it was a village...

WARNING: THIS POST IS WHOLLY UNFILTERED. MY HEART REACHED OUT AND TYPED THIS ITSELF.



On this day, the three month anniversary of Persephone's birth and passing, and as we surround Debe, Kris, and Sorren with arms outstretched, I really wish I knew what in god's name else has to happen in order to mend this community.

In the past four days, I have driven close to 200 miles to pick up food from people I've never met, who have never met the Brookses, who greeted me with tears in their eyes, hugs, stares borne only of this particular sort of senselessness, and a love that can only come from the connectivity of mama hearts. Debe's home is filled with the love being sent along. I have retrieved cash from single mothers who have never met the Brookses, and their sisters, and have received meals and checks from almost as far as Detroit. Another single mom I know not only gave them her CSA this week, but also drove clear to Portland last night and went hella wild at Trader Joe's and we delivered the goods circa midnight. My broken heart is tempered by an anger at the universe over the losses of these baby girls, but this outpouring, which shows no sign of slowing, has rendered me awestruck and has reminded me what an amazing community this...can be.

I am incensed to be witnessing the continuation of fucked up petty grievances in the midst of such loss. Frankly? No one I know is anywhere near over the loss of Persephone yet. She is spoken of constantly, partly out of the deep remaining pain, and partly with respect to the impact her passing had on our community. We all walked away connected that day, and personally, in the precious moment I was so blessed to have with her, I thought this immeasurable unity was her tiny legacy, and many echoed the same sentiment.

However...

(Note: This is my blog. I have the right to say whatever I want, and I intend to, and if the truth hurts, leave or change.)

Within a month of that sweet baby's lost life, while many of us were still in a haze of disbelief, others, mothers, friends, trusted allies and supporters, ignited a spontaneous social forest fire that still blazes. It so happens that I was the target, despite so many crocodile tears wishing "this whole thing would simply end." The obvious answer is that if ruthless attacks and slander against someone who has wronged you in no way is uncomfortable for you, don't do it. But that's just me.

As an aside, the previous month "everyone" hated someone else. This begs the question: Was junior high school really so great as to sustain that hateful bullying mentality our entire lives? With everyone scrambling to be in with the elites? And when have the elites ever been the nice ones?

BABIES ARE DYING! Get over yourselves. I am appalled to have learned that certain mothers so determined to see my ruination, while never specifying my alleged wrongdoing, would not drop off food for Debe on the 1/1000000000 chance of crossing paths with me. Meanwhile, my beloved, scared, trembling, heartbroken friend was sitting at home wondering when is the right time to birth her deceased baby. That is my priority here, and I could give a flying fuck whom I see. I will pick up food from anyone of you, but you are too immersed in hatred to make this about Debe, and not your own social posturing. Shame on you.


Anyone who knows me will attest to the fact that I will always atone for anything I've said or done that has caused offense, pain, sadness, anger, etc. Always. I am approachable, honest, accountable, and also imperfect. But I was never charged with a crime. Just convicted. Like that. And that's fine. I've climbed out of the poisoned well and I am never looking back. There are some premium mamas around here, who have stopped everything to offer anything they have to Debe's family, and would never give a thought to whom they will see, the social hierarchy, nor who is facebook friends with whom.

Tuesday night I delivered some bags to Kris, while Debe slept inside. I've always had a joking relationship with him, and the depth of his seriousness was really more than I could bear. I started telling him who had given what, to which he replied, "Who's Jennifer? Who's Jacob?" I nearly lost it. It dawned on me that they are new here and don't even know the people reaching out to them. He was so humbled and surprised. He said Lennon had explained their options, being induction and waiting. I sheepishly, softly asked if they were leaning in either direction. (Deep breath.) This man, so strong, such a wonderful papa, devoted husband, looked at me with the thinnest-paned windows to his soul eyes, and said the most painful words I've ever heard in my life:

"I'm still waiting for a miracle."

This man has lost a daughter he wanted more than anything, whom he named immediately, and cannot grasp letting her go, let alone the bags of food he's holding, yet across town it's still very important to a select few that I know that they will not see me, that to them, a baby's death does not transcend icky, needless drama. What empty, cold lives yours must be. Kris broke my heart so deeply I could scarcely see through my tears to drive home, but I wouldn't have traded that experience for anything.

To those of you who have mailed checks, brought food, cooked, sent cards, and everything you've done and continue to do, I extend my most heartfelt thank you on behalf of the Brookses, and for restoring some of the faith I had lost in our community. You are the unsung heroes of this very dark hour, and you have eased some of the burden from this family.

And to the mean girls, whose worth and rank are more important than babies lost, to whom personal grudges, real or imagined, trump the efforts being made by the rest of the group to lift this family up, scant months after losing our first precious girl, there are no words to describe the disappointment I feel in you. You want to pummel me with lies and subject me to months' worth of slander and bask in your wonderful betterness? Knock yourselves out. To fail to see past this to support a mama who is carrying her dead daughter right now, as I type, because she can't let her go, is so egregious you are eroding this community. Right now, with your hatred, your desperation, your running to the open arms of your sworn enemies to make sure you will have alliances. Contrary to your bullshit, Cheyenne is not the one tainting this group, it is those of you who would not hand me a dish for Debe who are eroding its purpose.

To you, and you, and you, and yes, even you, if one of your children died, god forbid, I would be the first person at your door, offering whatever I could, my whole heart. Even after the things you've done. This isn't about you. It isn't about me. We are mothers. We have all lost these babies, and it is incumbent upon us all to infuse Debe, just as with Carmela, with as much love and strength and unity as humanly possible. But we can't do that if we're not united. Figure it out. We are being called to action.

FOR PERSEPHONE CAMILLE ELIZABETH AND SIDNEY JOSEPHINE:


You are loved and remembered.

third's for the birds

This was taken Thursday. She tore up the track at South Salem, and has moved on to the Bush Park league. This was only her second time running this course, which is mostly uphill. Not only did she shave a minute and 18 seconds off her mile, she placed third out of 121 kids. Obviously we were hella proud of her, but she was not having it. She wasn't a bad sport, she just can't conceptualize anything but blue ribbons now. Thus, she wouldn't look at the camera. I cannot imagine whence this streak of perfectionism came...

This kid is serious. She only wears track clothes made of like neoprene and shit, and we are eagerly awaiting her "Team Winter" jersey in the mail. She runs through the house timing herself on a cell phone, "Mom, I just ran from the couch to the back wall in 3.18 seconds, and yesterday it took me 3.21 seconds!" She's practicing endurance at the track at McKay, and as soon as superstar Winter returns from CO with her lacerated knee, it's over. We will live at the rock wall. There are still signs of the old Reilly too if you look closely enough though. Her fingernails are painted black, her new Converse (pathetic, non-competing shoes) have skulls on them, and she is an effing maniac about her days-of-the-week underwear and socks, even when the socks clash so loudly they will blind you. Also, she would kill me in my sleep if she knew I referenced her underwear online. But damn. I am so proud of this kid, even as she stands incredulously on the 3rd place podium with painfully yellow socks. They go perfectly with her purple highlights:

(For Gail, who wanted to see.) I love you Reilly.

"Battle not with monsters
lest ye become a monster
and if you gaze into the abyss
the abyss gazes into you."

-Friedrich Nietzsche

word

You know how sometimes there's a song, or particular lyric you can't get out of your head? And it runs in a continuous loop until you want to rip your brain out with a fork? That happens to me with words. Someone said I ought to write them down, like in a journal, incorporate them into a short story or something. But I don't want to create a story that involves these words. I don't need to, in fact. Life is stranger than fiction, as they say.

-collusion
-complicity
-delusional
-desperate
-diabolical
-dissociation
-duplicitous
-fallacy
-false
-group contagion theorem
-hatred
-infidelity
-injunction
-maggot
-megalomania
-narcissist
-parasite
-pathological
-posturing
-pretense
-reviled
-sabotage
-self-aggrandizing
-self-sabotage
-shape-shifter
-sociopath
-transparent
-venomous
-vile

Maybe now I can hear the songs that are playing in here.

see it, hear it, do it.

This is perhaps in the top five movies I've seen. I will caution that it's not the ideal date movie, unless you happen to be absolutely gorgeous when you throw up into your purse, but my eyes have seldom been opened so wide to an issue so relevant and yet so utterly ignored.

Admittedly, when I have heard talk of slaughter houses and the conditions in which food is "raised" and killed, I have felt somewhat incredulous. It's dead right? What does it matter? This movie will beat the importance of this matter into your head with a two-by-four, via images so gruesome, they will be indelibly imprinted in your brain forever. I am ashamed that there was such a disconnect in my mind between the conditions in which our food lives before it is served to us on a plate with mashed potatoes.

The implications are extremely far-reaching, in terms of health, politics, injustice. (Yes yes almost synonymous, I know.) From the woman whose son died from e coli, who has been fighting for seven years for an acknowledgement from the company who sold the contaminated meat, but cannot even say what changes her family has made as a result of her son's death without being sued, to the ridiculously endearing farmer with Coke-bottle glasses whose strident belief in free-range growing will win your heart, to the complex monstrosity that is Monsanto and its seemingly impending world domination.

Never in my life would I have thought that the cross-pollination of soybeans could hold such interest, and launch me into action.

Food Inc. paints an exceptionally vivid landscape of our need to lift the veil on food manufacturing, by delving into topics such as:

-Factory farming.
-Genetic engineering.
-Farm worker protection.
-Global food chain.
-Cloning.

This is my hero, Joel Salatin:

I mean, I don't want to see the guy in a thong or anything, but he's awesome, one of the last true American farmers.

So, if you care about what you eat, and/or not dying, watch this moving. If it doesn't propel you into action, then you're an apathetic bastard.

Oops, gotta go, some black Suburbans just pulled up full of Monsanto investigators.

oh what a night (late august, 2009)

This is the funniest birthday card I have ever gotten, I found it in my purse this morning:





How did this come to appear in the mountain of shit I pretend fits in my purse? I have no fucking clue but I'm going to attempt to piece it together. The sequence of the last 15 hours is more difficult to discern than Pulp Fiction, but so worth remembering.

Just FYI: I'm not one of those people who requires alcohol to have the greatest night ever, and then brandish it later like some badge of ... adolescence? Nope. No hops nor barley were sacrificed in the making of this insane choose-your-own adventure/let others choose your own adventure story.

Can I just say? Debe, you are hands down the funniest person I have ever met, and that is saying a hell of a lot because a) I thought I was (jerk), and b) I only associate with the funniest people on earth and you make them all seem as charming as Kenneth Starr. Never before has someone gotten me to puke orange Vita-Drink (or whatever that shit was) out of every bodily orifice just by saying, "She must come from..." You didn't even finish the sentence, I just exploded because I knew you were good for it. It was an act of god that I made it to the kitchen before my guts turned inside out in your sink (even they were laughing). I also peed my pants and puked on my sleeve but whatever.

Backstory: I met Debe, and have not stopped laughing ever since. Recently she was such a bitch she went to CA and I was so despondent her ass had to come home, though there may have been other non-me-related circumstances as well. Anyway, after cleaning like a madman all week for everyone I know, and getting my requisite 48 invitations, I went over last night in my worst gypsy cleaning frock, and instantly did seven back flips when I saw that Taylor and Maddie were there, and then got really nauseated and ruined the entire night. No it's true. Why else would I drink Vita-Drink? Duh. I don't even know what we talked about, but I laughed until my body did things that were so embarrassing the only options were to kill everyone or become blood brothers. This would have been quite easy since they spontaneously decided to pierce each other. I was pretty much not down with this considering Taylor the piercer (also not drunk) fell backwards in his chair 19 times, even though he is not a sagittarius.

I was so nauseated I was convinced I was pregnant. Plus, I inexplicably peed 168 times. I was so pregnant and exhausted, plus I laughed so hard, fuck the treadmill, I lost 15 lbs. last night alone. Maddie is the cutest thing ever, well, so is Taylor, but she was making a sock monkey (creeeeepy) and he was playing that Guitar Hero game or whatever that suddenly every friend I have plays non-stop, so I talked to Maddie first. Admittedly, I am no seamstress but she put the red crescent supposed-to-be-mouth-right? on the ass by accident, so obviously we had no choice but to laugh about prolapsed rectums until Debe noticed that Maddie was fully exposed in her skirt at the table and our collective IQ dropped to accommodate those insane hilarious younger-than-us bastards. I think that's when Debe made me puke/aspirate.

Then it started. Maddie decided she needed a mango, which I attributed to her obvious ADHD the first 719 times she said it, but then it became real. She would not shut up so I decided she was pregnant too. Meanwhile, everyone in the room was texting someone named Mike or in my case, Michael, and it got hella confusing. Maddie is white, but has a gorgeous golden tint, like a perfectly toasted marshmallow, and I asked her if she was part Latina. She went ballistic, claiming to be Afro-Brazilian, which naturally led to her being black all night. At one point, as she was adding Rastafarian yarn hair to her sorry-assed (literally) monkey, Taylor threw a piece of black yarn at her and she was all, "What, you thought I wouldn't see that because it landed on my arm and I'm black?" She is so fucking funny. Later, I confessed, because Taylor and Maddie are in love with my candor, that I get possessive about certain word usage, and Maddie said, "Like in Finding Nemo, when those birds are like, 'mine mine mine'." It defies reality that I didn't throw up on Debe's couch, except she would slit my throat, dead serious.

Everyone was starving and I was really pissed because I was nauseated and ruining their lives. And Maddie would not shut up about the mangoes. Like ever. Subsequently, Taylor regaled us with how incredibly comfortable this new crop of people is with their own, and everyone else's, sexuality. Oh my god. He has seen more penises than a urologist, and has some very interesting pictures on his phone, which I declined to look at on the grounds of the nausea and well... I was so dizzy and sick I just wanted to accept Debe's 50th offer to spend the night, close my eyes, and have them entertain me until I could pass out. Alas, I said, "I should totally go," despite the fact that I was actually swaying by that point. As I was being read my last rites, Taylor and Debe went to the store, and I finally accepted the fact that I was staying, which of course I had wanted all along, duh, why do you think I had toothpaste in my purse? But I had forgotten a toothbrush. Fuck. I had my head buried in a blanket at that point but Maddie heard my groans and called and ordered me a toothbrush. A Circle K toothbrush, aka a prison toothbrush, but I so didn't care because the very thought of sleeping without brushing my teeth made them turn instantly into corduroy, blech. I cannot even sleep next to someone who has not brushed their teeth, and consider it a severe character flaw. It had like one, glorious, bristle, but I could have married those guys. Taylor also brought me Pepto-Bismol, which tasted like jiz, which led to more stories from his young and highly sex-centric life. I just want to thank the baby Jesus that I got out of there without seeing that guy's junk. And yet somehow the earth screeched to a halt when I took off my bra? Hypocrites. Every time Debe spoke, I somehow got three inches closer to her, because humour is so alluring, until I was essentially in her lap. That may have been awkward, I can't remember. (Remember to do it in person to maximize awkwardness? HAHAHAHAHA!) Maddie sat on my feet and was eating these heinous flaming hot Cheetos, and I could have kicked her teeth in, except she was sitting on my feet. Disgusting. And I'm not sure she brushed her teeth. They seriously bought Thanksgiving dinner worth of overpriced red dye 40-riddled bullshit. Then I spied Taylor's Sprite and instantly regretted having denied their offers of everything from the store. Dammit. I drank some of his, despite having heard stories that made the devil inside me blush and apologize. Then I ate Ramen because Debe is so effing awesome she keeps Oriental Ramen on hand always, as do I. I was starting to perk up a bit, and really got a surge when Taylor appeared with his Totino's pizza, which you know cost $7.99. I was so jealous I was dying, and had to go pee again. (I'd had almost three gallons of water.) They were so sweet, Debe and Taylor jumped up and went back to the store (it was 3am) to get me a pizza and Sprite, and Maddie started asking me about relationships, for chrissake. I declared "EPIC FAIL" and assured her she was better off without my input. I did subtly convey never to care about anyone, ever, by grabbing her beautiful throat and gnashing, "Do not ever care about anyone. Ever." Cut to this morning, or an hour later. It was light out, and I could feel that my eyes had sunken into my skull, my hair was matted down like a wet cat, and my entire pillow was soaked. That equals leaving, immediately, and never going back. Whether my head somehow leaked, or someone leaked on me, it's no good. I scooped up my purse-runneth-over, and fled the scene. That's when I saw the card. I laughed so hard I drove over the curb and would have had tears streaming down my face had my head not shriveled up like a goddamn raisin. And then the laughter stopped.

I never got my pizza, wtf?

And that sliver of sleep has to last me all day.

And it was all kinds of worth it.

And I will kick anyone's ass who calls you Deeb.

And HOW THE HELL DID HE KNOW I WASN'T WALKING DOWN KUEBLER AVENUE Y-CHROMOSOME MOTHERFUCKER! Did he think I was getting home via carrier pigeon? Jesus.

too bad it's too late...

it's my party and i'll cry if i want to

I don't know why I even try. Every year I hope my birthday will come and go like a thief in the night, and instead, it comes like a tidal wave of love, thoughtfulness, generosity, and surprises. Seriously. I never talk about it, after all, who wants to be reminded that she is 32? It's not on the calendar, I do not bemoan my senior discount to friends. Yet without fail, at the end of every birthday, I am rendered so utterly humbled, often to the point of tears.

Sunday night I was waiting for Todd to get his Jeep-loving ass off the computer so I could post on Moxieclean, lest my early-rising New York Moxlings brandish their customary shyness. Even the Brits are more understanding. Anyway, Reilly was with my mom and Todd said she'd "be home soon." The next thing I knew I woke up upside down on the couch, suffocating in my robe, which I thought was a straight jacket, and so utterly disoriented it took me a while to realize the house was filled with streamers and balloons. This is something I have done since Quinn's first birthday, and though they expect it, it's still sweet to see them wake up and see how much their birthdays mean to me. So this year, my mama-lovin' girl, with my mom as her co-conspirator, waited with Todd, who apparently stayed on the computer until I passed out, decorated the entire house herself, laying out my presents, cards, just like I do. I was so taken aback, and yet not surprised. Quinn had been enlisted to help, but he has grown three inches in six weeks and is only awake 15 minutes each day now. He was seriously dismayed to have missed the covert mission, and raised his head in apology, then grew a mustache a fell back asleep.
(Dumb.Ass.Camera.)



This was a bittersweet birthday for several reasons, mostly because 32 is inarguably in the 30's, whereas with 31, you can insist it's on the cusp, like with astrological signs. By all rights I should be 28, which is where I was when I slipped and fell into a deep, toxic landfill, wherein I toiled in futility trying to spin poison into gold. In retrospect, I'm lucky to have only aged four years. I certainly spun my wheels long enough to have been turning 90.

We had a full day of play groups, Reilly's Humane Society class, coffees, etc., so I was going to do my online rounds in double time. That is, until I saw 405 Happy Birthday wishes clogging up my inbox and facebook. My eyes had just stopped stinging from my sweet girl's surprise, and now everyone I knew had thought of me. I really was completely overwhelmed.

The day before I had visited Emily, and she had pulled out this really cute little origami box she made, and was showing Big, while Elyse grabbed for it so desperately I seriously thought she was going to turn into a werewolf. I was secretly covetous, because the print was really cute and I like shit like that. So we sat outside for like twenty minutes before she handed it to me and said "Here's your birthday present." I was really surprised, and overjoyed (yeah, it's that cute). Then I realized there was something inside. I opened it with a deaf ear to her bullshit disclaimer about how it was nothing, and immediately burst into tears. No seriously, you can ask her. I may even call it sobbing. She had found non-lame little motivational sayings and cut them out, by hand, in circles (omg the tedium of that was reason enough to cry), with a toddler, broken ribs, and then made the box. The first one was and will always be my favourite. The implication and meaning of this gesture is too deep to describe, it was simply perfect.

From Emily:


Seriously, I didn't even know Emily knew my birthday. I am still emotional about this gift.

When I got home Sunday night, there was birthday mail, and I noticed a card from Gail, who already sent me a fabulous book earlier in the week. But leave it to her to make the extra effort. Inside the beautiful card was an even more beautiful Starbucks gift card, kind of a tradition with us. She said I had to have a birthday coffee on her. First I laughed, picturing me on her, then realized she probably would not appreciate that, and instead, I cried, obviously.


Other highlights:

-Having Deborah all to myself, thanks to her thoracotomy and lack of blanket, and subsequent need to sublet mine.

-Giving Brian a pedicure, only to discover that his Crocs are not in fact too small, his mom just sucks at clipping his toenails.

-OMG Toby curled up in my lap like a kitten for almost two hours. I told his mom I wanted to take him, and she didn't call the police, so that was good. I am so in love with Toby. It feels biologically wrong that he belongs to someone else.

-Deborah treated Quinn and me to lunch, during which we sat F-A-R away from the kids and had a conversation that, well, sort of changed my life.

-FINALLY got the word that the super-ghetto last-hope piece for my fucked-up phone had arrived, and went to pick it up. Got it gratis because it was my birthday.

-When I got home my mom was there, who, along with my kids, had made me a cake, which was suddenly thrust into my face. Holy shit I thought my body was going to become engulfed in flames. Evidently, so did Quinn. No, I could not blow out 32 candles. It took two blows (sorry Gail, I'm just a filthy heathen).


Rei eating an "R" off my cake:


Quinn at the ready with a gallon of water: (Um, he was deadly serious, there was so much fire, lol.)


-Presents, Jesus. I am always surprised by presents, and I have a very strong aversion to opening them, even with family. I will seriously let them sit there until the children are gnashing their teeth and wringing their hands in desperation. I can't even remember everything, but my Reilly went and stocked up on every size and version of my favourite scent at Bath & Body (Dancing Waters) because she heard me tell someone they always discontinue the ones I love. I now have lotion, shower gel, and a separate little bag FULL of anti-bacterial bottles, which I totally hoard. I was amazed, and few things make me happier than a bag full of anti-bacterial gel. She also got me a bag of my guiltiest candy loves from that horrid by-the-pound place wherein you think you're getting one sour thing and eight Jelly Bellys and it's $14.95. But damn, watermelon slices... Quinn and Todd played it safe with an Old Navy gift card, very sweet. My kids always insist on spending their own money on gifts. My mom got me a caddy I've been coveting, some radical bumper stickers which are ill-timed in our current social climate, but are motherfucking rad, an Old Navy card, and more money than I am willing to admit accepting for a major indulgence I found online. I tried giving it back even. God. I can't even bring myself to order it.


-Other highlights include, after numerous death threats to the Verizon technician and myself, I finally got this really dumb-ass piece working and had my phone back. You have no idea the luxury of a QWERTY keyboard after having to use the home phone for a week, which made me furious and arthritic. Normally I hate voicemail. Well no, I totally hate voicemail. But once I powered my phone up, I had zillions, from people near and far, including a super sweet message from my beloved big brother Sky, asking me to please call him, which made me cry. Also, so many texts I almost slit my throat. That wasn't as fun.

-The simple fact that amidst my infuriating phone-tastrophe, lots of folks texted or called both phones to say feliz cumpleanos.

-Karen texting from Seattle to tell me she was smoking a clove in my honour. I thought that was really sweet, but also really selfish inasmuch as I was neither smoking nor in Seattle, lol. I was flattered that she thought of me.

-A surprise pedicure from an unlikely source.



-An unexpected call from an old friend from the coast, from whom I've not heard in years, like five. We worked together at the place where Todd and I met, and it was surreal and incredible to talk to her. She's a bit older and someone I admire infinitely.

-Finally, I also got an email from a woman I met when we were teens, who is Egyptian, and with whom I had lost touch for eight years. I mean, when I say people crawled out of the woodwork, I also meant the sand. (Hi Julie! Hi Maha!)

-I love birthdays but hate the part where everyone comes over and messes up the kitchen with plates, wrapping paper, ribbon, frosting...I know I'm an ungrateful bitch. The kids asked if they could spend the night with Kevin at my mom's if they cleaned up, and there was no way I could refuse such a deal. They straightened the entire living room, wiped down the dining room table, swept and Swiffered the kitchen, wiped down the counters, stacked my presents so I didn't throw them away out of reflex, did the dishes, kissed me, and asked me 45738639875 times if it hurt my feelings for them to leave on my birthday. I reassured them, they left, and I immediately cried and wanted them back.

So I'm staring down the business end of 32, and it's going to be fine. I've got the best kids in the world, the finest crop of friends anywhere, and I can finally hold my head up high...high enough to see the signs that say "Warning: Toxic Landfill."

love actually

Quinn and Reilly get along almost as well as Israel and the Palestinians. This morning I noticed Rei, who slept on the couch, using her to toe to remove some blanket tassels off Quinn's face. He was asleep on the floor.

Me: "Do you love your brother?"


Reilly: "You ask me that everyday." (Subtle evasion.)


Me: "Would you kick someone who was messing with him?"


Reilly: "I would kick them anyway."


Somehow that works for me.

another day in the life...take that sam!

Please pardon these ghetto dime-bag pictures, but our media card recently broke and apparently Todd requires several months to research a new camera because a) he's a libra (Sam, Mom, Gail, Mesina, back me up here), and b) he usually ends up getting lost on some after-market Jeep paradise site.

Here are the highlights (more like a strobe light) of an ordinary Thursday in our lives.

Got home at 4:00am and bust out the Moxie blog because those east coasters are not shy about letting me know what a shitbag I am if their challenges aren't ready by (their) morning. But in all sincerity, I'm flattered. Ate a red pepper even though my tongue has burned completely off from my pepper/tomato gluttony. Realized my phone wasn't charging, on any of my three chargers. I tried to become MacGuyver and strap a hundred rubber bands to secure the charger but fuck me if they didn't all break and shoot across the kitchen, evoking a desperate wrath. When I lay down it had one bar and figured that was enough to seek a solution come daybreak (which was 2.5 seconds away).

Slept on my earring ear, and couldn't decide whether to spray the fire extinguisher on my ear or into my flaming mouth.

My kids were at my mom's and we were due to meet Deborah & co. at Padington's so I fell prey to every grandiose trap available to a mama home alone with seemingly an eternity to kill. One second later we were due to meet Deborah in 28 minutes and I had failed to make 1% effort towards readying myself, and had not picked up Quinn so he could shower and use half a bottle of hairspray. So I pulled a Deborah and asked for a 55 hour extension, which she readily granted as she was also unshowered.

Had a simultaneously sweet and disconcerting moment wherein my beautiful son and I shared the dual vanity, the hair dryer, the hairspray, the MIRROR (I was lucky to get a sliver), and the mascara. Kidding. Like we actually have a rhythm for maneuvering around each other as we preen. So far I like it.

Drove to Padington's and held hands with my towering baby, while listening to Buffalo Springfield's For What it's Worth on the freeway.

Ordered our pizza, our ticket was number 10. (I have a mild obsession with numbers that are divisible by five.) Looked out the window and saw a radiant, gorgeous young woman, and realized it was Shannon, with her hair pulled back, possibly for the first time ever. Wow. She is stunning. This was the first time I'd seen Deborah since her thoracotomy, and she was moving slowly. She informed me that she had been driving against doctor's orders and that she was on morphine. Um, a year ago Deborah would have left a child stranded on the freeway rather than squeeze an extra body into her car with no seat belt. I had to laugh. When my pizza arrived she began cursing very loudly at my tomatoes. "I cannot believe those fucking tomatoes, they are so stupid!" I believe were her exact words. When I say loud, I mean, I realize that no one on earth is louder than I, but she was embarrassingly loud, grabbing at my tomatoes, hissing that no decent Texan eats fresh tomatoes on their pizza, only sun dried ones. I pointed out that a) There are no proper Texans, b) I'm not from Texas, and c) sun dried tomatoes are disgusting. I slid away from her and ate my pizza and we left, headed for her house.

We had a fabulous visit, and she gave me an incredible book called Without Conscience, about psychopathy, which I will read after I finish the DSM -IV she ordered for me as a surprise a few weeks ago. It's meaty, and 4734653945093750 pages long, so it will be a while. Then Ken came home, and we had a great talk, and he presented me with copies of the dreaded Dr. Who, to which they have converted Quinn into a devotee, much to my angst and boredom. But it was nice of them.

When we left there was note on my windshield which was at first a citation, then a note from Shannon, then a note from a neighbour about how I parked, but ultimately, it was a note from an unidentified friend inviting me over. Totally surreal, and with no phone, I had to call the Scooby Doo Mystery Team to crack the case. That's when I realized Jennifer's kids' daycare is two houses down, so off we went to Jennifer's, where we marveled at our sons being two years apart in age and fifteen feet apart in height.

En route to the hacienda, I stopped at meth, er, Circle K to reward Quinn with a Slurpee, which he declined because I didn't have enough on me for two, and he didn't want to hurt Reilly's feelings. That's my boy. (Also, am I that poor?)

While Quinn and I made our rounds today Todd took Reilly to her new track event. She graduated from the south Salem High league into the upper-crust Bush Park races. When I got home, I was greeted by what else, a ribbon. Inspired by Winter the superstar, Reilly wasted no time ditching the 200/400m and went straight for the 1,600m, which Todd ran with her, against 120 other runners. My lightning girl took third, against adults! She said she is going to train like hell and become a triathlete, training with Winter and running the track at McKay everyday (my cheers were only a decoy for the deep disdain and exhaustion I felt at the notion).

Then I saw my package from Amazon.com. My first thought was identity theft because if you can't afford two Slurpees you sure as hell can't afford a book. Alas my fantastic friend Gail sent it to me for my birthday. There is nothing like new books, omg. I added it to my pile. (It's called The Tall Book.)

That's when I came face to face with the bane of my existence: my purse. People laugh at me constantly but I'm so used to it I forget to address the fact that, as Jennifer said, I need a backpack. But it's an emergency. In addition to what is visible in the pictures, my notebook, my DSM-IV, seven disks for Quinn, an envelope of nine compilations I forgot to mail to my friend Dyan, three packs of Wet Wipes, two packs of Ice Cubes gum, two anti-bacterial bottles, 13 Sharpie pens (omg), a lighter for survival purposes, two lip balms, my fat-ass George Costanza wallet, a survey from the surgical center to make sure that having my insides burned out with a blow torch was the best experience of my life, a brochure Deborah gave me for some new activity she's forcing us to do, 97 punch cards, bobby pins, a water bottle, and fucking Jimmy Hoffa for all I know. I need a bigger purse. But I need input, and that's overwhelming.

I peeked at facebook, and saw the most splendid picture ever, posted by my old friend from high school, Amelia. She was zany and daring and flamboyant and hilarious, a true star. And Amber, poised and a revered ballerina who went to Juilliard, both so very dear to me and vital to my survival in Newport, whose pulse was thready at best. They both live in New York as highly successful entertainers. They're incredible. Amber just had a baby Sunday, and this picture, this love, transcends the 14 years since I did naughty things with them and pierced my heart.

To top it off, I got a VIP spot on the patio and talked to my beloved Karen for an hour, hearing of her recent vacation and apparently serving as Thanksgiving dinner for every motherfucking mosquito in the valley.

Then I cleaned my car, which was weeping in the garage. And now I am writing to prove to Sam that, while I did not bleed, suffer a cracked skull, and though my phone didn't melt, it did die, which I liken to the earth losing its gravitational pull, and this is a typical day for me. Ha Sam, it only took me five years, but, YOU WERE WRONG!

Tearing into my book:


The "purse," aka an erupting volcano:


My beautiful friends who haven't aged one goddamned day, bitches. Welcoming baby Julius:

Amelia's love for Amber melts me. Real friends are what it's all about. I am so thankful for each and every one of mine. Even when they don't BELIEVE me!