The Bridge

Well. We strode bravely across that bridge towards Working Mommaland, but it turns out there was a toll to pay on that bridge and it smelled horrendous.

Now, I don' t know if Buckaroo acquired this stomach bug from the daycare because he started, you know, showing the affects the very afternoon we came home from Day One. Who knows, maybe he got it from some door knob or grocery cart somewhere. Anyway, that was 4 nights ago and all of us here in this house are feeling like it is behind us, no pun intended. I seemed to have gotten thru it with the most dignity intact. Oiy. Now the neighbors have it. The other neighbors had it a couple of weeks ago. Etc etc.

So, 2 nights ago I was crying in the bathtub after my fellas were in bed, because I was exhausted and worried and discouraged and sick, and nothing adds up to derangement quicker than all that. What a bumpy start to my new beginning. And parenting a sick child whilst one's self is also sick...such a rotten system. I was given permission by my mother and sisters to watch whatever I wanted on tv regardless of my son's intellectual development. Basically, I let him play with wires and broken glass (when he wasn't filling his diaper) and I shuffled around or sat in front of the tv. [Watched "Death at a Funeral" which was hilarious. I even laughed.]

Today I feel much, much better. We're just trying to gather ourselves together and do a thing or two around the house this weekend before trying again.

Speaking of the house, Woodworker is building the most glorious banister for our scary stairway. Because they are steep, wooden, and take a sharp turn, these stairs are not for the tall nor the klutzy, which counts out everyone I'm related to. I've learned to walk down them very slowly. Soon I will have an actual handrail. Its all made of repurposed fir with dramatic knots and old black nail holes. Woodworker is so good at this stuff. Buckaroo has a love/hate relationship with these working scenes because he loves his father but he hates the sound of drills. We might just need to clear the premise for the rest of the project. Thank heavens we're feeling better.

Now, I will close with a beautiful image unrelated to this post, so you can forget you read about our family pooping:

The scene of our wedding before the guests arrived. Ahhnnnnn. Please note the teenie tiny disco ball hanging from the rafter. Word.

Yours in health and grateful for it,
nellie

First Day of School

Tomorrow I go back to work. The Year of Living Maternally came to an end. I am still shocked that we made it this far. There were so many weeks that sucked, what with fatigue and loneliness. Days where the idea of seeing Buckaroo's first birthday was unfathomable, like an ironman triathalon, accomplished by other people. And there were weeks where naps went well (for both of us) and walks were taken and cookies were made. And I paid attention with hyper-consciousness, to easy moments. Because its all temporary. And starting tomorrow I am a working mother. So, right now feels like the night before the first day of school. And my wee silly bit of love is about to start a new experience without me. Waaaaaaaaah.

This is all a very big deal. Buckaroo will go to a daycare and I will go to a brand new job. It is a miracle that I found a job, truly. I was hardly looking, unlike so many frustrated people. But it feels fated (not to jinx it, hello). I fully intended to spend a year at home with Mr. Sillypants regardless, and then see where things were. Then, maybe 3 weeks before Buckaroo's birthay, I got a call from a friend about this potential job. A few days later, I was meeting with the guy, and BAM before you know it, the deal was done within hours of Buckaroo's birthday. I am not making this up.

Then I turned to the preparations of the Extremely Important First Birthday Party. What a success. Its a whole other post, and then some. But after the dust from the party settled, it was time to find daycare. Time to do this change. And I don't know where the past couple of weeks have gone, but blogging certainly didn't occur. So much going on in my head and my heart, I suppose. It has been strange to be the mom inspecting daycares. Again, rather like I'm playing at something that other people do for real. I'm a mom?! That's my kid?! You'd think I'd have a strong sense of this by now.

We found a gal. She lives just a couple of miles away. She's very sweet and she absolutely dotes on the adorable kids in her care. Turns out the neighbor boys go there. We've been to visit a couple of times. Then Woodworker and I scratched our heads and listened to our instincts and signed some papers, and now we have a daycare. OMG holy shit. Can I do this? I know Buckaroo can do this. He loves to jump in the thick of things and chase bigger kids and yell-talk and poke babies in the eye. In fact, we chose daycare instead of at-home care because he's so outgoing (not my side of the family, I confess) (plus, a financial decision).

So tomorrow I start a new job. Its going to be hard but I know we can do it. Or maybe it won't be hard. Maybe it will be a little hard here and there, and otherwise good and fine. Hell yeah. Because, lemme tell you, my brain is so excited to go to work. I get to do stuff and make money. Only now I'm a momma and a worker. I will forever feel that division. Or, that "both". The mind-boggling, visceral desire to be with him and lovelovelove him. AND. The steady-on effort of work and personal development.

I have totally dropped the ball with communicating this excitement to my bff ladies out there. I'm sure all my lovers in Minneapolis and Chicago and Bozeman and NYC and SF and PC and Seattle and Denver and Moses Lake and Provo and Logan and IF and Bend and Orlando are happy to hear about this new development. (I must digress: it was really fun to type out all those cities and think about all my friends/relations/loved ones. Thank you! I recommend everyone do that.) And one of these days I'll get the whole digital photo situation back on track here, so I can fully report on the various parties and so forth.

But now it is time for bed. I've showered and am ready to read a few pages of my dorky book about the people's history of England. Buckaroo slumbers next door - at least for now. I pray for a good night's sleep. And tomorrow I cross that bridge. We cross that bridge. Though, the other day, when I was bemoaning the bridge to my mother, she reminded me that it is not a very big bridge over not a very big chasm because I am looking at a part-time job with flexible hours. Did I mention that? :)

I feel so blessed. Look at him, he's delicious and such a love. Just like his dadda. Even though they both drive me crazy. But I'm sure I make them crazy too.

Crossing the bridge.....xo
nellie

365 Days

Today is my baby's First Birthday.

I feel so MUCH about this day. I have so very much to say. At least I think I do. But my fingers aren't finding the keyboard. This day is a contemplation. I can't interfere with that yet. Perhaps tomorrow.

Suffice to say that I am extremely self-congratulatory; I've never felt a bigger sense of accomplishment. Ever. I feel like the Olympics theme song should be playing throughout the land with me today. Buckaroo is my giggling, slobbering, glorious, ridiculous trophy of life.

Ok, ok, ok, enough. Here's a pic of him swinging on a swingset for the first time, last week.



He laughed til he cried on this thing. It was a condensed version of the whole absurd adventure here.

Glory, glory hallelujah. Good night.

Future Homeland

Well. It looks like we won't be moving to Tunisia anytime soon. That's ok. I can put my family's dream on hold until, oh, I dunno, maybe after neighboring regimes topple and so forth.

But I'd already started scouting vacation home purchases. There are condos for sale just around the corner from where some Mos Eisley cantina scenes were filmed. How long will that last? Oh well. I believe in democracy, so I'll wait. It just gives us more time to save. And to decide: apartment near a city center, or a rustic home deep in the desert?

Where else in the world could use a revolution? Because I could threaten to move my family there, and then maybe the people would revolt. Taking suggestions.

(we're watching American Idol right now. good guchky blech. Stop me. I've never seen it from the early stages like this. JL0 always has such shiny lips. How many hours a week is this junk on?)

In closing: we have an alternative: my sister-in-law informs me that there is a Jedi Training Academy in Florida somewhere. I've never been to Florida. Buckaroo has never been to Florida. Goals!

Going to bed. xo

Normal

This morning NPR seemed only to offer gut-wrenching news. A news day that makes me almost feel guilty for looking down and seeing my ridiculously hilarious baby talking to the cat. It certainly heightens my adoration for him. I'm glad I don't have to worry about a revolution next door. My worries are more of the runny-nose, paying-bills, finding-work, remembering-birthdays, practicing-patience variety.

The other day I was talking on the phone with darling Whitney. She was so very sad and worried about a colleague who found himself in the middle of a very dramatic and dangerous cancer diagnosis. We bemoaned how suddenly it struck him. One day was a normal day, the next day was an emergency. So terrifying, how instantly and irreversibly "normal" can be snatched from you.

But, on the other end, reveling in normal can be difficult. I certainly have a hard time with it pretty often. I guess its the "new normal" of my SAHM status that seems uncomfortable sometimes. Plus, this baby-raising stuff is such a goshdarn moving target, normal is a shape-shifter. (I give that metaphor about a c+) But lately I've felt lump-in-your-throat appreciation for it. I attribute it to getting enough sleep that I can actually feel my feelings accurately.

Case in point: this past Sunday, Woodworker was puttering in the yard and I caught a glimpse of him through the kitchen window. He was so serious, cleaning a strange landscapey effort that the previous owners created (other people have strange ideas), and our 5 chickens were clucking around him with devotion. The sun was shining and there was a bald eagle gliding elegantly above the houses. I rested a moment, taking it in. Buckaroo had just gone down for a nap so I could really relax as I contemplated, which was delightful. It was such a piece-of-art moment. Tho, if you saw that image in a painting or a Rockwell drawing, it would look ridiculous with the eagle and everything. Plus, there must be a joke in there somewhere, involving chickens and eagles, or husbands and chickens - I'm not sure. Anyway, I remember that I really felt the peace and joy of the moment, and I was incredibly grateful to feel the feelings.

Don't you ever wonder, why is this my normal in this life? Why was someone else born into normal in Mumbai or Paris? But if you think on your normal too much, it gets annoying. I'm just feeling really grateful for the normal right now.

Dear Alexa

Dear Alexa,

I know you'd find my last post appalling. I myself am appalled. Why did I mention undergarments? I am, indeed, adrift in a sea of nonstyle. I call on you for help often, as you know. And, for instance, I think about you while I'm staring at the clothes in my closet. (I think about you all over the place, often, with this and that, etc. etc. But I try not to think too hard, because then I get sad, sullen, crying, etc etc. But its a gentle resting upon my thoughts that I feel, a half-mindedness even, a chit-chat, etc etc.) GoodNESS you would tisk tisk my lot. But you'd be polite about it. I CANNOT believe I went to Fred Meyer looking like that.

I did shower today, while Buck was napping. FYI. And, let it be known, that I made a solemn vow after the Nov 4 Reunion with the girls last year that I would only ever maintain pretty undergarments. And I've done well with that. No ratty cotton numbers with shot elastic. No bottom-of-the-barrel huge undies that look like shopping bags that you wear when all else is in the laundry. No 17-year-0ld brassieres held together with safety pins that one holds onto because they're from Victoria's Secret and one has only ever had that one thing from VS. No ill-fitting camisoles. Just get rid of them!!! And I have. (shocking pile of discards.) And I'm hoping that the "only pretty" factor will rub off on the other categories of my wardrobe. I hope this paradigm will guide me when I shop. But it doesn't guide me as much as it should. And I go to Walmart too much.

The thing about leaving the city is that Walmart is all-of-a-sudden much more convenient. And cheap. $5 leggings, may I remind you. Times are tight. I would wager that you never saw the inside of a Walmart. Neither did I for many many many many years. I don't think there are any in King County, no? Anyway, not important. What is important is that I should stick to "only pretty" even if I'm at Walmart looking at $12 windbreakers.

Often, when I'm shopping, I do have you with me. We chat, or you nod your approval, or shake your head to redirect me. I just get so dang influenced by cheap and/or comfortable and/or practical crap. I don't know if angels are allowed to do this, but if you are, please knock some sense into me. Or pinch my butt. Or bite my ear. Something.

Admittedly, the new normal includes managing my silly baby while shopping. The new normal means I've only had the where-with-all to shop a great speeds, with not much reflection, keeping a wiggling sillybuns from grabbing clothes off the racks. And, since motherhood, I've not seen myself as being out in the world, of the world, with the other people in the world, so why be cute? But I do feel more worldish lately, and sometimes I actually want to look the part. And I think of you. Lovelovelove.

I do have a supercute haircut, though, don't you think. And I'm wearing a really adorable damask apron while I cook muffins this morning, no? And Buckaroo has a cheeky cute outfit on. And, most delicious of all, we got a pretty good night's beauty rest. Hallelujah. Thank you, I'm sure.

And, at the end of the day, it doesn't matter if I have pretty unmentionables if I don't actually wear them, right? Sheesh.

xoxo

High Fashion and Steak

Well, in case you were wondering, I did cut that steak into a heart. But I am sheepish to admit that it was meager compared to the gifts I got for Valentine's Day. We said we weren't going to buy anything, dang it, but I love that he did. The fact that he went to the store and stood in front of the card display and picked one and everything. Shocking and adorable. I also got a beautiful stone ring made by one of the artists that shows in his gallery. I love her work. Such a surprise. I also got a monstrous london broil steak. This is a favorite way of gifting from my husband, and it happens on my birthday as well - a gift for me for him. It cracked me up. But I was also mad because it was 50 times bigger than the the heart steak I presented. Hmph.

In other news, you are wondering what I'm wearing today. First, know that lately I've been comfortable only in knee-high socks. So, am wearing some ancient ski socks. Then, moving up, $5 blackish leggings complete with ratty holes; a turquoise tank top under an over-sized tee-shirt with a glow-in-the-dark Darth Maul on it; no bra (who cares?); a below-the-knees hooded cardigan that would look like a cozy wool item from Sundance if it weren't acrylic from Disney with a Tinkerbell on the lapel, which I found at Goodwill for $6. Oh, and VPL, but no matter because of the long cardigan. I'm hot.

So, now that we're all dressed, I need to get us out the door. I need to mail a big package, but I am stalling because I don't know how to get both it and Buckaroo into the post office.

TMI,
nellie