Take me out to the ballgame!

About a month ago, my daughter’s school was selling tickets to a Rockies baseball game. I know as well as anyone that April weather is difficult to predict, but I love going to baseball games. My father used to take me to Giants games back in the days of Willie Mays, and I was so fond of these outings that I sported a Giants baseball cap as a kid and had a poster of Mays on my bedroom wall. Something about the slow pace of a baseball game and the traditions that go so far back is attractive to me and it is something I want to share with my daughter. Colorado has a beautiful stadium – Coors Field – that my father has gone to with me when he used to visit. I bought tickets to last Saturday’s game for my daughter and myself and hoped for the best.
Last week the weather turned foul, and Friday night the winds were so wild that I really wasn’t surprised when the rain turned to snow. I despaired, though, at the chances of even going to the stadium on Saturday. My friend Frank alerted me to the possibility of being able to attend an early game on Saturday when it turned out that they’d play a double header on Saturday to make up for the rainout on Friday. Saturday started out foggy and grey and it wasn’t until after noon that I was sure that we’d be able to go.

Miraculously, the sun came out and the day grew warm. M and I walked from our parking spot downtown toward the stadium and tapped into the excitement of the crowd as we got closer. We had put on our matching purple turtlenecks and jeans, not knowing how cold it would turn out to be. M’s eyes were big and she took in all the concessions and crowd and the big expanse of green field as we walked along the perimeter of the stadium to find our seats. We stopped to listen to the children’s choir sing the National Anthem, and quietly took in the rest of the crowd being respectful. I am proud of Colorado in times like this; folks here are staunchly independent, but also show respect for the time-honored traditions like respect for the ceremony of the flag.

Our seats – firmly in the “cheap stands” – were in the sunniest spot in the stadium, and due to all the confusion of the weather and the rescheduling, we had the row almost to ourselves. We got some cotton candy for M and some beer for me, and we settled in for our first baseball game. We clapped and cheered and followed the prompts to participate. M was happy and excited, especially when a second grader from her school and his family took their seats next to us and he recognized her. They chattered happily throughout the game.

I was able to relax and enjoy myself in a way that I haven't really had the opportunity to do in a while.  It all seemed to come together for me that afternoon, like the new job that starts on Monday, and the other signs that we're back, we're here, and all is well.  The sun was shining, (although we woke up to snow this morning) and we were sitting in the baseball stadium together, and we were happy. 

By the time the game was finished, the Rockies had lost, we had consumed hotdogs and soda and beer and cotton candy, and the sun had slowly moved across the sky to the point where our seats were no longer in the sunshine. We could have stayed for the second game, but we decided that we’d had a good time and we were ready to leave, full and content.

Some weeks can be too full.

Some weeks can be too full. The birthday party was a success. A couple of kids that said they were coming didn’t show, and that delayed our start time, but “All’s well that ends well.” I discovered that the Littleton Jungle Quest is not as large or all well staffed as the Thornton location, but I don’t hesitate to climb a ladder when I see a kid about to plunge to their death unable to fasten their carabiner, so we managed just fine.

I think M got a charge out of being one of the experienced kids, and she was eager to try just about everything.

The day after the party was a gorgeous warm sunny day, and I was inspired to finally get our bikes ready for the season. M has been riding her bike all along, but I didn’t have mine and I hadn’t put together the Trailer Bike that I’d bought. Sunday we went down to pick up my bike and spent an extra hour or so playing “Who has their head up their butt” with the store employees, involving conflicting phone calls, lost messages, hidden storage areas, and less than helpful website instructions, but at last we left with my bike. I declined their help loading onto my Rav. M and I secured it to the roof rack with bungie cords and we brought it home. But then we had to go out again because that place didn’t have bike helmets and after all the brainwashing instructions I had given my daughter about wearing her helmet, I certainly had to wear one.

Then we came home and I took the bike trailer out of the box and discovered that I did not have two of the allen wrenches that I needed to put it together. I have almost every other tool you can think of, since I used to have an old house that I constantly worked on, but after opening boxes and looking through all my tools, it was back in the car for trip number 3.

Can I just say how much I really do enjoy walking through a Lowes or Home Depot? M does too. It took us a while to find the tools I needed, but they were only 4 dollars, so I was pretty happy. Then I spent a while toiling away on the driveway putting together the Trailer Bike. I had to send one of the annoying little boys in the neighborhood away because he was driving me crazy as I was trying to read and follow the directions. I only have to put up with that from my own child; I read the manual, I know this. I got it all put together except for the last step, when I discovered that the tube that holds the bike seat had gotten just a little smushed in transit. Just enough that the seat pole wouldn’t slide into the hole. I said a few bad words and set about doing what I do best – finding something to work that was never meant for that purpose. I amused my neighbor for a few minutes while I beat on the bike’s shaft saying more bad words until I was able to force the bike seat’s pole in. Go ahead and joke; I’ll wait.

We went for a celebratory spin around the neighborhood and I got thumbs up from several envious parents. The huge orange flag on the back of it made sure that we looked stylin’.

The next day my head cold came roaring back with a vengeance, and I was laid flat for the day feeling like I’d been run over by a truck. Green boogers. ‘Nuff said. This was not how M had planned to spend her Spring Break, but stuff happens. I spent a couple more days feeling like death. I almost never get sick, but when I do it seems like it makes up for it with intensity.

Wednesday I had a second interview with a promising company. It was one of the most bizarre interviews I’ve ever been in, though, and I discovered near the end that the guy didn’t know which position I was there for; he is apparently getting promoted and is also replacing himself, so his strange reaction to me was – I hope – not entirely indicative of my chances for the job I was actually trying to get. Jeez!

Thursday I got the periodontal surgery I was so looking forward to, and I must say, if you have to get periodontal surgery, the new laser procedure is a BIG improvement over the old method. Still… Ow. And the prescriptions that went along with it were not cheap. Fortunately, a couple days later I am feeling pretty good.

After all that you’d think it would be enough, but I got a call from my father on Thursday that a family member died. It was not unexpected, as he had been in a fairly sharp decline, healthwise, for the past year. Personally, I just thought it was a shame because this guy will not be missed. He was a real piece of work, and had royally pissed off or alienated just about everyone he’d ever come into contact with, including his children. He’d left behind a legacy of failed business ventures, broken relationships, money borrowed and not paid back, health issues that were created and/or exacerbated by his own neglect and abuse of his body, and “creative” endeavors that were not met with the appreciation and respect that he made sure everyone knew he thought he deserved. He and I never liked each other but somehow he had it in his head that we did, and that it was my fault that our relationship went sour. I thought for decades that he was delusional.

It seems like a life lesson and a reminder to use this time wisely. Don’t be an asshole. Take responsibility for your own shit. Don’t blame others for your own failings. Appreciate the people in your life who are willing to put up with you and give you second chances. Grow some self –awareness. Grow out of your self-absorption (it stops being attractive in the single digits). Find something worthwhile to spend your time and your energy on, and do it with your best effort. Life is too short to do everything half-assed. Be kind to your body – you’re going to need it longer than you think. And if you are lucky enough to have people in this world who love you, for fuck’s sake, live in such a way that they aren’t relieved to see you go.  That is all.

One Two Three Four Five Six!

Six years ago today, I was in the hospital having surgery. My granola dreams of having a water birth were thwarted by my baby’s insistence on remaining upright. She has been consistently strong-willed ever since.

She was born with a “stork bite” on her nose, upper lip, and back of the neck, but miraculously, these have faded on their own over time. She has been a healthy, happy baby all these years. I am truly blessed.

In the immortal words of Dirty Harry, “A man’s gotta know his limitations.”

I have successfully avoided having hoards of screaming children in my home for the past 5 birthdays, courtesy of my daughter’s amazing preschool, who allowed me to give her parties there.

Now that M is in kindergarten, things are very different. Tomorrow’s birthday party extravaganza will be at our local Jungle Quest! The school has some strict rules (that I am in agreement with) that made it a little more challenging to get the invitations out. Not being able to see a roster, plus the unreliable nature of the information you can glean from a five year old, I don’t know the names of all of the kids we’ve invited. But I managed by hovering just outside the classroom and handing an invitation to each little girl as she exited the school. It broke my heart to see the boys look at me with confusion and sadness that they weren’t included, but at $16 bucks a pop, we could only invite the girls.

It is sad how fallen-by-the-wayside things like RSVPing have become. Just saying.
I am almost as excited as my daughter at the idea of a bunch of little kids zip-lining across the room tomorrow. I will be doing my best to take lots of pictures.

Boogie Night

Besides growing up as the oldest girl in my family, I used to babysit for a long list of families for years, and even worked for an agency when I first moved to Colorado all those years ago. When I am around kids, I kind of fall into a natural troop-leader role without thinking about it too much.

Friday night, my daughter’s elementary school had a fundraiser event called the Black & White Boogie. She and her other kindergarten friends were excited, and planning their outfits was a BIG DEAL. There was to be pizza and soda for sale for dinner, and discounts were offered for advance tickets. Friday night she dressed in her black velvet dress, complemented with costume pearls, white tights, and black Mary Janes.

I’ve got black in my wardrobe in abundance, thank goodness. We drove over to the school – a quick five minute car ride – and walked into the lobby where they had set up a “Will Call” booth. One of M’s classmates was in line right in front of us. It was a good start.

The gymnasium’s stage had been exposed to accommodate a DJ, and the lights had been dimmed, a disco ball and colored beams of light created a pretty decent party atmosphere. The music was late 70s / early 80s stuff – right up my alley – except when they broke out the Electric Slide and similar “group dance” songs, and I stood back to watch in amazement as the entire floor was filled with rows of synchronized children dancing. It was quite a sight. The DJ had made a sincere plea to the kids to not race around and to enjoy themselves in a responsible manner. There were a lot of parents there, but I saw that most of them had a kind of deer in the headlights look about them. Probably flashing back on their own school dance memories. I followed my daughter around at a distance, saw that some of the running kids were knocking down the littler ones, and so now and then I stepped in their path and did my Stern Mom impression and slowed them down a little. I also amused myself by dancing and chatting with the adults as I roamed, and was having a pretty good time.

M was a little overwhelmed by the noise level and the crowd, so about halfway through the two-hour dance we made our way to the cafeteria to claim our 2 slices of lukewarm cheese pizza and tepid diet pepsi. The picnic-style tables were filled with tired looking parents and animated children. The noise level from all the chatter rivaled the dance floor. I love to people watch, and so I entertained myself observing the crowd. I was interested to see how many parents had put little effort into their attire, since “black and white” seemed pretty do-able to me, and noticed the kids who had obviously tried hard to “dress up” with no help from their families. My heart always goes out to those kids. I want to scoop them all up and take them shopping.

On our way back to the gym, M dashed ahead of me as I got stuck behind slower moving traffic. Off to my right, by the drinking fountain, a tussle broke out between a couple of boys. The milling crowd seemed uncertain what to do. I looked over at them and in my best Babysitter Voice, said “uh uh, uh uh, uh uh” and shook my head. Being maybe all of eight or nine, and it not being a serious fight – yet – they broke apart and their audience dispersed. As one of the diminutive combatants passed me in the hall, he looked up at me and in a curious tone said “Who are you?”
I gave him my wolfish raised eyebrow smile and replied “Taller than you, that’s who I am.” He laughed in understanding, and I liked him. I followed the crowd back into the gym.

My daughter danced and hopped around for another hour, until suddenly she turned to me and said “I want to go home.” Poor thing had just petered out. And she sighed the lament of generations of girls at the end of a dance: “my feet hurt!” She had had a great time at her first school dance, and happily we went home.

The Gang in our Hood

We live in a complex of townhouses behind a gate. That makes the street pretty safe for little kids riding bikes. Unfortunately, it has also nurtured the formation of a gang of girls who ride their bikes in a group and their (loud) electric toy cars together while their parents cluster together and gossip. We haven’t seen them all winter, but the returning Spring and the few nice days we’ve had have brought them back out, and unfortunately, they are not nice people. One of the mothers of this tribe lives two doors down, and she’s a queen bee, so they often clump right out front. The fathers are the kind of guys who aren’t that bad individually but as a group they bring out their worst traits. I met them all when we moved in last summer, and quickly recognized their tiered social arrangement. It is very high school, and after I met them I had no use for them, and don’t try to hang out with them but say hi and am friendly when we see each other. Sadly, my daughter very much wants to be included by the girls, and they aren’t having it.

Add to this mix is a little girl who lives across the street who has already been trouble. She lives with her parents (I’ve met them) and yet they don’t seem to have any rules. (The mother told me recently “she doesn’t listen to me like your daughter listens to you.”) They rarely know where she is, but don’t seem to be concerned about it. The little girl has fuzzy ideas about what belongs to her, and has been known to show up at dinner time wanting to know if my daughter can play. I have allowed this child into my home, but I’ve learned the hard way that she needs to be watched, and I particularly don’t like the way she is already sly and dishonest and is only in kindergarten. These kids all go to the same school but fortunately, none of them are in her class.

A couple of days ago, my daughter and I came home from the store and the tiny terrorists were out in front of our building. Immediately, my daughter was desperate to join them on her bike. My heart sank, knowing how this would probably go down, but I helped her put on her helmet and she rode toward them all excited. Not soon after, I heard a blood curdling scream and came out to see what was going on. Of course, all the children were fine, and one of the fathers, in his long baggy shorts, reverse baseball cap and sunglasses, laughs and says “that one is mine,” kind of proudly. I have had this conversation with him before, along the lines of Calling Wolf, and how decidedly uncharming that kind of screaming is, especially from a 7-8 year old girl seeking attention. So this time I just made a joke about duct tape, gave him a look, and went back inside.

The kids had been taking turns driving the motorized cars, and my daughter had finally asked if she could have a turn. The parents must have made them let her, because she did get to drive the car, but when they reluctantly gave her a turn they also decided – enmasse – to abandon the cars and go do something else. Leaving my daughter alone in the street surrounded by bikes and a couple of toddlers too young to leave the adults.

The girl who lives across the street is just as desperate to belong to the gang, and so when my daughter saw her leaving too, she asked her where they were going and the child told my daughter she didn’t want to be her friend any more. In front of everyone.

That night as I was tucking her in bed, she started to cry, telling me about the way the girls had treated her, and she cried for a long time. I held her and soothed her and listened to her cry, and I thought about how hard it is to be on the outside. This was unlike the common give and take bickering that little kids often engage in; I’d heard M and her little friends squabble and reconnect hundreds of times, and this was different. It was mean. I spent plenty of time on the outside as a kid, and I remember how much it hurt to be deliberately snubbed by the popular crowd, and how long it takes sometimes to learn how to negotiate those shark filled waters. I had hoped she would be spared this somehow, but here we are.

I was actually surprised when the doorbell rang last night. M was upstairs in her room when I answered the door. It was the kid from across the street, asking if M could play. I looked at her for a moment. Finally, I said to her calmly “I thought you told M that you didn’t want to be friends anymore?” I just had to hear what she would say. She said she’d had time to feel bad about it at school and had changed her mind. I just gave her a look that said I wasn’t buying it, and said it was too late for playing; it was dinnertime. M came down the stairs just in time to hear this, and she stood on the stairs and seemed satisfied with my answer. The little girl saw her and said bye, and my daughter said bye, and I shut the door.

This has all happened right as I am planning M’s birthday party. I am glad I had already decided to just invite the girls in her class. There are several nice girls that I’d love for M to get to know better. I’ve talked to a couple of their moms and we’ve discussed getting the kids together, but haven’t yet. M has mostly spent time with the kids of my friends when we are out on the weekends and we don’t really have anyone close by. I realize I have to make more of an effort; I’m hoping that her party will help with that.

Happy Friday!

It is Friday, the sun is shining, and things are settling back to normal. My tax returns have hit my bank, so I’ve got a little breathing room. (Funny how being employed only half a year will change your tax status so profoundly.) It doesn’t take a whole lot more than that to make me happy. Oh, and some of the pictures I’ve discovered on my camera:

Documenting home inventory...

A self portrait in watercolor.

Right after seeing a Lady Gaga clip, she came downstairs to show me her version.

I’ve let my daughter use my camera because she is careful with it and because it is interesting to me what she chooses. She’s even started taking videos, and those are cracking me up. When there’s one that is share-worthy, I’ll post it, if I can figure out how.    These made me smile. Happy Friday!

Countdown to Santa Claus

My little angel is manic right now and I am having trouble stringing words together, I’m so distracted. And sleep deprived. Normally, she sleeps late and allows me to do the same, which nicely balances out the weird staying up too late thing I’ve been doing recently, but not since she realized how close to Christmas we are. This morning, just like yesterday, she climbed into my bed to pester me into wakefulness, but I admit I love to cuddle with my baby, always in the back of my mind that soon enough she won’t want to anymore.

Being the pagan that I am, Christmas for us is entirely about the tree, lights, getting together with friends, and lots of fun food. Yesterday we made gingerbread - for making a gingerbread house tomorrow, and also for gingerbread men. We also made dipped chocolates. I loved making dipped chocolates as a child. This year I wanted to make them with M, and she seriously considered what three flavors we would make the centers. She chose raspberry, orange, and peppermint, and we colored them accordingly. She was really pretty good at rolling the fondant into little balls, but of course, lost interest in doing it long before all the balls had been made. That’s the fun of being the Mom. Going to the trouble of planning, arranging, setting up, and creating these projects, so that our kids can engage in something like candy making for a few minutes before wandering off to get into trouble in another part of the house while your hands are covered with chocolate.

The wine bottle got opened early. Outside our window, the snow kept falling all day, the kitchen was warm, the scent of gingerbread and chocolate creating a heady perfume, and Windam Hill was playing on the stereo (what M calls ballet music). She danced around the room in her pink tutu and undershirt for a long time, and then it occurred to her to go outside and play in the snow, in the dark, in her tutu. (She thought to put on a jacket, but didn’t feel she needed pants. Or boots, at first.) By the time was able to trundle her off to bed, we had a kitchen table covered with chocolate candy and cooling gingerbread pieces.

Today we are going over to our friends’ house for more cookie making, then back home to prepare for Santa. M can’t wait to hang her stocking. Tomorrow morning, she has a huge pile of presents to open, but I’m pretty sure I successfully dissuaded her dad from sending her the Zsu Zsu hamsters he thought (not being a real parent) would be a great idea. I have my fingers crossed. Merry Solstice/Christmas/Festivus, everyone!

Brother, Can you spare a tree?

Being unemployed is an interesting experience. The last time I was unemployed for an uncomfortable length of time, it was summer and I had a big landscaping project that took a lot of time and effort. I put in a retaining wall by myself, along with a lot of other things. My mind was occupied, my muscles were tired, and I had something tangible taking shape in front of me. Compared to now, living in a rented townhouse, in the wintertime; I realized again last night how much I miss my garden. I feel so useless right now, and I’m not suited to spending a lot of time watching tv. Sometimes I have moments of real terror and panic as I worry about the future. Despite this, I am trying to keep my concerns to myself at the same time being realistic with my child about some extravagant things we can’t afford.

The holidays are never a good time for me, and although I really love certain aspects of Christmas, overall I dread this season. The last couple of Christmases at my parents’ house, I tried in vain to avoid the Christmas Present Extravaganza that they unleashed on my daughter. My mother never listens to me, but I still tried to make her understand that I didn’t want to instill a materialistic concept of “getting” that heaps of presents would create in her mind. I also knew that as a single parent, I wasn’t going to be able to keep this going and didn’t want to set up unrealistic expectations. My daughter has lots of toys and other things, and her birthday is only 3 months after Christmas. The practice of buying random things just to have an impressive pile of wrapped packages makes me crazy. I wanted to try to make it about fun experiences instead of Stuff, but my mother did what she wanted and Christmas morning the last couple years was unbelievable. Along with the few nice, fun gifts that would have been completely fine, they kept piling on the crap so that she was clearly overwhelmed by the end of the morning, surrounded by piles of stuff that she didn’t even register.

This year, it is just the two of us in our little place, and she won’t be getting piles of stuff, and I tried to prepare her expectations without ruining her anticipation of Christmas. This year she is five, and believes in Santa, and Mommy is unemployed. I’ve tried to keep the conversation generalized, not so much about our own situation, and so we just say that this year, with the economy being so bad, that lots of people are having a more low-key Christmas. I reassured her that Santa will bring her something, and that we will have a Christmas tree.

Most years, no matter how poor I was, I found a way to have a tree, so I am certainly not going to short my daughter when I didn’t deprive myself, and so we set off yesterday to bring one home. I did tell her though, that we might have to go to more than one place because I didn’t want to spend too much money. She is so sweet and perceptive, and I don’t want her feelings to get hurt. I still remember how my little brother would howl if we left a store without buying anything.

I checked online to see where the lots were, although I had seen some cut trees at the grocery store and knew that if it came down to it, we could get one there. Those trees had been leaning there still wrapped up for quite a while though, and I knew what shape they were in. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Plus, the crappy grocery store trees weren’t cheap.

We drove around where I had read that they had a pretty good lot, and it took a while to find it. When we pulled up, we were the only ones there. It was windy and cold outside, and there was a lone woman struggling to tie down a wreath that had blown over. I rolled down my window and asked her what the price range on her trees was. I told her I wanted a little tree, about 4 feet tall. (Even if money were no object, we don’t have a lot of room.) When she came over to the car to talk to me, M piped up from the back seat. “Hi!” she said to the woman, who smiled and said hi back. The woman tells me what a 4 ft tree would cost, and she says she thinks they have a tree in our budget. M announces to her very seriously “We are running low on money.”

I felt a little embarrassed, and I also could tell that the woman probably felt worse than I did. I just laughed a little bit and said to M, that yeah, we were, but it sounded like we’d be able to get a nice tree here. We got out of the car and I couldn’t help but think about how it seemed that we were in an old movie, where I have my kid pretend to be destitute to con the tree seller to give us a good price on a tree. I thought about what we looked like, me with my little blonde haired girl, talking about how we don’t want to spend too much. I’d put what I thought was enough cash in my pocket and we followed her to the trailer to pay. When we went inside the trailer, mostly to get out of the cold, the guys who also worked there were huddled together, and they jumped up a little embarrassed, making room for us. They were young and had genuine smiles, and they looked like they’d been woken up too early on a cold windy day. When the woman told me what the total was with tax, I was short the 28 cents, which I told her as I handed over the bills, intending to walk back to the car for the change. Quickly she said she’d take care of it, and gave M a handful of little candycanes.

The young men cut the end off and wrapped the tree in my tarp, and took my rope and tied the tree to the top of my Rav for me, as I put M in the back seat. They were all very nice to us and wished us a Merry Christmas as we pulled away.

We decorated the tree, with M putting ornaments wherever it suited her, and she was pleased with my ornaments, which have been packed away these past years. She thinks we have a very pretty tree, and danced around happy last night in front of the twinkling lights.

Staying Entertained

My daughter never stops talking. Or singing. In this moment, she informed me, she is Angiella, the movie star. (I’d have said Drama Queen, but she wouldn’t appreciate that.)

We’ve had a (long) interesting week. We haven’t gotten outside nearly as much as I wanted, due to stubborn refusal on her part. I hate to make everything into a fight, so I’ve read and watched movies. I saw Angels & Demons, which I liked. (Tom Hanks had better hair in this one) I explored the free offerings of my tv service. I finished several books. Yesterday, bored out of my skull, we went to Belmar to see a movie in a theater. This isn’t something we do very often, since most of the dreck that passes for children’s movies hardly warrants shelling out $15, and a lot of the kids’ movies have elements that she finds scary.

It was cold yesterday, so I debated whether to head out, but cabin fever won. Belmar is fairly new and one of those modern efforts that I approve of in concept: a walkable outdoor shopping area mixed with housing and other multi-use facilities, so that if you lived in one of the apartments or lofts , you could conceivably do so without needing to drive. Yesterday they had the iceskating rink at capacity, and we watched that as long as we could, but it was really bloody cold for idle spectating. I have yet to happen to be over there when it’s been nice out, as I usually don’t think of heading to “the mall” – even a reimagined one – on a beautiful day. But every time I’ve been there since we moved back, I’ve thought that I really wanted to come back when the weather was nicer and explore.

When we got to the theater, M changed her mind to icecream for her treat, rather than popcorn. The bored, slow-moving young women behind the counter seemed to think our request for service was barely tolerable, but the very fat black one offered to scoop the icecream. Unfortunately, her intentions were not matched by skill or savvy. She struggled to fill a scoop with what I could see was properly softened ice cream. The problem was that she thought she should get it all in one pass, so she mashed a blob of the pink peppermint glop for a few minutes before she managed to get an enormous ball of it into the small paper cup, creating an over-flowing, messy and unwieldy arrangement that she proudly thrust at us across the counter. I find it painful to watch someone go through something like this, especially as I've worked in food service and so many things are going through my mind, like the pathetic lack of training any of these jobs offer.  As the movie was due to begin, I didn’t want to take up a lot of time trying to get a more appropriate serving, which I suspected would be difficult and quite possibly futile. So I grabbed a big handful of paper napkins, wrapped the mess in some of them and kept the rest for cleanup, and we headed for the hallway to find our theater.

We found good seats, and I was glad to see that we’d gotten in early enough that the lights were still on, and yet missed the advertising portion of the pre-movie blitz, and only had to endure the (incredibly loud) previews. I got M settled with her dripping disaster, and we watched Fantastic Mr. Fox. Not being familiar with the book, I was a little surprised by the style of the film – stop-motion animation – and was rather distracted by it. I also didn’t really like the story very much. I found it interesting that George Clooney – whom normally I would watch/listen to with great enjoyment – seemed to be doing a parody of himself. Meryl Streep seemed to be wasted in her role. So I spent the movie trying to contain the icecream mess and comforting M during the few “scary parts.”

Afterward we both really wanted to walk around Belmar, and I seriously thought about how nice it would be to sit in the sun at one of the little restaurant outdoor patios, but it was just too cold, and we wimped out and headed back to the car.   Of course, today was much warmer, so we walked in the greenbelt.    Tomorrow is a school day. Yay!

I'm going to need naps...

I'm not a Martha Stewart-style mom.  I don't plan ahead lots of educational, creative, and labor intensive activities for my child.  I don't spend hours scouring catalogs and websites for handcrafted wooden retro toys or elaborate million-pieced kits we can assemble together.  I never bought one single Baby Einstein CD.

I read to my daughter.  I take her walking and hiking with me.  I take her on vacations with me.  We cook together.  I buy the good crayons, a variety of papers to work with, and her watercolor paints are the real deal.  Basically, I include her in the stuff I like to do.  When it comes to play - real Fischer-Price kind of play - I provide her the stuff and the space and then she's kind of on her own.
It bores me silly to sit on the floor and be "directed" by a young kid, told what to say, and what I'm supposed to do with the toys.  She has been in daycare and preschool and now kindergarten, all her life, surrounded and supported by the best, most enthusiastic and warm, caring, involved caregivers I could find.  Because I not only know what I'm not great at, I also know that I don't have to personally provide everything she needs, even if it is my responsibility to coordinate it.

Our school district is taking this coming week off.  We are going to be together 24/7 until the 30th.  I am already tired just thinking about it.  I really, really hope the weather is mild, because I am going to need to get out of the house a lot.  There are a few places I would like to explore.  I don't like crowds and I am adverse to being bombarded with Christmas music and over the top decorations, so shopping will be minimal, and there's nothing we really need.
I would love to haunt the museums and galleries, but with the whole district off, I'm sure these will be crowded. 

It will be great to shut off the alarm for a week.  Neither of us is good in the morning, and I won't miss peeling the mattress off her back.  But the Daily Show is also taking the week off, and I can't help but feel rather abandoned.  My needs are simple and few; is it so wrong to expect a little backup?

And what a week it was...!

Wow; what a week! M had such a good time, and I really enjoyed watching her have so much fun. I’m a little worn out, though. My capacity for crowds and strangers was kind of stretched.
Wednesday we woke up to a major snowstorm, and the early school cancelation call (at 5:30 am) made me so tired for the rest of that day. I realize they need to get the word out, but that early? Really? But that meant I didn’t have to peel the mattress off of M’s back that morning, even if going back to sleep myself didn’t happen. Instead, once she woke up and digested the news that she was staying home, she was eager to do her best imitation of an REI or LLBean product tester! We got her kitted out in her snow pants, new boots, turtleneck, fleece, and mittens, and then she was outside merrily playing in the falling snow. The snow continued into Thursday, and so M got 2 snow days. She was out playing in it as much as she could, despite the temps in the 20s.

Colorado means the weather can – and does – change dramatically and without warning, and by Friday the sun was back out and the snow began to melt from the roads and sidewalks. She had a party at school, which I got to attend, and it began with the kids having a parade through the school to show off their costumes, followed by a party in their classroom. A lot of effort went into it, and it was nice to see.

That evening we went to a party at my friend A’s house, and had a good time. Although their daughter was not there, another little girl showed up, and so I got to stay longer than I had thought. That was fun – I enjoyed talking to the smart, funny women that tend to collect at A’s home. I wish I still lived close by, but am glad I’m still on their invitation list.

Saturday was Halloween, so we answered the door to some trick or treaters before going out ourselves. This is one of those “sucks to be a single parent” moments – trying to be supremely organized so that we were both in our costumes and ready by sunset, answer the door and participate in the neighborhood fun, and still be able to go out trick or treating.

Oh, and then drive over to K’s house so that we could then drive to another party, where M and her son got to go out and trick or treat some more. M was in heaven. I was in someone’s home faced with a roomful of people I don’t know – not my favorite thing. But they were nice, the food was great, and at last it was time to go. Except that now K needed a ride downtown as someone else cancelled on her, so we agreed that I’d drop her and take both kidlets back to my place for a sleepover. By the time we ended back at Casa Mountain, both kids were asleep in the car and could barely climb the stairs to M’s room. It took about 4 seconds to get them into bed.

Sunday morning was nice; I was up before the kids, made some coffee and had a quiet moment before they woke up, and then they cooperatively chose a movie to watch while I made breakfast and baked a coffee cake for the Bronco party. I was so pleased that they were being so good and getting along! By the time we showed up at Bronco Central, I was already “done,” but hung out mainlining coffee until the end of the game (which ended badly, btw). M was mad at me that we left before she was ready to go, but the Bronco party was more heavily attended than usual, it was hot and I was wearing a sweater (it was sunny and warm outside) and I was exhausted. When I saw that one of the little boys had tracked in dog shit, I’d reached my limit and knew it was time to go.

I still need to take down some decorations, but the time change always kicks my butt a little bit. That outdated ritual – which I think it’s high time we abandoned – seems to signal the beginning of the Holiday Season. Already there are Christmas ads beginning to appear. Good grief! One holiday at a time, people! I have to get through Thanksgiving first.

"Mom?"

I adore my daughter. She is the light of my life. I couldn’t be happier to be her mom.
She’s driving me out of my mind with one thing since we moved into this townhouse at the end of July. She won’t stop trying to have a conversation from upstairs when I’m downstairs. Ignoring her does nothing; she just keeps yelling. We are not yellers. I do not yell. I keep repeating to her that if she wants to talk to me, then come downstairs where I am and then attempt to carry on a discussion. But no.
I may be in the kitchen with water running. I may be standing next to the washing machine. The furnace may have just kicked in, and so while I hear her urgently vocalizing something, the content of the message is lost. Besides, it is fucking annoying. And it is usually something of tremendous import: “Mom, how do you spell –“ “Mom, do you want to see the string on this toy?” “Mom, where is my sock?”
M, I say, if you have something to say to me, come downstairs. I can not hear you when I am not in the room. Stop yelling at me.

In one ear and out the other.

And with the snow we have had for two days straight, she is bouncing off the walls a little bit, although she’s been out in it playing. I wanted to go walking in the greenbelt in all this snow, but the wind has been constant. I hate wind.

Ack! There she goes again! “Mom?”

School Begins!

I am not the typical parent of a new Kindergartener. (While my kid was in preschool, I had ample opportunity to scope out the parents of the other kids, and I definitely look like my kid’s grandma.) *sigh*
I also don’t have previous experience with the whole “back to school” thing – except my own, which doesn’t count. So cut to me standing in the store on Friday afternoon with my list in hand, finally buying the School Supplies. I actually got chastised by the pharmacist at Target when I asked where the hand sanitizer was being hidden. Yeah, I know I waited til the last minute. Thanks! And yes, the hand sanitizer stock had been seriously depleted. Who knew?
Back in the dawn of time, when I was a Kindergartener, our “school supplies” consisted of bringing in an old button down shirt of our dad’s for wearing (backwards) during painting time. I was mildly shocked to see that I was being required to provide (exact duplication of list):

2 bottles Elmer’s white all-purpose glue (4 oz. – not school glue)
10 glue sticks
2 boxes crayons (24 ct. regular – not fat size)
1 box Kleenex
10 #2 yellow pencils (sharpened – not fat)
1 backpack
1 box magic markers – broad tip
1 container baby wipes
1 container hand sanitizer
3 Pee-chee folders (horizontal pockets) (Label with name)
1 pair Fiskar scissors – students size
Boys: 1 box gallon size plastic bags
Girls: 1 box quart size plastic bags
2 glue sticks (Art)

I have some issues with this list. For instance, since all the supplies except the backpack and the folders went into the collective bins, why are the “art” glue sticks separately listed? I had no idea pencils now came optionally pre-sharpened. What IS the difference between regular white glue and “school glue”? And what I really need an answer to, is what is up with the difference in the size of the plastic bags for boys and girls? This has just made my imagination run wild.

Nevertheless, I dutifully filled my paper grocery bag (full) of the listed items, and showed up as directed with my child and my bag to the Open House on Friday night. There we met her teacher and were given a pink sheet of paper with cute instructions as to where we were to put the stuff. Each couple of items had a little nursery rhyme describing a different area of the classroom so that the kids could get an idea of what everything was. It was kind of fun for M and I to find each area and for her to put something from our bag into the different bins.
I noticed, however, that there were other families that were having various reactions to the instructions. A few showed up without supplies (y’know, you’re supposed to READ all those handouts they give you). Some must have thought this was going to be a big social thing, and brought the Whole Fam Damnly, causing Grandma and Grandpa to have to keep moving out of the doorway. The room isn’t THAT big, people! But the ones who really tugged at my heartstrings was the one group I observed who were really struggling with the list and the instructions. It was an extended family group, and they all spoke English, but with a decided lack of familiarity with some of the things or the names of the things on the list. So with each part of the instructions, they had a little conference about what should go where. The baby wipes and hand sanitizer really tripped them up.
Her teacher is like a movie version of a Kindergarten teacher; young, pretty, still enthusiastic and upbeat. I love it. We got up this morning and M had a little anxiety about her wardrobe choice, so she switched, and I successfully did NOT tell her what to wear, except I strongly suggested socks with her shoes. She was too excited to eat much. We showed up with plenty of time to spare, she got in line with her backpack and received her name badge, and stood there grinning until the bell rang and they filed in. I am so proud of her.


UPDATE: I found out what the different size bags are all about, and I confess I'm disappointed. I cornered M's teacher this morning (nicely, of course) and told her I needed to know. She said that "they need to have a supply of different sizes and dividing them up that way ensures that they get enough of each size." Hmph. I was hoping for something more inventive...

Keep the checkbook out

One of my favorite quotes from a Clint Eastwood film is “a man’s gotta know his limitations.” Never more than in these past few weeks has this lesson come home for me. I thought it would be nice to let M stay home this summer while we went through our Big Move. It sounded good on paper...

We had our Beach Vacation, during which she was really sick.

We had our Yosemite camping trip, during which we had to endure my parents imposing their opinions and preferences on to EVERYTHING we did.

We had the three weeks of being “stuff-less” and living basically out of a suitcase and sleeping on an airbed. (I don’t recommend it.)

And then my class started, and I was trying to find stuff in boxes, unpack our things, remember where I put something, get the installations scheduled and completed, and also get her registered for kindergarten, establish us in our new place, and keep her entertained while at the same time contemplate things like differential thresholds.

I think I hit my personal wall. So, two weeks before kindergarten starts, I got her into SAE, or School Age Enrichment, otherwise known as daycare for school age kids. I had to pay not only the school year enrollment fee, but also the summer enrollment fee, even though there are technically only five days of the summer program left before it switches over to the school year program, as well as the weekly cost. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Today she woke up excited and eager to go, and we arrived at her new school with her Water Day tote bag and her lunchbox in tow. We walked into the cafeteria to a sea of little kids in matching tee shirts for their excursion. Within minutes, M was also wearing one of the shirts, sitting crosslegged on the floor with a bunch of little girls, telling them about herself.

The fact that the program is onsite at the elementary school is a big deal to me. It is literally 3 minutes from our home. In California, I was driving 19 miles one way to daycare, then another 15 miles to work, which took about an hour in the morning and about an hour and a half in the afternoon. On the freeway. 66 miles a day, everyday, day after day, and it really wore me down. One of the most attractive things about being here is the way that the Denver Metro Area is laid out. The transportation situation is night and day.
Anyway, she waved goodbye to me this morning and I came back to a quiet townhouse, ready to tackle the reading and writing I have to do this week. I am so grateful that I had the opportunity to save some money so that I can do this. I already feel the pressure lifting off of my shoulders.

Dinner Downtown

Last night, M and I had the pleasure of meeting and having dinner with Frank! He brought his friend Brian, who was also a good sport. It was fun to meet and talk to Frank, and I enjoyed our dinner.

My little angel was seriously sleep deprived and antsy during the entire evening. When we had (another) thunderstorm with hail yesterday afternoon, which prevented her from napping, I was concerned about how she would deal with a new place, strangers, and being up late... but I didn’t want to cancel on Frank, and I was really looking forward to an adult dinner with other adults. (Thank you, Frank, for being so gracious and nice)

It made me acutely aware, however, of how intense the past few weeks have been with M and me. For most of the time we’ve been here, we’ve been spending all of our time in each other’s (and ONLY each other’s) company. And under rather strenuous circumstances, too: no real bed, no furniture, new place, no routine, lots of chaos, etc.) She’s been really pretty good about the whole thing, but I have not done as well.

Last night, I was a little embarrassed at myself for being so bad at multi-tasking. I really usually pay better attention to my child, and yet I was so hungry to talk to another grownup and do something like I used to do before the nightmare of the last four years happened, that I know I was essentially ignoring her. And I felt bad about that. She was behaving like a typical five year old, tapping, talking nonstop, whining, etc., which is funny, because she is normally doesn’t do that, and I wasn’t missing the irony.
After the dinner, she and I walked along the 16th Street Mall for a little while, and she was delighted with the sights and sounds. We rode the shuttle for a few blocks because she really wanted to, and she talked to the weird guy on the shuttle without hesitation, which made him smile, and she tipped her head back and stared up at the tall buildings and declared that they were “a hundred miles up.” On the way home in the car, she looked out at all the twinkly lights and sighed and said “just like Paris!” (which I believe is her highest compliment, notwithstanding neither of us has ever been)
I really love my kid, and sometimes I feel a little sorry for her that I’m her mom and she’s stuck with me. But school will start in a few more weeks and then she’ll get to be around kids again and things will be better. For both of us.

This, too, is part of the process

A week and a half to go at work, and I can NOT climb out of this pit of despair! god, what a drama queen I sound like – but between the lack of sleep, the extra add-ons they keep giving me at work, the really terrible class I’m taking, and my special little girl morphing into Devil Child, I’m done. Put a fork in me.

I’ve always had vivid, detailed, intense dreams. Thank you, fucked up childhood! When stressed, my dreams are like ghosts rising out of their graves. All of the characters from my past come pay me a visit. I really could do without some of them. Last night, I woke up in the middle of the night and got out of bed and walked around a little, restless. The moon is at half full right now and cast light through the windows. I was in one of those places where I really wanted to have a good cry, but I held back because:
I’m not a pretty crier. I get all puffy and blotchy.
It freaks out M and that isn’t fair to her
Then I’d really not get any sleep
Living with my parents. Weird enough already, thanks.

Yes, I KNOW it is almost over. I KNOW this isn’t that big of a deal. But y’know what? Sometimes I feel like I’ve been enduring things my whole life. I know that what I need is to get away from this house, this town, and this job, and let the dust settle, regroup, and spend some time not crazed with whatIhavetodonext, I know that.
But if I have another night like last night, it’s really going to suck.

M was too little to remember Colorado, and only knows what she’s been told. She knows she was born there, she has been there for visits, but – and this is completely normal – she is vacillating between being excited about the move and being freaked out about it. One of the labs I used to have would know immediately if I were going anywhere for any length of time. She was psychic that way (the other one was completely oblivious. It was hilarious) This dog would find the first opportunity to bolt out the front door and go sit in the car. It didn’t matter if I was an hour from leaving, she’d sit in the car, so clearly saying “look, you are taking me with you, so don’t even try to talk me out of it.” M is doing a lot of that too, coupled with her innate aversion to waking up in the morning, and her discomfort with the disruption of her routine to see boxes piling up in our room. She’s been throwing temper tantrums almost daily. She’s not that kid, so it is rough. I get it, I really do, so I try to be calm, understanding, and underreact. But damn, Mommy’s tired and out of sorts, too, and I really, really don’t like being yelled at.

I want to stamp my foot and plop myself down on the floor in a huff too, and say “I don’t WANT to! This is STUPID!” And cross my arms across my chest and make my best mad face.

I won’t do it, but I’m doing it in my head.

Three Weeks

It is now 3 weeks until my planned last day on the job. After that, my daughter and I are going on a well-deserved and long awaited weeklong vacation to Capitola, California. She’s been there before and is really looking forward to it. I have a long history with Capitola and it has a special place in my heart. Since when I was a teenager and first started going to the beach without my parents, this is where I have gone to relax, have fun, and step away from whatever is going on in my life. Before the next phase of my life begins, I need a week of bliss with my little girl, playing in the water, on the sand, walking, eating icecream, and listening to the ocean. There are lots of little shops that we stroll through and poke around in. Last year, I bought myself a lovely sarong to tie around my waist over my swimsuit, and a big wide brimmed hat, and we walked around like ladies of leisure.

The area around it has much swankier (more expensive) surrounding towns like Monterey and Pacific Grove, and more well-known destinations like Santa Cruz, but I have always been attracted to the quaintness of Capitola and it’s unpretentious style. It took a hit in the 1989 earthquake, but aside from losing one of my favorite restaurants, it recovered nicely. I am looking forward to going to Zelda’s and drinking Bloody Marys and eating shrimp and calamari with M on their patio on the beach.
(ok, M doesn’t get a Bloody Mary, and we walk everywhere – no car!)

Can’t wait!

A snapshot of my Glamorous Life

The purpose of this blog was to document my adventurous move from the “rugged hills” of Northern California’s Sacramento area, back to the suburbs of Colorado’s Denver Metro Area. (Sometimes a reality check is a good thing) You know, because it all looks so different in retrospect...


Today is one of those days that I’m SURE will be funnier LATER.

M was hard to wake up this morning (as usual) but then was lethargic and “cold” and kind of whiny, and she usually isn’t like that. Still, I offered 3 times to let her stay home with Grandma and she declined. (yeah, kid; it doesn’t sound good to me, either!) So, off we go down the hill, and in the rearview mirror she looks bad. To cheer her up a little bit, hoping she’s just tired, I get her a Kid’s Hot Chocolate from Starbucks, but she doesn’t drink it. UH OH! A few blocks later, she says “I feel pukey” and I pulled over just in time to watch her barf all over herself. The orange color was a little strange... hmmm, what did she eat last night?

I cleaned her up as well as I could with baby wipes and turned the car around. Left a message with my boss’s voicemail that I wouldn’t be in, and drove all the way back. My boss is pretty cool, but our “HR” bitch is a venomous cobra who makes our lives miserable, and I can just imagine her reaction and the grief she’s given my boss. I was out two days last week for my OWN illness (which I am just barely getting over) and this will likely send her over the edge.

But I’m out of there in 6 1/2 weeks! And they know it. My boss says she’s been repeatedly pestered about “when is she going to turn in her notice?!” Um, when I have to. In 4 1/2 weeks. The only reasons I let people know that I was leaving already is that they have been making “workforce reductions” and I don’t want someone else to get fired (as I am pretty senior in my assignment) who doesn’t need to be. Plus I really like my boss and I’ve told her from day one that I was going to graduate and then split. I try to be honest and fair with people whenever I can, as long as they aren’t going to use the information to fuck me over. I can’t WAIT to kiss that place goodbye.

M is back in bed, napping now. She’ll wake up all chipper, no doubt, while I am dragging my ass and still need to run a load of laundry of her barfed-in clothes. I got a chance to catch up on my browsing of the Internets, though. That was nice.

Never do anything the easy way

April was my last LAST literature class! Last week I had a shitload of work to finish, a four-hour timed test to take, and a paper to write. I planned ahead and arranged to take Friday and Monday off. (Thank goodness for “diversity days!”) Then I started feeling kind of sick. We’ve been suffering from allergies for weeks, as the pollen around here has been fierce, so at first I wasn’t really sure whether it was just the allergies getting worse, or a real virus. All I knew for sure is that I felt like hell.

Friday I woke up hurting, but as I’d organized my schedule and felt like I could pace myself, I thought I’d be okay.

At noon, I got a call from M’s daycare. M felt “puky” and I had to go pick her up. Of course it was pouring rain. When I got there she informed me she felt better. It is a half hour drive to her daycare one way, so she was coming home with me anyway. I felt horrible.

By the time we got home, she felt energetic and I felt like death. I decided to postpone the test until Saturday and kept working on my assignments.

Saturday: more rain, I felt terrible, M felt fine, and I had a test to take. The test was gruesome, but I finished it at 3:45 and then collapsed on the couch and watched tv until bedtime.

Sunday: more rain, I felt terrible, M felt fine, but bored and kind of cranky. I finished my paper at 8pm. Then I couldn’t fall asleep until after 11.

This morning we slept in until 7:45 (whoo hoo!) and then we stopped at Starbucks and had a little something. M loves their “kid’s hot chocolate” and was very happy.

I am going to catch up with all the laundry, cleaning, and grocery shopping I need to do, and maybe get a long nap if I’m really lucky.
No class in May!

Tea for two

I am extremely fortunate. I am reminded of this often.

I only have the one ex-husband, and having been put “off” marriage by that special experience, my sweet baby is technically what is charmingly referred to as a bastard. I owe such a tremendous debt of gratitude to every single soul who went before me who worked for social change so that I could live the life I do. I am in awe of the sacrifices that others have had to make so I haven’t.

My sweet girl has a daddy. We all used to live in the same house, and he changed diapers and all that. These days, we are on opposite coasts, but he’s in touch. My baby talks to her dad on the webcam once a week. For now, that is plenty. She has male relatives and friends, and so at this point, she is pretty well rounded. I make sure she gets to hang with our friend S as often as we can, not just because I like him so much and we have fun, but because he is a wonderful example of a man for my girl to be around.

I don’t have custody battles or fights over money. That is huge. Absolutely huge. And I know it. I support us and am fine with that role. I am not looking to change that. I am giddy with the prospect of living just the two of us in a few months.

I talk to several women friends about the traumas they have with their ex-husbands over their kids and I read several blogs that share similar stuff and I feel so very lucky that it worked out for me the way it did.

Once upon a time, I dreamed of having a nice, traditional family, but the universe saw fit to not only deny me a decent childhood, but hold that particular cookie out of my reach as an adult, too. And now that I have my daughter, and we are so happy, I can’t help but think I’m okay with it. You just never know what you’re going to get. What we’ve got is fine.