  The state keeps quiet about how many die daily (most have numbers well over 44 animals PTS per day) along with the fact that untrained "Technicians" choose which ones and how they die.  That's right, we should all be horrified to learn some dude off the streets selects a few dogs or cats based on either their mood or the pet's (often criminally embellished) assessment/rating. 

These babies don't stand a chance once crossing into the concentration camps that call themselves shelters.  Your every day passerby has NO idea such heinous crimes take place, much less that they take place EVERY day because nobody is firing them.  It's a hard job to fill.  It's an even harder job to get fired from once you're on payroll.  I agonize over all the dogs and cats (rabbits, guinea pigs, etc.) that find themselves "saved" by Animal Control just to be housed in crowded, smelly, jail cells to be marched to their death less than a week later.  These places don't network or hold adoption events.  Some don't have the means to.  Some honestly do not have the room because people illegally breed their pets in their backyard or refuse to spend money on spaying/neutering.  These people don't pay, the animals do.  With their lives.  These domestic animals rely on humans for care.  When they are abandoned, they are stripped of the right to live a cared for life.

So there are volunteers that create websites like Urgent Part 2 - Urgent Death Row Dogs to get the word out about these adoptable souls in hopes to save their lives.  Many of these scared to death pets are saved at the 11th hour but due to red tape or just time, so many are needlessly and recklessly killed.  To think, after all this, some people still shop or pay breeders for their pets.  Please direct those family members and friends to their local kill shelter first.  They will find the greatest love of their life starting back at them from behind bars.  Rescue dogs never forget who saved them from hell.  And they rescue you right back. 

Whew, that was a long one.  Thanks for letting me rant.  I obviously feel strongly about this one.  Please spread the word to anyone you suspect might not understand.  Shelter animals are in imminent danger of losing their lives daily.  To make room for the next onslaught of animals dumped because people think they don't have a choice.  There are choices.  A silent hidden holocaust shouldn't be one of them.

9.) Where and when would you go if you could travel through time?

Easy.  I'd go back to the early 1900s when my grandfather and grandmother were babies.  Clip clopping of horse drawn buggies, long skirted women, and men with pipes dangling from their mouths.  Love to be a fly on the wall during those years.  I'd sit back and watch my grandparents grow up, move away, and fall in love.  It will be the party of a century.


10.) Are you adventuresome?

Yes.  I'm adventuresome but cautious if there's such a combination.  I love impromptu hikes but wouldn't bungee jump.  Take me on a plane to South Africa but stop off at the clinic to get our vaccines first.  Grab a bottle of water and drive somewhere we've never been for the day?  YES!  But pack some granola bars for low blood-sugar, please.  Let's go.  What are we waiting for?


11.) Creatively, what are you best at?  What are you worst at?

Ooh, hard one.  Best at.  Best at picking my way through writing.  Best at having a title before writing the book. Best at considering all sides to an argument but still having the fight.  Best at envisioning how the song could sound better before it's even finished.  Best at the making better part.  Worst at the making to the finish part.  Not the best follow-through-er.  When there's a project and I have time to devote myself to the task, it's on.  When I'm my own boss and there are zero repercussions to not finishing the project?  Maybe it'll be done by Christmas.  But probably not because there are far too many cups of tea to be had.

Ok, I'm exhausted and most likely all alone by now since you all clicked out after my tirade about homeless dogs.  I don't even know what my deal is.  We'll move on.

Thank you for reading.  I need to come up with my own questions for my own Liebster people but I'm spent.  Let's reconvene in the morning.  When the kids are at school and I'm skipping the gym for the fifth week in a row, shall we?

I've missed you so.

What Dreams are Made of

My dreams have been a portal to another world all my life.  Not in an idle brain's spinning on a hamster wheel sort of portal.  More like conversations or scenarios that are created beyond me, not the other way around like I'd expect.  Each dream leaves me with a message that directly relates to my life or the lives of those I love.  Occasionally I get a peek into something big but those make me nervous.  Sometimes I'm left with sorting out the pictures and events for days, never understanding what the relevance is at the time.  Eventually, the relevance comes.

Back when my grandparents passed, I tried hard to conjure them in my dreams every night.  They wouldn't visit.  I did all I could:  asked, begged, prayed, and bargained them into my head.  Nothing.  Not a peep for years. 

Then in one dream, I remember feeling my grandfather's presence.  I couldn't see him and I really couldn't hear him but he was all around me and I never questioned the validity of that.  It was more like, "THERE you are." 

I waited for a long time to "see" my grandmother too but she wouldn't show up.  I thought she was still mad at me.  No, really.  She was pretty pissed at me for a misunderstanding a few months before she passed.  The mildest mannered, most tender-hearted woman was in her final stages of dementia that removed her social filter and let her true feelings shine.  Let's just say I was a thorn in her side toward the end.  Not in reality.  In reality I (along with my brother, my mom, and Jimmy) cared for her and made sure she ate, drank, changed out of her pantyhose, and got to her doctor's appointments.  But in her agitated state of mind, I was a pill.  It was the most tragic kind of love story.  Unrequited love.  But my God, was it hilarious to see my Boompa unplugged.

She and I had lunch dates.  It was one way I could see to it she'd eat well since neither of us was any damn good in the kitchen anymore.  I'd help her in the booth and read items off the menu since her memory failed to remind her that's what was next.  Feeling good about spending quality time with my Boompa, my smile cast a spell on only me.  Across the table, I registered her tiny scowl.  "Dear," she'd say in uncharacteristic volume, "you must really be fond of this place.  It's the only restaurant we ever go to anymore and the food is not to rave about."

About a year ago, this one dream made me crazy.  It was my grandfather trying to tell me something.  His words weren't recognizable English words and the more he tried, the less I could understand.  Before long, I became frustrated and upset. 

"Leave her alone, Jim.  She doesn't need to know now."

It was her.  I'd know that voice anywhere.  HI BOOMPA!  What didn't I need to know now, Boompa?  What is it?!  Please come back and tell me!  I woke up that morning absolutely frantic and called my mom.  My brother is a cancer survivor who periodically goes in for rechecks.  I was terrified Boompa was talking about him.  Mom assured me it was not about Eric.  His tests came back great and all was going well for him.  We both chalked it up to my maternal need to perseverate on all worrisome things even in my sleep.

But that dream clung to my psyche for a very long time, gnawing at me almost every day. 

Six months later, Jimmy passed without warning.

And now I understood.  All that time I mistook my Boompa's silence for anger.  I thought she was still mad at me for the cheap club sandwiches.  I was missing the big picture completely.  Boompa was too busy to hold any earthly grudge.  There was no time for that;  she was preparing for the happiest reunion of her afterlife. 

At the same time, protecting me from worrying about things I cannot change.

Deja Vu

 

We were on our way to Abby's preschool when it happened.  Chatting about lyrics verses melody when Uncle Eric popped into her head.  "Mommy, what is Uncle Ewic's favewit song?"

"Well, I don't know about now but it used to be Dreams by Van Halen."

"How does it go?"

"No idea, Honey, sorry.  But I DO remember this one that Uncle Eric loved.  It's called Sweet Child O Mine.  By Guns & Roses."

"Guns?"

"Yep."

"And Roses?"

"Mm-hmm.  She's got a smiiiiiiile that seems to me, reeemiiiinds me of childhood memoryyyyy when ev-er-y thing was as fresh as the bright blue skyyyyy."

"Mommy?"

"Now and then when I see her face, sheeee takes me awayyyy to that special place and if I sta-a-re to long I ..."

"MOMMY!"

"Prolly break down and cryyyy, Whoah, ohhh-oh-ohhhh, Sweet Child O..."

"MOMMY STOP THAT KIND OF SINGING! Use your real voice please."

"Sheesh, I was just getting to the good part.  That is my real voice.  That's my real Axl voice."

"What's another one of Uncle Ewic's favwite songs?"

"I don't know, let's call him and ask."

The phone only rang twice before my brother picked up.  He was already at work.  I could tell from the din of power tools and hammer frapping going on behind his voice.  Still, he pretended he had all day for us.  Within seconds, I put him on speakerphone so she could interview him. 

"Uncle Ewic?"

"Yes, Honey."

"What is your favewit song?"

"Umm...my favorite song.  That's a hard one.  Oh, I know!  Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.  Do you know that one?"

"No.  How does it go?" 

"You don't know that one?  Ok, it goes: Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer...had a very shiny nose..."

"And if you evah sawit," Abby chimes in, "you could even sayit gwows."

"Good job, Abby, you did know it after all."

"Yes, I just didn't know that's what book it was called.  Uncle Ewic?  I wuv you so so much.  I miss you.  You're invited to my birthday pawty, I hope you can make it."

"Oh Honey, that would be great, wouldn't it?  Yes, I'd like that too."

"Bye Uncle Ewic, Mommy says to give you the phone back now.  I wuv you vewy much."

She hands me back the phone and I rush him off the phone for maybe the first time ever.  Not because we were at her preschool but because it wasn't that long ago that another little girl spoke adoringly to her "Uncle Ewic" and wanted to hear him sing, too. 

And just like Eric does, he had that voice that feels like a visit home.

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Before we move to Louisiana, my friend (who lived in LA for years when she was younger), squeezes my shoulder, lets me cry on hers, then snaps me out of it. "You're going to -bleeping- love it there.  You know that, right?"

She is right. I -bleeping- love it here.

Just yesterday the kids and I drive off to visit a funky little nearby town to see some folk art. Folk art, in my opinion, is an understatement.  This museum is a collection of brilliant minds and darkest hours smashed together with patience, nostalgia, and loads of patina.  It takes my kids and I a solid hour to get through the gift shop alone, things are that mesmerizing. Not everyday do you find bacon lip balm, hand-painted wooden spinning tops, and customized black and white prints for sale inside the same four walls. 

The man behind the register welcomes our tribe, then ducks his head low to continue typing on his keyboard. 

He must be a writer.

When I check in with him to see if we should be moving along, only the very tops of his salt and pepper curls are visible.  Those friendly tufts let us know we can putter around as long as we like.  They have all day just like us.

A few more minutes of lingering, then we decide to pay admission and graduate toward the museum.

What we see is unconventional, bizarre and delicious.  Broken plate pieces beautifully alternate with old house keys to line a monster truck tire.  The tire holds in a snapping turtle who pierces the surface of her algae water long enough to let us know she is there.  "Look Mom, it's a snapper, isn't it?!  Isn't it a snapper, Mom!?"  Abby and Grayson climb the wooden fence to prop their bodies high.  Our turtle friend pushes her clawed feet out of the water to make it worth their climb.

When we can tear ourselves from finding her eyes (they are unexpectedly quite close to her nose), we walk through the next archway.  Each building has single rows of colorful tribal spots, polka-dotting their way up the trim of the doorway and back down in lieu of a welcome mat. 

Doors seem redundant here.

The next building we enter pays homage to the great soul artists and jazz musicians of New Orleans.  Rusty saxophones, a lone accordion on its side, and glassed-in miniature exhibits of the city's night life give Abby the heeby-jeebies; a black magic feel.  She wants "up" as she trembles and asks to see more. 

Grayson is touching everything in sight.  There are push buttons, on the outside of each exhibit, that make one thing come to life in every tiny world.  Sometimes a spot-light for a jazz singer, sometimes a little boy jumping on the bed in a swanky hotel.  One button Grayson pushes starts an empty swing to sway back and forth and for a few seconds, we all hold our breath. 

The next room has old pinball machines, video games, and other games of yore the kids cluck around with for less time than I thought they would.  Before long, I find them both staring silently at yet another alligator gar skeleton.

"Is it real, Mommy?"

"I'm not sure if any of this is real, Grayson," I admit.  It seems to all of us, more like a dream.  A cool-funky-retro-world kind of dream.

The end of our tour is my favorite.  My black magic.  The man behind the register allows us into another building lined with the inside lids of paint cans;  frozen in time with their bleached out drips of salmon, orchid, and celery green.  Right away I can see it's his studio.  He explains this is where he writes music, records musicians, and works at building his museum exhibits with wire and small working puppets someone donates from a defunct playhouse.

The three of us step in to a familiar sight:  rugs stretching across uneven floors, lamps leaning against each other, and an old battered up piano standing its ground right there in the middle.  Somewhere must be an old Billie Holiday mic stand.  I can't see it but I know it's there.

I love this room.  This room still hums warm with creativity, ideas and hopes colliding, hard work - the sweaty kind where you lose track of time and drink Sprites to keep your eyes from closing before the light must come back in through the door you wish was not there. 

As the kind register man sits with black-rimmed glasses half-buried under his thick friendly locks, my jaw moves but the words don't come out.  So much living yet to do. 

The kids stay near the door, spinning their free wooden tops where the light comes in.  They don't mind the door. 

We chat a bit more about musicians, pop shields, artists, parenting and I know it's time to go.  

Even though from here?  I'm nowhere near ready to leave.

New Girl

I owe my children a huge apology.

For years I've asked them to, "Go play with Caleb," or "Share your umbrella with Kylie," when Caleb and Kylie were children we had just met at their new school or playground. 

"No."  They'd balk, "Pick me up." They'd request.  And my mama heart would go out to the rejected Kylie, not my own confused child who thought I'd hit my head and forgotten we did not actually know these people.

Now I am the one who needs to make new friends.  And it's really hard. 

"Mama, just go talk to her," my four year old purrs.  "Her phone is just like yours.  Purple!"  For a minute I consider this sound advice and almost make the attempt.

"Hmm." I balk.  "Need me to pick you up?" I request but Abby stands her ground. 

"MA-ma, just go," she tries again with a practiced amount of stern.

"I'm thirsty, let's get a drink."  Before she revisits her sweet pep-talk, we are dopping toward the water fountain like two puppies. 

Now I see how ridiculous we parents are for forcing friendships, even through the guise of being helpful. 

We're not really being helpful.  We're being worried.  Worried our kids won't have a buddy.  A network.  Someone with whom to text, "WTF, no more edamame chips left at TJs," when they're thirty.

When what we should do is stand back and let the kids find each other.  Even if it's not the friend we thought they'd pick for themselves.  Even at two years old, kids know who they like.

Sometimes I think we'd have more success at asking our children to throw a ball in a crowd and see who pops out.  "Play with zee first one zat moves, dahhlink.  Zat vill be a goot friend for you."

Or maybe we should get our children to stand next to every kid in the playground and see what happens.  Don't talk.  Don't fake smile.  Just stand there and vibe it out. Vibe out the whole merry-go-round if you need to, brother, one of those sniffly buggars will resonate.

How about asking them where they live.  How long they've been living in that house.  No, that's weird.  And most likely illegal. 

I know.  Take a lap around one, smile awkwardly without looking directly into their face, and hope they think you're really nice, have excellent taste in Gogurts, and want to check out your Princess tea party situation.  Yes.  That should have them lining up to book play dates by the dozens.

Whichever way you slice it, putting yourself out there to make a new friend is tough.  It feels unnatural.  Utterly uncomfortable.  Exasperatingly uncool.

There's a really nice mom in the neighborhood who stopped to return a piece of our mail that had accidentally landed in her mailbox. I was mowing my yard, looking a little something like this:

Sweaty with layer of sheen, tomato pink about the face, and in my best tie-dye. 

Yet there we were, two moms chit chatting in my driveway like it wasn't raining salty water from my nose. 

This mom is lovely.  I don't know what she thinks of me but she invited us to a play date the next day so my guess is she's ok with effusive smiling and pink and black workout tanks showing through. 

The truth is truth whether you're four or thirty-nine, you can't force friendships.  They simply sprout up from your grassy weed riddled yard when the time is right.

14 Ways to Say I Love You

A friend of a friend of another FB friend had an awesome idea.

They thought to implement 14 acts of kindness in honor of Jack's birthday.

Who's Jack?  He is Anna's son.  If you don't already know him, go here. 

To honor Jack's life my family came up with 14 things we could do too.  Grayson came up with most, he was a rockstar.  Abby, Andy, and I were pretty much his roadies.

Grayson's List

• Take Jack and Eddie-Lou's garbage out to the curb for them
• Get bones for dogs in Humane Society
• Make a squirrel deflector (?) so birds don't have to fight for bird seed.
• Invite a friend to play at recess who usually doesn't play with others (Hello.  As your mother, I am wishing you already did this.)
• Give a card to the nice neighbor who is always picking up dog poop in his yard

Abby's List as dictated by her

• Painting rainbows, loves, and kisses for Sophie
• Help yourself
• Get worms for robins
• Give away my favorite book to kids who don't have houses.  Maybe Grayson's favorite book.

Andy's List as dictated by him

• Take newspaper in for neighbors
• Give $ to guy in front of 7-11
• Tip car wash jars all week even without getting your car washed 

My List

• Leave a really good book I've already read hidden somewhere for someone else to find
• Comment on blogs every day to let them know I enjoyed their writing
• Babysit my friend's kids so she and her husband have a night out
• Leave a card of appreciation for our mailman
• Give a small gift of appreciation to my really nice McD's drive-thru lady.  I just love her.

Three days later and my family has done pretty well.  We have, of course, ventured off our lists but the idea is in the kindess, not so much the act.

Here's What:

1. Andy took a picture in front of a sign for a fellow Marine and held the door open for her while she dragged some things inside the building.  (I happen to know he would've done this anyway but it's fun hearing about the nice things our significant other does throughout the day.  Also, I hope she did not look like Elizabeth Shue.)  
2. Abby helped me get dressed this morning.  HUGE act of kindness because it takes me nine million hours to wake up.
3. Grayson asked a new student to play with him and his friends at recess.  There aren't any new students at his school so I'm a little skeptical.  I did, however, catch him helping up a friend who had fallen after school.  
4. I have given a card of thanks to someone I appreciate.

Thank you, Jack, for helping us all move toward kindness in your name.  It is an honor.  You are a true gift.