either way it’s ok, you wake up with yourself

I wrote this post about my brother’s well-loved teddy bear in May 2005. That thing has traveled with the kid to every state he’s ever lived in and is still propped up in a corner or a closet in his house. Dude is in his 40s and not ashamed to be rocking that stuffy, which has been with him through some tough times.

If you read the comments on that post, Jon commiserates, saying he’s got just as well-snuggled a bear of his own. Nearly six months after writing that, he put that bear in a suitcase and boarded a plane from LAX to MDW to meet me in person for the first time. We needed to find out if there was anything *there* there. 

He came off the plane at 1:10 am in his jeans and Mr. T Experience sweatshirt (which he still has)—I can’t remember if it already had the remnants of a sticker that had gotten through the washer and dryer or if that happened after we had been out at a concert together. Some of the details are fuzzy now. I do remember I had agonized over what to wear and finally put on what I hoped would be a flattering, “put together” outfit: black turtleneck (which is still somewhere in our closet, too) fitted/flared work trousers and high-heeled boots. It was an unseasonably warm night in early November. 

Things were awkward at our first stop: The all-night Omega diner, where he ordered a Reuben sandwich and I had a bowl of chicken with wild rice soup. There was stilted smalltalk with a lot of shy silence that I rushed to fill with gibberish. He made little move to reciprocate. Where was the chatty guy I had gotten to know over a million hours on the phone? This was a REAL bummer. 

I dropped him off at his hotel and went home to wallow in disappointment. In the morning I called cc in tears because I hadn’t felt even a twinge of the Zeus-strength bolt I assumed would blast between us the first time I looked into his eyes. I was crushed.

CC gave me a pep talk and I went to pick him up. Ok, so maybe no spark. Oh well, he came all the way out here. The least I could do was show him why Chicago is the best city in the world. First stop? Portillo’s for a Chicago-style hot dog. 

Obviously now I clearly see what’s between us was never going to be an instantaneous, explosive chemical reaction. What in the Hallmark Channel had I expected? In the only photo I’d seen of the guy before then, he had a dozen mini doughnuts stuffed into his mouth. I had studied it and declared to Ale that, yes, he is most definitely cute, and his hair looks like it’s really soft, too. By the time he bought those tickets, I was half in the bag and just looking  for confirmation that there was chemistry to back it up.

This thing started with a tiny ember and steadily picked up kindling as we spent the weekend making jokes, sharing random anecdotes and marveling at how two people who seem so very different could be aligned on so many random topics. We drove around the city, waited in line, looked out over the skyline from the top of the Sears Tower. And, like one of those long-lasting fireplace logs that sits there looking forlorn while you impatiently press it with a flame and pray it catches, a pleasant glow verrrrrry sllllloooooowly started somewhere out of sight and began to take over. By the end of the weekend, it felt like this slow burn might be strong enough to last for much longer than we ever expected. Jon became my H, even though none of you had any idea it was happening at the time.

When I went to drop him off at his room, I caught sight of a small, beige, stubby, nubbly sort of thing. There is a very specific texture a once-fuzzy and floofy stuffed animal takes on after decades of being squeezed and slept on: His bear. I’d recognize something so beloved anywhere. It was surprising he’d let me see it the first time we met, but I had a feeling he’d known I would understand. 

We’ve been together almost two decades since then. Now we live down the road from that Portillo’s I first took him to, but these days he orders a cheeseburger, no lettuce and cheese fries. And we’re not terribly far from the Omega diner (now under new management and certainly no longer open all night, but I’m guessing the menu hasn’t changed very much).

The bear, Ted, is safe in this house somewhere, and not getting many snuggles, the poor neglected thing. These days there’s no space for him. Two rambunctious littles who inherited their father’s very soft hair compete for space in H’s arms instead. And when I’m lucky I can find a safe space in them, too.

#NaBlPoMo

“My Life” Billy Joel

a footnote in someone else's happiness

I shouldn’t have waited until Day 6 to say something to you, the two people I imagine might meander over here to read what I have to say from time to time. I owe you both an apology. 

That last post that was hanging around here since June 2020 for three-point-four years was "vagueBooking" at best. And the ensuing sustained silence may have insinuated that my brother was clawing his way through a serious medical swamp...from which he might not have emerged. 

He was. But he got out. 

I'm so sorry I didn't come back and tell you that he was ok. He is ok. 

That year—2020—was hell for a lot of people. And nobody who knew what was going on will ever be the same after having lived through it. Collective trauma and all that. 

For us, the stakes felt higher. Many people in my life took this approach: “Well we have to live our lives!” Or “sure but what’s the cost to our mental health?” It was especially surprising coming from the pastor who lived next door, but who knows what kind of stuff he was having to counsel people about.

Those are valid points! That said, all those folks had the luxury of assuming that Covid-19 would be a miserable experience, but they (and their loved ones) would likely come through it to the other side with their lives. Mental health is important, to be sure, but if your body doesn't make it, neither does your mind. 

We suspected that Covid would likely put my brother in the ground and didn’t want to take the chance, especially because my mom and I were his lifeline to the outside world. It felt as though every person I knew who was bitching about having to wear a mask didn’t actually give a shit about his life. Or what losing him might to do to mine, frankly. Eh, he has a pre-existing condition. What can you do? Those people are expendable, right? Certainly not worth being *uncomfortable* for more than a few months to try and protect. It's not like losing one of them could destroy a family or anything. And even if it would, that's somebody else's family and somebody else's problem. So all of us locked down harder than anyone else we knew.

Then we got smacked with something no one was ready for: That post I left you hanging on for three years? It had nothing to do with Covid. It was about a headache that turned out to be a brain bleed. 

The kid had to have a hole drilled into his skull so that the excess blood could be released and stop exerting pressure on his brain. Thank goodness it worked and he was ok.

We doubled down on our Covid-aversion measures. If we went anywhere at all it would be while re-breathing our own wet carbon dioxide, the mask digging into our cheeks and cutting into the backs of our ears. The alternative…the sheer idea of dropping the ball and letting something happen to him…just the possibility kept me up at night, even more so after this horrible virus sent my mother’s beloved sister--her person--to heaven far too early. And these kids? These amazing little imps were the only ones in their classes who stayed home then wore masks all day long for nearly THREE school years.   

Despite everything we did, in fall 2021 my brother stepped out to celebrate a close friend’s Very Important Day and BAM, it happened. He got Covid. And we had been right. It very nearly did kill him. 

I’m the one who had to call 911. To sit next to him for days in the overflowing ER when they couldn’t get a bed on a unit and bemoan the fact that the stubborn goat never signed a Power of Attorney so I couldn’t get him transferred to the hospital that actually knew five or three things about his complex medical history--and they were holding a bed for the guy. I had to relay all sorts of tenuous and terrifying information to my parents, going out of their minds at home; and to my husband, managing a fulltime job and two very small children (one of whom was still in diapers) at our house. Once my brother got a bed, my mother was at his side for the worst of it. And it was very bad. He was on the brink. The pandemic wasn’t anywhere near over for us. If I'm being very honest? It may never be over for us.

Somehow, he got through it. I’d be lying if I said he was ever going to be the same again (another myth about Covid—not everyone recovers 100%). I wish I could tell you some of the truly scary bits. But my brother doesn’t want me telling people his business. I’ve probably already said too much.

This is where I struggle: Yes. This happened to my brother, not me. His very supportive college roommates who live in different states, his revered colleagues and close high school buddies—who most decidedly are NOT receiving an average of 12 phone calls at any time of the day or night just to say whatcha doin' NOR are they dropping their spouses, children, work, obligations at a moment’s notice to sprint out the door because the call is coming from an emergency room—they are quick and loud to affirm: Yes! It’s HIS life. It’s HIS story! And if my brother doesn’t want anyone to know his business, then I need to respect that and keep my damn mouth shut.

I get it. I really do. He can't control anything about his health. So he keeps an iron fist around the information.

But…how am I supposed to continue being his emotional support animal on a need-to-know/need-to-tell basis? How am I supposed to jump off a conference call to answer the phone only to discover he’s bored or saw a funny meme or has a taste for Taco Bell or is craving Lemon Lime-flavored New York Seltzer brand soda we used to drink in the '90s that is no longer sold here or has a knot in his back or thinks he may be dying and doesn’t want to die or is tired of fighting and needs a pep talk…How am I supposed to manage that, while also trying to explain to everyone else in my life who has expectations of me that no, I'm not that lazy or scatterbrained, I'm just really tired and that pesky attention deficit disorder is probably to blame; no, melatonin does not work with my anxiety; I HAVE tried to meal plan--believe me--it fails when you can't follow through this evening, let alone know what might happen by the end of the week; I try to make sure the fridge is stocked and the undies are clean and the library books get returned and the kids' homework gets done and birthday party gifts are bought and the appointments are scheduled so at least my husband doesn't have to worry about those things, too...and I'm constantly failing...There's dishes in the sink and clutter piled on every flat surface in this house. How am I supposed to make anyone outside these walls understand when it's not my story to tell? This is not a week or a season. This is my actual life. And nobody gets it.

So I didn’t post at all. Because it isn't about me. It never has been.

What I can say is that I haven’t known any different since I was four years old. The guillotine that he could be snatched away has been over our heads since 1982, ready to drop with no notice. Every goodbye, every opportunity to give him something he wanted, every disagreement carried a silent “but what if this was the last…? Will you be able to live with yourself if THIS was the last…? It was hard for a kid to understand. I did grasp the severity of the situation, so I tried not to make a fuss. And especially now that I’m a parent myself, I don’t blame my folks for a single decision they made; they did and continue to do their very best, an amazing job considering what they have. Which is uncertainty and prayer.

I’m 45 years old. I have two exponentially rapidly growing small children who know that sometimes Mommy is gone for a long time without completely understanding why. This might go on for another decade and then I’ll have exponentially rapidly maturing teenagers who will leave this house and hopefully remember to call me on my birthday. Or it could all be over tomorrow. Then my exponentially rapidly growing kids might not look up from their devices long enough to see that I’m tangled up and lost in my guilt about what I could have done. They're accustomed to me going missing for stretches at a time. 

My friends understand that I sometimes can’t attend events because I need to be elsewhere. They agree, it isn't my story to tell. I really should be more respectful of my brother's privacy, for goodness' sakes, look at all he's going through. The ones close enough to see my actual life know that mentioning it to him will result in unfortunate repercussions for me. Those friends hear more of the story. And H. That man. He is the only one who understands what it feels like to try and, how does he put it? Sprint a marathon. And he's the one left holding the bag and keeping this chaotic ship afloat, solo, more times than is fair. Sure, he had an idea of what he was signing up for. By no means did that make it any easier.

Three years. I should have come back and told both of you dear readers that he was ok. Forgive me. Blame it on my ADD. For what it's worth, there were way too many details that needed to be redacted.

#NaBloPoMo

“Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown on a Bad Bet” Fall Out Boy 

as long as I’ve got my suit & tie imma leave it all on the floor tonight

Both H and I work from home fulltime these days…and just as I predicted back in 2005, we are often in our pajamas (7/10 times mine includes barcrawl t-shirts from the late ‘90s-early ‘00s). 

Sometimes I go out to the bus stop to pick up the children without bothering to change hoping none of the other parents are astute enough to see the year and do the math. For some reason they seem to think we are younger than we are, and I’d hate to spoil that illusion.

I did take great pleasure, however, in perusing the tie section when we went to buy H a new suit last month for cool cat’s wedding. He looked very dapper. Too bad that’s the last wedding I foresee attending for a long while.  

Even back in March 2005 I suspected I wasn’t going to get to pick out too many ties after I got married.

“no, this is in the big huge room where everyone sits and the cubicles only come up to the waist, so we're all together. later, when i'm at the satellite office fearing for my life, i am all alone. 

today, chatty was in his element. he somehow landed an important project and you could see how excited he was; it was like a little kid with his gameboy. 

he was irritating me today because he was second-guessing his superiors, who are clearly superior for a reason. 

but i liked his shirt. (well at least the back of it, anyway) a man in a shirt and tie gets me every time. and you know i'm going to end up with someone who works from home in his pajamas. christmas shopping is so much more fun if you get to pick out a couple of ties. what a tragedy. 

whoa, i'm getting way ahead of myself here.”

3/23/2005 1:17 AM

Chatty worked on reports for the next few years and like me, probably found himself doing something completely different when the dungeon industry imploded. I wonder if he gets to work from home in his pajamas, now, too.

#NaBloPoMo

“Suit & Tie (feat. JAY-Z)” Justin Timberlake

i'm gonna find you, and take it slowly

The dungeon is being turned into a casino. I wish I were making that up.

I've tried posting about this many times in the two years since the news first broke, but I couldn't bring myself to write the words. Construction is now set to start early next year. Maybe that's why it finally feels like it might actually happen.

That place was the beginning of so much, and I had absolutely no idea. I was busy whining about problems with parking and missing my friends while trapped there until the wee hours, night after night. Meanwhile up in the stratosphere, the universe was conspiring with the Interwebs to bump me into H. Eighteen years later, I wouldn't trade the life we've built together for anything in the world.

So many things have changed since 2005. I've had a dozen jobs, two careers and four homes since I last sat in that windowless cinderblock room at a 1980s metal desk with a classic "icon" telephone as my only lifeline to the outside. I've created countless works of art in that time, too. It's no surprise that the trickiest, most laborious projects--obviously, the children--give me joy beyond measure and pride that will bring me to tears if I spend too much time thinking about how wondrous they are and what a miracle it is that they even came to be at all.

After them, however, the thing that I am most proud of is this blog. It is the one endeavor I did completely by myself, FOR myself, putting it out there just to see what would happen. I had all of this inside of me with nowhere else for it to go. And then slowly people started reading it (almost zero people I expected and a lot of people I grew to care about and still worry after--some whom I have never even met to this day, and one of whom I cannot imagine not getting to snuggle up to every night).

There are some really lame posts on here. The embarrassment practically vibrates from them. But I accept that it wouldn't be a chronicle that can settle bets about what really happened without also including busy, buzzing CRINGE. 

I've missed this blog like one of those friends who knew me during those terrible junior high years but loves me enough to lie "Oh Cadiz, you never had an awkward phase!" with a straight face. Every month that went by without a post here was like forgetting her birthday and then getting a cheesy card from the grocery store but continually forgetting to mail it. 

I'm here now. The card is crumpled and I had to add several more stamps to cover the increased price of postage. I don't know what this is going to be; maybe I'll circle back and update some stuff from before, maybe I'll tell you what I can piece together about the last three years, maybe it'll be a bunch of links back to the days when I was too stupid to realize that the clueless protagonist in the romantic comedy was actually ME. I've got that feeling again: There's too much in here that has nowhere to go. Here it comes.

#NaBloPoMo

"Ready or Not" The Fugees

day 21

DISCLAIMER: I generally don't drink, but right now I'm sipping Pinot Noir from a mug my brother got me that says "You are doing a fucking great job." And today has been one of the better days.

Last night I went out for the first time in 20 days. I fashioned a mask out of a "POW' "BAM" comic-style bandanna we got during a "superhero" themed giant project from 2016* and two hair ties. I went to the grocery store and bought a month's worth of groceries, then stopped at the daycare lady's house and picked up some preschool materials and gave her a check. It just feels like the right thing to do, especially because we have a taste of what it's like to wrangle these two maniacs all day long--God bless her for managing to take care of (and teach) 12 of them.

The store was a weird experience. There were masked people, unmasked people parents with wandering teenagers, couples trying to decide which box of Triscuit to get and a pregnant employee making flower arrangements. There was no milk, but lots of bread. There was zero toilet paper, but plenty of meat at the deli counter. There was no flour but lots and lots of veggies. These are strange times. There was a weird, Twilight Zone feel to the entire experience. My cashier was young and had on gloves but no mask. I realized very quickly what an error it was to get the "smallesh" cart but managed to pack it full. At check out I had to get a bigger cart to actually get the stuff to the car. And a lot of it ended it up kind of dented by the time I got home.

I didn't like it. I'm hoping to go another 20 days until I have to leave again. All these years, I've been telling myself I'm an extrovert, but I suspect a) I was an introvert all this time?!?! b) H has converted me or c) I'm getting old. Get off my lawn. This quarantine really hasn't bothered me one bit. We don't take these children anywhere anyway, and while I can make conversation with a lamppost, these last few days it takes more out of me than it ever did. I love not having to do my hair or put on makeup and the TIME SAVED not having to plan to drive somewhere? #priceless. I sent cc a meme today that said something to the effect of "I haven't been late to anything for a month!" Except I'm the last one to log into my 8:30am work standup call every morning...

Working with small children has been so challenging. I wish I could say that I've totally figured out this new job, but if we are keeping it 100, I really haven't. A few weeks ago when they were playing Headbandz Jr., Ro told H "You're much smarter than Mommy." That shiz cut deep, little girl. Later, H gently reminded me that nothing goes unnoticed around here, and likely my constant self second-guessing has been absorbed by these little sponges. So now I have to keep my abject panic about how much I have yet to figure out about this job even after ELEVEN months to myself. Fake it till you make it? We will see when I have to take call next week for the first time.

I think it's safe to disclose at this point, two glasses of wine and almost 15 since I started this blog, that I used to be a journalist, working at a pretty-giant-named newspaper. And now I work in healthcare IT. Even though this was never our intention, so does H. We have a very unique perspective of seeing this whole COVID19 thing play out without being on the floor anymore (which I was for several years). Holy cow, it's like I'm Elaine on Peppermint Schnapps.

Anyway, we are hearing about things that are terrible and worrying SO much about our colleagues, friends and loved ones. Someone on my team is working on documentation for "expired patients," allowing for nurses and physicians to document details of all kinds. And H is working on reports on how many COVID19 cases (and at what level) for his organization. Sobering, at best. Yet there are still people gallivanting around, meeting up in secret, going on playdates, because they can't stand to stay home with their Internet and their fridges full of food. It makes me stabby.

This thing could be a death sentence for my brother, and the very idea of that brings me to tears. The poor kid hasn't seen a soul in almost a month; he's doddering around his three-bedroom house all alone. I just want to go over there and give him a hug so badly, but I'm 90% certain the 'Rona has has passed through this house. There is no way in hell I want to expose him to it. He needs to re-up his Coumadin prescription, but his APN says he needs to get PT/INR labs done first. So I'm trying to find an N95 for him to wear for the lab test.

Last night we also tried to bake our own bread, in this curvy type of Italian loaf pan. It was, as Paul Hollywood says in the Netflix series 1 of The Great British Baking Show, "Calling this a disaster would be an insult to disaster." It was hard as a rock. We left it out on the stoop for the wildlife, and it went untouched overnight. What a waste of five cups of flour and two packets of yeast. I should stick to cooking vaguely directed meals that don't require any precision.

I have been obsessed with the Apple Music radio show "Rocket Hour" with Elton  John. He is a lovely deejay and plays all kinds of music. I'm hoping the exposure will allow my children to appreciate all kinds of music. They'd rather listen to the Frozen 2 or Mickey Mouse Clubhouse soundtracks.

Sleeping on the floor in the kids' room has been eye-opening. Kash will roll right out of his toddler bed, onto the floor and not wake up. Ro will have entire soliloquies in her sleep (she got that from me). Sleeping on the floor is hard on the hips. I generally end up sneaking into the twin bed with her or cramped up in the crib-turned-toddler bed with him. I haven't had a good night's sleep in years, so it's kind of moot. But wow, am I not functioning well. [insert shrug emoji here]. I am hoping so hard that my employer is not basing continued employment at productivity stats.

H is feeling much better, but of course the pessimist in me suspects this is a fakeout before he feels a lot worse, as has been reported about this damn "THE SICKNESS," as Ro calls it. I have never before truly appreciated how much he does around here with the kids. But after this past week where I'm trying to work full-time and stay-at-home-parent full-time with H laid up in bed, I kind of feel like I'm either the biggest charlatan in the world, or maybe I can handle more than I thought. I am praying even harder that no one else gets this thing.

I'm blathering, but you know what, I've never buzzed posted before, and any editing I had done to my posts is out the window, because two people under the age of 5 will only play with kinetic sand for so long.

I don't know what I'm trying to say. Maybe I'm trying to say that I feel like I should be learning a hobby or catching up on shows or cleaning my damn house so we can sell it in time to move closer to my parents so Ro can go to the same school system all the way through. The reality is that I can't even find time to shower, and any free time I have is spent reading (I refuse to watch TV news) the news or listening to news radio or scrolling through facebook, where the comments and reposts give me the dopamine hits I used to get from this blog.

It will be interesting to read this later, when this buzz has worn off.


*I also have been coloring on this very beautiful calendar from 2017 that I kept. Don't say hoard--er, WAREHOUSING--never came in handy. 

the 'rona

We are now a full week into Illinois's Shelter in Place to stop the spread of the COVID19 virus. To say I'm anxious is an understatement. We didn't hoard (ok, maybe I do have a couple more boxes of Triscuit and Wheat Thins than I normally keep) so I'm scared we won't be able to find toilet paper when the time comes that the 15 rolls we have left are gone.

There are people who are not taking the social distancing recommendation: staying six feet away from others and only leaving the house for necessary tasks like getting food or going to work if you're an "essential" employee. I wish I could say with certainty that every member of my family is following this advice, but I suspect my father--whose mantra is "nothing happens"--can't help himself. This is terrifying because, while he is 70+ and definitely at risk, my mother is immunocompromised from all the chemo drugs, and susceptible of getting very very sick if she gets it. That said, she's "essential." She works in the hospital and I'm trying very hard to convince her to retire. With very little success.

The local hospital is putting employees that don't have much to do right now (like outpatient mammography technologists) into a "labor pool," and sending them to do needed tasks around the place, like sanitizing and cleaning and picking up trash. At our community hospital there are nine cases of COVID19. I can't even keep up with these statistics. I think it's something like 85,000 cases in the United States at this point. The numbers don't really reflect reality because we aren't testing enough people.

There's so much to say about the political state of the world, but I'm trying to focus on how people are pulling together--my alma mater has come up with a ventilator they are putting into production very soon. The vacuum people, Dyson, also invented a ventilator and are getting 55K in production. Abbott Labs in the Chicago area invented a 15- or 13-min (depending on the result) test that is approved by the FDA and is getting out for use next week. Plus there are various therapies and vaccines that are in clinical trials.

H and I are working from home, as we are essential-adjacent, but we know people who have lost their jobs and are struggling. My brother, for whom I worry the most, is reluctantly staying home and working from home (also essential-adjacent) and probably withering from loneliness in his big old house alone, though he'd never say so. H's folks are also sheltering in place, the professors teaching online and the others working from home as much as they can.

We have the kids at home with us; our daycare shut down along with the shelter-in-place order. "Working" while the kids are home has been challenging at best, and I pray that our inability to be as productive isn't going to affect our employment. I realize how lucky we are to even make that statement, in light of how many people applied for unemployment this week--3.3 million--blew the previous record out of the water. I heard on the radio that unemployment is projected to hit 30 percent. It was 25% during the Great Depression.

These are strange and terrifying times. I can't recall how many times I've heard the word "new normal." But nothing about this is normal. We have tickets for the August 13 "Hella Mega Tour" at Wrigley Field concert featuring Green Day, Fall Out Boy and Weezer. We had been searching for a fourth person to join H, my brother and I. However, I suspect that isn't going to happen now.

Ro's kindergarten roundup was canceled in early March. She's supposed to start school in the fall, and we were planning to hurry up and sell our house, then buy another one in my parents' school district--ideally so she'd go to school next door to their house. I don't know what is going to happen now. Maybe she will go to the school near us and the trajectory of our lives will be much different than what we had planned. I guess that's the way things always go, though.

The thing that terrifies me the most is H or I getting this and leaving our children without a parent; flawed as we are, no one will love them as much as we do. I have recurring nightmares about this. Only slightly less frightening is that a loved one will get this and we will have to contemplate their suffering (or worse) without being able to be there with them. I've already started hearing about people losing grandparents without having been able to say goodbye. No one is having funerals anymore, either.

Dr. Anthony Fauci, the nation's go-to guy about these things said that a highly contagious symptom-less upper respiratory virus like this is a worst-case scenario. Even worse than Ebola, because it's very obvious who has Ebola and you can only catch that if you're in very close contact with that person. They are finding COVID19 on surfaces of those cruise ships 17 days after everyone had been off of them. Not good.

The grocery and convenience stores are still open. The truck drivers are still making deliveries. Some people are acting like this is a staycation. People are cheering for healthcareworkers, who are starting to become infected and dying here, as they have been in China and Italy for some time. Things are going to get much worse before they get better. And yet, I'm hearing about people secretly meeting up to work out together or have game night with booze. Do they think they're invincible? They know enough not to advertise what they're doing, so clearly this is just selfishness, right? But because of their weakness we will all be trapped in our homes and there will be unnecessary deaths. And that makes me so mad. SO mad.

My biggest struggle is that those who are complaining about being stuck at home, or talking about online shopping or day drinking or hobbies aggravate me. It's not their fault, but I can't look at one more person mourning the high school seniors' lack of Prom or Graduation without wondering how bad the wailing would be if those promising youngsters were instead being drafted into a war. And those who are so incredibly inconvenienced by staying home getting together to work out and potentially spread this around further, they make me irate. Probably way more angry than I have any right to be. Unfortunately for them, I will be remembering those who joke around about being "an irresponsible human" and going out for drinks or dinner when we should have been staying home. I see them in a different light and it makes me sad, then guilty. Because who am I to be judging people? This is the stuff that keeps me up at night: Fear, judgment and guilt.

whoooa, we're halfway there

Gone are the days when I have time to edit my thoughts into coherent bits--and since I have only recently discovered that most everyone else in this world has an inner monologue that basically tells them what to say and do, word for word before it comes out of their mouths *, and they don't spend 95% of their typing time hitting backspace to translate the four different emoji conversations happening over the background song (at the moment it's "I Like Me Better When I'm With You" by Lauv)--anyone who happens to still be reading this is stuck trying to figure out what I'm trying to say, as I edit the feelings and images in my mind into English.

It's coming up on Valentine's Day. Jon and I have declared that a "dead" holiday for us (perhaps after 13 years, a blog reveal about H and two children later, we might now be able to talk about how we almost broke up on that first one...some other time). My actual best February 14 ** was going to IKEA with one of my bffs and Prom Date, highcon, who gathered us together this past weekend to say adios to Chicago (again) as he officially moves back to New York (again) to be with his love, K. 

I rode the train in with JZ, a friend of mine from elementary school, who also ended up being great friends with highcon in junior high/middle school. The districting around here is wacky so JZ and I were split in jr. high and everyone was reunited together in high school, where I met highcon. I'll skip to the TL;DR: We all go waaay back.

So JZ and I are at this fancy restaurant an entire hour early. I send this text to highcon: 

"T-53 minutes. Highcon, do you know where your wallet is?

And your phone.

And your keys.

And your man?

We are here and already drinking."

His response, 46 minutes (or T-14 minutes until the private party was set to begin):

"Omg.

I lost my phone!!!!!

It's in an Uber and he's meeting us at [fancy restaurant].

My work one.

Kill me!

So, you called it"

Highcon has a history of these shenanigans. It is mind-blowing that someone who cannot keep track of mundane things such as cellphones, keys and wallets has somehow risen through the ranks to become a bigshot at an international company, literally making billion-dollar decisions on the regular. I'm not usually one to drop annoying hints like this, but he and his equally successful sweetheart have a house on Martha's Vineyard and travel the world for fun. But at the end of the day, he's still the same silly guy who'd procrastinate with me on English papers and talk smack about classmates until the wee hours of the morning on the phone in high school. 

I had already been feeling extremely nostalgic recently. I don't know if it's because I'm starting to really feel the wear and tear of 41 years on my body, or that caring for small children while trying to maintain a house, a marriage and a very demanding job that requires me to not quite ever be "logged out" is making me wonder what would have happened if I had taken any of the other options when I got to forks in the road. I regret nothing, but when you watch cheesy teen movies like "To All the Boys I've Loved Before" and read books about young people coming into their own and discovering love and life, and you celebrate one of your besties taking a great leap into the semi-unknown (his mom asked K if he was "ready to have highcon full time"), realizing that you're halfway done with this life is kind of like a sharp kick to the stomach. With a lot of Monday-morning quarterbacking. 

During the warm and jovial dinner, several of us got a text that a classmate (and good friends of one of the other people) had suddenly died of cancer, leaving behind a wife and a 15-month old. This, on top of the unexpected death of Kobe Bryant, who was revered in our house by the devoted Laker fans, the one-year anniversary of Ri's brother-in-law-to-be dying of a heart attack a month before his wedding to her sister, and the pre-sad anguish anchor I drag around every moment of every day about the possibility of losing my brother was too much to bear. I broke down. Maybe it was the alcohol.

JZ had a clearer head and got me up and out of there so we could catch the train home. I had to be at work at 6am Sunday, for a work go live--which was not a fun experience, but I'll have to write another post about how the job is going. I was so thankful to have that evening. Sixteen people came together to talk about why we love highcon, sharing stories digging up exactly the kind of dirt you have on someone with whom you rode the bus or helped figure out how to put contact lenses in. 

The morning after the party, when I was broke-brain as hell, I got about 3/4 of the way to work and realized I had left my computer at home and got there at 6:20a instead of 20 min early. Then I couldn't locate my cellphone for about 5 hours. I literally walked from the car, into the office, up the steps and to the Command Center to check in. I couldn't have left it at home because the directions were telling me just how late I was going to be and I was listening to Sarah Silverman tell Conan O'Brien about how he thwarted her plans to make out with him many years ago by telling her he was recently engaged. After THREE car searches, I located my phone. I texted highcon and JZ: 

"Dude, thank you (and K) for the lovely party I had so much fun, and sorry if I was obnoxious--I haven't been drinking in a LONG time!

In total karmic justice, this morning at 5am I forgot to put my laptop in the car and had to turn around halfway, and then couldn't find my damn phone for like five hours! It had slipped between the console and the passenger seat. I think this is payback for giving you crap yesterday."

His response:

"Bwahahahahah

See this is why we are friends

We are all functional hot messes"

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't know where all the time went. But talking about all that old stuff, which was SO IMPORTANT back then, and realizing that most of us can only even recall it in pieces so we have to be in the same space to argue and put it all together, makes me realize that this life is zooming. Just flying by. And I'm so thankful to have written some of it down. 

*subsequent posts on this dude's blog say that he has ADD, so there goes that theory (I am not officially diagnosed, but an ADD therapist said almost all the markers light up for me having ADHD or something of the sort).

** I pulled that post up on my phone to show K what a sweetheart highcon was for going to all the trouble of printing out a kids' coloring-book valentine to give me on the way to IKEA.

previouslies 2: all the posts fit to print

In 2011 I did this pretty comprehensive "previouslies" post. Here's where that leaves off, including some stuff I probably would have posted about, had I been doing this sort of thing regularly:

• In December 2011 I picked my brother up from O'Hare and flipped my car. That was possibly the first and definitely the last time I will ever leave the house without say goodbye to Jon after an argument.
• In February 2012 I started a new chapter in my career, fully putting the dungeon industry in the rearview (though I didn't know it at the time). My boss micromanaged and bullied, and I was her favorite punching bag. Giving so much while being made to feel incompetent is why I didn't post all that much. 
• In December 2012 Jon and I went on a gun-shooting /wine-tasting (not simultaneously) outing in Michigan with friends. Because I am me, the first weapon I ever fired was an AK-47. I pray I never hold another gun in my life. I didn't like how it felt to have that kind of power in my hands. It was a taste of the paranoid anxiety I would later experience post-partum. 
• In May 2013 I went into labor with my first child. After an immensely stressful several months at work, my water broke in my cubicle, 20 weeks early. The baby's lungs weren't developed enough for her to survive.
• In August 2013 we bought this house. Jon and our dear friend/realtor, Mala, did the legwork to find it. We were so excited to have a garage and a yard, and had big plans (like compost!). Less than a month after we closed, the pipes from the house to the street had to be dug up and replaced. I don't think we ever regained any homeowners' excitement and our yard looked like a construction site for the better part of four years (if you don't count when it was covered in snow). 
• Madelyn moved to Chicago.
• In December 2013 we lost baby #2 at about six weeks. She had a genetic defect (Trisomy 16).
• Jon started working at the same place as I did, but on a different team, in fall 2014. He is a natural, and people noticed.
• Two days before the one-year anniversary of Baby's due date, I delivered a healthy baby girl named Ro. She literally is the light of our lives. Grieving the first two are now complicated because technically we couldn't also have had Ro if they had survived. I had an emergency cerclage stitch put in to prevent labor and was on bed rest (and would have stood on my head for the entire pregnancy if I needed to). Delivering her separated my pelvis. I needed physical therapy and a walker to get around for the next four months, and the only thing I could do for her was nurse, then give her to someone else to be walked, burped, changed, bathed and the rest. Missing that bonding created a tender spot deep in my heart, kept sore by the guilt of feeling jealous and sad when all I should be is grateful. She kicks that very spot each time she pushes me out of the way to run to her father or says NOT YOU, MOMMY. I am happy that they have a great relationship, but I'd be lying if I said being left out doesn't sting.
• Jon's entire family came out for the holidays in 2014. I was thrilled to have both sides together for Ro's first Christmas. It was especially sweet to see her 2-year-old cousin Declan play with her. I wasn't exactly the best hostess, however, what with the walker, pain and trying to wrap my head around being somebody’s mother.
• I came back to work with pretty serious post-partum anxiety and my boss told me there could be a promotion. But they were "pretty sure they wanted to give it to" the woman who joined the team nine days after I gave birth (if you do the math, she was there for about three months and I had been there, slogging away, for three years). If I wanted it, I had to *prove* I deserved it. I was too stupid to see the mind game for what it was and redoubled my efforts. This was a very cruel thing to do to a lactating, sleep-deprived person who could barely walk, and I suffered as much as you can imagine. But I got the promotion. The other person was promoted a few months later.
• We took Ro on her first plane ride to see Jon's family in Southern California in September, 2015. She was 11 months old, met her great-grandmother, said hello to her sister, dipped her feet in the Pacific Ocean and caught her first major-league baseball game. We were there for our anniversary, too. It was a great time.
• My brother got an apartment in Chicago, within walking distance of Wrigley Field. He also *finally* started making some money back on his Cubs season tickets. I got to see them win the NLCS with him in 2015, which was amazing.
• Our "rainbow baby" turned one on Halloween. We celebrated, Oz-style, and everyone dressed up. Jon's mom flew out to see her granddaughter and hand-made her gorgeous Dorothy costume.
• My father's youngest sister, who lived in Mumbai, passed away from aggressive cervical cancer. I couldn't believe that I'd never see her again.
• In May 2016, our neighbors helped us break down our rotting backyard shed. There was a possum skull under it, and evidence that it was using the supports as a teething ring.
• My brother was set up on a date with a lovely Indian girl, who is friends with the wife of his BFF. Sounds good, right? Apparently she reminded him too much of me, which is a dealbreaker.
• HighCon was on tv, skulking around in the background on CNN during a Joe Biden speech. I always knew that guy would be famous. Now he and his dude have a house in the Hamptons that I very much hope we visit one day; it's beautifully appointed.
• My brother gave us a tremendous scare in August 2016 when he was retaining so much fluid in his chest and abdomen that his organs were impaired. He called me from the emergency room and had to be admitted. I believe five pounds of the stuff was drained out of him while he was in the hospital. He changed his diet and is controlling his sodium. But that was hella terrifying.
• My mom, Ro and I walked in the India Day Parade in my hometown on August 14, 2016. It's kind of a big deal because 40+ years ago when my folks settled in this place, there were only a handful brown people, and even fewer Indians. The existing community sure didn't make it easy for them. And now there's a parade!
• I went to my 20th high-school reunion in August. I had tried on about 25 dresses (including selections owned by a friend who goes to galas) but ended up with a $20 navy cotton dress from Target. And it was great. Had we been able to bottle the nervous energy in that country club banquet hall, we could have powered a city. I found out someone I never imagined had been reading this blog for quite some time (I had included the address in the wedding thank-you cards but didn't expect anyone to follow the link. If you're still reading, hi MSE!). I also got two apologies--only one of which I remember in context now (shame on me). Everyone should go to those things. You never know what can happen! Apparently the 10-year is when people hook up, and the 20-year is when people apologize...Perspective, amirite?
• My parents went to Singapore in September 2016 to visit my cousin and attend her daughter's First Communion. I was honored to be asked to make the veil. Jon and I realized that while they help us a lot with Ro, we can actually handle it ok without Nani and Papa. It's just nice to have them around.
• Ro started "preschool" at her in-home daycare. It still felt like a big step; there was a personalized backpack and all.
• Around this time, I sought a therapist's advice (a recommendation from two middle-school friends whom I haven't seen in decades--thank you, social media). She confirmed I exhibit classic signs of high-functioning ADD (and coped much better before kids, when I pulled all-nighters and only had to worry about myself). Many revelations followed. It is still a struggle. I didn't want to take medication because Jon and I were focused on trying for another baby.
• Our workplace had a huge project that had been in the works for years. In September 2016, my husband and I spent the weekend of our fifth anniversary working 10-hour shifts both Saturday and Sunday. We managed to get lucky and spent the money we'd saved for a celebratory weekend away on tickets to see Hamilton in October. It was worth every single cent to see it before the hype got nuts in Chicago. We were legitimately blown away and treasure having had the experience.
• I worked several overnights for the big project go live, including (my one day off in nine days) when I ACCIDENTALLY CAME IN TO WORK AND NO ONE STOPPED ME. This was a breaking point, because I thought I had messed up scheduling care for Ro and fought with my family for no reason. I started applying for other jobs.
• My college girls and I went to the "I Love the '90s" concert. Coolio, Color Me Badd, Tone Loc, SALT-N-PEPA and others. Salt-N-Pepa have still got it. The others made me feel kind of sad. The Allstate Arena parking lot was wall-to-wall minivans (we arrived in an Odyssey) and women were getting sloshed on tall cans of goodness-knows-what spiked fruit drinks. We almost got in a brawl with some broads in front of us who were so busy taking selfies they didn't realize they were spilling their drinks all over us. #goodtimes
• The Cubs won the World Series. I was at the game with my brother when they clinched the NLCS, and walked home through the drunken streets of the city in my David Ross jersey. It was *almost* as good as Grant Park in 2008. My brother was there for the actual win, and let me hear/see the pandemonium via phone (Shocker--I was working late that night while Jon and Ro were at home). I pray that more things in life can make my brother as happy as he was that day.
• I made Ro a pretty convincing Mary Poppins costume for her second birthday. She had a party at the jumping place and will not consider having her party anywhere else.
• I missed my first deadline. Ever. It wasn't for work, but still. A little of piece of me died that day. But you know what? The world kept turning.
• The country elected president number 45. I still feel some kind of way about that.
• My SIL a and our nephew, Declan, came to visit in November 2016. They had a blast playing together and exploring the children's museum. I wish we lived closer.
• PP and her dude bought a house on the South Side of Chicago that Quincy Jones used to live in! They didn't figure that out until more than two years later when they saw a documentary about his life and recognized their street.
• CC moved back to Chicago. I don't get to see her much because she runs content and social media for a publication that awards five-star ratings to hotels and restaurants around the world--and she gets to try those places! She got me a cool insulated water bottle from the Ritz Carlton in Lake Tahoe. It's a cool job, but damn, does that woman hustle. She recently got back from the Maldives.
• After multiple rounds of interviews, I got another job offer (commuting to downtown Chicago every day) and was about to accept. Then I peed on a stick. One thing my current job did let me do was work from home on bedrest. So I had to turn down the offer.
• Jon made Madelyn a "doggie deck" for her puppy, Frankie, who could tell I had a baby in my belly and would snuggle him. Sadly, her life was cut short because of a car accident when I was 22 weeks pregnant and she was about 22 weeks old. 
• I had a "preventative" cerclage put in at 16 weeks because by pregnancy NUMBER FOUR, they finally decided I have a bum cervix and maybe they should sew it up to keep the baby in.
• In April 2017 (Easter weekend), we revealed the baby's gender by having Ro open a series of plastic eggs in varying sizes until the smallest one burst open with blue m&ms and shared the video with the family. After all that we'd been through, we didn't want to make it into "a thing" until we had that healthy baby in our arms.
• I had an emotional Mother's Day.
• My college girls threw me a surprise baby shower, pretending it was pp's birthday party. I was overwhelmed with surprise and gratitude.
• PP took me to see Aladdin on Broadway (in Chicago). She had to escort me around the theater because of my delicate situation, but I'm so glad I went. It was so very good. SO good. I loved it. This was also the first time I used a ride-sharing service (that was weird).
• July 27, 2017 I took Ro to have ice cream with Ri and her two little girls. I dropped Ro off with my mom as she got off from work at the hospital and went for a "routine" appointment to have my cerclage stitch clipped because I was at 36 weeks. Apparently, during the 20 weeks the stitch had been holding my boy in tight, my skin had grown scar tissue all around it. This proved to be incredibly painful unimaginable ways--the MD couldn't get it out in the office, and called for backup. The backup couldn't get it out at the hospital's Labor & Delivery department, and called for backup. And the big boss (who started the practice and whom I followed from my old office because she's so good) busted out this huge, gray metal box with all sorts of Medieval-looking hatchety tools and STILL couldn't get it out. I felt all of that digging around, despite the IV meds. They took me to the OR and finally did it under an epidural. But they cut me up, so they had to cauterize the wound so it didn't get infected. At the end of all that, one of the OBs says "well, we'll know what to do for your next pregnancy." Uhhh...
• Madelyn got a new puppy and named her Olivia. She's more hyper than Frankie was, but is the same breed (Italian Greyhound).
• Again, I went beyond my due date. I was in labor for more than 24 hours and never dilated more than 2 cm, as cervical tissue that is scarred and tough doesn't really want to expand too much. TMI, but my doctor was trying to "break up" the scar tissue, manually, and I felt all of that, too. I just wanted a healthy baby; cervix be damned. But it just wasn't opening, so they rushed me in for a C-section. Apparently, he was practically knocking at the door. Kash was pulled out at 8:33 a.m. August 26, 2017. He is as limitless as the sky.
• I feel like exactly the kind of person I never wanted to be, having written only two posts here about him. I have spent just as much time marveling over his milestones as I did with Ro. But working full time with two small children? It's a wonder any of us are still alive, let alone documenting anything. Let me say that the entire time I was pregnant and rejected by Ro, I would hold my belly and say "please be mine. please be mine." And he does make me feel very appreciated.
• My MIL and Madelyn were watching Ro while I was trying to recover from the surgery and learn how to nurse this kid and make it from day to day in the hospital. Jon ended up having to stay home with Ro, who couldn't bear to be without him. My mom stayed with me in the hospital and would get up and go downstairs to work every day. I was doped up and they'd give me the baby in the middle of the night to feed--one time I caught myself nodding off. What if I had dropped him? Cue the exponential surge in anxiety. Those post-partum days were trying times, y'all.
• Guess what? Even though I didn't push to deliver Kash, the sheer widening of my pelvis to make room for him to grow messed with the ligament holding it together and it separated. Again! Hello, old friends physical therapy and the walker! 
• October 2017: We FINALLY got a handle on our Garbage yard. We got the front and back leveled and re-seeded by professionals.
• Jon turned 40 on Halloween 2017. I had presented him with a baby on his 36th birthday, and just grew him another, so I didn't think I needed to top that. He flew out to LA for a World Series Dodger game the day before his birthday (he saw them win) with one of his BFFs. Unfortunately they didn't win the whole thing, but he was back home in time to celebrate with his birthday twin.
• Ro wanted to dress as a witch for her birthday/Halloween. And she wanted another "jumping party." This time the theme was Sofia the First--the best princess of all, in the collective opinion of Ro, Kash and myself.
• There was a terrible fire in California, and the place where Baby's ashes were laid burned to the ground. I was much more sad than I expected. The cross remained standing, though.
• Ro and Kash met Santa at Kohl's. Ro wouldn't talk to Santa, let alone sit on anyone's lap, but after hemming and hawing, she got within 10 feet and practically whispered that she wanted an Elsa Barbie-like doll. Kash was his jolly self and bestowed smiles upon everyone in the store.
• We traveled to Ohio to spent Christmas with Jon's family at SIL m's house. It was really nice, and the kids did fairly well on the seven-hour drive back and forth. Ro had a blast with her cousin, Declan.
• I interviewed for a higher position at my employer. I did not get it. Jon moved to a different team in our company.
• We had a crazy amount of snow in February 2018. Jon threw Ro into a snowbank almost half as tall as he is. She sunk into the fluffy stuff and screamed with delight.
• My brother had been a bit...lax, shall we say, about checking in on his pacemaker. On Valentine's Day, 2018, he had to have heart surgery to replace it and have the new one attached to his heart. It was discovered that 36 years of stress from irregular bloodflow, 11 open-heart surgeries and living life, his liver has developed cardiac-induced cirrhosis. A week before this, a pipe in the unit above his apartment burst and destroyed his entire place. He moved in with us while his apartment was cobbled back together.
• In March I got pinkeye, then had a severe reaction to the medicine given to me by urgent care. My face swelled to Hitch  proportions, so much that I could hardly see, my eyes were smashed almost shut. I missed Angel07's '70s birthday bash, which sucked because I enjoy disco.  
• I interviewed for another position at my employer. I did not get it, either.
• Ro went to my friend's daughter's unicorn-themed birthday and rode a pony disguised as a unicorn. With all her heart, she believes she met a real unicorn. I'm hoping to let that slide for as long as possible.
• This was the year most of my friends and I turn 40. Several years ago, joking around, we talked about all going to Greece for our fortieth birthdays. The planners that they are, they actually made it happen. The gems that Jon and my mother are, they made it possible so I could go, leaving my 3.5y and 7m children for 14 days. I took off in May 2018. I am so eternally grateful for not having missed that opportunity to bond with my friends and take a severely needed mental break.
• I carried both a manual and electric breastpump through three countries and pumped/dumped everywhere from the beach to the club. I would be damned if my vacation was the end of my ability to produce food for my kid. I was worried Kash would reject me when I came home and steeled myself for the possibility, but he was very happy to see me. As was Ro. Thank goodness.
• Work stress escalated to new heights. There was a lot of drama that I thought would have been resolved while I was out on maternity leave, but in a shocking development, it had been left, festering, at my feet when I returned. I meticulously cleaned up that dumpster fire, then desperately tried to get away from my boss within the company. I finally realized that wow, I *am* competent, and even actually kind of good at this job. Imagine! My "work wife" and I managed to get onto another team, which came with new challenges.
• My brother invited us to Cubs Family Day at Wrigley Field on June 26, 2018. Kash was just learning to crawl, and he managed to army crawl on the actual field. Ro ran the bases but she was more excited about the inflatable jumping contraption. We have photos from the dugout that will last a lifetime.
• My dad *finally* relented and got rid of the hideous, overgrown evergreen trees in front of my childhood home (which had probably been there since 1978). Now the kids look forward to playing on the extra-wide stoop/sidewalk when the weather is warm. They can't play at our house because #mosquitoes.
• My cousin and her family came to visit from Singapore. We took the week to be tourists in our own area (Chicago is the best city in the world) and had so much fun at the Arboretum, Millennium Park, the Museum of Science and Industry, Shedd Aquarium, Brookfield Zoo, IKEA, the waterpark, all kinds of restaurants and playing around at home. I wish our families lived closer.
• Jon arranged for a few friends to do a cool escape room for my birthday as a surprise. Unfortunately we didn't beat it but it was fun. I would love to do another of those. He may have even ordered a bunch of random locks and stuff in the hopes of opening his own escape room...
• Little man turned one in August 2018: It was baseball-themed and I was a mess. I stayed up almost all night painting a comparable refrigerator box as Dodger Stadium with Kash's "stats" on the big screen (I had made a similar painting of the Emerald City for Ro's first birthday). We rented a park pavilion and a lot of the guests arrived before we did, with the food. But I think people still had fun. There were water balloons and so much Cubs-cake frosting all over the baby.
• Ro took gymnastics at the park district. She would not participate. I had to do the moves with her on the floor (sometimes moving her arms and legs for her), and she did not warm up until the last week of the second session, when she was all about it. But she could do all of the tumbling perfectly at home. Apparently those age ranges reference social readiness as well as physical capabilities.
• My old team banded together and ousted my old boss to another area where she would not have any direct reports, kind of like a coup. The person who had filled in for me while I was on maternity leave with Ro was promoted to her position. I can't help but wonder if the boss realized that she backed the horse that would kick her.
• My brother rented out his boss's brand-new bar for my 40th birthday. I curated a '90s hip-hop playlist that was appreciated by a surprising number of people. The paint was barely dry in the bar, but we closed that sucker down. And apparently the bartender was very generous and my friends--many of whom got babysitters for the evening--were not accustomed to drinking that much. We moved to a nearby hotel bar and closed THAT one out as well. I still hear about some of the subsequent hangovers.
• Ro wanted to be Sofia the First for her birthday. I ordered a beautiful costume as soon as it became clear I wasn't going to be able to make anything that year, not even four hours' sleep in a row. Her jumping party theme was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
• Work really went off the rails. Without belaboring the details, senior leadership hired a consulting firm to basically blow up everything I had designed and implemented for the previous six years...except it wasn't actually broken but working quite efficiently, as we proved time and again. And yet, when we pointed out the flaws in their plans, one of those jerks had the audacity to say "It doesn't matter that you don't want to do this, your CEO signed off on it." Clearly he didn't care about improving the business; they were going to take their money and bounce. Their proposal was for two people (myself and work wife) to essentially move the equivalent of the leaning tower of Pisa from one end of the yard to the other, brick by brick. But it would still be leaning and not improved much at all. We took our concerns up the chain and were told "it's dumb, but we have to do it" and that contracts had been signed. The consultants estimated it could all be completed by two dedicated people within three days. It took these two people more than 500 hours to do it over a three-week period, and I was still fixing it for months afterward . The deadline? October 31. I pushed and pushed and got it extended all the way to November 1. I worked more than 100 hours those weeks. I worked overnight October 30, because I didn't want to miss my baby girl's and husband's birthday. The consultants sat in my cubicle and wouldn't leave because #deadline. I got to the bakery at 7:02pm, begging them to unlock the doors so I could pick up birthday cakes. I missed trick-or-treating. I missed seeing them dressed up. I pretty much missed her entire fourth birthday. The adults didn't even have dinner because they were all waiting for me and it was simply too late. It was too late for too many things. I don't know that Jon will ever forgive me. But by that point I was so brain-dead, I didn't have the mental capacity to realize I should have just gotten up and left. That the expectations were beyond ridiculous. I got my resume out instead.
• Ro started ballet and tap class. She participated! A little. She says she "loves ballet," but I think the real thrill is seeing her dad or my mom or me through the window, watching her.
• Kash became obsessed with any kind of sports. But mostly BASEBALL! And when someone says "Go Cubs!" he loves to yell "NO! I SAID GO DODGERS!" Jon is over the moon. Ro roots for the Cubs. Sports makes people do strange things.
• February 4, 2019. I interviewed outside the company and didn't hear back. I thought they ghosted me. I accepted that I was staying and that staying was probably for the best.
• My brother bought a house eight minutes away from us in May 2019. It is the same raised-ranch layout as our house, short one bathroom and one bedroom. It has a deck AND a patio. And a garden. It's adorable and so much space for him. We are planning on crashing there while we sell our house. I have been taking one ball from the ball pit he gifted my children and leaving it hidden somewhere in his house, every time we come over. Eventually, he will have all of them, squirreled away under his bed, in his pantry, in the liquor cabinet...
• Jon is dedicated to making our home the "smartest" around. I swear, every piece of electronic gear is synced with a smarthome device, or motion detector, or app or camera. It's very helpful with the children, but a hacker could look in on us anytime in nearly any room to see that we are just trying to get through the day like everybody else. And we don't seem to get tired of pizza.
• May 2019. The outside employer called to see if I still wanted the job. I told my current boss what the offer was and she took a day or so before saying they wouldn't counter offer. Message received. I gave my two weeks' notice and shocked everyone who assumed I'd be a lifer. CC and I promised ourselves not to do that back at our first post-grad job in 2004.
• We hired a master gardener (my brother's BFF's wife's mom) to re-landscape our front yard. What a difference! She added hydrangeas, which I carried in my wedding bouquet. Of course, now that we are looking to move, I'm starting to warm up to this house.
• Ro adamantly doesn't want to play any sport but soccer, BECAUSE SOCCER IS HER FAVORITE. Jon turned on the Women's World Cup this summer and watched the U.S. take the title. Ro asked, "what is that on tv? Can I watch Moana instead?"
• Three months before what would have made16 years (on and off) at the organization, I took the leap to the new job. I'm so scared and a bit heartbroken. But not nearly as sad as when almost two weeks at the new gig went by without my talking to another human being out loud (just on instant messenger/email) outside of saying hello to the receptionist at the front door--then found out the old job already replaced me. I pray that I haven't made a mistake.

And here I am: Perched at the edge of a giant bed in a Grandstay Hotel in Wisconsin. Working on a certification for this new job. I'm alone and very lonely. I forced myself to stop in the tiny downtown near my hotel is and had ice cream for dinner sitting on a wrought-iron chair/table and peoplewatching, imagining a simpler time. Then I FaceTimed my family and felt sadder. Kash was reciting I Love You, Through and Through and I Am a Bunny to me because we've read them together so many times. Ro told me about all the fun they had with the sprinklers and the waterballoons at Nani's house and ran off to whatever she was playing. I wished Jon Godspeed and hung up.

I cobbled together what must've happened during the last few years by scrolling through photos on my phone. Now, more than ever, I can feel years--not just hours--whooshing past while I'm standing still, trying to process it all. I had a practical stranger re-create a photo of me taken in 2012 at this same training facility. Side by side, it is plain just how much I've gained in seven years. Weight. Wrinkles. Scars. Gray hair. Sorrows. Joy. Memories. Knowledge. Experience. Wisdom?

Is this what it's like to get old?


For old time's sake, check out this ancient post about parking, back when I didn't use capital letters.

no space for George Michael

It's 2 a.m. I just cobbled together a playlist of '90s hip-hop for what will be a party thrown for me a month and a day after my 40th birthday. By my brother. Got it in just under deadline, as usual.

He's renting the third floor of a new bar in suburbia (full disclosure: his old boss is a silent partner) and there will be free drinks and appetizers for the first two hours. I’m concerned about how much it’s going to cost, but I'll admit, the empanadas excite me more than the open bar. He has even gotten them to do a signature Cadiz drink, "The Hemingway," which is something like rum and grapefruit juice. All my friends who drink are in love with the Paloma, which I think is tequila and grapefruit juice. I haven't really drank much (not even in Greece) since 2012, and honestly? I don't really miss it all that much.

I am terrified of being overserved and turning into a wailing, sobbing mess. I am legitimately planning to nurse a single drink the entire night. Even though it'd be my party and I could cry--I just don't want to. I'd ruin the evening for my brother and the friends who love me enough to go to a renovated barn in the northwest suburbs to drink and try to figure out how to get home to their children safely.

My track record is this: Whatever my underlying mood is accentuated by 1000 with enough alcohol. Back in the day, I used to drink and dance. Often in 4-inch stacked heels. I found a pair recently and was aghast that I'd ever been able to climb stairs, let alone break it down until 4 a.m. wearing them at Zentra. Later, when there was way less dancing and we were drinking in people's living rooms, that coincided with my heart being smashed to smithereens, and I spent each night out (coerced into joining my friends) sobbing like a cartoon spoiled brat. I cringe just thinking about it. The crying was ugly at best and downright humiliating at worst. I will always cherish my friends for taking care of me. And I knew my husband was forever when he saw the worst of me and he didn't block my number.

It’s 3 a.m. The boy just woke up and stood at the railing of his crib, wailing. I went in there and walked around with him, listening to Terry Gross interview Jake Tapper. I probably stayed longer than I needed to because I would have to turn the podcast off when I went to lie down. Unfortunately, Ro sleeps between us, still, a little habit she picked up when she realized she could get out of her bed, open the door and come in. That coincided with the baby moving into her room. I don’t have enough wits about me to try and fight it. I’m sweeping up Cheerios and oven-roasted beets at 11:30 pm and trying to find a blouse I don’t have to iron at 7 am.

I took the baby for his 1-year appointment. He is marvelous, as expected. I filled out the depression screening I’d missed at 9 months because Jon had handled that one. I guess I didn’t pass because the pediatrician called to say perhaps I needed to talk to someone. Jon agreed, because he really doesn’t know what to say.

I can’t decide if things are not right or if I have some unrealistic expectation about how it’s *supposed* to be. I do wonder when it was that the bucket I carry around to hold my joy sprung so many leaks. I’ll call the person. We will see.

Kash is crying again. Maybe roasted root vegetables weren’t a good idea.

but *i* will know they're not right

There were two places in which Jon and I splurged during our wedding planning: The photography and the invitations. Everything was DIY (I did an entire NaBloPoMo's month of posts on it in 2011).

I drew out the invitations by hand and had a printer create a mold, ink and crank out every invite and rsvp card. She did it by hand. Then I hand-addressed every single one with a calligraphy nib and a jar of ink. Few probably noticed and no one cared as much as I did, but those invites made me incredibly happy.

I succumbed and have used eVite for Ro's parties (this year the theme was Sofia the First), but I'm still hanging onto the tradition of handwritten thank you notes. Jon is trying out going printer-free at home (to him the entire world should still be digital), so this year I couldn't do my usual method of drawing out the design, scanning and printing onto blank notecards.

I went to Kinko's and had the attendant, a very nice woman who clearly knew how to use the equipment. I thought I'd be able to get stationery and tweak the spacing before printing out using the self service, but she convinced me that it would be better for her to space out four per page, then use a fancy machine to cut them all. Here is the example she showed me of how they would look:

The image is slightly farther to the left than I would have put it, but no big deal, right? 

This is how all of the rest came out. After I had already paid for them.

My mother--the queen of "it's fine, just get it done," said "Wow those are off center!" 

I had already been there for an hour. Attendant lady thought they came out fabulous. I went home and tried to put a silver line down the right and color in some of the jewels silver to match. Jon thinks I could cut them down, but then they would be too small for the envelope. He insists I should just send them as is; most people are just going to throw them away.

I get it. I don't want to re-do them and I don't have time to figure out how to "fix" them. I should just send them and move on with life. Which is what I'm going to do. But I'm not going to be happy about it.

binge

I'm on maternity leave until November 20. Every day, I feed, change and snuggle the baby, let him look deep into my soul and hope he approves of what he sees there, then I look at the clock and realize it's 4 pm and I didn't get anything on my dream list accomplished.

Except.

The television. Good gravy, do I love television. And FaceBook. And podcasts. All things I can (mostly) do while letting a 10-week old evaluate the contents of my character.

Here is what I have been bingewatching since being on light-duty/bedrest and maternity leave, in reverse order:

• The Time In Between (El Tiempo Entre Costuras)
• Blackish
• Fresh Off the Boat
• The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt
• The Newsroom
• The West Wing
• The Great British Baking Show
• The Good Place
• Sherlock
• The Crown
• Friends from College (I don't know if it's because these people are my age, but I HATED this one, even though I watched all of it.)
• The Get Down
• Orange Is the New Black
• Master of None
• Bloodline (I gave up on season 2 because it was just too slow and brooding.)
• Dear White People
• Anne with an E
• Crazy Ex-Girlfriend

Jon and I are snooty when it comes to tv, but we both watch stuff we wouldn't recommend to others. Sometimes I slog through stuff that I don't necessarily love just to see how it ends (Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt) and Jon is devoted to his "stories," which are just every single serialized superhero show out there.

In my defense, please see the third paragraph of this post. He's only going to let me snuggle him and let me watch what *I* want to watch for an extremely limited time. 

NaBloPoMo: it's been a long time

When you have kids, time seems like a handful of water you're trying to keep. There is so much that happens throughout the day that you wish you could record, preserve, save to cherish later. But it floats away, and the efforts you make to try to hang on to it often get in the way of enjoying it.

I've said this so many times here before, but I love this blog. I miss it terribly--mostly the community we had in 2005, where I'd spend the day thinking of something to post, then eagerly look forward to what people would say about it. Then go around and see what they'd had to say on theirs. I was mostly in love with my husband long before I had even shared a meal with him, all because of this. Unfortunately, like everything else, the supportive, amazing community couldn't last. So much other stuff took up time and it withered away into an antiquated fad. I came out a winner, as I got the husband, and now a beautiful family. But the nostalgic in me wishes she could come back here once in awhile, write something silly and connect with people as we once did.

Thinking about it, the comments were just a part of the appeal. Writing every day, looking around my life to try and find something worth remembering, taking stock of the world and documenting what was happening in real time, those are treasures you can't re-create. I've settled many a bet about when/how things happened by pulling up an old post. The daily gems about having to park downtown or how my biggest struggle was whether I'd get the next Netflix DVD in the mail on time? Looking back, that all seems laughably quaint when we're responsible for keeping two other people alive these days.

Jon turned 40 yesterday. He's reflecting on his life, contemplating what will happen afterward and wondering what it all means. And as I'm generally thinking a few years in the future half the time, I have been doing the same, for a while now. Burying a child tends to shake things into focus, a sharp view of all that isn't actually necessary; it's one that many people get through life not experiencing. Or maybe they do realize it, only when it's too late to change. I think I have my priorities straight, but it's so very hard to give everything worthwhile the time it deserves.

I'm not sure what I'm getting at. I'm rusty. I no longer have the hours I've spent on posts in the past. These muscles are stiff from disuse. But I've gotten up. I'm stretching them. Maybe I can run again.

must be the zombies in the house

Last night was the worst night of sleep our kid has ever had. She generally fights us for two hours and reliably stays down until exactly 1 a.m. but pretty much stays in her big girl bed until we come for her in the morning. Last night, I was working on a quilt for my good friend's child who is now FIVE months old (I know, terrible friend) and came to bed at 2 am. Ro woke up with screams so loud and persistent it sounded like she was tearing up her throat. Until the break of day. Jon and I took turns.

In the morning, he told his teammates, he had the most sleep out of all of us--a whopping two hours. We couldn't figure out what the problem was. Were those 2-yr-old molars coming? Tired of mommy being so tense? Had she "seen a zombie" in her room like she told the kids at daycare?

"I want a blanquet! NO NO BLANQUET!"
"Mommy, rocking chair! NO I DONT WANT ROCKING CHAIR!"
"Mommy, milk in a cup! I DON'T WANT MILK IN A CUP!
"Hold me! DON'T TOUCH ME!"
"Come here, Mommy! LEAVE ME ALONE!"
"I want to go potty! NO I DONT WANT TO GO TO THE POTTY!"

It was hell.

To add insult to injury, when she had stayed at my parents' house on Saturday night, she slept 12 CONSECUTIVE HOURS with zero complaints.

Of course, today she wakes up in a foul mood but as soon as Jon take her to daycare, she was a smiling bouquet of hydrangeas.

I'm up again late (gotta do the binding), so I will be destroyed tomorrow. Good thing I'm on call.

it all makes sense now

"Question."

"Yes?"

"Why is it ok for Trump supporters to be single-issue [sanctity of life, Second Amendment, The Economy] voters, but Clinton supporters have to justify everything their candidate has done for the last 30 years? Why can't Clinton supporters say their single issue is that the opposition endorses hate?"

"Let me break it down for you. Trump is a man. Men are always right. Women are dumb."

"Seriously?"

"I don't understand why I have to keep explaining this to you...Oh right. Because you're a woman."

i have seen the Wizard and he is wondrous

When I put in the order for Ro's birthday cake, and asked them to decorate it with a long view of The Emerald City, I was THIS CLOSE to having the inscription read:

"WE MADE IT, BITCHES."

Apologies to my cuss-sensitive readers, but I needed the emphasis. I went with "Happy 1st Birthday, Ro." The "we made it" sentiment will just have to roll down my face as I gaze upon her sitting in front of the cake in her grandma-made Dorothy costume with her plush Toto stuffed in a basket.

You know what we've been through, guys. This week will always be a bittersweet one. The first baby's due date was November 2, 2013. We laid her ashes to rest on October 29, 2013. And then we have our Rainbow Baby (this is an actual term for the one who lives after one who has been lost), Ro, who was born on her father's 37th birthday, a year ago tomorrow.

***

I took a week off of work to prep for this party, because this is MY PARTY, and I have come close to tears on multiple occasions, as is my RIGHT. Ro has no clue what's going on--she does refer to the dog as "Dodo," and will tolerate the ruby slipper slip-on shoecovers for a short time, but the cake, the balloons, the ridiculous mural painted on the side of an old refrigerator box; the pennant-style banner that I made with one-too-few letters and then had a mini freakout about? All that crap is for me. This is the pretend-Pinterest party that I had been thinking about all those months with her kicking inside of me, worrying that she may show up too early and not come home with us just like the first one.

No one else knows that terrifyingly disgusting feeling of water breaking too soon, the cerclage tied so tightly that what little walking I could do I did with a hobble, the horse-gauge needles stuck into my backside every seven days, and having to lie down and pray that the weekly ultrasound was going to say things were holding steady.

Medical people can conceptualize a pubic symphysis, but like my physical therapist, Kay, said (as she decided to treat me herself the first day she came to evaluate me and assign me to someone else) nobody can understand the agony of a separated pelvis like someone who's done it themselves (she did it running a marathon). Worse was the useless, helpless feeling you get when all you can do for your child is to sit in bed or a couch and desperately try to figure out nursing while your husband, mother-in-law and mom bring the baby to you and take her away to do all the diapering, bathing, walking around and other stuff you wish you could do. And it murders your hormonal heart when you go through all that to get the baby and she doesn't want much to do with you.

All that said, the scary pregnancy, the fiery hoops I had to somersault through, the horrible after-delivery recovery and post-partum rage (not officially diagnosed, but now that I'm far enough away from it, I'm pretty sure that's what I had)--ALL OF THAT was a cakewalk compared to how emotionally treacherous it was for me to go back to work and find I had to work twice as hard in two thirds of the time.

***

This is not to say that I think I had it any worse than any other parent. We all have our struggles. I have SO MUCH HELP, you guys. Seriously. My friends came to see me with food and love and support while I was on bedrest and when I was stuck at home. My mother-in-law came on the day after Ro was born and stayed to help for 12 days. My parents still come over every day. And my husband, he had to do much more than the average dad at the beginning. He does a lot more than the average guy today, too. Granted, he should be doing a lot for his own kid, but that doesn't mean it's not appreciated. I would never have dreamed to make it through nearly two years without all these people.

So we are having a party. I know I have bitten off more than I can chew. This week "off" was a lot harder than the usual working week. But I'm doing it for the 21-months-ago me, the 19-months-ago me, the 17-months-ago me, the 12-months-ago me, who didn't know if heartbreak was once again on the horizon, and especially the 3-6-months ago me, who didn't know if I could hold it together for another single minute, let alone months and years.

We made it, BITCHES.

vacation

I hadn't had a non-maternity-related time off of work in something like two years. We went to California for a week, and MAN was that nice. I was stressed about traveling with a 10-month-old, but she was a champion.

September 18, 2015. First time with her toes in the sand! Those swimming lessons paid off, in that she wasn't scared.

We spent some quality time with Jon's entire nuclear family enjoying cottages on the the most beautiful United States beach I have seen (Del Mar Resort within Camp Pendleton) in San Diego, then drove to Ventura (Jon's hometown) and met up with relatives and friends, and visited the resting place of our baby. 

Ro had a lot of firsts:

• First time on an airplane (a few very brief rough spots, but she did really well and took a 1.5-hour nap)
• First time eating In N Out Burger (only fast food she is allowed saved for the rare Portillo's treat)
• First time in a long car ride (took us FIVE hours to get from San Diego to Ventura, but we had to make a 45-min pit stop due to a meltdown. Ro glares at us at the mention of "carseat" now.)
• First time seeing the ocean
• First time frolicking in the ocean (assisted) with her cousin, D
• First time (helping Mommy) roast a marshmallow over a campfire for a s'more
• First time sitting in the sand with Aunt M and tasting it (the gross flavor and texture did not deter her from trying it again)
• First time climbing three (!) flights of steps at her Aunt A's house completely unassisted (and with great vigor)
• First time meeting her great-grandmother
• First time staying in the "Penguin Palace" room her Aunt Madelyn made at her grandparents' house
• First time eating sushi (she LOVED baked salmon and the seared tuna; the teriyaki chicken and rice were just ok)
• First time going to the church her daddy grew up attending
• First time eating guavas from the tree in someone's yard
• First time petting animals (a bunny and a cat), and learning to say "cat"
• First time going down a park slide (perhaps the daycare lady has taken her--but to me it was a first)
• First time actually waving with purpose (favorite person to wave at is her grandma).
• First baseball game at Dodger Stadium (next will be Wrigley)
• First hilltop sunset overlooking the ocean (and remembering her sister)

There were probably more, but she had a blast. It was a really great trip we will cherish forever.  

 The Dodgers lost, but it was still a fun time. September 21, 2015. Ro: almost 11 months