come down from your fences, open the gate

We moved to a new house two years ago, and location was the prime factor. Well, in the spring of 2021 get getting ANY home was the real prime factor, but we didn’t even look at anything that didn’t fall within the boundaries of the elementary school whose field backs up to my parents’s backyard fence. That way, I reasoned, when my folks retire, the children can walk to their house after school and have a wonderful time until we pick them up after work. 

But here we are, with a third-grader and first-grader…and these people are still working. So we pick them up from the bus. It’s fine, because we work from home and the bus stop is right on our corner. So much for plans. 

Another thing about this house? In order to jam as many single-family homes into what used to be a farm, they decided no one was going to get a yard—just communal green spaces over which the crotchety broad who lives next door will threaten to call the cops because 5yearolds have dared to laugh and have fun within 500 feet of her window. But that’s a story for another day. 

It sure does make me miss Sid and Bertha (RIP), our neighbors who put up this passive-aggressive fence because we weren’t timely enough with our leaf raking. 

#NaBloPoMo

“Desperado” The Eagles

when it hasn't been your day, your week, your month or even your year

Highcon, Ri and C are invited and will likely attend the episode of Friends this weekend called "The one where Chandler Settles Down." Considering I was the Monica Geller at her most relentless to his avoidant Ms. Chanandler Bong (RIP Matthew Perry) for about 18 months two decades ago, I am certainly not on the guest list. But I do hope that Chandler’s new wife makes him happy. 

I've made this Friends reference in the past, and I kept it breezy, but this NaBloPoMo is all about the circleback with context, so I will go ahead and stretch this simile beyond its limits. What the hell, it's been 19 years (to the day, eerily) since we broke up.

Let's imagine that:

• Chandler and Monica are humans instead of sitcom puppets at the mercy of ratings and writers. 
• After a decade of membership in a tight-knit friend group and a benign personal connection, they bumped elbows one afternoon when they were both single and found it created an electric spark worth investigating.
• Mapping out the implications of a potential breakup and swearing upon a swing set that they would not let things get weird, they hesitatingly gave it a shot.
• The Friends eventually found out and were happy! One was especially over the moon at the idea that this best friend and that best friend were now BESTEST best friends, and announced to every patron of Side Tracks that he'd known it all along.
• They were deliriously happy until Chandler began acting kinda shady, ain't callin' her baby, why the sudden change...this trifling behavior seemed to crop up whenever Janice's laugh could be heard in the background.
• Monica's attention to detail made her suspicious, especially when stories didn't add up. This grilling made Chandler more avoidant. Which made Monica double down and catch more inconsistencies, which made her panic. 
• At Central Perk, Monica crossed her arms and glowered in an armchair, but Chandler was all jokes. He turned to the others, raised his eyebrow and circled a finger around his ear. "Could she BE more paranoid?" Everyone laughed, even Gunther.
• Monica had enough and they broke up.
• It was easier for the Friends to hang out with Chandler. He remained funny and normal. Monica cried a lot in her apartment and kept trying to get them to agree Chandler was at the very least being dishonorable and untrustworthy. If he's lying about hanging out with Janice, what else is he hiding? She was getting to be a real drag. Come on, it's Chandler. He would never! Get a grip, Monica.
• Then Monica kind of disappeared. She got an off-hours job in some dungeon in the city where she was up all night, worked all weekend and didn't see any friends at all. Supposedly she started one of those blog things.
• At the 20-year high school reunion over a decade later, Monica and Chandler had a nice chat about how he was really into the woman he was dating but she was angling for a ring and he wasn't about that life. They inquired about each other's families and Monica showed him photos of her children. 
• The group got together a handful of times but it was never the same. The Friends haven't all been in one room together since 2019, and even then they were sprinkled among 25 mutual friends and acquaintances at a going-away party. They exchanged pleasantries and raised a toast to old times.

That relationship very nearly turned me to ash. People who saw the mess that was me in the following months or caught a glimpse of the bitterness simmering under the surface for years afterward assumed I must've been so desperately in love with Chandler that I couldn't get over the heartbreak. Sure, being unable to make it work with him was a crushing disappointment. But it wasn’t just him that I lost. 

The fact that not a single one of them took my side and their refusal to acknowledge my hurt as anything beyond a crackpot theory—essentially gaslighting me into thinking I ruined the group by being extra? That's the blade that caused the festering wound.

When I was trying to explain the distinction (as recently as last year) one of them turned to me and said, "Cadiz. You have to understand. If it were ANYONE else, I would have so been in your corner, all the way. But it's Chandler! We love that guy! How could we possibly be mad at him?" 

Within a year of the breakup I had met and fallen in love with the man who would hold my hand throughout my failed attempt at “and that, my friend, is what they call closure” a few years later. I didn’t get it. What happened instead was me going full-scale Hysterical Monica on the whole group in actual Central Park. This man stayed by my side when there were two airports full of flights out of New York just a cab ride away. That is precisely when I realized I would marry H someday. Later, when asked about that bizarre confrontation, all he had to say was "Who, Chandler? I don't have a problem with the guy. Besides, he left the door open for me."

If my ex has managed to find someone as well-suited to him as I caught for myself, then he is a truly lucky fellow who deserves every happiness in the world.

#NaBloPoMo

"I'll Be There for You" The Rembrandts

it's a beautiful, messy, unfair world, after all

Tonight I put two little boys to bed.

I rubbed their backs, I stroked their hair, I watched their eyes flutter open, I reassured them I was not leaving when they complained. And when they were all the way out, I backed away slowly and closed the door behind me.

One of those boys is my two-year-old son, whom I carried for nine months and watched being lifted out of my own belly via the reflection in the chrome of the overhead lights in the operating room. The other is my 37-year-old brother, whom I prayed so hard for every single night in the months before I turned four because I was lonely and wanted a baby to play with but not one who would want to share my dolls.

***

So much has happened in two weeks. Two weeks? Has it been three? Has it been 47? What is time anyway? I feel like I've lived two years of events in the last three months. Normally I'd spend a lot of time trying to find words to describe how I feel about Covid19 coronavirus (hella terrifying), quarantine (confusion and struggle), #BLM (it's about damn time), murder hornets (only THIS much less terrifying than Covid), looting (opportunists coopting a movement) and 45's government (I'll never find words for that one). There aren't enough stolen wee hours of the morning for me to write coherently about what has happened, so I'm just going to start at the beginningish. It's almost 3am. Be kind.

***

The Thursday before Memorial Day, May 21, was already a bad day. It was the anniversary of the birth of the first baby who didn't live. She would have been seven this year. I had already been feeling emotional and lashing out at people for a few days because the 21st is just the date on the birth and death certificate; my water broke at the office on the 19th and I agonized over hearing her heartbeat every eight hours for two ungodly days of torture before actually delivering her into a world where her little lungs had no chance of providing a breath. And the ordeal lasted for months afterward. It's like my soul activates some sort of emotional muscle memory of that experience around this time, and this year was exacerbated by the anxiety and hopelessness of the pandemic. My mother brought over a card and a gorgeous cream-colored orchid plant. My brother showed me that he had a reminder on his phone of her birth date and mentioned he had a headache.

My brother wanted us to come over on Saturday and grill out with him. I was not loving the idea, what with the death sentence that coronavirus would be for him and lifelong agony it would be for me if we were the reason he'd gotten it. It rained. My brother somehow manages to get his way, so he fired up the grill on Sunday and we made our way over there. He was on the deck with my mom, all masked up and distanced. My dad wasn't feeling social so he was kind of off on his own in the corner. H, the kids and I were all down on the lawn, running around--them playing with a slew of new toys their Nani couldn't help but buy and us in chase, trying to get them to take some ever-loving bites of their hot dogs. Ro actually loved the steak her uncle prepared, so she ate the heartiest meal she'd had in a week. The only time my brother wasn't grumpy was when he was shooting water at the children and making them scream in fake terror and run for cover. I kept telling H that it seemed like my brother was mad at me. Then I saw his hands trembling when he was putting the corn on the cob onto his fancy grill. That was odd. Apparently that headache--a dull pain that he'd never really had before--hadn't really subsided and he was taking Aleve every day to unsuccessfully make it go away.

The next day was the actual Memorial Day. It was the day we all, including my folks and brother, were supposed to have been getting on a plane to Orlando to visit what we'd been telling the children was "The Beach" (Hint: It's Disney World). My brother had planned every single teeny detail as only a Manager of Project Managers like himself is capable of doing. I was mostly interested in finding out what is so special about the Dole Whip and whether we'd survive the rigorous timetable. Sticking to a schedule with two children under six is a nightmare and I'm not going to lie: the 8:30am breakfast with Belle was a joke--we can't even get them out of bed by 8:30am and Orlando is an hour ahead! Ro was going to have the first haircut of her life there. You read that correctly; her hair comes down past her little behind, just like Rapunzel. Not a single one of the seven of us has ever been to this magical place where everyone is supposedly always happy. But it's closed, along with nearly every other place there is these days.

My brother decided to see his primary care physician in a video visit on Tuesday. He kept calling while I was on conference calls. During the quarantine, this kid has taken to calling me on average of six times a day. I get it: He is lonely and bored and a little bit miserable. I can't always answer, but have always had this nagging feeling when I send him to voicemail that it's going to be a bad call that I've ignored. Most of the time he just wants to shoot the shit between his own meetings or when he's tired of tv or when he wants to see the children. But this time the follow up text was "I'm going to the Emergency Room."

What he thought was a tension headache was actually a brain bleed.

After that initial cat scan, they admitted him directly into the ICU. No visitors. No information. My parents were losing it, I was freaking out and he was in there, all alone.

***

One thing I may have not made clear about my brother is that he is a charmer. I cannot tell you how many people met him once and have remembered him forever. He has been working this voodoo on our parents and me since he entered this world, and somehow generally gets his way. I'd say a lot of that is because it really doesn't hurt us to make whatever he wants happen, and the precariousness of his health condition is kind of always hanging around like a lingering cough: This could be the last…do you really want that to be the last…? So while he was dealt a really shitty hand at birth, we have tried to make the rest of the stuff that is in our control a little less shitty. And perhaps he might take some of that for granted, because he doesn't know any different. That said, he works very hard and has made a name for himself. He's actually a bunch of people's boss. It's strange, because to me he's still a three-year-old running around in Smurf undies.

He knows someone who knows someone who knows the CMO of the hospital where he is admitted. They gave him permission to have ONE person be able to come and visit. And two days into his stay, the CMO came to his room to greet him and tell him so, personally. That very special allowed visitor is me. I feel incredibly guilty, because no other patients get visitors, but not guilty enough to stay home and leave him to suffer alone.

***

The ICU room is new. There's a giant flexible, shiny silver tubing coming in then out the back that is LOUD. AS. HELL. It creates negative pressure to continually suck out all the air in the room, thereby also sucking out any airborne germs. This is handy in the time of Covid19, and I'm sure by design. But the sound measures 65 decibels. And there is no break. You can't even hear yourself think in there, let alone dream about listening to a podcast.

The first couple days my brother was in ICU. Then they moved him to a sweet new room with lovely windowseat with a view of the nearly empty parking lot and two (!) televisions in it. During those idyllic days, I'd bring him a different meal each evening and rub his head while he watched reruns of "Chicago P.D." or "30 for 30" on ESPN (that Lance Armstrong was something). He could walk and talk and generally function fine, but the headache wasn't going away. They kept doing CT scans to check on the bleed. I managed to be there one day when the neurosurgeon was there, and they explained that in a normal patient, they'd take them to the operating room and "evacuate" the blood and fluids immediately to relieve pressure on the brain, but because my brother has a whole lot of extra stuff going on already, that would be risky. Mr. I Do What I Want had his three-chambered heart set on surgery.

Things have not been easy for this guy, as I have described in many a post here. But he has always been battling through it and coming out on the other side. This time is different. We are hearing a defeatist tone in his voice and exasperation and exhaustion like we'd never heard before. His best friend is expecting a baby and didn't reach out as much during this quarantine, which really hurt. I try my best to be there for him, but children need to be bathed, work hours need to be completed to pay the mortgage and I do need to sleep once in awhile. That unavailability hurts, too. Both of us. He really hasn't even gotten over breaking up with the longtime girlfriend, m, and kicks himself every day for having left her seven years ago. I don't feel right commenting on that relationship, but something needs to happen to give him the closure he needs because it seems like he just can't give anyone else a chance. He kept saying, "I'm tired. I am so tired of fighting. What is the point?" I would gently start listing the names of people who were reaching out with concern, love prayers and support. I don't think that did anything but annoy him, but he put up with it.

I had really been hoping the inflammation and old blood would magically go away without surgery (I read it can be reabsorbed by the body, but that wasn't going to happen in less than a week). They were set to operate on the morning of June 2, this past Tuesday. The delay was to accomodate several days of administering platelets and medication to encourage his blood to coagulate. Those would combat decades of blood thinner use he needed to keep his heart working without blood clots.

In those days before the procedure, he called EVERYBODY. Longtime buddies, out-of-touch friends and all his exes. Even m. He shared seven years of pent-up feelings with her and she was rightfully taken caught off guard. They are not getting back together. I don't think he got the closure he wanted. Whether he got the closure he needs is yet to be seen. Either way, she's been texting me for updates every day, along with his legion of fans.

The night before the surgery, several of his coworkers, his boss, my folks, my godparents and friends met up in the parking lot of the hospitals with signs and a Zoom meeting (where more work people joined) in a little rally. It was one of the sweetest things I have ever seen. My dad, who doesn't have the patience to sit through a feature-length film, drew a person holding a giant heart that said "You are special" and underneath was "Love Mom and Dad" and colored it all in--with thin-tipped markers. That must've taken forever. My mom made one with sports on it and something like "Get better very soon." We made a giant sign of taped-together easel paper that says "We [heart] you" in giant letters. Ro is obsessed with half purple/half pink hearts and is very proud of having mastered the shape. His nurse has taped those signs to his walls.

On the day of surgery, I was allowed to be there for the prep but told in no uncertain terms to GTFO as soon as he left for the operating room. He was irritated that he wouldn't be put all the way under but given "Twilight" sedation for the procedure. He was fiercely advocating for himself, and it made me very proud. They didn't know if he could survive general anesthesia. Which was ok, because apparently with brain stuff, most of the time the patient is kind of awake. His anesthesiologist turned out to have been in the same high-school graduating class, and they were catching up on classmates while she started his arterial monitoring line. Then they made me pack a bag with anything he might need for several days, take the rest of his stuff, and they wheeled him away. Six hours later, after the procedure, getting off the ventilator, the recovery room and the initial CT scan, I was let back in to see my baby brother with a drain sticking out of his head.

***

Pain is something you can build a callus to try and bear. This guy has had eleven open-heart surgeries, so this process is not unknown to him. But messing with the brain is messing with his head. He says the pain is so intense that only morphine makes him feel "a little better, but not a lot." They decided not to bore into his skull because they can get just as effective results from a subdural (under the skin) drain placement as making holes. But the surgeon told me that normally when he cuts into a patient's head, he'd see white from the bone. With my brother it was all red, no white. And because he has been taking Coumadin for almost all of his life, his blood doesn't want to clot and stop bleeding.

The evening after the surgery, I felt like I couldn't get any answers. They couldn't find his bag, with his phone or chargers in it, and I would be damned if I left before I secured a means to be in contact with him. It was finally located, somewhere, after they'd tried to tell me I had walked off with it that morning. I kept asking questions and the three nurses assigned to him kept putting me off, saying I had better talk to the neuro team. My brother was very very out of it; he wasn't going to be a reliable narrator, and worse, he kept asking me if he was going to die, and saying he didn't want to die. That broke my heart but gave me hope that he does have the mental strength to fight. At home, my parents were going out of their minds with worry. I finally cornered his lovely night nurse outside the room and was trying to make sure she had my phone number when he started yelling at me from inside the room. He didn't want me talking to his caregivers out of earshot. He wasn't giving me answers and they weren't giving me answers, and I had an entire crew of concerned people asking me questions. I promised not to talk to anyone without him as long as he GAVE ME INFORMATION. The next day, he called me and put the neuro surgeon on the phone while they were there doing rounds.

During the operation, they were able to remove a lot of blood. The surgeon said it came "pouring out like motor oil." There was new bleeding as a result of the procedure, which is what they feared when they had recommended against surgery. Instead of one spot, where the original spontaneous bleed had been, it was bleeding at the top, bottom, left and right of his brain. There was output coming from the drain, but the CTs they did 3, 6 and 9 hours after showed he was stable. They were pumping him full of coagulating medications, which "are very potent" and also not good for his heart. He also isn't making many platelets, so they've continued to give him those as well. At this moment they have to choose between the brain and the heart and they are focusing on the brain, even though the hematology team and cardiology team are watching him closely, as well. Encouraging the blood in his head to clot could also lead to bad clots that could get to his heart. This is all very disheartening. And unfair. The neuro said he's doing very well thus far and it'll be 72 hours of hell but then they expect things to get better. They do not anticipate any issues, but they will be ready if any arise.

***

I'm writing this about 65 hours post-op. It's 4am. On the day of the surgery he was in a lot of pain but still managed to make a "that's what she said" joke to a nurse putting in a particularly difficult IV. Yesterday they let him have more than a wet swab in the mouth, then ice chips. Being able to eat gave me hope that they didn't think they'd need to do emergency surgery on him at any moment. I brought him Gatorade, Sour Cream & Onion Pringles and ginger ale. He had red Jell-O. Today he got another stable CT, so they let him sit up at a 45-degree angle, walk around the unit with his nurse and use the bathroom. But he called me several times in misery, saying his entire body hurt from lying in these crappy beds for more than a week (he's starting to get not-open sores from the bed) and that he felt like an 18-wheeler had run over him, backed up and run over him again. He requested a Dairy Queen Heath Bar Blizzard, which was the only thing he ate today. If he can have a couple more stable CTs, they might talk about removing the drain. There has been no new output since yesterday.

When I was there tonight, rubbing his forehead and the pinching the bridge of his nose as I have been doing for 3-5 hours every day they let me in to try and get him relaxed enough to sleep, I noticed one of his eyes was suddenly kind of bloodshot, and there was swelling on the left side of his face. I told the nurse, who paged the neuro team, and they did a stat CT. As they were pushing him out the door, he tells a nurse, "DO NOT LET HER LEAVE." I don't have a good way of finding out what the radiologist said, and no way to know how he's doing tonight. That sucks.

Each day gets harder and harder to leave him. Yesterday at 9pm, I was trying to explain that I still needed to go to the grocery store and he was begging me to stay. I'm starting to see why my mother would spend weeks and sometimes months in the recliner at his side, only leaving to use the bathroom or a quick shower in the nurse's locker room. When I told her I won't drink anything after noon to try and prevent having to use the bathroom at the hospital, she said that's what she did during those times after his surgeries. He would ask her, "do you really have to go to the bathroom?" And I can picture exactly how hard that must've been for her. What I can't imagine is what it's like for her now, when she's stuck at home and can't be there. I've explained that I'm representing all of us, and when my hand is on his forehead, it's all of our hands on him, trying to make him feel the love we and the dozens of people on multiple continents who are praying for his recovery are sending. It's cheesy, but it's what's getting me through it. That and repeating all the prayers I can remember from CCD.

***

The thing that I just can't shake about this, and life in general, is just how damn unfair it is. This guy was born with his heart on the wrong side, missing a left ventricle. He has one lung, liver cirrhosis, a spontaneously spewing left leg and now a brain that might randomly bleed. The news that this ordeal could very easily happen again next week, next month, next year is probably eating away at his hope for a "normal" life. That said, he IS alive, and his brain is capable of still coming up with smartass answers to my questions even after the trauma of surgery. The same can't be said of so many other people who didn't have a chance.

H is constantly reminding me that life isn't fair. That I have a warped sense of justice, as if it's actually possible, when it just isn't a lot of the time. Deep in my heart I know this, yet every day it continues to poke me, aggravate, make me irate.

Today people at our company took a knee for eight minutes and forty-six seconds in memory of Floyd George, who was murdered by law enforcement in Minneapolis. Cities have been on fire in the last week. Looting, rioting, marching, protesting. To try and start to fix hundreds of years of injustice, somehow. People's anger had nowhere to go. At least anger can lead to some kind of action, and possibly a resolution. To me it is infinitely preferable to despair.

***

Kash just woke up, ran to our room and found I wasn't there. When he woke up his father, he said, "Mommy went to the hospital." I went up there, gave him some water, walked around holding him and sang the full roster of baby songs all the way from "She'll Be Comin' 'Round the Mountain" to "Hush Little Baby" until he relaxed enough to fall back asleep. I was able to comfort him, stroke his hair and rub his back. Six miles away my brother is suffering alone, with only the bloops of the monitors and the hum of the negative pressure fan to lull him to sleep. I hope he's dreaming of seeing Disney World.

Cats

We've completed nine weeks of quarantine.

My brother brought over a pizza from a new-to-us place. New York-style. Fantastic. We have a new place. Even Ro ate two pieces and she's been on some sort of eating strike lately--we had to call her pediatrician to get a plan, and turns out it's just about her will over our requests that she nourishes her body. I don't mean to sound flippant, but the absolute hardest thing about this lockdown has been what is hardest for me at any time in life: Meals. The planning, the shopping, the prepping, the cooking, the HAGGLING, the cleanup, the putting away, the sometimes a week of eating rejected leftovers instead of what I am in the mood to eat. My mother loves cooking. I'm sure having always come downstairs to an unexpected, delicious, steaming meal has spoiled me for life. There is no way I could ever live up to her standards, and that adds a layer of disappointment over my entire process.

Last week, my brother had a video visit with the folks at Mayo Clinic. At the beginning of this crappy year, his longtime cardiologist group (the ones covered by his insurance) essentially told him they didn't know what to do anymore. The words "heart and lung transplant" were used. I don't know how much of this I've explained here already, but I have so little time to post that I don't have time to check, let alone edit.

Basically his OG cardiologist group has gotten good at treating newborns and children for their heart defects now, but not enough of them have lived to the age of 37: They don't really know what to do about all the fallout that happens after they've done those interventions. The Glenn, The Fontan, stents, Gore-Tex patches. Revising entire vessel systems. That stuff saves lives. But the body does what the body does to survive, and doesn't always follow the plan. There are long-term effects like cirrhosis of the liver caused by decades of imbalanced blood flow, venous pressures so great at times that his leg will spew blood like a hose. Oxygen saturation percentages that top off at 81 (the rest of us are close to 100 all the time). Arteriovenous Malformations (AVMs).They put him under for a cardiac catheterization, during which the vein specialist was going to use the sedation time to adjust something to help his leg.

He was the last patient in the cath lab on a Friday night. What broke my heart was when he came to. His first questions were: "Did they do anything?" then almost immediately, "How much is this going to cost me?"

They did not. And probably a lot.

The surgeon scheduled to do his cath had been called away for a family emergency, and the one who took his place did not feel comfortable with the vein specialist being in the operating room, so that was not allowed. They were not able to repair anything, but did discover a myriad of AVMs all throughout his chest. He came out to the lobby (where I put a meeting a I was conducting remotely with 90 people on it on hold) to show me a video of it. I didn't really understand what I was seeing, but I got what his face was telling me. They don't know what to do and the only way to figure it out is to make educated guesses and try it out. On my brother.

So he requested a second opinion. And then a viral respiratory pandemic hit. I'm sure I don't have to spell out in detail what a death sentence this thing would be for a person with a heart defect and only one functioning lung. This poor guy hasn't been out of his house more than a handful of times for more than two months. He's going insane. And our mutual giant employer announced that for people who can work remotely, work from home has been extended through to the end of 2020. I was overjoyed: We don't know what school is going to look like for Ro. Hell, we don't even know where she will be going to school--I hope to high heaven that I don't have to try and teach her Kindergarten. I can't even get her to color with me for more than 20 minutes. My brother's reaction was more like despair.

Mayo talked to my brother on Cinco de Mayo. I forgot that the big appointment was that day and forgot to ask him about it. We had another giant fight about it, because he felt that it should have been important enough to me to write down in my calendar. I swore I had. But what he doesn't understand is a) I have a couple more things going on than remembering his appointments, such a full-time job I'm struggling to maintain focus for, two children under the age of six who cannot do anything but watch tv unassisted, and often come in begging, "but will you watch WITH me?" and the daily eating rollercoaster we ride at least six times (if you count snacks) a day. Thank God for H being a hands-on dad or I would have lost my damn mind years ago. And b) ADD.

My brother does not have an easy life by any means, but among his ailments is not ADD. He doesn't understand that remembering appointments/being on time is a hallmark problem for us, so me forgetting his appointments must mean I don't care. Um…what? The kicker to that conversation was that he wasn't ready to talk about it the day it happened, anyway. If I had remembered and asked, he would have been snippy and likely would have called me annoying for asking so many questions. So I'm basically the bad guy in any scenario. I'm the only guy, too, because he doesn't want to tell Mom and Dad what's going on. It was agreed that I'm just not going to ask anymore and he can divulge whatever he wants, at the time he wants to disclose it.

This is the main reason I have become vicious in my online commentary about this Covid 19 crisis. I have watched this kid suffer for almost 38 years, putting on a brave face to the world, missing out on things he can't do because of this condition. Not using it as an excuse for ANYTHING (dude has an awesome job and somehow was put in charge of a bunch of other people?) while he could have very easily sat at home collecting disability, or at the very least get a handicap license plate. Acquaintences don't even know about this. The statistics are very personal to me. When people say 1 in 100, I immediately think: But what if that one person was a giant piece of your life? Is it really just ONE if something happened to them?

My brother and I are going on a road trip to Minnesota in June for Mayo to do some tests (cardiac cath awake!). They will be trying to adjust his blood pressures with medication--a little blue pill that has been coopted by guys who need a boost in the bedroom, but was designed for cardiac patients. They also said they don't want to pursue surgery that hard because he only has a one-in-six chance of surviving the blood loss from being cut open on the table, no matter how much donated blood we make available. My husband is a lifesaver, whose only comment was "Let me know when, so I know to request off." This guy will be 24/7 with these children, and then possibly longer if I have to quarantine myself afterward. The logistical gymnastics of caring for two small kids by oneself is an amazing and invisible feat, not well appreciated by the childless, and sometimes forgotten by those whose own kids can wipe their own butts.

My father, who has taken to roaming about the countryside because he cannot bear to stay at home for more than an afternoon, likes to show up with mango juice or croissants or bananas for the children. I needed to do about two weeks of chores yesterday when I get a text saying "I am coming to your house." We had next to no food in the fridge because we were planning on cleaning it before doing the monthly giant shopping trip. I complained about this to my friends, who said "just make some sandwiches and take the kids outside while you talk to your dad." Lovely idea. I didn't want to pile on the whining by saying we don't have any of the "right" kind of bread left and crafting some kind of meal wasn't going to happen in the 20 minutes it'd take my dad to show up. So I warmed up a hodgepodge of leftovers packed it into a picnic basket, insulated bag and another bag, and made my father wait in the yard for several minutes while I tried to corral everything. H was helping me find things, like the picnic blanket and cutting up carrots, but he wasn't going to go out there. He did clean the fridge instead, though.

We visited with my dad for about 45 minutes. He was sitting on a lawn chair under a tree, sort of wearing a surgical mask (even though I gave them about six fabric ones I'd been stealing time from sleep and work and children to sew) and us on a blanket. He kept wanting to hold the children, so I had to gently remind him we need to stay apart, and that I'm not wearing a mask because I don't go to public places about forty times a week like he does. Thank God I had tomato soup left for him because of course he doesn't eat meat on Saturdays. Then he left, I played bubbles and chalk with the kids and they went back in, leaving me to clean everything up and bring it inside. All of my plans for the day were pretty much shot. I came away from that thinking, okay my dad saw the kids but didn't get to hold them. He had to eat day-old soup awkwardly in a lawn chair. The kids kept wanting to go in to the front and for me to chase them, and didn't want to stand still and entertain my father. But I had to do so and also try and eat, plus feed them one of the 15 items on the blanket. I was exhausted and enjoyed very little of the entire experience. Why do we do these things again?

I want nothing more than for my kids to be able to go back to school. For them and for us. Every single day we leave them to toys and iPads and streaming services to work, then try to take them outside and play after 5pm but it rains? That disappointment breaks off a chunk of me, just a teeny little bit, every single time. Add to that all the other disappointments: It's Week 9 and people who thought I'd have sent them some masks by now are disappointed. I've been at this job almost a year and may never ever know enough to feel as confident as I did at the last job--the one thing I felt I was excelling at. Everything is a battle. The children want to control something but we have to find away to get them to eat. My brother wants to control the information coming out about his condition, but I have to find a way to support him and not neglect the responsibilities in my own house while also pretending to our parents that all is A-OK. My employer thought it was totally cool to bring me in, give me jacked-up access, some assignments and a list of near strangers from which I could "ask anyone on the team" and basically leave me floating alone in a lake of mostly empty cubicles to try and figure it all out by herself. I just need a win. Somewhere.

Each week, Andrew Lloyd Webber makes a production of one of his shows available on YouTube for 48 hours. I think about 11 million people watched "Phantom of the Opera." We have streamed every week except the concert of songs and Ro was intrigued by Phantom (and its mediocre sequel, "Love Never Dies"). I think it appealed to her obsession with all things Halloween because of their birthday. This week? Cats.

Apparently it's the third-longest running show (the first is Phantom). I have never understood what the big deal was about Cats, and after the movie version got shellacked last year, I've been even more curious. So we gave it a try.

H was out from the jump. Kash was out after about 10 minutes. Ro kept asking "what are they doing, Mom?" "Now what are they doing?" I didn't know. Thank goodness I had googled the "plot" or I would have had no idea what was going on. By hour 1, Ro was out. The costumes were cool, the makeup was awesome, the singing was good, the dancing was impressive. But I didn't get it. There's a magic about live theater that simply doesn't translate on screen--I totally get that, and this is a great example. My main impression was "wow, that is a lot of cats" and imagined having to wrangle or get them to do anything at all.

And in light of my current situation, it seemed appropriate to spend two hours trying to make sense of  the actions of twenty-some strange furry creatures, each with seemingly its own agenda; hard to follow, no clear plan, impossible to pin down. All the while wondering, "This? Is this it? Why does everyone love this but I don't get it? I'm sure I'm not doing it right."

six weeks tomorrow

Everyone keeps talking about “the new normal.” What does that even mean? I’m getting into online feuds with people in a mommy facebook group who live in Indiana and let their kids run around together in the neighborhood and think that there’s more danger in breathing “humid air” while wearing a mask than wearing one and trying to keep the numbers of infections from climbing. In New York city, they’re running out of room for the bodies. There aren’t enough refrigerated trailers and warehouses to hold them all. My friend Sol’s husband and children had to say their goodbyes and last rites to their uncle over Zoom (non-Covid cause of death). The family is being difficult about social distancing during the upcoming mass and burial. As if losing a brother isn’t hard enough. Nurses are being thanked for holding the iPad in one hand and the hand of a dying loved one in another so their family can be there when they pass. I cannot describe the raging fire of anger in my heart toward the people who think this is a conspiracy or made up by the media. Journalists are being furloughed, their pay cut, or simply being let go left and right, while people are so thirsty for information—and they NEED reliable sources. This is the kind of moment I’d always imagine having happened in the past that we were supposed to have learned from. Obviously we didn’t. The president is tweeting about all sorts of nonsense and looking for people to blame while having dropped the ball. Also denying statements made on camera. I’m so disheartened about society. 

At home, my resolve is wearing thin. I hope I can find the patience to be kind to my children, who have been on some sort of bizarre hunger strike—even things they love, like “nani cereal” they are not eating. We are trying so very hard, but it feels like we are failing at everything. 

It took me five weeks, but I made several pleated/tie-masks and got two rolls of stamps to try and mail them to our family and drop them to friends. I am disappointed in myself. I have seven boxes of fabric, not to mention two spools of twill tape (which I mailed to CC’s bff who is cranking out masks like nobody’s business). I just don’t have the TIME. H bought me this cool plexiglass/wood gadget to make holding the fabric down to rotary cut easier. I’ll admit, I wondered when he thought I was going to have time to use it, but dang has that thing come in handy. I have about 350 sets of masks measured out and cut up. I am making cotton straps and ironing them into bias tape—easily the most time-consuming pattern, but much more comfortable to me. Because of course that’s how I would do it. Hopefully I can get them made and to the people who need them, as Illinois has been requiring a mask to be out among the people starting today. 

There just isn’t enough time in the day. The poor children are left to entertain themselves for long stretches of the day, while we desperately try to maintain focus to get the bare minimum done at work. I have never in my life looked forward to a weekend more desperately than I have for the last five weekends. Their schedule is out the window, flown through a woodchipper and scattered in the wind. Kash takes naps later in the evening (like 5-7:30 or 8p), which is nice for trying to cook/clean up the tornado of toys, but then he’s up till 1 or 2a. I have a daily meeting at 8:30a—thank God not on video—and we are HURTING. It’s like the guy spinning plates. But instead of being able to do it, we just let them fall and dig more plates out of the cupboard. Ro has started writing her S and N backward all of a sudden and does not want to practice. We are still paying Ms. A to try to get her through this until the government money comes through (no sign of it). She’s going to hold our spots and credit us when things open back up again. She is worried about losing her livelihood and even commented that she might consider cleaning people’s houses… Ms. A always has loved a flourish of drama. 

My folks are still going into work. I worry so much for them. My mom works at the hospital and just masks up and sanitizes. Both she and my dad go to the store SO much more than H or I, who have only gone out four times in nearly six weeks. My brother can work from home but is losing his damn mind, alone in his big old house. He’s watching a lot of tv. 

We don’t have time to do the basics, let alone watch all the “it” shows, like “Tiger King” on Netflix and God knows what else. I’m feeling a lot of FOMO about that. At some point, though, I have to just accept that I simply cannot do all the things. I have a lot of anxiety—there is chest tightness that has been coming and going since February and my monthly cycle has shortened quite a bit. My hair is falling out. I feel like a jerk complaining about any of this in light of people losing their livelihoodS and even their loved ones. 

H’s employer has asked they take a PTO day once a week for at least the month of May (they, as my company, are hemorrhaging money despite being insanely busy because of the COVID-19 virus). Top brass are all taking 15-20% paycuts at both places (our CEO is taking a 50% cut, which still leaves him getting $5.5M, so I don’t feel too sad for him), and they’re going to cut nonessential workers’ pay gradually and let people go in the negative with their PTO. My significantly larger company lost $168M in the month of March. I’m having flashbacks of all my layoffs and panicking. Our plans to sell our house are on hold. I don’t know how the heck I would be able to online educate my kindergartener in the fall when I can’t even get her to practice writing her letters. 

These are strange times, which I’m sure I will draw from for the rest of my life. I hope that I will look back and think “I did the best I could with what I had,” but likely it will be more like “dumbo, why you squander all of that precious time?” 

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.

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.

mourning

Jon’s hometown is on fire.

It’s been burning for about two days and people the family knows have lost their homes. The winds have not slowed down, so it’s moving quickly and not sparing much in its path. Including the spot where we laid our Baby’s ashes.

I know it was ashes already, that the baby is hopefully hanging with my Nani in heaven and I’m relieved that very few people have died in this disaster, but seeing the gorgeous hill on which  we left her charred and bleak just broke my heart. It’s a sacred place for us.

This is just a reminder that the grieving never really ends. We just learn to live with it better every day.




This is what it usually looks like.


And now it is this.

i had one wish for myself, it would be diligence

When I had Ro, Jon's cousin got me this one-line-a-day memory book.

I have generally been pretty good about writing in it, but after a seriously insane work situation last October (followed immediately by nonstop nausea and vomiting of pregnancy), I missed writing in it from November through January. Now I'm circling back around and trying to piece together from the bullet journal, calendar and photos what happened. This is not ideal.

Oh the things I could accomplish if I were more disciplined. Let's see how this NaBloPoMo goes when I start back at work on November 20...

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.