A pie for Mikey

I work in health care. I work in home care. I work with the sick and sometimes the dying. Many of the people I see are more in the ebb than the flow. It is what I do and I feel that I am in it because I do it well.

Over my years in home care I have come to appreciate so many things; the way people feel when they are finally home, in their own clothes, surrounded by their familair things, allowed to have their routines. I worked for years and years in the hospital setting; the world of gowns that lay you literally bare when you dare to move out of bed. Later I moved to the rehab setting where you are allowed to wear your own clothes but you cannot because your left arm and leg do not work so your spouse goes to walmart and gets a hideous pair of pull on sweats that leave your frame swimming and exposes you in a totally different way.



I am trying to say I love home care, love what I do now. And I am digressing far from what I was trying to actually say. Friday night I made a pie. I made it because of a father and mother, husband and wife, family and life that was broken by unforeseen tragedy. She asked for pies in his memory and I felt as if it was a small thing to do in light of the wave of huge loss, maybe a small current sent her way as she reshapes everything that she is.



I see loss on a weekly basis because we have a hospice component to our services. I take hospice patients regularly. It sounds a bit anomalous, rehab in the hospice setting. In these times I go into the home to teach a family member or caregiver how to help make their loved one more physically comfortable, I teach them how to protect their bodies as they struggle to not only care for this dying person but take on roles they never imagined. It is a great privilege to be a part of this but it is never not wrenching.

So, I see death in many forms daily. But this death, this loss, it strikes a different chord. It is one thing to try to accept the process of loss, another to have no say, no warning, no time. It is truly a terrible loss. And so despite the fact that she is a stranger, a person not met yet, I made the pie. I read her post and made the pie and cried as I shopped for the needed items and felt that the loss was not distant.



The pie is still being eaten. My sisters are in town and the little cousins keep running in and out and people keep scooping bites and pieces and asking how to make it and hearing the about the loss of this man. Loving the pie but not the reason for its presence.



Yes, we will all go someday. And none of us know the how or when or why. Won't know. But I do know we are here now and can live best by embracing it all, the big huge messy picture that is our Life. It is not too late to make some pie. Or give some love. Or change things you do not like.





My beloveds.

An Open Letter to the Father of my Children

Hey there, pardner.

I apologize in advance as I am feeling kinda' sentimental today. Also, I didn't get you anything for Father's Day so I want to make it up to you...


Your Birthday 2011

So, a few years ago you became a dad. Let's make that capital DAD, and it has been more than a few years. Four, to be exact. And you came into it with twins so therefore it was with guns blazing. From Day 1 you have done 50% and sometimes more. 2 years ago you became a Stay At Home and there has yet to be a moment that I have had doubt.

You do it differently than I, this parenting thing. You do not yell as much but you also do not cook as much. You take them to the park for three hours while my limit is 60 minutes. You teach them about tools and wood and outside stuff. You eschew routine but get them to school on time when I cannot. You hold them gently when they need and they turn to you at least 50% of the time if not more.

You have always been my equal in parenting but no one else can be their Dad. You were meant for them and they for you. You teach them daily what it is to be male, to be a good man and they learn by your very example. They learn to be kind and quiet, withholding judgement and anger. They learn to lead by example and be strong in a different way than they might learn from another man. And I know these lessons will serve them well as they walk into life, they will become men that hold deep respect for their lives, their wives and their world. And you teach them that.


Boys June 2008


All my boys 2008


I had no idea what kind of father you would be, you the young guy that would never hold the babies I thrust at you to help you 'practice'. You told me once you did not feel comfortable because they were not yours. And yet, the day they handed you a 4 pound child you just did it, myconium dipe and all. And have never stopped. You can kiss any booboo, wipe any butt explosion and do bedtime and storytime better than the rest. And now I can watch you hold your nieces, look these new babies in the eye and show all that you have become in the last 4 years in those moments.

You are better than me, you are more than I could ever ask for, you are beautiful in your ways, in your unique and perfect ways. The only thing I would wish for you is this; remember you are important. You are their Father but also more than just that. You deserve time for Yourself, time on your bike flowing with your trails, time in your shop making your beauty, time to be You. Tim, not just dad. You have the job down, boy, and you will never ever be laid off, I promise. Remember your promise to me, 21 days on your bike. Remember that you are loved no matter what.

And last but certainly not least, remember that I know these things every day not just today.


Boys June 2011


All my boys 2011

I love you, MCD. You hold more than just my heart now. You hold theirs.

A [Mama's] Day

Camping, Park Play, Ojai, Drive Home ... Sick kids now. But fun while it lasted


Photo credit :: Mace

They turned 4. They turned four and they care so much about good guys and bad guys. They want to defend and rebuild and shoot something. They want to make things and do things and ignore requests and sometimes dance, and sometimes fight and almost never eat.


Mason laughs like me. He also yells like me, with these immediate sharp excalmations of purpose that make everyone jump and run to see if everything is okay. His laugh, his giggle, it is like a silly sunshine that makes your stomach hurt it is so cute. He cannot pronounce 'L' so it comes out like a "y". He wants to be every superhero there is which includes spiderman, batman, green goblin (he is easy on the superhero definition). Also light saber man, trashman and stripeman (his favorite pair of pajamas).

Owen is a force. Of will, of good, of purpose. He can literally disassemble a picnic bence without direction. He can shift a mood from good, to insane, back to good. Because he wants pizza. He understands that people can be good and bad at the same time and he already understands that about me. He cannot stand watching someone be hurt. He also has no compunction about doing the hurting when he is pissed. Which is a lot like me.

They did it. They went and became people despite the fact that we were not sure that we could make people. Well, ones that we like, anyway.

They are lovely and funny and like to pretend that they can save anyone and like to wear three shirts at the same time (especially if those three shirts layer int his order :: batman shirt, spiderman shirt, dinosaur shirt). Mace likes bok choy and told me it makes him strong enough to carry the laundry basket. Owen hates bok choy (or anything green or meat) but will eat the hell out of a peanut(almond)(sunflower) butter and boysenberry sandwich three times a day.


Something somewhere decided that Tim and I should be given two souls at the same time. Two souls encapsulated in the small oddly shaped little people that arrived 4 years ago. Two boys that chose to come with each other because that is what they and we needed. I remember my first reaction was not exactly joy. I think I was kinda' pissed. Something along the lines of 'shit, did not sign up for this'.

They grew on me.

In every way possible.

They have made me. Not better, not mama, not parent. Just made me. Because all that I was before is still here. But all that I am because of them is so much more.

I love you boys, so very very much.

The party was fun and consisted of kids, sugar filled eggs and Legos (and a sweet bebe to squeeze and pass and a Costco sheet cake because of a failed cake experiment at 10 p.m. the night before that included whipping egg whites until stiff and the resulting 3/4 inch tall cake).


I love the way it seems like they are looking at each other in these photos even though the photos are a bit crappy ...



Until next year ... signing off the birthday posts now (with a little sentimental swipe at the eyes).

A Precursor

They had their birthday party today. They requested waffles and pajamas. So that is what we did. Well, some of us did it. My boys? The ones that have worn their super pajamas for the last three months regardless of time of day or temperature? Today they chose to wear real people clothing (they didn't even layer the pajamas under their real clothes which is bizarre).


I think I am now sold on a 10 a.m. waffle party because they cake was cut and everyone went home after hours of play and it was barely 2 p.m. And we had time to do our run and get some beer and then we sat down with the boys to assemble the latest in their Lego (life) acquisitions. (Everyone needs beer after a morning of 10 or so littles doing what 10 or so littles do).




Ask me tomorrow on their real birthday how I feel about having four year old boys. Right now I feel awfully melancholy and gut-punched as I listen to my little people figure through their new Lego stuff.

Happy birthday (in approximately 24 hours) little guys. Love you so much,

mama

Long Weekend of LOVE

Last year I actually pulled off 7 days about things that I LOVE. This time around I am aiming for the long weekend (little stomach virus messing around with our innards and other distractions being what they are).

Thought I would start off with a set of things, my Thing 1 and Thing 2 (Cat in the Hat has been Mace's book of choice for over a week now).

They had a Vday party at school today and we sent them all decked out, shirts and valentines and hair combed into place (gasp).

They are total hams when it comes to camera time but I think I like that. Also I have noted Owen is the hugger and Mace is usually the huggee, with the occasional stranglehold result.

I plan on sharing the homemade Valentine's tomorrow, easy peasy and fun to make.

Then we'll just have to keep finding things to LOVE for a few more days. One thing I know is that we do NOT love the stomach virus. (Yuck).

Christmas Past

I am feeling a little shocked at the passing of the Holiday. It feels like it flew past this year and there was not much time to process and yet, yet it also felt just right.

The Christmas weekend was a whirl of tradition and exhaustion. We spent Thursday night with good friends and family, eating pizza and strolling all the littles up to a ridiculously elaborate Christmas extravaganza of lights. The name of the street is Thoroughbred and people come from far and away to walk the 5 or 6 blocks.



There are some homes that literally sag under the weight of their decorations and there are people in their driveways with cocoa and tamales and brownies. Oh, the brownies. I almost bought a whole pan but stopped at 4 because that was enough for a taste for each person in the party. I loved the way the boys fixated on the home featuring the Grinch (their new favorite Christmas character). And then we arrived home from the long walk and lo and behold, there is the Grinch on TV with the little wHOS holding hands and singing with great joy and aplomb.

And Christmas Eve with its preparation and the family party on Tim's side. His extended family is Hispanic and they gather with a huge dinner and a bar devoted to tequila (Patron Silver, one shot, thank you very much). Family that we only see once a year, but after 16 years running, they are family nonetheless. The old are getting older and more frail, their speech rambling and sometimes incoherent. The middles (we in our 30s and 40s) laugh and compare the gory notes of parenthood and joblessness. The young sneak beers and cigarettes in the back yard, slipping up to the tequila table discreetly. And the very little, well, this year we entered the door and then did not see them for a long long time. This is when you reap the benefits of a huge family with another set of twins. This video is the only thing I shot before getting swept up in the fun, O passed out and tortured, pretty funny actually.



And then finally finally Christmas morning. I woke at 7 a.m. with not a creature stirring. Not one in a house of people. Might have had something to do with going down at 11 for the boys, 2 a.m. for us. Always the last minute wrappers, we are. But then the boys woke and the fun started.



Santa on the fire truck, stockings, then breakfast and presents, a walk, Grandpa Jim's with another breakfast and mimosas. It was a good good day. And me, the Santa ain't real girl, was totally delighted by the fact that the boys believed Santa heard their requests for 1) Dora and Diego figures 2) a few rescue Heroes 3) Pillow Pets and 4) Crazy racer cars. So, thanks Santa GP Mona and Nick and Santa Auntie Libby and Santa GP Jim and Carol. You made their Christmas shine.

Noel con Havana

I am not a big fan of the baby infant stage. All that purposeless limb flailing and constant need for head support. They need so much milk and usually their mama is the only one to provide that. Not much to interact with either, all that sleeping then fussing then pooping. They are so much more fun when they learn to roll, sit up, walk.

These are the myths I have been telling myself for a few years, since the boys left their baby infant phase. It took just one morning with my newest niece Havana to dash those myths to bits. Because I do love baby infants (much to my own relief).

Christmas morning and breakfast is ready. She settles slowly onto my shoulders, adjusting to my smell and feel. Her mama needs two hands for a few minutes to feed herself as she is running low on fuel after days of newborn + sick baby. Havana fusses and then with a few pats, a burp of relief bubbles up and her body relaxes, she slumps to sleep in my arms, head at the awkward angle that is only comfortable for the very young and boneless. And she stays there as I eat my burrito one handed, dropping bits of egg and bacon on her downy dark head.

My arm begins to ache and then slowly begin to adjust to the warm soft weight, a feeling that was light years away until it just wasn't .. until it was just familiar again.



Later she wakes up and we lay her on the couch, letting her little limbs flex and extend. We coo and coddle her, watch her eyes catch the black line of that picture frame, the bright shine of the Christmas lights. Her arms pump and stretch, hands gripping in that newborn grasp, not purposeless just unskilled, untrained and untested. And I start to remember my fascination with watching my newborns as the world became theirs.

Her Uncles pass her around, their arms huge around her swaddled body. I caught them one by one as they took time to meet the newest little of our tribe.





And then we do our Christmas walk (during which she has the mother of all poop blow outs which requires emergency changing on the park table). And then she goes home, her first family Christmas complete.

What does all this Baby Love mean? Certainly not another for me. Just the secure knowledge that I like them, these new people joining our family. A good thing as there are two more on the way, set to join in the festivities of Christmas 2011. And the knowledge too that this is what family is ... the recognition of souls that belong together, that found each other and that harmonize as well as any Church choir or band of angels.





It was a good Christmas.

Serenity Now

That was always one of my favorite Seinfeld episodes ... George's dad yelling that line at the top of his lungs. Serenity Now !!!!

The last month or two have had so little to do with the blog world and so much to do with life and some of the rough turns it can throw at you. I alluded to a court case which thankfully was settled today. I do not want to talk details but I can say we found ourselves confronting some of the most rigid, bitchy suburban folks that I have ever seen. It had to do with leaving the first pre-school we were in last year. It had to do with Owen's finger getting cut off there. It had to do with poor communication and pretty mean people. It came to a head today in an almost laughable conclusion that had the judge scratching his head, shrugging his shoulders and giving me a little smile. I liked the judge. I am pretty sure the people that sued us (yep, sued us) are branded forever in my mind as assholes. But at least I can unclench my jaw and know that we are done with this matter and that karma will hopefully take care of the rest.

In truth, the whole thing kept me in such a heightened state of stress that I just wanted to run. So, I did. Just a little.



I spent the weekend with my sisters in what I hope becomes an annual ritual, the kind that sisters swear to uphold despite all the layers in life. SF hosts a West African dance festival in the Fall and this was our second time making it. It is held close to Japantown where my sister scored a beautiful room at Hotel Kabuki. It was serene with a fun, diverse neighborhood just outside the door.







We could walk to the dance, we were close enough to visit this French bakery with to die for ganache tart and croissants (and chasson aux pommes .... and baguettes ... and macarons de paris ... you get the picture). We joked that if we ever won the lottery, we would rent the whole bakery for a day and eat our way through it. Heavenly.

And we danced. Danced with Masters from Africa that make your heart sing and your body want to rejoice. Drums and beautiful ringing and legs that jump and twist faster than I thought possible, smiles that stretch wider and wider the faster the movement and sound. It is such an unbelievably release and I know that my body lacks the skill to make the shapes of the dance, but my heart ... that is in the totally right place.

The weekend went too fast, we were tired a lot, we ate too much. But the main part was laughing and gossiping about people in that sisterly way that only sisters can do because it isn't bitchy when you are talking to your sisters. We did not fight. We did not cry. We just enjoyed, which was what we all needed.

And we totally scored Advent tchatchkes at the little Japanese 99 cent stores.


And could not help laughing over the totally crazy collectible imported toys. There was some nutty stuff, like little mini figures the size of a thumbnail that were titled "French cuisine dinner" and "Woodland animals". Hee hee.

No pictures of the dancing, totally against the rules to bring cameras around unless it is approved. No pictures of us because half the time we were sweaty and too tired to lift our arms to take photos.

Fall Here, Fall Where?

We are having a terribly schizophrenic Fall with temperatures that are bouncing from the 100s to the 50s with not much middle ground. I am not a big fan. I know that the seasons seem hard to seperate in Southern Calfornia but this is getting a bit ridiculous.

We tried to feel Fall-ish last week by heading up to Oak Glen, a little foothill enclave of a town where they grow apples and host a few small family farms.



The weather accomodated by staying a bit on the chilly but bright side. The boys actually needed to wear the hoodies they had on (though Mace threw an awful fit when we tried to get him to wear a pair of pants)(They happened to be a pair of pants I sewed for him and so I felt a little miffed).



Just the mere act of getting together and going somewhere special helped the season come a bit more into focus and though we skipped bringing home a apple pie (it was freaking 14$...woah, right?) we did bring home a bag of apples and some shots that I think are destined for the next Christmas card.


There was a tiny stone building open for tours, the old school house. It was well preserved and charming and managed by two little autocratic elderly German ladies (one of which kept thrusting an old 3D view finder into the faces of all entering. That was a little weird). The boys loved it, carefully seating themselves at the old wood desks, shuffling the little wooden dominoes and looking more than a little like school boys.


Life has been almost a schizo as the weather lately. I am coming off a three week stint of working full time and feeling grateful for the extra income, but also aware of how freaking ridiculously hard it is to work full time and mother and make life happen. I was glad to have the opportunity to make the extra money and glad to see this Friday come as it marked the end to the 40 hour work week.

And so, today, I spent sewing and with a 'picnic' in the park gathering some brilliant leaves with the boys and walking them in the stroller (a very rare occurence these days) and I feel as if something has decompressed. I made a doll, I made a dinner and I made a faux pregnant belly for a friend for a late Halloween party and I am ready to call it a day and throw that 30 Rock Season 2 DVD in and relax with the husband.

Sometimes I marvel at how the mundane in my life feels so much more like living than other parts.

Just like I marvel that it was 98 yesterday, and it's going to be 65 tomorrow. I prefer the 65. We get to wear more hoodies and hats and that makes us all look cuter.