Them are driving words!

Supergirl called her best and oldest friend a loser. We were having dinner, together with OBfriend, her Dh, and their girls. I think they were pretty horrified at my daughter's choice of insults, and I am sure the relevance in its use was as inappropriate as her parroting it.
BUT, in my defense, may I say that 'LOSER' is what I had thoughtfully and carefully chosen as an alternative to 'YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE' - because I have this problem with my truck driver mouth when I am driving.
So I have tried again to contain myself and not use 'LOSER' as a driving command.
The other day I was driving Supergirl and her friend (a different one) to Happy Hollow, because school is now out and if every single day is not occupied with something fun and entertaining, Supergirl will drive everyone in her near vicinity CRAZY. So, on this particular outing, Supergirl and her friend were having a conversation about monsters. Friend said something supportive like, "Yeah, monsters are idiots!"
Supergirl made me proud by responding with, "You're not allowed to say that word unless you are driving. Idiot is a driving word."

They could have danced all night...but there were cookies at the end, so they didn't.

Okay, Supergirl's recital was super! She was so caught up in the excitement that she didn't even notice that all the other little girls were wearing make-up so that was much easier than I thought...this time!
She didn't get stage fright, instead was very excited and proud of herself and I might even say a touch hammy! I really didn't expect much, as she spent the last few classes staring off into space or playing hop-around-the-room with her buddy, but it turns out that the girl is a multi-tasker AND multi-talented, as she followed through with every step I thought she had not even learned!
Of course, when you see a line of seven little girls with matching outfits and tap shoes walk out on stage, the audience just goes 'Awwwwwwwww......' and they could just stand there picking their noses and still look adorable.
Here's the proof!

Happy tappin' with Supergirl:

She's the one on the far left looking all spiffy with her jazz hands.

The BIG FINISH!
All the little girls just assumed their own 'victory pose' here!

Good Thing One and Good Thing Two

Oh look - more goodness!!! Good Thing One and Good Thing Two!!! Yeah Abundance!

So, today is Supergirl's dance recital. And judging from yesterday's dress rehearsal, it should be pretty entertaining.
During the tap number, one of the little girls got so into marching forward (first time on the stage) that the helper in the wings literally THREW HER BODY in front of the line of tappers to keep the one from falling into space on her face. It's true, I have it on video!!
Much ado about tutus and tapping. Relatively low-key in the scheme of dance things, which is why we chose this mom-of-preschool-friend teacher. So I won't be backstage breaking their spirits, spraying their hair, or shrieking at them to SMILESMILESMILEDAMMIT!!! I won't even be applying make-up to my four year old's face (I will, however make her remove her butterfly tattoo from her forearm). I thought most of the mommies in my class shared that makeup thing. The anti-makeup thing,I suppose. Okay, I thought at least a couple of mommies. Okay, maybe just my one friend, but as long as her daughter didn't wear it I figured Supergirl would be fine. Alas! Even my dear friend is innocently betraying me by allowing her daughter to wear makeup at this afternoon's big perf. Sheeeit. Now if she caves I most certainly will have to let mine wear some lipgloss (ack!).

Bubbles is SEVEN FREAKING MONTHS OLD!
One word to describe this little being would be a difficult selection, but for now I am going to go with JOY. As in, brings it. As in IS it. This baby boy is so full of joy that he cannot wait to share it with the world at 6:15am. WHAT?
'Oh no,' say I, 'you haven't heard that we are the family who does NOT rise at 6:15 or even 7:15 unless catching a plane? If you must rise at 6:15am we will have to send you off to a family who will not eat you.'
'I'll take him', offers Julia, dear friend and mama of three. 'My kids are always up at 6:15.'
I seriously consider her offer.
'For how long? Can you teach him how to sleep?'
'Well, if I get him to sleep at night then I get to keep him.'
I think she is serious, so I will back off.
At least he wakes up jolly.

More words (see, not stuck today), more milestones, no time.
Thanks for tuning in for this brief update.

And another good thing....

Supergirl swings.

And yes, there are many many good things too.

Bubbles is aglow with life.

Yeah I know 'death month' is supposed to be over. Go somewhere else.

I'm all bunched up.
I am in a foul place, I keep trying to escape with more painting projects, cookies, etc. But I keep getting sucked back into the muck.
I can't maintain a train of thought, let alone a train of blog. Not that I have much time for thinking or blogging. Or trains.
I keep trying to write about Bubbles and what neat human tricks he can do, for he is seven months old. I want to write about Heidi and how she is about to go into labor any minute with our new baby-friend. I want to write about our trip to Hawaii and how very very much I want to live there. I want to write about how I think my eight year old siamese is getting senile because why on earth is she trying to sleep on Bubbles' head, thus getting herself thrown INTO A WALL by yours truly? And how my other friend's 33 weeker finally came home from the NICU! And how Supergirl is graduating from preschool next friday, and, although I have always believed that 'graduating from preschool' is the ultimate in indulgent silliness, I now realize that this is absolutely true UNLESS it is your child who is, in fact, graduating from preschool.

All this and more.

And I get started and then I get in the stuck place. Or someone demands snacks or boobie (redundant in that boobie=snacks for one of them) and I am thusly interrupted. But don't let my mama ramblings fool you. It's more the stuck place this month than the interruptions.
I know this place, I have visited before. Let me tell you, Hawaii is better.

It's not the writing (or lack thereof) that brings it on. That just reminds me that I am stuck, because my written words are as well. There aren't any eloquent words to describe it -it's all about anger and sadness. And then all smothered in these other delicious feelings of incredible love and hope and then whoops! fear! And then starting over with the anger and sadness.
I'm smarter than a doorknob. Or a fencepost. I know it's just all that 'normal' stuff associated with death. Or more specifically, dealing with the death of my child. Except I have one thing to say about that at this moment.





THERE IS NOTHING NORMAL ABOUT WATCHING YOUR CHILD DIE



Okay, now I got that off my chest for the 700th time.
So, as I regain my composure, I will think about other things. I will focus on how hilarious it is that Bubbles said 'dadada' for two days but then settled on belting out his favorite new chant of 'blahblahblah' and has decided for now to stick with it, perhaps because it makes his mama laugh so consistently. I will not think of how Elijah died slowly over the course of the evening but I didn't believe it because I wanted to believe the doctor instead. The doctor who, ten months later, acknowledged that she was unaware of a life threatening condition -that had been detected in Elijah during an unrelated surgery - called tracheomalacia, when she sent him home with 'just bronchitis'.
I will focus instead on how hilarious it is that I have a purple velvet tutu, stockings, and a spiffy little tap outfit hidden in a drawer for Supergirl's dance recital next Friday - OOPS! - SATURDAY!! - , when I swore I would never want my kid to be in a dance recital. I will not think of how I fear every day losing one of my 'remaining' children and have awful day-mares about ways in which they could be injured or die. I will not think of how then I really should call my therapist and make an appointment, this obsessing about death is unhealthy for the family, really...I will not think of that because she died 4 days after my last grief counseling appointment with her, last April, from an abdominal aortic aneurysm. That's quite sudden, if you didn't know. She had been a great friend to me for 10 years, so it's hard to remember that she is dead. Plus, all the feelings swirling around the dealing with death stuff? Every detail of it was shared with one person - her. And so remembering she is dead when I really want to call her because I can't stop thinking about death is like the ultimate double whammy.

So you see how hard it is to stay focused on the good - it's there in abundance in my life, I know that. But some days - okay, weeks - I can't hang with it.
It's not that I can't hang with what is here. It's what is missing that I have a hard time living with.

Sleep deprivation

HEREBY LET IT BE KNOWN, hitherto and henceforth, that there will be no* clinking of dishes or playing of instruments in the kingdom while the little prince naps.

There will be paper plates and outside play only.

*update 5/25: 'NO' shall now include, but not limited to: sneezing, coughing, phone ringing, phone answering, opening of loud crinkly packages such as trader joe's flaxseed corn chips, chewing loudly, arguing, laughing loudly, yeehaw-ing, whining, indoor hockey with a superball and a drumstick, beeping of the microwave, knocking on doors, flushing of toilet, OR earthquakes.

ANYone who so dares to breech this decree will most likely be beheaded by the queen herself.

(it is perfectly acceptable to issue death threats during my national death month)

Wow.

Only a small handful of people could appreciate this.

http://www.nowilaymedowntosleep.org/index.cfm

Not for the faint of heart.
Then again, you wouldn't be here if you were.

Mothers Day in Bodie

About 9 years ago I hiked to the top of Whitney with 7 good friends including my brother (the permit only allowed for 8). On my birthday. It did not make me a more popular party host, as my guests soon realized (I think at about 13,846 feet elevation) that they would rather be eating cake and drinking beer than gnawing cliff bars and sucking on camelbacks. But we all made it, and we eventually did have cake and beer. Which had been secretly hiked in by Dh, who was not at the time even close to being Dh, but certainly earned points to that end on that trip!!
After the trip I had my first experience at Bodie, CA. Bodie is a ghost town south of Bridgeport, east of the Sierras. It is a real ghost town, with a real badass history. Have you seen Deadwood? Yeah, that bad. What is left after a few fires is now preserved in a state park but in a no-frills kind of way. Everything is pretty much as it was left when it was abandoned; broken glass and rusted cans, rusted kids toys, eerily unfinished schoolwork, etc. All of it is coated in a thick layer of dust. There is a book full of letters in the museum written by remorseful people who took something away from Bodie (a book, a rock, a window latch) and then had grisly bad luck. Badass bad luck, not your garden variety. These people had sent the offending item back, along with their regrets and their stories. I was spooked enough to refuse even to buy a postcard from the place and carefully clapped the desert dust off my sandals before getting back in the car.
So, last week, after the Elijah retreat/adventure had taken us up the scenic eastern sierra hwy 395 for some skiing and hotspringing, I lobbied heavily for taking the 13 mile road in to Bodie. It was mother's day, which I had planned to avoid, but I soon realized that I could use it to leverage the roadtrip in that direction, so of course I did. Not to much resistance, mind you. Bodie has it's own pull. We were greeted by the still snow-scattered sparse desert hills, glaringly unforgiving sunlight, intense blue skies; the perfect backdrop to the rustic remains of Bodie.
I'm not sure what it is about Bodie that I am so attracted to. It is oddly beautiful, it is rich with history, it's history is rich with lawlessness. It is the stark desert and deserts intrigue me. It is tragic. Among other notable stories, there is the one of little Evelyn, a four year old killed by a miner's mis-swung pick axe, whose death caused the entire town to mourn, and whose ghost is one of many that are said to frequently haunt the area.
It is stilled.
So we walked among the ruins and peeked into the windows - legitimate voyeurs after paying our nominal fee to the ranger. After exploring the residential area and what remains open of the mine area, we ventured down to Main Street, where the school is in perpetual Halloween season, where on the saloon stools there remains a dusty butt-print, the general store is in vandalized disarray, and few storefronts remain after fires destroyed much of downtown.
Dh came around the corner of one small building on the corner with a dustprint on his nose and said, "I guess you don't want to look in this window this time, do you?"
I squinted. I realized it was the undertaker's building.
I had this vivid memory of the first time I had been there, my feet planted in the same spot, peering in the same window, focusing past the eye-catching glass-viewing-windowed coffin, and my gaze settled on what has doubtlessly churned chills up the spines of thousands before mine: A child's casket.
I stared at that the first time and felt immensely sad. I have an almost tangible memory of wondering at that time, if someone who had lost a child was seeing that picture, how would they feel? Would it be harder? Would it be even more sad? Would it be more personal?
About a month before Elijah died, I passed a dead cat on our winding mountain road. For whatever reason, that day I felt so sad for the cat, for the cat's family. For whatever reason, and apropos to nothing in sight, that day I wondered if it was harder to see roadkill if your child died. Would seeing a dead animal make you more sad, because it reminds you of death in general, or would you be more desensitized to the death of an animal, because you had experienced the death of a child?
Are these strange thoughts to have? This is what it is like to live inside my mind.
At any rate, I have the answers now to all those stupid questions.

Yes.
It is harder.

Dammit, we've lost another one

Please visit an amazingly brave life.
Jessica's life.
Bring your kleenex.


DEATH SUCKS