The Wild and Wacky World of Adolescence!

I would say that, for the most part, I had a pretty good adolescence and teenager-hood. I mean, sure, there were some severely shitty parts. I was goofy and awkward and was worried that my boobs would never grow and no boys would ever ever like me ever. I worried that, because I was utterly mystified by algebraic concepts, that I might actually be stupid and that once this fact about me was discovered, I would utterly fail at life. I fought with my parents and occasionally thought they were total idiots. I snuck around and did stuff I wasn't supposed to. I drank too many wine coolers and barfed everywhere...way more than once. I smoked pot when it was around and I took Ecstacy a handful of times. I had crushes on "good guys" who were often times just as bad or worse than the "bad guys" I also had crushes on. I was bored out of my mind in my small town, but I managed to make the best of it with hilarious friends and lots of school and parties and hairspray.

But there is not enough money in the universe that would convince me to get in a time machine and do it all over again. Being a teenager sucks balls. Your body is all out of whack, your brain is equally screwy, and your emotions? Whoa. Total psychoville. You have no idea who you are and, if you start to feel self-assured for one single minute, something or someone smacks you down (or at least you think they smack you down...but who knows because you're nuts). You spend an inordinate amount of time wanting to crawl into a hole and disappear. I guarantee you that even the most beautiful/handsome, popular, and seemingly awesome kid at your high school secretly hated themselves and longed for their own hidey-hole sometimes.

So watching my young stepson--barely 12 years old--just beginning to struggle with all the bullshit that is adolescence breaks my heart. There's nothing I can say that will convince him that I, or any other adult for that matter, understands one iota what he's going through. Every teenager is sure that they're the only person on the planet who has ever felt the way they're feeling; to them, their angst and misery are completely unique and unprecedented. If they lack the coping skills or parental structure necessary to make it through the roughest of the rough patches, they shut down and withdraw. They can't, or simply won't, talk about it--whatever that "it" might be, which leaves those that love them totally ill-equipped to help or support them. You all enter a whirlpool of frustration and start to go down the drain together.

But BH is an amazing father, and if there's anyone who I'd want in this kid's corner right now, it's him. We're going to get through this as a family, and with any luck, F will come to know just how loved and supported he really is.

Also, I'm guessing we're that going to learn a lot, which will hopefully prepare us for The Geej's teenage years because I'm pretty sure they're going to be a freakin' doozie.

Things that Have Happened Since I Last Posted

• BH celebrated his 43rd birthday.
• We went on an old-fashioned Sunday drive to see the spring wildflowers that are blooming like crazy right now after months of severe drought followed by a wet winter. It was beautiful and probably quite the opposite of what most people who've never been to Texas picture when they imagine our state.
  
  
  

• I began composing my will.
• BH's youngest son, F, came to live with us. On Monday. It was rough, but the best thing for this kiddo who needs his dad in his life.
• Many tears were shed.
• Adjustments were made.
• F started school at his new school today. Scary, I'm sure. Remember sixth grade?
• I canceled our trip to Ireland, which was supposed to begin 2 weeks from tomorrow.
• I found out I need a root canal. And I'm getting it done today.
• I found out we're getting a fat tax refund, which was originally earmarked for our trip but some of which will now go to pay for my stupid root canal. Sexy.
•  My wonderful friends Joshelle from Portland and their kick-ass kiddo Ruby Bird arrived in Austin for a visit.
• I dreamed that I was at a Sammy Hagar ("I Can't Drive 55"/Red Rocker-era Sammy) and Stevie Nicks concert at a waterpark (Sea World), and I was going down this massive waterslide that, of course, went over the stage where Stevie and Sammy were performing, and somehow, I ended up dangerously clinging to the outside of the slide tube. And who saved me? In front of the performers and the crowd? Why, MacGyver, of course. That's right: Richard Dean Anderson showed up, frosted mullet and all, and saved my ass.

A scratchy throat, a report on parasites, and a holiday bitch fest. You're welcome.

Yes, it's been actual weeks since my last post. Believe me, I wish I'd had the time and inspiration to create some posts, but both of those things have been sadly absent from my life. And now I'm sick. Sort of. I mean, I'm not sure what's up. I'm blaming allergies, but basically it's a feeling of general-worn-outedness (more so than normal), banging hangover-like headaches, and the rawest, sorest throat ever. Of course all of this is coming on when I'm wildly busy at work and I've got actual social events on my calendar. Of course.

On the domestic front, after never having them before, The Geej has contracted lice twice since September. The most recent lice-fest began this past Tuesday when she nonchalantly mentioned at the breakfast table, "My head is itchy." And sure enough, looked at her sclap and there those nasty bastards were. I beelined it to Walgreen's and bought a remedy that lands on the effectiveness spectrum somewhere between scalp napalm and tap water. So far, so good, but WHAT a pain in the ass. I kept her home from school that day while I cleaned everything that had come into contact with her noggin for the past week and treated her scalp, twice. We're still treating her each night and looking for those goddamned nits, but the fucking school and aftercare that she attends better be doing THEIR part to check for infestation, or it's all for naught. I alerted both of them about our situation on Tuesday and got a couple of vaguely reassuring emails about their policies, etc., but I think they should put that shit on lock-down until they are sure that shit's under control. Blech. I guess the ONLY good thing about getting lice in this day and age is that there it is far less stigma around it than it was when I was a kid. I got lice in 5th grade, presumably from the new, non-English speaking student I was tutoring in, no kidding, a broom closet. Her name was Ofelia, and she was 14 years old. I was 11. Our school was utterly unprepared to handle the needs of a student who didn't speak a word of English, so they enrolled her in 5th grade (instead of 7th or 8th, where she should've been age-wise) and then assigned a "gifted" student (moi) to sit in a broom closet with her and go over books that were intended for pre-schoolers. During that period, I got lice. And not only was my mother HORRIFIED (I might as well have come home with a lamprey stuck to my face), the school kept it all on the down-low and treated me and Ofelia like we were radioactive. I was so ashamed to have gotten such a "dirty" ailment, and my mother put a stop to my daily broom closet rendezvous with Ofelia and we were, instead, allowed to sit at a small tabel in the corner of the classroom for our tutoring sessions, which meant we weren't quite so close together. I eventually got over my lice, and Ofelia eventually left our school.

Next week is Thanksgiving. I fucking love Thanksgiving. It's during my favorite season, it focuses on my favorite kinds of food, and there are usually copious napping opportunities. Something I do NOT love? Traveling during the holidays and/or traveling on IH-35, both of which I get to do for this coming Thanksgiving holiday. We're actually going to be at my mom's on Thanksgiving Day, which is a short, non-busy drive and will involve her cornbread dressing, which is truly one of my favorite foodstuffs in the world. So that's good. But the next day, you know Friday...Black Friday...the busiest travel day of the year? We're loading up the car with all three kids and heading to "The Christmas Capital of Texas," Grapevine. Sigh. This whole thing is the brainchild of BH's mother, Dixie. And I love Dixie. Really, I do. And I love my brother and sister-in-law and their kids, who are also going to this family gathering. But OMFG, I am not looking forward to the travel. And also? We're going to be staying here, which means that we'll be dealing with the other thing I despise: holiday crowds. I know that The Geej is going to love the shit out of it. And like I said, I really do love BH's family, so I'm just going to have to focus on that. Because if not? I may lose my shit. BH feels the same way about this whole endeavor, btw. Hopefully we'll be able to keep each other from committing sepuku.

Some happier news: It rained earlier this week. Not a whole lot--about 1/2 an inch at our house--but it was still nice to see. And despite the fact that small rains like this (we had another one about a month ago) certainly perk up the grass and plants around town, the drought is showing no signs of letting up. Fucking drought. I blame Rick Perry. Not because I really think he's at fault, but because I hate him.

Alright, I'm signing off for now. Hopefully it won't be another 3 weeks before you hear from me again.

By the way, that there is a disgustingly real looking turkey cake I spotted recently at HEB. Ewww...

Glimpses

Feeling a little schizo because of travel and work and work and work. So much to say. Sneaking time now before the first of two all-day meetings to blog. It feels almost criminal.

Some glimpses from the past few weeks:

Walking toward my gate at BWI, I hear applause begin behind me. Then build. I turn around and see dozens of WWII and Korean War vets--most being wheeled in wheelchairs, some hobbling on their own--toward the gate of their departing flight. Everyone they pass by in the airport stopping to give these old men a spontaneous standing ovation.

The beginning bars of Elbow's "Great Expectations" as I stand a few feet from the stage. Staring up. Beaming. Transported.

I am eating lunch alone in a cafe in Santa Cruz. I am seated near the window, looking out on a busy street. Great people watching. A woman skateboards past me. More confidence and cool in her little finger than I will muster in my whole life.

BH and I talk about travel. Again. We rarely go anywhere together as a couple. We've never traveled as a family. He doesn't share my need or desire to have something on the calendar to look forward to. These talks always leave me frustrated and tense. And there's still nothing on the calendar.

Watching The Geej put on a "dance show" for me in her room. She is wearing a purple sequin tube top and a red taffeta skirt. It is all twirling and hair flipping and lots of throwing herself on the ground. She has absolutely no rhythym but is fully committed to the music.

At a cat show with The Geej and our friend Irene. Sundancer, aka "Sunny" is a very large, orange Maine Coon. He is stunningly beautiful. I watch him get judged, then his owner picks him up to carry him back to their carrier table. We chat. I pet the cat. Later, I pass by their table, and Sunny is outside of his carrier, sleepily lying on his back on the table. I want to steal him.

Having an inebreiated discussion about politics with BH. He is grilling me about my beliefs and positions. I feel defensive. We are a microcosm of the enormously contentious philosophical divisions in our country.  We agree to disagree on a lot of things.

I am spending money on things. Summer camp tuition for The Geej. A new HDTV and media cabinet. A blue topaz pendant necklace. A couple of Pricelined nights at fancy hotels. I feel worry and a vague sense of guilt with every purchase. I wonder if I'm being frivilous. My upbringing has taught me that even small financial indulgences are bad.

Bending down in the mail room at work. My jeans are too tight. I feel the crotch begin to split. It is time to do something about my fat ass.

So, this happened.

Have y'all seen this commercial?

Go ahead and watch it because it'll make the rest of this little story funnier, and I know you like the comedy.

I'll wait right here.

Ever since we've been letting our cat Doug outside, our night time routine more or less looks like this:

1. Go to bed with all animals in house.
2. Fall asleep.
3. Get woken up at some point during the night by Doug meowing and/or jumping on me.
4. Let Doug out the back door while blind (no glasses) and mostly asleep.
5. Go back to sleep (hopefully).

Yes, it's annoying and kind of drives me crazy, but after a few months, I've gotten more or less used to it and can, literally, do the whole let-him-out-in-the-middle-of-the-night thing in my sleep. Almost.

A few nights ago, I heard the familiar meowing and felt a small mammal-ish creature hop on to the bed. Zombie-like, I arose, picked up the cat, and shuffled to the back door in the pitch black dark. I opened the door, and plopped the cat outside on to the deck, shut and locked the door, and headed back to bed. I'd guesstimate that I was about 15% awake during the entire event, so I was almost instantly asleep again when my head hit the pillow.

Fast forward a couple of hours.

I'm lying there snoozing like a champ, when GALOOMPH Doug jumps right on my chest and squeaks his disturbingly-weenieish-for-a-cat-his-size meow right in my face. And immediately, I sat straight up in bed (throwing Doug to the ground in the process) and said in an alarmingly loud voice, "Wrong cat!! I put the wrong cat outside!!"

I bolted to the back door and opened it. "Diane!! Diane!! Here kitty kitty!!" Nothing.

Went to the front door and out on to the sidewalk. "Diane!! Here baby! Here kitty kitty!!" Again, nothing.

You see, Diane doesn't go outside. She's never shown any interest in the great outdoors other than viewing it from a windowsill, and that's just fine with me. It's stressful enough having one feline roaming around the neighborhood, collecting fleas and random injuries, much less two. And she's tiny--a total runt. And we live near a very busy street. You see where I'm going with this, right? I was freakingthefuck out and thinking to myself, "I swear, if anything happens to Diane, I'll never forgive myself."

So I went back and forth and back and forth, back yard to front, calling for my kittykittykitty. At one point when I was calling out front, a cat came running toward me from across the street. Yay!

But, no. It wasn't Diane. It was a neighbor cat who I've named Big Ellen, and she came gallumphing up and flopped at my feet on the sidewalk, purring loudly. I literally said, "Not NOW, Big Ellen!" and headed back inside.

I finally kind of gave up and went an got back in the bed. BH said to me, "She's a cat. She's only been out a couple of hours. She'll be fine."

After about 30 minutes of tossing and turning and tossing some more, I thought, "Well, I'll go look one more time, and then I'll go to sleep." I went out to the back deck and flipped on the porch light and, BINGO, there she was, wide-eyed and sort of freaked out with a huge puffed-out tail, hunched down behind the chimnea. I said, "Diane?" And I heard a tiny "mew" in return. She bolted back into the house and almost immediately hunkered down on the bed next to me, both of us relieved as Hell that she was home.

A few hours later, our dog Shiloh came and shook her head near my side of the bed--her gentle, quiet way of telling me, "Hey Mom, I need to pee." I got up to let her out, and BH said from the bedroom, "Are you sure that's not The Geej you're putting outside?" That BH--he's a real comedian.

I'm pretty sure she's forgiven me. But now the regular joke around our house is, "Hey, remember that time you put the wrong cat out?"

Trust me, it'll never happen again.

Let's Talk About Dads

When I made up my mind to adopt The Geej, I was single and absolutely 100% believed I would remain that way. It wasn't that I'd "given up," per se. It was more like I'd come to terms with the fact that by entering this new and very intense relationship with my child, the liklihood of me having time or mental energy to focus on developing a relationship with a man was very, very slim. I'd been married, and that whole fiasco had made me gun-shy, to say the least. And really? Once I'd figured out that I didn't NEED a man in my life in order to a) live and b) become a mother, I felt powerful in a whole new way--a way that created a view of my future as a single mom that pretty much just stayed single. Besides, I'd never really bought in to that whole "girls need a father figure" thing because, quite frankly, the father figures in my life had either been absent and ghost-like at worst, or frustrating and maddeningly confusing at best. They hadn't been the strong men who you'd want your daughter to model her relationships after, and my mother had pretty much served as the primary role model in my life when it came to a parental figure.

So there are not words to describe how suprised and thankful I am to have a man like BH in my life. He is the father figure in The Geej's life who I would absolutely want her to model her future relationships upon. He is calm, understanding, patient, funny, loves nature, smart, dependable, loving and just a good, good person. Now that he is my partner in raising this headstrong, girly girl, I have no concept of how I would ever be able to do it without him. He helps me, not only in practical ways, but also in helping me see things through his wise eyes. He talks me through my daily parenting frustrations. And The Geej? She is absolutely crazy about him. She calls him by his first name when she's talking to him, but when she's talking ABOUT him, he is "my dad" or "Daddy."

So here's to BH: For not only putting up with me and all of my craziness, but for also coming in to my daughter's life and becoming her daddy.

I love you and am so thankful for you.

I'm not sure what this is going to accomplish.

“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write.”--Virgina Woolf

This is a very well-known quote from a very famous writer. The reason I'm starting with this is because I am one big fat ball of frustration at the moment and can relate to this quote like nobody's business.

Let me start off with the good stuff:

I submitted my writtng assignment for the workshop I'm attending in Portland next month. I hesitated calling it a "manuscript" because it's just a few representative pages of what will eventually be the book (they limited us to 20 pages). But still, it felt good to send it off and sigh a bit because I'm not supposed to work on (at least that part of) it between now and the workshop. Also, some of my classmates have uploaded their  manuscripts on our Basecamp project page, so I'm downloading those and reading them as I have the time.

Very cool.

In the meantime, I'm getting very excited for the trip itself. I've booked my flights, and arranged it so that I have time to spend with some dear friends who live there and their daughter, who I've never met. This trip will get me out of this godforsaken heat and drought (it's been MISERABLE in Austin...record breaking..."hottest spring on record") for a few days. Also, I've got tickets to see Gillian Welch while I'm there. Love her, never seen her live. But the most exciting part for me is that I get to focus on writing and writing alone from July 10 to July 17. Not what laundry needs to get done or what groceries need to be purchased or work or family or anything else. Just writing. How fucking AWESOME is that, y'all?!

Which leads me to this:

Even if I manage to find the time and mental energy required to sit down and write during any given day, I do not have a place to write. BH works from home for the most part, and he has to make due with a small desk crammed in the corner of our bedroom. His work stuff is in our bedroom, our dining room, our bookshelves and even our garage. It's not his fault: He needs this stuff to do his job and the nature of his work and the agency he works for means that he doesn't have an office building to go to each day. And the size and layout of our house does not allow him to have a space he can dedicate specifically to work. In fact, the poor guy can spend the bulk of one entire day in the confines of our bedroom sleeping/working unless he makes a concerted effort to get out of the house. He is definitely hard-wired differently than me because, if that were my situation, I would go insane and/or start drinking by noon every day.

Whenever I work from home (which is infrequent, but does happen), I set up at the dining room or kitchen table. It's not comfortable and definitely not conducive to focused thought. Plus, I always feel like I'm getting in his way or disturbing him, which kind of blows.

When I was eyeball-deep in writing my submission for the workshop, I would have to make arrangements with (the very supportive and understanding) BH so that I could stay at work late and utilize my workspace to write. And let me tell you, it's not very inspiring to sit at the same desk you've been sitting at all day and suddenly try to switch in to "creative mode" and write. Sometimes my fingers would, literally, quit working, as if to say, "Fuck this. You've been typing all day. We're done." I would get so frustrated with my endless string of typos, I'd just have to close up shop. Other times, I'd be on a roll and kicking much ass, but then the office's A/C would cut off around 6pm, and I'd soon grow so hot and uncomfortable that I couldn't think. And so, yes, I'd just have to close up shop and head home.

"Why not go to a coffee shop?" you might be asking in your mind. Well first off, I don't drink coffee, and second, those places are not good for me when I need to focus. Too many distractions.

And as if to add fuel to the fire of my frustrations, I frequently torture myself by going to Open Houses on the weekends--exploring homes for sale in parts of town I'd like to live but have no means to do so. Almost without fail, the houses I tour have a study. Usually nothing fancy: just a room with a window and a door. But a place where (were it OUR house) BH and I could contain our work and creative lives and separate ourselves from the distractions of home and family.

Usually, after I have seen one of these houses that's larger than ours, with more storage than ours, with a better layout than ours (including a study), and a kitchen that can accommodate more than one person cooking at a time, I go home and get depressed. I pout over the fact that I'm a hard-working, well-paid 42 year old woman who should, at the very fucking least, have a "room of my own" in which to seek the solitude I so desperately crave and the creative space I so badly want. I imagine that, if I just had a room, I would be able to carve out and committ to the time required to do some real writing. That I could become one of those people who writes daily. But the reality is that I am hardly better off than the generic woman Ms. Woolf describes in her 82 year old essay, and this makes me very, very sad.

So will I appreciate the time I get to spend at this writing workshop in July? More than you will ever know. It will be worth every dime I've saved in order to pay my way and I will soak up each moment like a sponge. And when I return home after living in a dorm room on an idylic college campus for over a week and spending my days and nights focused on the craft of writing, then what?

I have no idea.

So Very Much.

Been dealing with a dear friend's serious illness and hospitalization for the past couple of weeks. Her situation is serious and chronic and it breaks my heart. I fear for her and her family. I am hopeful but scared. I want everything to be "normal" again but don't now if it ever will be. During her hospitalization, I've been amazed by our close group of female friends. How they've all stepped up and responded. We are a shadow family. During times like this, we come out of the shadows.

Went to the funeral of another friend's father on Monday. She lost her mother to breast cancer in 2001. And now her father is dead. She is my age.

A third friend is being challenged for shared custody of her son by the boy's mentally ill, ex-con, chemically dependent father. This "man" doesn't give a shit abut his son. What he does care about is holding my friend emotionally hostage, which he has done over and over again for many years. She is stronger than she has been in the past and will get through this. No judge in his right mind would allow this man shared custody of this little boy. Eventually, karma will catch up with this sick bastard and he'll get his. But watching my friend have to go through this bullshit and knowing the dear, amazing child at the center of this who has done nothing to deserve this jackass as his dad, punches me right in the gut.

The Geej got her report card last week. She made A/B honor roll. She was proud. I am proud. I want her to value her brain as much as she values sparkly clothes and brushing her hair. I don't know that she ever will. But then again, she's only six.

Work is ver busy with big things and small, but I am having trouble focusing. My mind is flying away. I foresee many late nights of catch up in my near future.

BH got accepted into a special wildlife certification program with his work. It brings together two things--birds and Texas prairie habitat--that he is very interested in and knowlegable about. He is excited. I am excited for him.

I got accepted into one of the three* summer writing programs that I applied for. The one in Oregon. In July. For eight days. I got registered for the program yesterday, and got the workshop and instructor I was hoping for. I cannot begin to describe how thrilled I am about this. Every single time I think about it, I get butterflies. I discovered a friend-of-a-friend on Facebook from Austin who is ALSO going to the same program. We've been emailing, and she seems way cool and interesting. We're meeting for lunch next week.

*I ended up applying to a 3rd program I found out about by a fluke. It's in Arkansas. Not sure if I got accepted into it yet. If I do, it will be an honor. But I'll decline. I'm going to Portland.

Outside, it is a cool spring morning. The raised beds that BH built in the back yard are planted with tomatoes, garlic chives, basil, yellow squash, eggplant, cucumber, Anaheim chili peppers, cilantro, sugar snap peas and an artichoke. We are also growing oregano, Italian parsley and blackberries. Every day I check the progress of the growth of these plants. Right now, however, they are just sprouts with promise.

So very much, my friends. So very much.

2000th Post

My mom's getting married this evening. They were going to do it on April 16th (and are still planning on having a big party to celebrate on that date), but decided to go ahead and take the plunge on Valentine's Day. She notified me of this new plan last Friday, and I was planning to attend but...I'VE GOT THE GODDAMNED FLU.

It started on Saturday night--that vague, annoying tickle in the back of the throat that almost always preceedes me getting some kind of sick. But this hit me like a freight train yesterday afternoon, and by last night I was feverish and coughing and battling a horrible headache. Got in to see the doctor this afternoon and she sent me home with a diagnosis, a Tamiflu prescription, and the news that I would be contaigous for at least 3 more days.

So my wonderful husband took The Geej and they went to my mother's wedding in Marble Falls. And here I sit, on Valentine's night, by myself, miserable and blogging. Hey, well at least I'll get to catch up on some of the stuff clogging up my DVR. Wait, that's super depressing. I think I'm gonna go hit the NyQuil and call it a day. Hopefully my next post will be filled with rainbows and giggles.

Meet Timmy!

In case you don't know me know me or can't tell from this blog, I have a weird sense of humor. The stupider and more ridiculous, the funnier to me. But I also really love intelligent, high-brow wit. So everything from fart jokes to Oscar Wilde, I find amusing.

One of the reasons I love BH so much, is that he and I have very similar tastes in the absurd. We will laugh at stuff that, I assure you, no one else on this planet would think was humorous in the least.

Which brings me to Timmy.

In BH's little town that he lived in in Colorado, there was an old five-and-dime on Main Street called Duckwall's. Although I sadly never went to Duckwall's myself, BH had plenty of stories--and some interesting merchandise--from there that I felt as if I'd been a life time shopper.

On one of his visits to Duckwall's, BH found and purchased this horrible stuffed rat looking thing that he knew I would find just as funny and disturbing as he did. He was right. We named him Timmy. And during one of my visits to Colorado (Boulder, actually) to see BH prior to his moving here, we had a little fun with Timmy and the digital camera.

While looking for a photo in my old files yesterday, I came upon these pics and was laughing my ass off.

So, without futher ado:

TIMMY!!



"Somebody with thumbs needs to open up these fake-ass Corn Nuts, like NOW!"



"Aw yeah...that's more like it!! Nomnomnomcrunchnom."

"Day-um! Those fake-ass corn nuts make a rat thirsty! Since there's no Brawndo, I'll have to make due with this water."

  

"Looks like Lindsay Lohan's up to her ol' coke-snortin' and whorin' ways! Color me shocked."

"Why the Hell can't Pam and Bobby just work this shit out?"

"Don't tell BH, but I also put his toothbrush in my butt!"

"After all those corn nuts, what did you expect?"



"This book doesn't have enough pictures! Tuck me in, douchebag!"



"Faster! I said FASTER, asshole, or I'll chew your eyes out while you're sleeping!!"

 

"I want some more Tic-Tacs, damnit!" 





"Ima make this omlette my bitch!"

Like me, Timmy had a fondness for cussing. I say "had" because, sadly, Timmy is no longer with us. The last time we saw him, he was headed for "a better life" at the Travis County Landfill, and he was bitching every step of the way.

The Stepmother's Lament

If, in my younger years, I had written a list of things I never thought I'd be, "a step parent" would probably have been on it. Not because I ever had any real beef with my step parents, but because the reality of being on the other side of that fence was just not one I could envision for myself. But then I fell in love with a man with children, and the rest, as they say, is history. The thing is, that even after knowing his boys for over four years now, they still kind of seem like strangers to me.

The step parent's world one filled with blurry boundaries and mixed emotions. I want to know them better (they're cool, interesting people) and be more "parental" with them (whatever THAT means), but I don't know how to go about it. First off, they're boys, and that whole thing is just foreign to me. They're world of video games and skateboarding and general boy-ness is not one in which I feel welcome. Second, our house clearly does not feel like "home" to them, no matter what their father and I do to make it feel so. Third, it is clear that we have a lot more rules, structure, and expectations here than they're used to at their mom's house, and most of these are my creation, so I almost always feel like the warden instead of the mom.

When they're here, which is roughly every-other-weekend (less frequently for the 16 yr. old), I am vaguely uneasy during the whole visit--like I don't know what to do with myself. And then when they leave to head back home, I feel guilty for not being more involved with them during the weekend. It's a cycle that repeats itself with little exception.

Something that makes this whole thing even more guilt-inducing is that BH is an absolutely, totally involved stepfather to The Geej. It's pretty amazing. Granted, he's been a part of her life in some way-shape-and-form since she was 15 mos. old, and there's no other father she's splitting her time with, so the circumstances are quite different. He's told me that he feels like her father, which absolutely melts my heart. He wants to legally adopt her. She calls him her dad. And because of all of that, the rules are clearer. He is, ostensibly, her father and can (and does) act accordingly.

But I am the stepmother in the stereotypical meaning of the word. Their dad moved away from Colorado to be here with me and my daughter. Then they're mother uprooted them and moved them away from the only town they'd ever known, and to Bryan/College Station (of all places). Closer than Colorado, granted, but still 2 hours from their dad who used to be a few blocks away from them . They have every right to resent the fuck out of me for being the root cause for the total upheaval in their lives and the subsequent adjustment difficulties they've both experienced--the teenager, especially. I'm not saying that they DO blame me, but I certainly wouldn't blame them if they did.

They've just left to head back home, and I'm deep in the whole "guilt" part of the cycle. BH will drive them for an hour to a designated meeting place, and then they will get in their mom's car and head home. Luckily it won't be 2 weeks until they visit again--they'll be back for Thanksgiving. I'm not sure how or what I can do to make my time with them more meaningful and less awkward. Let me know if you have any advice.

WHATTAWEEKEND!

Friday
Left work. Ran home. Changed clothes. Then went with BH to Casa Columbia for dinner. Straight up awesome. HIGHLY recommend it. Then we went over to Bass Concert Hall for the Ray LaMontagne/Levon Helm show. We'd prepaid for parking, so that wasn't a problem at all. Walked in to Bass just as the opening act, The Secret Sisters, had wrapped up. Got a couple of drinks and got seated. Great seats. Floor level, center, toward the back. Ray and his band started their set with one of my favorite songs off of their latest album--For The Summer--and it was magical.

And it just got better from there EXCEPT for the HUGE douchebags and their dates sitting behind us talking their asses off the whole time like they were watching this on their big 98" HidDef LCD in their custom built home theater back at their Rob Roy McMansion while pounding some Shiner Bock rather than at a live venue where everyone around them had paid $50+ a ticket for a great musical experience. Holy FUCK, it was so rude and annoying. And all around us--TEXTING and IM-ing!! I've got to ask: Why even go to all the trouble and expense to go see live music when all you're going to do is sit around and gaze at your smartphone the whole time? What is the fucking point? If you can't disconnect from that goddamned contraption for an hour or so to go for a run or see a performance of some kind, then you've got a damn problem. Oh, where was I. Yes, the show. It was beautiful and amazing and I had chills several times due to the sheer lovliness of the music. Levon Helm's band was pretty great--boisterous and joyful. I smiled so much during their performance that my damn face hurt.

Saturday
Slept late (10:15am!!) then got up and started working my butt off. Lots of laundry. Dusting. Hand washing and putting all of the glassware back into the china cabinet. Dusting. Running to Lowe's. Dusting. Moving furniture back in from the garage. Dusting and dusting. Got ready and went downtown for dinner. The walked over to The Paramount to see the totally indescribable Tim & Eric show. Literally, it was indescribable. Those guys are nucking futs. I will say this: The audience was 75% male and of that 75%, 2/3 of them were bearded. I'm not sure what that means, but I found it interesting. I'm always curious what the elderly volunteer ushers think when I come to see stuff that's terribly odd and/or crude at The Paramount. I mean, it's such a classy joint, and I'm sure Mee Maw and PawPaw are very confused by what they see and hear during these shows. But hey--I'll see 'em on Friday for Louis C.K., who I'm sure is going to drop his fair share of F-bombs, so YAY!!

Sunday
Slept until 9:00am (Hooray!!) and then made breakfast for me and BH. He went off to work (yes, on a Sunday), and I made the World's Biggest Grocery List. Went to the horrible awful terrible HEB near our house. Came home and prepped stuff to put in the slow cooker to make a yummy white bean stew for dinner. Made a sandwich. Drank a Coke. Welcomed The Geej back from Dah's house. Welcomed the new piece of furniture we bought from Dah (a green chaise lounge for the living room!).



See it? There in the corner? So pretty and comfy!!

Began working with The Geej to clean up her room. Left to go to see Acro-Cats. Went to Whole Foods to take advantage of the wine cellar sale going on. Bought TWELVE bottles of wine and loads of produce b/c the produce at the shitty HEB near my house looked like ass. Went home. Ate the stew that had been cooking all day. Bathed The Geej and put her to bed. Watched "Boardwalk Empire" (can't help it; still loving it), and now I'm blogging. And yet, somehow, there's still laundry to be folded.

Whew. This? Was a great effing weekend. I am a lucky, happy lady.

Let's try this again, shall we?

A couple of years ago, I signed up for NaBloPoMo, but lasted like 4 days before I screwed up and didn't post. So I'm trying it again.

First a little catch up:

Today's my 2nd wedding anniversary. To celebrate, we went out of town for the weekend (while the wonderful Dah kept The Geej). Not FAR out of town, mind you, but it still felt like a vacation. We rented a little cabin on the Blanco river in a tiny town near here called Wimberley. The house sits on 25 acres and has about 500 feet of private riverfront. The weather was amazingly perfect, and we had a very nice time. Saturday afternoon, after a short foray into town for lunch, we came back and just lounged on the banks of the river for hours. Yes, I dozed and felt totally relaxed--something that doesn't happen as frequently as I wished it would. Saturday night, BH built a fire in the fire place (yay!) and we watched the Texas Rangers win their first game in the World Series (double yay!).

Isn't this freakin' GORGEOUS?!

I was sad to leave yesterday, but we had to get back to town for HALLOWEEN!!!

Once again, we went to a friend's house to trick-or-treat in their neighborhood with a pack of goblins and their parents. It was lots of fun, and our hosts had made food for the grown-ups and the kids, so you know, bonus! The Geej was a black cat:

I had to practically BEG her to don this costume. The original one she'd picked out was some ridiculous, semi-slutty outfit called a "Batt-erina", that included fingerless black satin gloves, fishnet stockings, and of course lots and lots of sequins. She saw it in a costume catalogue we got in the mail. What the HELL people?! I am not crafty, and so cannot (and probably will not ever) actually make her a Halloween costume. It's just not going to happen. So I'm stuck with the consumer options for little girls' costumes that pretty much break down into the categories of Disney and/or slutty. Sigh...

As far as anniversary plans for today, we don't have any. It's a Monday after all. And the Rangers are playing tonight and (hopefully) managing to pull of a win so that they stay alive in this series. And I'm tired. And did I mention that it's Monday?

Reality Checked

For some time now, I've been fantasizing about a new house.

Wait, let me back up.

When I bought my house (which will be five years ago, this November), it was with two things in mind:

1. It was a starter home--an investment. I never planned on staying in it longer than 5 - 7 years. The plan was to upgrade to something a little bigger and nicer (and in a better school district) when the time came.

2. The Geej and me were the only (human) residents. So the 1,660 sq. foot, 3 bdrm., 2 bathroom home suited us just fine.

Well, a lot has changed in the past five years, the biggest being that I got married to BH, which meant that the Geej and I were no longer sole full-time occupants of the house. And many weekends, BH's ever-growing sons join us for a few days. Add to this the fact that BH pretty much works at home full time (unless he's out in the field or at a meeting), and our little starter home now feels way too small.

So last year, when the tax credits for home buyers (and move up-ers) were available, I really wanted to put our place on the market. But there were some things we wanted to get done to it prior to listing it, so we created a list of home improvement projects. My goal was to get the critical stuff done and the house listed by the end of January, 2010. We had a bit of momentum with our project list (new oven! new dishwasher! master bathroom repainted and improved! bedrooms repainted!), but the momentum stalled out, and the January deadline (and eventually the tax credits) passed us by.

Sigh.

Ever-hopeful and feeling the walls closing in around me, I suggested to BH that we start going to open houses so that--even if we weren't in the position to sell our place and buy another one--we could at least figure out what kinds of houses we both like and what neighborhoods are most appealing to us. And look we did. Almost every Sunday we were out there checking out the 4/2 inventory in southwest Austin. The more we looked, the more we came to agree on the things that were important to us in a home and a community. We started to find some places we REALLY liked, and I began mentally moving in. But it wasn't long before the whole exercise just made me begin to dislike our house and become increasingly frustrated with the stagnation of our current position.

Things came to a head last week, and BH had "The Big Talk About Money". After our talk, we agreed that we're not in a position to purchase a new place right now, and that the economy is simply too shitty right now to consider putting our house on the market. Yes, I'm disappointed in this outcome--I'd be lying if I said otherwise. However, now that I KNOW that, for at least the next two years (or until the economy gets healthier) we'll be staying put, I'm not quite so frustrated. I think.

Now, I just want to focus on getting some of these goddamned projects we've had on the list for way over a year tackled. Things that will make the next two years (or more) in our house a nicer experience--new floors, fixing the front sidewalk that ALWAYS floods when it rains, replacing the back fence, getting some better insulation in the attic and replacing our horrible single-pane windows, maybe putting a soaking tub in the master bath (and getting rid of the godawful fiberglass tub...I have NEVER taken a bath in my own house because of my hatred of these tubs), new front door, another rain barrell, etc. The list is long and expensive, and NONE of these improvements will give us more space or magically create a home office for BH. However, it will make me feel like we're doing SOMEthing rather than sitting on our hands and will, hopefully, help me find a way to love my little starter home again.

Oh Hai!

You don't want to hear how busy I've been and about how work has been kicking my butt. You want Karla May updates, and that's what I intend to provide, randomalia style.

So without further ado...

It's been a long time since I've been addicted to a reality show, but I am SO in to "So You Think You Can Dance". Yes, I know it's the 7th season, so I'm a wee bit late to the party, but I am completely sucked in. And what's even sicker is that The Geej is right there with me--watching "The Dancing Show", voting for our favorites, and getting sad when people get eliminated. And now that Alex is out of there, it's really anyone's game.

Another thing I got totally sucked in to? The World Cup. This is totally BH's fault. He plays soccer twice a week, and I often join in when he's watching games on the Fox Soccer channel (yes, Fox has a channel totally devoted to soccer). We've even gone to a couple of Austin Aztex games, which are a fun way to spend a family evening. Anyway, he's never "for" any of the teams in the games he watches. He just wants for there to be good play. And this is the difference between the soccer fan and those who find soccer boring andd pointless. So I've gotten into the whole "watching for the sport of it" with him over the past couple of years while he has taught me about the rules, fouls, etc. So OMG, was I ever ready for the World Cup when it began. And between fifa.com and the fact that my place of employment was showing games on the big screen TVs in a conference room during the entire tournament, I was pretty much hooked. Four years from now, I plan to be even MORE hooked.

Tomorrow I leave for The Most Funnest Weekend Ever, Round Two. This time, there's a new character in the cast (a gal I've never met named Michelle), so even more wackiness should ensue althought I cannot promise there will be aggressive flauting. But I will be praying for it. Believe me. And y'all, this break could NOT come at a better time. Yes, I'm swamped at work (which sucks b/c I know I'm going to walk right back into a veritable shit storm when I get back to work on Monday), but mentally, I needed out of there. Like now. I plan on doing nothing that requires any brainpower whatsoever this entire weekend.

I've got New House Fever. However, we are a) not ready to put our house on the market, b) it's a crappy time to put a house like ours (3/2 starter home) on the market b/c there's too much inventory and c) we need to get going in the new school year to truly understand what our budget's going to be, so, long story short--no new house for Karla May any time soon. But OMG I'm DYING to get into a new space that's more suited to what we need. This November will mark my 5 yr. anniversary of being at this address, and I am just ready for a change and for a place that BH and I decide upon TOGETHER. But I'm going to have to wait, and anyone who knows me knows that patience is not a virtue of mine.

I signed up for a writing workshop this fall with the insanely talented Ms. Spike Gillespie. I cannot wait.

Also? I really really really want to take an improv class. I recently went and watched my hyper-talented friend Irene in an improv performance and left invigorated and inspired. The questions are: When will I be able to work this into my insane schedule?; and, Am I brave enough? I really don't have the answers to either of those right now.

They're changing my thyroid hormone replacement meds prescription again. When my bloodwork came back this week, it showed that I still wasn't within what's considered "normal" ranges, although I was much closer than I'd been the last time I'd had my TSH levels checked. So, they're upping my dosage and--fingers crossed--this will be the golden ticket. I've felt about 80% normalish, but I've still been a bit hypothyroid symptomatic (dry/itchy/ashy skin; hair falling out; bouts of intense fatigue; uncontrollable moodswings; insomnia; inability to concentrate, etc.). In other words, I'm still an utter joy to be around at all times.

I know there's more,  but that's all I can do for now. It's 1:00am, and I've got to get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to pack because, as with every trip, I've waited until the last minute to even think about what I'm going to take with me. Oh, and I need to go start some laundry...so there's that.

Another post soon, I promise.

Leftovers

You know how when you go to some restaurants and you have leftovers and you ask for a doggie bag and they say, "Surely. Let me wrap it up for you!" and then they whisk away your half-eaten whatever and come back with it cleverly disguised as a big foil swan or big foil goat or some such shit?

Wanna know what happens at OUR house when your leftovers consist of one turkey sausage and two Yukon potatoes?

Voila:

Ladies and gentlemen: FRIDGE DICK!!

BH packed this up all nice for me so I could take it to work and have it for lunch tomorrow.

He's so sweet...

A La Playa

For BH's birthday, I orchestrated a trip down to the coast--for just the two of us. It was going to be a surprise, but then when all of the thyroid b.s. came up, I felt like I needed to tell him because, there was a time when I wasn't sure we'd be able to go.

It had been at least 20 years since I'd been down to Port Aransas, and longer than that for BH. As I've mentioned before, he's an avid birder, and Port A is known as a great birding destination, especially in the fall/spring when migratory species are passing through. And me? I just like what the ocean air does to my hair. So I knew it was going to be a win-win as far as we were concerned.

We took off on Thursday morning, and 200 miles and 1/2 tank of gas later, we were there. We stayed at a nice studio apartment in a big ol' beach house that was not beachfront but only required a short walk to stick one's toes in the surf.

We went and watched birds.

We drank fruity drinks.

We ate insanely unhealthy and inexpensive breakfasts.

We watched more birds.

We visited Mustang Island State Park as well as the Padre Island National Seashore.

Then, the next day, we went to the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge where we saw a pair of whooping cranes and some alligators. And we saw hardcore birders, which are kind of a species unto themselves, what with their spotting scopes and "birding talk" and all.

We saw the moon rise over the ocean.

The weather was excellent and the crowds were thin. All in all, it was pretty perfect.

On the way back to Austin on Sunday, we came back via Goliad and stopped at Goliad State Park to check out the mission and the campgrounds. Very pretty.

And the whole way there and back, we saw INSANE amounts of gorgeous wildflowers. Hwy 123 between San Marcos and Seguin was absolutely breathtaking.

What a GREAT way to spend the weekend.

Further proof that a 12 year old boy lives in my head where my brain should be:

One of my husband's job duties is to, when requested by land owners, review aerial photos of their properties as part of the assesment required to create an environmentally responsible wildlife management plan (which, if implemented, can provide them with nice property tax breaks).

So tonight he's working on his computer, viewing an aerial photo of a big ol' ranch in Blanco County he's working with, when this land formation just sort of visually "rises" out of its surroundings, and we just laughed and laughed and laughed:

The "Johnson Ranch" is what he named this screen shot, btw. The actual ranch name has been changed to protect the innocent if, in fact, the ARE innocent.

Glad to know I'm in good juvenile company.

This is a public service announcement. Don't let this happen to you, kids!

Guess who is TOTALLY a Daddy's girl?

This first one was taken when The Geej was 2:

And this one was taken last night, with The Geej at 5 1/2:

Man, I love those two turkeys.