Not Calm (dot com)

and they just hang it up on the walls

Thursday morning from my window.  (ahem -- is this not an awesome photo?  I feel proud.)

The BlogHer conference was great this year; closer to capturing the incredible spirit of the first year, at least in my experience.  I sat at the BlogHerAds table with Jenny for a lot of the time, which was great.  You think her *blog* is funny -- you should sit next to her for a few hours sometime.  I was a lucky girl and got to room with Jess.  We went to the Art Institute of Chicago together on Sunday afternoon.  I was dizzy from literally walking through an art history textbook (well, one chapter of one, anyway, since we didn't have nearly enough time) and was super happy to see the work of Jeff Wall.  (I just saw on that link that the exhibit will be in San Francisco this fall.  Awesome!  I am going to go at least three times.)

I met so many inspiring women and reconnected with some I'd met before.  I got to sit with Lisa Stone on the flight from Las Vegas to Chicago, which was great and probably the longest we've ever had to sit and talk.  When I was sitting on the floor at the Navy Pier, watching 800 women listen to Lisa interview Elizabeth Edwards and watching Jory and Elisa bring the microphone around to audience members for questions, it really struck me (yet again) how much of an impact those three have had on so many of our lives.  It's like we were all stuck on separate little islands in our corners of the world, and Lisa, Jory, and Elisa made this cool teleporter that brought us all to the same place -- a place with wireless, coffee, and wine -- where we could marvel at one another's compassion, brilliance, amazing ideas, senses of humor, and capabilities. 

I got teary a lot over it all.  I felt so happy. 

Now that I'm home, I'm inspired to take more photos, write more, read more, keep up with and work on my friendships.  I feel so good about what's next.  That's nice after spending so much time feeling down about a lot of things.  It makes the good feel that much better.

tfb

TFB = Time For Bed.  Tonight, bed = 22nd floor of a downtown Chicago hotel.  That is my stunningly lovely view.

But, first, I need to do the ten second intro that Mocha Momma started.

 

Ten seconds --

1. I'm always the last one to leave.
2. I like fixing things.
3. I love to cook.
4. And eat.
5. I have four children.
6. I LOVE thunderstorms.
7. The thunder *right now* is making me ridiculously happy.
8. I love to take photos.
9. I am fascinated by life.
10. I see lots of beauty in ordinary things.

I'm going to shut off the lights and watch the storm.

purple inside plum

purple inside plum
Originally uploaded by jenijen

I'd almost given up, thinking they were all yellow inside now -- this made me happy.

five years

So, as of today, I've been blogging for five years.   I know I'm not totally old skool, but I still like hitting this milestone.  I was going to link to my first post, but my old blog is broken and I can't get to my archives except behind the scenes.

In the past five years, I've gotten married, had a baby, left the US for the first time (Toronto & Barcelona & Heathrow -- though all I got to do in London was barf in the loo), become a much better cook, got hired to write for actual cash dollars, landed another awesome job, had a short piece accepted for a book, met a bunch of really wonderful people, fixed a washing machine, cut off (and started coloring) my once-long (to my butt) hair, bought an iPod, a laptop computer and a digital camera and won a digital camera.  I've taken thousands and thousands of photos.  I've been in the hospital four times (the shortest was the couple days for my appendix in May), mothered a premature baby, ridden in an ambulance to the emergency room with that same baby, learned how to manage a feeding tube in a one year old, and sat in a waiting room while my then three-year-old had eye surgery.  Both of my grandfathers died.  I've been depressed, and happy, and both all at once.  I've had CT & MRI scans, & a nuclear stress test on my heart.  I got up on a stage in front of people in Spain, and recorded vocals for a song that won a contest.  (Those were two separate things)  I started sewing again, I learned to knit.  I turned 32.  And 33.  And also 34, 35, & 36.  My brother and his wife-to-be (next month!) moved away; the first time we've ever lived more than a few miles from each other.  I rode a subway for the first time, and the second.  I got a nose ring.  I took it out.  I went from having my oldest be just about to start kindergarten to just about to start fifth grade.  My relationship with my ex husband improved 1000%.  I discovered that gluten and dairy make me sick.  I sighed a lot.  And yelled.  And laughed.  And fell in love with a city & a tv show.   And finally found gluten-free beer and bought a case of it. 

Most of these things I wrote about as they happened, and that is why I love my blog so much.  I can go back and read about this stuff and remember it so much better than I would have otherwise.  Is it weird that I feel like I know myself better from reading my own blog? 

Summer school starts WAY too early.  I need to sleep while I can.  The morning ought to be a royal pain, since the kids at Soph's school are supposed to show up in costume AGAIN (thanks, summer school, for making every Friday morning hell at my house).  So far it's been Red,White,&Blue, and then Wear Your Favorite Sports Jersey (or, uh, borrow your bother's sorta jersey kinda tshirt with a team name on it).  Tomorrow is Favorite Animal.  I'm in trouble already, since I cannot provide a horse costume.  I can do Bat or Grasshopper.  Ugh. 

Goodnight.  And, thanks for reading and commenting.  This blog is one of the more important things I've got going on.

Prelude to a BlogHer (conference)

  Prelude to a BlogHer (conference) 
  Originally uploaded by marytsao

Hey, look at me, out with the girls!  I brought my camera but didn't take any photos.  Do other people do that?  It's like I have to be in the right mood or something. 

I came home and made food for my boys at 11pm.  Nate had a scrambled egg burrito.  They're such *guys* now: playing video games and having midnightish snacks.  I handed him the plate and he looked up at me and grinned and said, "Thanks, Mom."  I could almost see his chunky little toddler face under there, I could almost hear his baby voice. 

Dinner was, of course, fun and once again I drove home berating myself for talking too much until I was distracted by the very pretty yellow crescent moon.  When I was younger I used to always have "Talk Less" as my New Year's Resolution.  I've given up, though.  Perhaps will change it to "Berate Self Less for Talking Too Much."  That?  I think I can do. 

It was fun to hear about Glennia's trip to Greenland.  Flying over Greenland and looking down, I'd have never guessed at its beauty.  It looks like a big chunk of ice, and it's very bright in the morning sun.

Summer school for Soph starts in 8 hours -- better put myself to bed!

Batten down the hatches

We have some T A L L trees in our backyard.  They're pine trees, and they must be five stories tall, or, they were before the unadept treetrimmers came by, but that's a story for another day. 

The trees host a shitload of crows.  They make me really agitated because they squack all day.  They freak out the squirrels, who also live up there, and that's okay since I don't think highly of squirrels, but the noise is ferocious.  They chatter and screech at each other.  We've also got woodpeckers, robins, swallows (? who makes nests out of mud that look like beehives and fly really really fast?  that's what we have), hummingbirds, mourning doves, and a few I'm forgetting.  One time, the crows woke me up at 5 am, because they were FreakingOut.  There was a big raccoon climbing up the tree and they were pissed.

Okay.  So last week the kids said there was a dead skunk in the road.  I knew they were wrong; I'd have smelled it.  I saw it when I was driving the next day: a dead crow in the road. 

Hmmm. Not normal.

Then I got a call from a friend who lives nearby.  Seems that we've got West Nile Virus in the area.  Sure enough, most times I'm driving through the neighborhood, I'll see a dead bird.  It gives me a creepy, prelude-to-the-apocalypse kind of vibe.  Our backyard pool is chlorinated, and the bullfrogs will eat any mosquito larvae in their tank (which is outside, but you can't hear the bullfrogs over the crows and squirrels).  I made sure there wasn't any other standing water, and then didn't worry about it.  I haven't seen any mosquitos around lately. 

But, the friend who called is a little more concerned than I am (or, uh, was).  Her son is over here every day, and my boys are at her place often.  I'm not sure exactly how it went down, but Lex is pretty worried.  It's been hot here during the day (sorta, a little bit) and we don't have AC.  We use Nature's Own Free Service -- obtained by opening the windows and doors every evening. 

Except Lex now insists on closing the house up, to keep the mosquitos out.  He thinks they are actively hunting him and that any bite will make him ill. 

So, Willow has been a crabass with a vengeance today.  Not her usual mild-mannered self.  She told me yesterday that she had a "rash" on her back, and when I looked I saw those "viral bumps" that I thought were barbie sized chicken pox the first time I saw them on Lex when he was tiny.  But, among the viral bumps (that just reminded me of a Beatrix Potter Medical Book: amongst the viral bumps. . . uh, sorry) was a lone

MOSQUITO BITE

I didn't worry about until tonight, when I figured that her crankitude must be coming from some sort of disturbance in the force.  I was driving to yoga when I decided that she must have been infected and called the house to demand temperature taking and constant monitoring. 

I think that she's fine.  She certainly isn't feverish, but MAN was she crabby and whiny, even with a bowl of chocolate ice cream in front of her. 

I'm not going to keep the windows closed, but once again I find myself unable to successfully navigate the middle road: concerned and careful, but not freaking out and making things worse than need be.  I'm on the fence about how much concern to give this.  Where are my instincts about what's necessary?  What would Ma Ingalls do?

life is just a bowl of cherries

I found cute shoes at the big warehouse cheap shoe place.  They make me happy. 

On Saturday I was driving over to pick up Nate from a friend's house, when I drove past a yard sale.  I want to love yard sales.  I want to get up early on Saturdays and go out and find great things in need of some TLC and bring them home and restore them and have people see them and say, Where'd'ja get that cool ____? And I'd be all, I got it at a yard sale for two bux and restored it.  But I never have good luck, so I gave it up. 

Never had good luck until Saturday, that is. 

I saw it there, leaning up against a fence.  Next to it was an old suitcase (old as in from the 80's and dirty, not as in cool, vintage 1940's suitcase that would be a Good Thing.) and the biggest fold-up hand fan (like these, but plain) I've ever seen.

It's old.  It's painted the very best shade of sky blue, and it's worn in all the right places.  Like what pottery barn does to the new stuff to make it look vintage.  It used to have doors in the front, but they are gone, which I like.  I love the door at the top; there are tiny little shelves behind it and it's all mysterious and interesting looking.  Here's a crappy photo of the full view.  The cabinet is probably six and a half or seven feet tall.

I picked up Nate and asked if he minded checking out the sale.  He was totally game, so we went.  He got a bunch of crap for five dollars or so, and I asked about the cabinet. 

FIVE
DOLLARS

I have an awesome poker face, so she probably had no idea I'd have gone a lot higher: it was inexplicable love at first site, and I knew it must be mine. 

It *just* fit in the back of my van.  I need to clean it up and clear a space in the kitchen for it.  It will hold all my spices, so I don't have to dig in the cabinets anymore looking for cayenne, which 9 times out of 10 ends with me knocking a spice jar down onto my toe or into a boiling pot of soup or into the butter.  I'll also put the most cute of the coffee mugs there, and probably some canned beans and definately jars of jam. 

It's so Ingalls!

John said he wanted to put paperbacks or CDs in it, and I nearly bit his head off.  (He's got over 4,000 CDs and not a small amount of books.  I never, ever thought I'd say this -- or type, as the case may be-- but I am tired of looking at books and CDs.)  He will not muss up my cabinet with paperbacks.  NO WAY! 

I can't wait to get it all set up. 

Sometimes the little things can be big, you know?

Family Planning

Tonight I was putting away about ten loads of laundry that have been hanging out in baskets in the hall for the past two weeks, and Sophie started asking me about when I thought some of my younger siblings might start having kids of their own.  "Let's call and ask.  Right now," she said. 

"No," I said, "A&J haven't been married that long, they are young, and most importantly, you can't ask someone if they plan to have kids or not -- it's none of your business, really."

"Hmmm," she said, "What about J&S?"

"What about them, Soph?"

"Maybe THEY will have a baby and we can give them some of these clothes for her!"

"Maybe."

"So.  I wanna call A and ask her."

"No.  Besides, she's young.  I'm sure that there are so many things she'd like to do before she has kids, if they decide they want --"

Here, Soph interrupted me, all excited, "YEAH!  Like marching around, cartwheels, swimming in whirlpools ('cause that is REALLY hard to do) and bike riding."

"Exactly."  I said.  "I really wish I had done lots more of those things before I had children.  Especially the cartwheels."

"It's, like, impossible to do them when you're holding a baby," she said, "and same with bike riding." 

"Totally, Soph.  Totally."

lucky strike

This Friday the 13th thing kinda jacked up my Thursday.  Is that possible?  Hopefully I got it all over with a day early and today wasn't just foreshadowing for tomorrow. 

I woke up this morning from a super realistic dream where I'd left my camera (the rebel) in the car for a minute and returned to find it there, but totally stripped down to this weird kind of skeleton frame.  The memory card was still inside though, and I was glad.  I swear I checked on it ten times today, just to make sure. 

There's a lot going on in my little world lately, but none of it is bloggy.  Not trying to be mysterious, but are you really interested in hearing all about how I saw Harry Potter last night with John and the kids and then posted about it and my post was lost when my browser crashed?  Or that I filled out paperwork to fax in for Willow's state subsidized health care, or the fact that I spaced my car registration and finally sent it in late but still haven't found time to get the van smogged, or should I or should I not renew my Costco membership?

Y a w n.  (Ha!  I'm really yawning as I type!)

Soph is really liking summer school school camp.  It starts at 8 every morning, so it's rough some mornings to get her up and out.  Her teacher is named Miss Blixen (no, not really) but Soph calls her "Blixen."  As in, "Bye, Blixen, see ya later!"  I keep saying, "Miss, Sophie, MISS BLIXEN."  But it's hard not to laugh. 

OH!  I just remembered something bloggable.  Monday night I went to two yoga classes in a row, which translates into three hours of class.  I really loved it, because I started the second class all warmed up and I wasn't as wobbly and wonky as usual.  But, between the classes I had to go back to the front desk to sign in for the second class.  I went, so sweaty I could squeeze my hair and make it drip, to my cubby to get my little keychain id card so I could scan in.  And, there was this guy standing there and I recognized him. 

Hmmmm.

We did that whole, "Hey, I know you.  Where do I know you from?  Where'd you go to school?  No, that's not it, I didn't go there.  What's your name?" routine. 

And then it dawned on me. 

We used to go out a million years ago, when we were seventeen. 

A million meaning twenty, in this case.

I looked at him and said, "Oh. my. god." and then spun on my heel to go sign in, totally cracking up, because it would figure that if I'm going to run into an old boyfriend (eh, maybe that's the wrong word, but, you know) it would be after a yoga class in a 105 degree  room and I'd be red-faced, as sweaty as is humanly possible plus even sweatier, and in new yoga pants that emphasize all the wrong parts of my thighs. 

I went back into the studio and guess whose mat was next to mine?  I said, "Of course!" 

Looking back, I can see how my reaction might have kind of offended him, but I wasn't unhappy to see him -- I was just horrified to see him looking like I'd washed up on a desert island after seventy six days at sea.  But with worse hair.  "Want me to move?" he asked.  "Nah," I said, "you just can't laugh at me if I fall over."  He agreed.  We caught up for just a few minutes.  He's getting married next spring, is an engineer, went to culinary school right after high school.  He's still a cutie, but he looks really different. 

I'm sure he thought the same of me.  The looking different part, I mean. 

Just before class started, I leaned over and asked him, "So, I uh, don't remember very clearly. . . did we have, like, a bad break up?"

"Nah," he said.  "I don't think so."  He didn't remember, either.  But, I *knew* there was something I was forgetting.  And I was.  I remembered it today.

I know it's melodramatic and cliche

but I miss Spain the way that some people might miss a lover -- complete with daydreams, photo-gazing, and sighing.  I see some Spanish language tapes in my future. 

I am a total idiot for staying up so late.  Miss Sophie starts summer school Success Camp! tomorrow at 8 am.  I cannot call it Success Camp, because that is just too sugar-coated and lame.  At the same time, summer school does have its self-esteem sucking negative connotations.  I split the difference and say she's going to School Camp.  Like school, but CAMP -- because it's summertime.   School Camp is where you perfect your math skilz and get to socialize while escaping from your cranky mother for a few hours each day.  What a sweet deal!

Should be really fun in the morning, since the kids haven't woken up before 9 or 10 in a looong time. 

Three more weeks until I get to go to Chicago for BlogHer.  I'm looking forward to it for lots of reasons.  Hey. . . I work for them now, maybe I can line it up for Barcelona next year. 

Dude. 

OM/ cause every little thing is gonna be alright

Monday night at yoga, the instructor had us practice with our eyes closed so that we could get a sense of how our bodies feel in space.  He said that not looking in the mirror causes us to use more and different muscles.  He's always interested in putting a fresh spin on things, which is great.

I came home to a very very sunburned  Sophie.  She'd returned earlier from her trip to the beach with a friend a little pink, but after a few hours had passed, she was alarmingly red in the places where the sunblock wore off.  Poor girl.  She came to me that night, sobbing with her face in her hands.  I thought it hurt, but she was afraid.  Afraid that her face was going to peel off.  The entire thing.  She thought that was what everyone meant when they told her that her face would peel.  I still don't know if I was successful in convincing her otherwise. 

Today she has blisters all over her nose, which I DID NOT point out to her. 

Tuesday night at yoga, with the same teacher, we took a long savasana that included an optional sing-along to Bob Marley -- don't worry, bout a thing, cause every little thing, is gonna be alright --   I didn't sing at first, mainly because I was too tired from the class (power yoga? kicked.my.ass).  But, then I did start singing along with the other 35 or so people in there and I found it was impossible not to smile and feel really good.   The thing is, every little thing is NOT going to be alright and we all know it isn't.  (Stay with me here)  There are lots of great things about being on this planet, but there are also lots of hard, scary, horrible, sad, rotten, wrong, and maddening things, too, and if your world is A-OK, look around and you'll see that isn't the case for so many people.  Why is it, then, that saying that out loud, Every Thing Is Okay, makes me feel better?  Parents say it to soothe their kids, we say it to ourselves when we're nervous or scared.  Sometimes when we are the ones who need the soothing, we need to hear those words as much as we need water and food.  Even if we know they aren't quite accurate.

Is it that hearing and saying those words changes our attitude, which is a powerful force?   Does a little reassurance make us feel that much better because it gives us permission to stop worrying?  Is it the realization, on some level, that even the hard parts of life are necessary, and that while things won't all be alright, they sort of will be in some ways.  Eventually.  In ways that matter.  Which we may never figure out.  Maybe.

I'm really sleepy.  Too sleepy to make any sense at all.  But, you know, it's okay, because I'm going to sleep in a little tomorrow and make something really good for breakfast.  Hmmmm, maybe the song is about the little things, those can still be good -- great, even -- despite the state of the big picture.  And, right now, my big picture looks good, too, and that makes the little things even brighter.