Yo, Mama!

The water park was great, as always. The crowd was a bit rugged though. And that was new. I don't think I've ever seen so many tattoos outside of a biker rally. Whatever. But there was one extremely disconcerting sight. She couldn't have been older than ten or eleven. And her lip was pierced. I have to repeat that. She was about Ten Years Old, and Her Lip Was Pierced.

We look forward to the weekdays, after the camp groups leave, when the stay-all-days from tattoosville are at work. It will be better then, if the past is indicative of the future.

Next.

Playgroup, my house. A newish friend of about a year organized it. Her crowd used to get together all the time, took a break, and are now getting back into the groove of regular meetings. I've become newly friendly with one of the women, and met another at the last playgroup who seemed somewhat likely to be a future pal.

The kids were between the ages of one and six, with most around three or four. My two older ones were out with the grands. It was one of those days I found hard to shake. The things I saw were not huge, but they were oddly dangerous or careless and lassez faire in a way I don't understand.

Child's hand obliviously in the hinge opening of the door, Mom unbothered. Feet in shoes on the furniture, Mom either unconcerned or too aware of asking child not to do it only because of me. A parent handing a child vintage Fiestaware. Screaming children indoors, just because. Opening doors and entering rooms clearly off limits (this with the last bits of construction/renovation rubble around). Wandering child is brought in by six year old for having fallen from tree. He could not articulate whether this had in fact happened. Six year old did not see it happen, but saw him in tree, then saw him land. Mom seemed unconcerned, kid was apparently fine and sent back out after a brief cuddle. At last a two-ish baby fell off of a bed where the older (threes, fours, a six year old) were sitting and watching t.v.. None of the children came to tell us. I heard the crying. This the child of the potential pal mom. Her head was cut cleanly, a little less than an inch, within the hairline. She was crying, understandably. I got her, held her, and checked out her wound. Mama was in the loo. There was quite a bit of blood.

Mama took her, but acted a little dazed. I asked BC to get ice out of the freezer. I got Rescue Remedy, which Mama had seen before, so let me put some on Baby's arm, and she took a spritz in the mouth. I suggested we get Baby cleaned up in a quick bath, she could play while we washed her and got a good look at the cut. Then doctor or no, Mama could decide. Baby was acting fine, no flopping around, no eye strangeness, nothing weird.

I apologized profusely. I cleaned and ran the bath. I washed some blood out of the shirt, got a towel, shooed extra kids away. The other mommies cleaned up a bit, and rounded up their kids.

B has had so many head bumps and cuts, I kind of know this drill. So I told Mama the things the doctor has told me. Sleep is a natural stress response, it's fine. In the hairline is not usually sutured unless it's gaping open, or won't stop bleeding. Look for concussion symptoms right away, and those stated above. Otherwise, just keep it clean and try to keep them mellow for a day or two to avoid re-opening it.

I told her it was obviously her call, and that on the face it would certainly be stripped closed, but under the hairline, probably not. She had to decide. The other mommies agreed with me. For what that's worth. It wasn't bleeding anymore. Baby seemed quite fine.

In fact, Baby was jumping around in the bath. My tub is original to the house (1955), and quite slippery. I mentioned this. Baby bumped her head slipping once. Mama washed her hair, but mostly just poured water on her head over and over. Baby was up and jumping around again. I asked her to be careful, and warned Mama to watch her. She slipped again, still Mama said nothing and did nothing, just sat there holding the towel. I mentioned she might want to watch her a little, that she might be a little wonky from the bump and to be careful. Baby really slipped and spun, and bumped her head again. Her mom just acted like that was totally fine.

You couldn't hear me, but I just heaved a sigh.

Please, help me understand. I thought I was a bit tough on my kids at times, but I never let them do things that could really hurt them. I thought I was laissez faire, but I never just watch them get hurt again and again and act like it's normal.

I guess I don't have all the information for this situation. Perhaps there is something else going on. I'm sure I should reserve judgment.

Though that doesn't help regarding the lip at the pool. Which I feel quite free to have a strong opinion of. Idiocracy comes to mind.

The thing is, if you know your kid climbs, but he is not particularly able, or climbs beyond where years ought to have her, or is prone to behavior that ignores boundaries, protocol, basic respect, safety, wouldn't the average mom be more on the case? Or perhaps the children's behavior is indicative of a certain style of parenting?

I didn't think my approach was in any way radical. If they put themselves in danger, they're in trouble. If I can scare them a little, safely, so they don't do the dangerous thing, I will. An example: If they tip in a chair at the table, I will tell them not to do it. When they do it again, I will reach over and tip them back a bit, suddenly. If it happens again I tip them out of the chair. And after that, should the unthinkable occur, the child may stand for the rest of the meal. This has only happened once.

I don't count to three. I count to two, and it had better be done. I will not tolerate lying. I don't care what the other kids do, if I don't allow it at home, it's not to be done anywhere else either. And if I do allow it at home, but have warned them it's not to be assumed elsewhere, I'd better not hear of it happening. If baby does something a bit dangerous, she's pushed a little farther, or made to be afraid by my reaction, and she doesn't do it anymore. If a hand goes into the hinge opening of the door, the child is shown why it's a problem with a carrot the first time. After that the child has a royal telling off, and possibly a spanking. Better the child should cry than the parent should sigh.

It's a wonder the kids today are as fine as they are if this is how they operate. The hurt girl did have a large, nasty scratch on her cheek from before, and the tree faller has multiple knee scars. Hey, my kids have their share as well, but they were honestly won in true accidents, not carelessness. I'm proud to be a benevolent dictator, versus a committee member waiting for outward instruction, or whatever philosophy it is these parents are employing. I don't pretend to understand.

But they're not coming to my house again any time soon. Jesus.

Because, Therefore

This is the most I haven't written in my life. Ever. I know that's a clunky way of putting it.

I'm still in distraction mode. I accidentally looked at the sonogram photo yesterday. It had fallen out of the folder, behind something. I was in no way prepared to see her. Her sweet little jaw, her little body all curled up. It burns less now to think about her. It still hurts seriously, but it's not totally ruinous every time.

Naples is becoming fairly depressing. Now that season is well and truly over, the streets are empty, the tensions are high. Everyone with any work is scrambling, and the only people who seem normal have paychecks coming from somewhere else. Southwest Florida is still watching the real estate dominoes fall. But given people make money in all kinds of markets, what's the ticket to this one? (Any time now...).

I'm going to have to start posting on Feminist Housewife's Home. The ideas are in my brain, and pretty good, if I do say so, but this is such a whirlwind time. I wonder why I feel so overwhelmed and then look at the roller coaster list of events of the past six months. Lord.

At the same time, I feel like I just want action. Get up and make it happen, Baby.

Here are my latest bursts:

Party Lite parties. Because, why not? It's a good excuse to get together with the girls. It's silly and good fun. It actually helps that it's goofy. And I use an endless supply of tapers at the dinner table anyway, so there.

Rotation parties. This you must do. Four families. The host family makes the main course, two other families bring side dishes, the fourth family brings wine, leaves their kids, and goes on a date. Ho, ho, ho. This is a very good deal. Our first one is in June. We're doing it early because it has to be on a Sunday as that's one of T's nights off. Even at every fourth month it's more dates than I'm having now.

Playgroups. It does help to have a toddler. And Playdates, best if they're a two-fer so I can get more done.

D was insisting on feeding her baby with a bottle the other day. We had all but weaned. T and I were less than amused. I showed her milk from my breast and she nursed both sides at length and fell asleep. She's been nursing daily since. Go figure. But here we are, T working three jobs for years to keep me at home so the kids get all they need, including being nursed for three years apiece, and a few Sundays in the nursery at church have our littlest using bottles for her babies. So I'm thinking a La Leche toddler's meeting would be good. I'm calling Laurie today.

Melaleuca presentations, but the good, easy way. From their website. And only 30 minutes, with iced tea and bars on the table. And kids running around and playgroup afterwards. And lead with the products, since that's the whole point anyway. Health, good stewardship of the environment, ease of doing shopping. Go.

Check out Equity Build. I love this concept. Love. T is doing sales, so if you call the number, you'll be talking to my husband. How's your credit? Because if it's good, you should seriously consider this tool. Okay, I'll stop. But I do think it's great.

K is writing books. We're not sure how we're going to market them yet. But they're really good. We're looking at hand binding them for sale on Etsy, and also having her read them at the library and schools, a la Eragon. She rocks.

My new favorite thing is Jott.

I'm going through fabrics to sew. I just want to wear '50s dresses from now on.

I'm looking for recipes with glycoprotein rich ingredients. It's my new craze. I'll keep you posted. Here's the thing. When faced with health care costs, and the prospect of living forever, it makes a lot of sense to use preventatives. There's no point in dragging on, I want to fly. Oh, come on. This after arguing with P about it. She thought we should live longer because "our consciousness" would evolve and create a better world. She lost me, along with VJ arguing the same thing. The other P solved my dilemma almost instantly once in on the conversation.

"It's the only way to save Western civilization."

But BB argued that perhaps Western civilization was on the decline, not replacing itself, because of a disillusionment with it's perceived value. I have no patience for nihilism. Not from Mithraic cults, apocolyptic thinkers, environmentalists, nor even BB. Then again, I was making an argument for seeking wisdom from the ancients regarding longevity when talking with P and VJ. So, equivocal I am. Luckily it doesn't really matter one way or another right now.

Vegetables, Cannibals

The living room and kitchen are crazy clean. My freezer contains a rainbow of purees (cauliflower and yellow squash, yams, carrot, red pepper, beets, broccoli). I still need to make some purple (blueberries and spinach), but plan to make some brownies with carrot puree. The Sneaky Chef yam in the mix for French toast is really, really good. I also add vanilla and flax meal, and use almost as much milk as egg, then throw the pieces on the waffle iron. Oh my. Today I also put slices of mutsu apple on the iron after the waffles were done. They were awesome.

I made up a carrot soup as well. I left a few cups of carrot puree in the blender, added ginger and jalapeno, steamed a leek and threw that in, added chicken stock, lemon juice and a little butter. I stuck it in the fridge and served it with a dollop of plain yogurt. Wow. Really good.

This morning we're going swimming with the grands. I have to say Tim's mum and step-dad are perfectly fine people, and family besides, so it was probably a bit extreme to have nightmares of barbaric alien cannibals invading. I have no explanation, but the dream was pretty great sci-fi horror, so I may write it as a short story.

Tonight we're having a mixed gang over. Mixed ages and politics, but I think there's potentially good overlap in enough certain areas.

Read this, and agree we should be a little more rational about our solutions. If corn ethanol is the celery of fuel, and pork is the reason we're bothering, perhaps we need to rethink.

With Sponge

I haven't written, and haven't written, and haven't written. I know, it's not like me. I have read your comments, and even been provoked into beginning replies, but I am a woman obsessed.

Right now I am doing a blitz spring cleaning. I cannot stop now. I am tossing and scrubbing, giving away, removing webs, finding locations, making thousands of executive decisions about various objects and papers. It is a purge, an organization period, time for the new.

My caffeine post was just the beginning. I'm up and doing all day. Giving a fresh coat of paint to old furniture, hanging things, removing paint from other things, washing the slip covers (wow), and wiring things properly, at last. It's amazing how awry things went when I was on bed rest with D, because so many things got so many months behind, and then other things piled on top, and we moved our rooms around several times, then the next sad pregnancy, Mom moving out and then away (more stuff) and the plumbing party. I no longer know where every little thing in my house belongs, or even what I have. There's a lot of paper garbage. I'm calling catalog companies and getting off their lists.

I can't say I've tackled my desk, which I'm using as a FedEx station. Everything even remotely related goes there. The piles are not quite as tall as I am. But I'm getting the main rooms in order first, because they were bad. The desk will be mostly dust and garbage, hopefully. There are some books, designer markers, and bits of wire and techy hardware as well, but those have places and just need to be put in them.

The Über Haus Frau has taken over.

Of course no one has eaten anything meaningful in days. A lot of yogurt and noodles seem to be consumed. But I'm on a roll, and the cooking can happen when things settle down and we feel fully civilized again. My goal is Thursday for the main rooms and office, Mother's Day for our bedroom, the hall closet and laundry room, and then I'll tackle the monster room.

It was our bedroom, but you may recall I couldn't breathe. Now it is full of New York boxes, camping stuff, Christmas from here and NYC, the God-awful plastic tree (don't get me started...the trees down here are sprayed with such heavy pesticides we totally can't breathe within minutes. But imagine a tree full of palmetto bugs! I still laugh at the thought.), bags of wires, old computers and printers, and countless other delayed decisions. It should take about a week.

T's mother and step-father are arriving from England on the 10th for two weeks. It will be fun. They will drive us crazy. We'll go swimming a lot. We'll all eat well. It will be both relaxing and stressful. It may cause delays, but also may let me get more done in short spurts because of more adults in the house.

I want to move some pretty spider lily bulbs from their swamped location under a plumbago (the tropical answer to hydrangea) in the back to under the macadamia, which has baby nuts all over it. And the jasmine on the front needs to be shorter, plus some mid-height heliconias should go in the bed with the little ones, next to the gonzo lobster claw heliconias, which are flowering now. My papaya is too tall and needs to be cut back. But my green coconuts are yummy! And my cocktail citrus tree has baby Meyer lemons on it.

The most recent revelation is that Naples is a stunningly beautiful bimbo. Every inch of nature, and much of the development, is just lovely. And that's about it. There's an itty-bitty creative scene, but it caters primarily to the ancient ones. It's like living on a senior citizen's campus. They're here to party in droves, and they're all wearing expensive beige.

There's a small scene of younger folk, and we're finding them. I can't tell you how good that feels. They're mostly born and raised here, or ex-urbanites, primarily East Coast, not Chicago so much, nor California. It's actually beginning to be quite fun.

And our friend's business is beginning to take flight. The website is up, if not perfect, and the P.R. begins tomorrow. After that the calls start coming in, and T answers the phone and guides through the process until closing. It will be good. I'll post a link as soon as the phase one website is a little more finished.

Back to the races!

I ♥ Java Jav

One of Baby A's gifts is that I can drink coffee again. The upshot is that I am now one jacked-up individual. There are a few people who can keep up with me on the phone, even if they are also chuckling a bit. This is probably because I prefer latte, but the mug is half-full of espresso, then topped with organic unhomogenized milk. It's a better buzz if I do not eat for awhile. Heh.

Baby has had a fever, probably a combo of a bug and two-year molars. It came upon arriving home from camping, and today is the first day she hasn't been miserable. K is getting wisdom teeth at the same time. She's been a bit funky as well. Hence no posts.

What else? Here's the caffeinated hyper-list: got Blackberries--becoming addicted, cleaned horribly messy lanai, planted miracle berry tree acquired at Earth Day Fest (for purpose of giving berries to friends in chemo so food is yummy after sucking on them), got juniper to go around tree in pot, unpotted lobster claw heliconia and pineapple for purpose, fell on tuckus with baby in backpack while squatting by pot, chiropractor yesterday, still sore but better, been working out with fluidity bar and love it, friends coming to stay in B&B on Sunday, then another sometime after Wednesday, cleaning and laundering maniac must appear, business launch with friends is on Saturday, kids going to cousin's (thank you, thank you!), oh my God, the living room. Need kitty litter, rolled oats, bread, fruit, a dinner plan (I think steak on fire pit), holes in walls to mount guitars, baby clothes, a visit to the eye doc to check scrip, to dance to this fierce reggae song rocking my world right now. Oh, my.

Are you still with me?

Need to order the rest of the glyco mix ingredients to start making bottles for friends and family. Need to order Baby A's mosaic supplies. Need to get summer plans in order. Need to make Party Lite list, fire pit lists for several gatherings, made ad for B&B.

None of that is the scary part. My list is always that long and frenetic, probably like yours. The scary part is that I can actually hope to accomplish quite a bit of it in a timely fashion, even with a toddler. That, my friends, is both the beauty part and rather alarming. All I can say is yay, coffee.

Earth Day, Schmearth Day

We're going camping for Earth Day at Koreshan, so I won't be posting or reading comments until at least Sunday.

I plan to plug several things into the power grid upon arrival, as well as indirectly support the use of electricity, water and chlorofluorocarbons by going through copious amounts of ice, eat bovine flesh cooked over wood fire, use an hour's worth of gas traveling each way, drink wine imported at great fossil fuel expense, and shower with water as hot as I can get it. The funny part is everyone else will be doing that, too. I'm willing to bet there may even be generators at food stands at the festival. Heh.

I'll also be at the Roots & Shoots booth between one and two on Saturday. Oh, the irony. Actually, the activities Roots & Shoots engages in are pretty cool, even if I disagree with the philosophy. Everything is really more about action anyway. That's how I justify my hypocrisy. I don't disagree with the actions that involve direct solving of problems. I just don't attend rallies. There is a don't ask, don't tell attitude among homeschoolers anyway, so everyone is fine. If you're in our neck of the woods, come say hi.

I need a pedicure (hot pink polish) and if I can buy crystals and a toe ring while there, I will. I'm taking drums for the drum circle. So there.

Where's my hippy skirt?

In & Out. Heh.

Zhu asked how growing up downtown had anything to do with becoming a Republican.

Ah, me.

I don't know where to begin anymore. It just seems so...long ago. Maybe my bio should change, but I don't have time right now.

Previous posts on this topic notwithstanding ("Leaving the Left", etc.), I'll say this. The band that binds itself too tightly snaps.

I left the Left because all of the ways it was presented to me, from The New York Marxist School to the very vibrant and politically active community around me, to the schools I attended, to the dinner table discussions made it seem entirely, well, least likely to succeed. And the whole enchilada was not the whole enchilada. Parts were left out. Important parts. Like who pays for all these noble ideas?

In short, when actual thought was applied to the idea as presented, it didn't hold up. And no one could answer my questions without dogmatic and tiresome answers. There was not much actual discussion. There was not much soul searching. There was a lot of socialism. And I found it to be ugly, and to lead to an abject conclusion. This did not seem like a good enough result for the wonder of humanity, that we would tear ourselves down over a questionable set of ideas. It seemed short sighted and banal at best, and I actually saw people die at worst.

I'm not saying Republicanism is never like this for other people. I'm not saying it doesn't fall short. I'm not even saying they aren't all crooks on both sides. I am saying my first hand experience of the left in action on a daily basis and in a meaningful and significant way was problematic. It couldn't deliver, and when pressed even the most intimidatingly brilliant thinkers I came up against could only say it was "a contradiction" when the idea in action didn't turn out quite like the advertisement. As if that was an adequate place to leave the discussion? If your dentist told you your payment and his lack of ability were a contradiction and looked you dead in the eye as though that was just the reality of the situation and you should get used to it, you'd sue the bastard.

Now I'm all hopped up.

I have to thank you though, Zhu, because yesterday was hard. I have to plan the memorial for my lost baby, and I'm a bit weepy to say the least. I'm trying to stay distracted, and mostly it works.

I'm going to change the subject radically.

Do you think the old feminist argument that women should be empowered by learning to achieve their own orgasms still holds up? This is my roundabout way of wondering if I can reasonably have sex toy parties and still live in this town.

I found out about Passion Parties pretty much on a dare. They seem to be the most tastefully presented and well organized company. There are some sleazy ones out there, so I wouldn't want there to be any confusion. But is this worthy feminist missionary work? (No pun intended, but once the subject comes up, um, everything I type is funny). We were joking the women from church would casually sneak up and try to get invited. It would give whole new meaning to the second coming.

The consultant three hours from here says she'll throw me the work in the area. That was a bit more than I intended to take on. I was just thinking a few friends. Even though their website has nice looking ladies and a big thing saying their consultants are mothers, I'm not sure I want to be looking over my shoulder at the grocery store.

On the one hand it could be good fun, and I have friends begging me to invite them--I'm not even doing it yet! It would be educational and helpful to everyone. Once or twice, what's the harm? It's not like I'm going into the business. (Oh, the slippery slope.)

On the other hand, there is, of course, a bit of stigma attached. I wouldn't want people to think I want anything other than what I have in my marriage. But my intentions may not effect their perceptions at all. And my daughter is coming of age. The timing might be bad. And what if, perhaps most importantly, what if I'm just not in the mood?

Okay, okay, back to politics. P sent over a fabulous piece I'm terribly inclined to agree with regarding Earth Day. Exploit the Earth or Die. I wonder if anyone will know I'm what I'm thinking when we go camping this weekend at the Earth Day festival? I think they'll know. Just like fellow Republicans secretly suspect me of being vegetarian, the Earth gang feels my vibe of impure thoughts about manatees.

Neither is fair.

Both errors are easily cleared up with one elegant solution I've half a mind to commit to myself. If the manatees were farmed (ranched?) and herds were raised for food, a) they'd have the power of property rights to protect them, b) they'd harness the good will the vast majority of Americans have for a worthy steak, and c) they'd be a marketing sensation. Imagine, steak of the sea. The still other white meat. Grass fed. Cute posters. Sausages. Hell, even rodeos.

No, never mind. Back to the silly. I like the part with the yodeling.

BlogHer's New Bandwagon

BlogHer has a new "Act" widget to support women and children internationally. The hope is to save lives, reunite families, provide desperately needed food and health care, among other things. I have some questions, so I tried to post the following in comments but then had that stupid 255 character limit rear its ugly head. Here's what I wanted to post:

"This sounds great, extremely worthy of BlogHer!

I'm grabbing the widget, but wonder two specific things. I'm wondering whether the women's health care available in any given country is able to provide birth control in any meaningful way, and I'm wondering what the general attitude and practice is among the providers in the various countries about abortion. My readers/potential patrons will want answers, one way or another, and I don't want to leave them hanging.

Their judgment calls are their own, I just want clarity so they can decide for themselves as I have readers on both sides of the fence regarding abortion, not to mention those firmly stuck on it!

I'm also wondering if any of the organizations being supported are specifically political in nature, or in support of, or being supported by, political organizations, and which ones they are, and what their mission statements propose. Again, this could be an important factor regarding donations. Transparency is most desirable.

On top of that, I'm willing to say I have some potential donors who would have questions about vaccinations, AIDS treatments, religious involvements.

Basically, this sounds terrific, and really straightforward, but at the same time people want to know specifics about what they are supporting with their dollars, blogs, etc.

Perhaps there could be a list of supported organizations, with either associated websites, or more information based on the organizers understanding and statements made by the benefiting entities, within BlogHer. That would be really helpful and good to see.

I have only mild misgivings about posting these questions. They are greatly outweighed by the need for more information, for myself and my readers."

Well.

I only hit one acronym. I hadn't even mentioned LGBT issues, or FGM (which I read cringing and with my legs crossed). But it didn't matter in the end, because of the character limit.

Ultimately I had to post this: "Cool! I'm grabbing the widget, but have questions. My readers will want answers re: religion, politics, abortion, AIDS, vaccinations, etc. A list of supported organizations with descriptive info would help."

That's awfully succinct for a Sunday morning.

UPDATE: The Global Giving website has much more information, but I still don't know which organizations BlogHer has chosen among the options. I'll keep you posted.

Home Archaeology

It's one of those times when T is light on work and turns his attention to the house. He is now operating a jackhammer in the office.

There is a trench from the laundry room, through the bedroom I can't breathe in, through the office, to the lanai. There is the last stretch of cast iron pipe. And there is a perpendicular root the same size as the pipe, coming not from the ficus, but the front of the house (though it looks like ficus root). I thought the thing was a pipe.

This space was all former patio, then enclosed into a "Florida Room", then converted to truly interior space. "Under Air", as they say. So the foundation was poured over the existing patio, which was cute red concrete, resulting in over 6" of concrete to break through. Then the pipe was about a foot below that. We don't know why.

It just occurred to me, this is a great opportunity for a time capsule. Hmm. Some newspaper clippings, a small toy, a list of popular books and activities, a description of who we are and what we know about the history of the place. All in a ziplock in a shoebox.

I like it. That totally has to happen.

Meanwhile I'm clenching my teeth to the point of aching jaw, I have seventeen chairs in my living room and kitchen, boxes, camping and boating equipment, clean laundry, car washing supplies, office files, homeschooling piles. The kitchen may be clean, but I can't think enough to cook.

The end result will be that we never have root issues again, the back will be tiled, and we may make it our bedroom again once the roof is addressed, or even make it another rental space in the meantime.

Wild times.

Ups & Downs

It just started pouring with rain again tonight. Last night was noisy with it, and the grass was all soaked and puddly today. We desperately need it, so no complaints, but it would have been nice to grab ChaCha before the downpour to hang his cage inside. I'm all for a bird-in-the-rain now and then, but that already happened last night, and he's old, and I just refilled his seed dish, so I ran into the giant drops and grabbed him. Now I'm freezing in the a/c. We're probably both freezing. It's a good problem. Too bad birds can't have sake.

I noticed yesterday he appears to have a cataract in his right eye.

If cockatiels live about 15 years, and I got him in '92, that means he's into bonus years at this point. I've been wondering how far past 15 he'd live, and even kind of encouraging him to go ahead and knock off if he feels the urge (I know, it's not right, but he screams on Saturday morning!). But now I think if he dies any time soon I'll never stop crying. He's the oldest pet I've ever had, and been through so much with me, and he's such a sweet birdie. I don't really need another reason to cry.

Which brings me to church today.

I don't think I've ever seen two men cry in one day, except at a funeral. But today at church one choked up telling about Relay for Life during the announcements. That's because his mother in law is one of the sweetest and most wonderful women on earth, and she's on her second round having been in remission for several years. She's so lovely, we all just ache about it. She looked wonderful today, but perhaps her appearance belied her feeling because she seemed to move delicately. I instantly regretted automatically kissing her. I wasn't thinking.

Anyway, seeing him cry made me cry, and being ridiculously without tissues I had to run out the transept door to get back to the storage closet in the foyer for some. Then I burst into tears again when I saw T heading back to the church carrying D and walking with B. He had gone to retrieve them for Eucharist. Meanwhile K was an acolyte. So there I was, on my own for a moment, and M's choked speech got me.

He was cute when he came out to go the Parish Hall to announce over there. I told him he got me and he gave me a hug and said he's been crying at commercials. Sounds about right.

We braved the rest of service. D nearly took out an eye with a pencil but just grazed her nose. We said hello to a few folks. One told us her daughter had two girls, but wanted a third child. She had three ectopic pregnancies trying and finally had to have IVF. Of the six eggs, only one was viable. She was not hopeful. But now he's a beautiful grandchild, and they call him "the good egg". I thought that was really cute.

Once in the Parish Hall for coffee I wanted to hide, but ended up talking to several people who kindly approached me and asked how I was feeling. One was an older gentleman who I connected with in a class many moons ago. He said something about me not working as a mother, and I replied with something feminist about working 24/7 and that he might want to check his term, his premise, his attitude. The older women's eyes beamed around me. He demured and apologized. We've been pals ever since. He's kind of adopted me in classes, challenges me with questions, gives me new perspective, and it's possible I may do the same for him.

We started discussing the loss of A. He said he lost a son around the same gestation. I know he has two daughters. He said he was deployed and his wife was with her parents (her father was a doctor), and she called and told him she'd lost his son. It was awful, of course.

He was terribly sympathetic. He put an arm around me and said we were in his prayers. At that I threw my arms around his neck and burst into tears. When he told me it was okay, I shrugged and said if you can't cry at church, what's the point? We talked some more about looking forward, and hope, and honoring the child by giving to others. I'm not sure which thing got him, but he then had to put down his coffee and find his handkerchief. So there we were, in the middle of the Parish Hall, taking turns crying about the ones that got away.

Two men in one day.

T later said to me things about staying so busy, running so hard, getting up so early and going to exhaustion each day, the same way I'm staying up late, makes it easier to not deal. No kidding. The anguish is so intense, the tiniest bits at a time are plenty. It's just truly so fucking sad.

I don't know how people who lose children later, when all that love has had even more time to grow, I don't know how they keep breathing each day. I just don't know.

I didn't make a real dinner tonight. We had some Cuban Mom purchased, I heated up some samosas, and in a stroke of fusion genius I put tamarind sauce on the maduros. Oh, Betty. Who could guess Cuban Indian would be so good?

And I baked cookies from Sneaky Chef. I tweaked the recipe, of course, and they're okay, but I think we'll eat the evidence and try another batch. When I get them how I like them, I'll post the details. I will say you don't have to cut the sugar in her recipes, they're not too sweet at all. And I subbed tofu for the white bean puree. The kids and hubby couldn't get enough of them.

I think next time I'll keep those modifications, and perhaps puree raisins into them, or even goji berries...

These Things

I'm totally intrigued. Could I really convert my VW to water-hybrid?

Check out Run Your Car With Water and tell me this isn't too good to be true. Wanty, wanty. And I bet I could hook it up myself, too. In all my spare time. Hmm.

My only question is actually about the gimmicky 56 day warranty. Why 56 days? Why not 60?

On the other hand, I'm offering to cap glyco mix for friends and family for $26 a bottle, and my cousin asked, "Why not an even $30?". Well, because I did the math, and I can do it happily for $26.

"But," she asked, "why don't you just take the extra four dollars. You could buy shoes. Though I'm not sure where."

Funniest thing I've heard today. We laughed hysterically. She pointed out you can't even buy a cup of coffee for four dollars. Obviously not the point, but the way she said it struck us as funny.

The B&B is almost totally ready. We only need the license, and some new flowers in the yard. And maybe a removable dog fence for the back. Oh, and a clothes line for towels. After that we only have to make a website and advertise. Craigslist, Time Out Miami, and online. I wonder where we'll get the best results?

I need to get this house into livable condition. It's beginning to get on everyone's nerves to have moving chaos everywhere, even if it does get better every day, it's still not done. Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

Oh, And I Wake Up Singing This

Sexy. Very. And she's got a seriously womanly figure. Interesting.

Alicia Keys, No One

She wails.

Very Sneaky Pasta Sauce

It's like a Vodka sauce. You can treat it the same way by adding a few green peas at the end and serving it with penne. If you use whole wheat, artichoke or "plus" pasta, you get a rainbow sticker on your chart.

A Sneaky Version Vodka Sauce

Saute in
2 T. (Tablespoons) Extra Virgin Olive Oil
2-6 large cloves garlic, cut in large chunks (too small will go bitter using this technique)

When edges are golden, but not yet brown, add
1/2 c. dry white wine or 1/3 c. vodka
(The alcohol cooks out completely, leaving wonderful flavor that mellows the acid in the tomatoes. It's instead of adding a sweetener which changes the flavor less subtly.)
Let bubble and cook down a bit.

Add
1/4 cup chopped fresh Cuban oregano (sometimes called broad leafed thyme) or oregano
--or--
1 T. dry oregano

Add THE SNEAKS
1 can V-8, or 8 oz. fresh mixed veg juice, including tomato
1/3 c. beet puree (frozen or fresh, they needn't be cooked first as long as they puree fully)
1 c. white puree (frozen or fresh, from Sneaky Chef recipe, contains zucchini, cauliflower and lemon juice)
Cook until mixed and heated through.

Add
2 14.5oz cans diced tomatoes, or 3 1/2 to 4 c. fresh diced tomatoes with juices
Stir and heat through.

Add
8 oz cream cheese, original (whole milk) or lowfat, cut into thick slices
(This is a better choice than cream, and adds a yummy, cheesy edge. It also won't curdle from the acid in the tomatoes and wine the way cream will, but produces a delightfully creamy sauce. Crème Fraîche is the only alternative, but is much richer and more pricey. It's also really delicious.)
Simmer, stirring occasionally until melted.

Check salt, add about 1/2 t. (teaspoon) good quality sea salt, optional--but it does taste better

If you're going to add green peas, fresh or frozen, add once your pasta is in the water and has come to a boil again. Lower sauce heat to minimal. (Kids, set the table!)

Once the pasta is done (al dente, please, especially the whole wheat type), drain and toss with more EV Olive Oil.

Serve with sauce on top, shredded cheese (Parmesan, Mexican, Grana Padano, Parmagiano Reggiano), and shredded fresh basil, if you have it.

Leftover sauce can be blended and used for pizzas, "make your own" whole wheat pita pizzas are our fave.

Moohoohaahaaahaaahaaaaaaa! They'll have no idea they're eating beets, cauliflower, zucchini, and all the stuff in V-8!!!

If you want to go nutty making a larger dinner, you can have salad and heat up some baguette to serve with dishes of EV Olive Oil.

If you serve the pasta as a smaller first course, grill some asparagus, portobello mushrooms and good steaks for round two. Sprinkle minced fresh raw garlic and balsamic vinegar on the steaks when they come off the grill. Trust me.

(Cross-posted at Feminist Housewife's Home.)

Not Light

Weeks of illness and chaos have wreaked havoc on my sleep schedule. Daylight Savings doesn't help. It wouldn't bother me, except it's opposite T's schedule. Of course, he's always rushing off to work, but I'd certainly have more "see you later" kisses.

Last night I tried to begin to move to an earlier bed time. I just have so much to do right now there really aren't enough hours in the day. I'm not writing, which makes me tense. The house is full of furniture from Mom's because she's moving to Texas, maybe Thursday, maybe Monday, and T and the neighbor are tiling the floor in the studio. They're grouting today, so furniture can go in tomorrow, but it's been mayhem.

The reason I'm not tired at night is because I'm not being terribly physically active due to the continued lingering cough of doom. I'm still trying to avoid antibiotics. So I'm doing as much desk work and light housework as I can, but there's so much, and it often feels like a Sisyphean struggle with all the moving and construction mess.

And I've been thinking about Baby A. I did a marker mock-up of a mosaic stone for her. It's beautiful. I've picked out some Smalti mosaic glass, rose quartz, millefiori. I want to hunt down a small Ganga amulet, perhaps on eBay. I'm still looking for a bit of gold tile. And cobalt with gold sheen, versus mother of pearl. I just need a little.

I looked at her sonogram yesterday. Her delicate little arms and jaw. She was gone. But she was still beautiful.

All of that I could take, though I was a little melancholy.

We tried to take B to wrestling, all of us went, but being homeschoolers we forgot about spring break. On the way home we stopped at an auto place to get some decent wipers for the van. My eyes were burning from pollen. We parked next to a jeep with kayaks on the roof, which was funny because we'd been talking about a roof rack for the VW, and how to transport the kayak since Mom's truck will no longer be an option.

T was inside. It was raining. The kids were fussing. My eyes were itchy.

Someone knocked in the window.

It was M, an old friend of T's. I opened the door to his enthusiastic greetings. Life's never been better, he said. The kayaks were his. Phone numbers, photos, work, engaged, expecting.

That's great! When is she due?

June 19th.

That's so awesome!

The chemistry in the car changed. Of course our story could not be told. What purpose? He's so excited. A little girl.

Let's get together, great, great, our place, fire pit, wine (he's a restaurant buyer).

We came home, toodled around. Foraged for after-dinner snacks because we ate so early. Watched some really funny Mr. Bean clips on YouTube. Laughed together. T read to the kids while I put D to bed. I'm done reading The Alienist, which was deeply disturbing, but also really good. So I read Song of Myself aloud to D.

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

Goodnight kids. Kiss, kiss. I love you. D is asleep at last.

Clear and sweet is my soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not
my soul.

Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen,
Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.

I know I have to get things done. I have to get back up.

A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more
than he.

I can hear T putting things away in the kitchen.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

D is snoring slightly. There is a large moth by the light.

It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out
of their mothers' laps,
And here you are the mothers' laps.

Taken from my lap. How far along would I be now. She would have bones. She would be kicking me. Maybe even have hiccups.

They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the
end to arrest it,
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

Is it really? Different, sure. Luckier? I'm not sure. Did that little portion of life mean anything? Does it count that I held her, even if not in my hands?

Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I
know it.

I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe, and
am not contain'd between my hat and boots,
And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one good,
The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.

I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth,
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and
fathomless as myself,
(They do not know how immortal, but I know.)

Well, yes. I know. Of course. So she is somewhere, uncontained. And her sweetness can be felt by me with thought. Still, I ache. I still ache and want her. Kissing the necks of my children just makes me miss her more, because I will never kiss her neck, and it would have been so sweet.

I got up and helped T in the kitchen. When I sat at the computer he made a good case for coming to bed. We talked a bit, and then K came in, afraid of the big moth at her light.

"It's flappy," she insisted, cringing.

I told T there was no point in having a digeridoo for sleep apnea (that wakes me up) if he doesn't use it. I tried to alarm him with the prospect of future surgery. Do they insert a digeridoo? He fell asleep quickly.

I stared at K's ceiling covered in glowing stars. I still feel like we're just using her room temporarily. I guess it's true. The night time sky, with it's weird light, came through the trees and through the windows.

If I cry too loudly, she will hear.

D stretches next to me. And I long for A to stretch in me, and to come out and be. And to stretch next to me in the night.

July 2. She'll always have a fireworks memorial.

If I choke and blow my nose is it too loud? What if I want to wail and moan?

Do I want want to talk about it? No. Yes. There is not time. Begin, and then be interrupted. Sometimes pleasantly. Sometimes annoyingly.

This is a frustrating time.

Somehow I need to plan and make meals in a timely fashion, clean the smelly cat box and main bathroom, clear and organize my monstrous desk mess, tidy the kitchen a bit, clear and organize all of the moving-related clutter on the dining table and all of my mother's donations in the living room, find bookshelf space for homeschooling (even though I've broken down and double layered most of the shelves already), get the kids to their classes and even add some, become familiar with buying and selling real estate for multiple reasons, do the filing and bill paying T needs help with, continue to write for my sanity, create a B&B space and jump through all the bureaucratic hoops, stay up on politics, learn the ropes with Melaleuca, change diapers, stop catastrophes, wipe noses, keep up with shopping, etc, etc, etc.

And what if I want to try to have another baby? What if now is too chaotic a time? What if that doesn't change before I'm too old? What if I don't stop wanting to cry? My God, what if I lose another one? What if we have another, and think of that one as our fifth child, but he or she is always referred to as fourth? Where will A go then? Why does she have to be lost in more ways than one? Why can't she at least exist on paper, and in our hearts? What if we all died in a plane crash and the world never knew about her? That she had a name. That she was real. That she was part of our family and we loved her. What then?

But now I know why I work until my eyelids won't stay open, and keep a night time book going no matter what (there can be no time between books, at all). If I don't, I'll just spend the time crying. And then it's hard to stop. And in it I feel very alone.

Politics Al Fresco

We went to Open Sail Potluck tonight, which is so fun. The lake was lovely, the temperature perfect, the breeze ideal for a little hiking on the boat, for which B is just the right size. Our captain/skipper on the Precision was almost ten years old and a multi-regatta veteran. K & B did the jib and basic crew. What a riot! A boat full of kids and they knew all about it. D loved it.

Mom came over for baby kisses afterwards and we talked politics. I was dutifully bagging packing peanuts so the box could be given to Mom for the move, and we started talking about the loony religion of recycling, and the left, and the right, and socialism, and the candidates, and she called me a wacky Republican when I had an explosion of peanuts to sweep up.

So that's what my post of yesterday put across? That I'm a wacky Republican? I maintained that Republicans care about the environment, but have different ideas about the nature of the problems and possible solutions. I pointed out the futility of putting anything in a recycling bin because the programs, where they exist, are too expensive and inefficient to maintain. In Collier County rumor has it we separate everything so carefully and they put it all together in an incinerator.

We got into an aside regarding McCain where she pointed out that real Republicans don't like him because he's on the fence too often and even leans toward socialist policies. Well, exactly. Which is why I choke when faced with having to vote for him simply because he's the least socialist, one hopes. If that's the case, if McCain isn't Republican enough for me, then how can she think I'm not really a Republican?

Anyway, somehow she decided Libertarians care about the environment, but Republicans don't, so I'm not as Republican as I might think. I don't know where she gets this. I pointed out that Libertarians were actually less likely to do anything about the environment in particular because they won't mandate behavior, and that Republicans certainly do care. She said Republicans don't go hiking. Because they don't want to mess up their expensive little tasseled shoes (Ha!). I said there absolutely must be Republicans who hike. They hunt, that's for sure, and there's hiking involved there, if nothing else. She said Republican women don't hike.

So help me, people. Please tell me you know of some Republicans who occasionally pack up a backpack, hike into the wilderness, camp, and hike back out having left as little trace as possible. They must exist in similar numbers as Democrats who do such things.

How about this? I'm a Republican. I'm going to goofy Earth Day camping at a local National Park. We're sharing a site with, for the sake of illustration, the hippiest looking family I know. She's like an East Village actor type, even though she's never been to NYC, and he's a computer geek with really long blond dreads. Their three year old son's dreads are coming along. We're going to take the small tent and sleep the kids in the EuroVan with a mosquito net over it made for this purpose.

On this trip I intend to hike the trails, possibly kayak the mangroves, and definitely take our drums to the drum circle. I want to find out more about vegetable oil diesel conversion, will buy a toe ring or crystal if I can find one, and will steer clear of anything particularly idiotic, like Reiki and global warming bullshit. And I will not agree with anyone about socialized medicine. Ugh. Nor about gun control, nor probably the war. But I'm not going to bring it up, I'll only disagree if it comes up and doesn't go away quickly.

I think that makes me a well-rounded person, not a wacky for not fitting neatly into one particular image of a given political party.

She's just razzing me, but still. If there was a book and successful blog for Crunchy Cons, as oddly problematic as some of their manifesto reads, then I know I can't possibly be alone. I think a lot of people just cop out and call themselves Independents, or even Libertarians, or they say their not really political, or they don't want to decide. At least I go ahead and try to nail it down, even if it's a little wiggly.

I say if you don't know what you like, start with what you don't like. Then see how you feel about its counterpart in the mainstream (as opposed to its extreme, which would not be productive). That's how I came to the Republican conclusion. But there are all kinds of Republicans, just like there are all kinds of Democrats. A NYC Democrat is not a Southern Democrat, for example. Why should all Republicans be defined narrowly, by Democrats usually, as either for Voldemort, Kool-Aid drinkers, or of the tasseled shoe variety? Gimme a break (I can hear you, my liberal friends, you're saying that sounds about right...). That's like saying all Democrats are either pot smoking Earth worshippers, vegetarian animal empaths, or commies (wait, aren't they?).

See? See how futile it is? There is no point. I would much rather have dinner together than get into a spit-flinging fury over politics. I know not everyone feels that way, but I don't see why the other side needs to be vilified. I can really like the person, but not their pet policies. Obama is a perfect example. Totally compelling. I wish I could go there. But he's a damn socialist and there's no way to get around it, never mind his nut job Reverend. So while I'd just love to have him to dinner, and perhaps even be pals-y, I wouldn't vote for him if you paid me.

Kind of like people you know who are great friends, but bad in relationships. You can love them to pieces but be utterly unable to recommend them to the latest starry-eyed hopeful. Miles Davis comes to mind. Incredible musician, not so great on the love life. But I don't look to Miles Davis for romantic advice. I look to him for music that challenges and soars. And that's enough.

Maybe that's the larger point. No one can fulfill all needs. I read Thomas Sowell when I want political genius. I go camping on Earth Day when I want a crunchy fix. I listen to the Pixies or Barbarito Torres when I want to get moving, and Biber or Nina Simone when I want to relax. I eat Taco Bell, or a Larabar, when I'm in a crazed hurry, and make fresh King fish on the fire pit with homemade mango salsa and fresh tortillas, or bake bread, when I've got time. I go to some friends for solace and others for action. And each friend is important to me for different reasons. If my expectations and desires are partitioned properly, everyone ends up happier. There is less miscommunication. There are reasonable outcomes. It just works better.

Unfortunately that means any given president will disappoint or annoy, because the stakes are so high we go ahead and have unreasonable expectations. But some disappoint or annoy less than others. That's probably as good as it gets. Even so, it beats the alternatives. The world can be a harsh place. I'll take flawed Democracy in America any day.

If I could have it with a lobbyist's pitch on a spit, along with a helping of bureaucratic pork and a side of the bloated tax system, we could call it a perfect picnic. I'll bring the barbecue sauce.