Eleven years, three days

So here's the thing.

My baby isn't a baby.

Eleven years ago, Craig and I brought a baby home from the hospital. I would be lying if I said she was a tiny baby - she wasn't, at a round eight pounds, five ounces, nineteen inches long - but she was the smallest one I'd ever held. And also the first one that I'd made. It was kind of a big deal, at least to us.

Eleven years and three days have passed quickly. We've watched her learn to crawl, then walk, then run. We've tracked her vocabulary until her words were to numerous to count. We witnessed as she learned her ABCs and numbers and colors. We helped her learn to write her name and admired her scribbled pictures.

And we've helped her with book reports and science projects. We've attended piano recitals and choir concerts. We've experimented with hair colors and hosted sleepovers and read book after book at her bedside, and sung "Puff the Magic Dragon" too many times to count.

And now she's become this gorgeous young woman, almost as tall as I, wearing shoes bigger than mine, with blossoming curves and more and more glimpses of the woman she's becoming.

I find myself alternating between sadness and infatuation with her new beauty.

When I use the word sadness, it's only because I don't know a better word. I'm not sad that she's growing up. No, quite the contrary. I enjoy the present Susie so much - and I wouldn't trade her for her toddler, or preschooler, or early elementary self. The sadness is more that this, the wonder that is her maidenhood, will end all too soon.

And when I mention beauty, I feel a need to justify it. Because I don't really mean, at least not entirely, physical beauty. Sure, as her mother, I think she's the prettiest girl ever to walk this earth, and I'd be happy to fight you if you say otherwise, but that's not really what has me so ensnared.

No, what has me so smitten is deeper. She has a beauty that shines through her eyes. She's so very alive. So vital. So funny. So alert. So confident. So graceful. So willing, and able, to negotiate the confusing maze that is tween-ness.

The girl has skills. She's good at the social thing. She's good at music. She's a great student. She's got the entire church wrapped around her finger, and has since she was a toddler. She's healthy, smart, and funny. She's the perfect sister, and the perfect daughter.

And she's reaching the age where it's becoming hard to write about her. She knows I'm writing, and she hasn't protested. But I feel a greater need to give her some privacy. Potty training stories are cute and funny, but her life is now hers, much more than it's mine.

I also, more than I ever have, feel that I need to protect her from the world. She's entering rocky territory. Sure, she'll handle it fine. She handles rocky territory like a mountain goat. But I don't want her to ever tell me that I made her life more difficult by writing about her on the internet.

So Susie will no longer be a major character in this blog. I can't say she won't be around, even in photos. She's too funny, too engaging, too amazing, for me to never mention. And she's too photogenic to leave out.

But she's growing up. And I respect who she's becoming. I have a feeling she'll be one of my favorite women, one day. All too soon.

39

My darling husband turns 39 today.



The world is a much more awesome, hilarious place because of him. I've been lucky enough to be his sidekick for just about half his life (we met a few weeks before his 20th birthday), and I can assure you that he's much cuter today. And funnier.

Hope 39 is the best year ever, Sweetie. I love you.

Still alive

It's an amazingly busy and chaotic week, not just at work, but in other areas of my life. The first time my husband and I will be in the same room for more than an hour or two, awake, will probably be late Friday night. Unless you count when we attend the kids' holiday program at school on Thursday. And I don't count that because we can't talk to each other while watching our son do his hip hop dance routine or watching our daughter sing or play the cello.

We've moved from one facility to another at work. (Sorry I'm so vague. Some of you know what that means, and if you ask me I'll explain privately.) So far things have gone pretty smoothly, with a few bumps. But it makes for fast-paced days, followed by absolute exhaustion by bedtime. I guess that's good timing: the writers' strike has seriously curtailed my television viewing. Which means I have no reason not to go to bed, other than playing on Facebook.

Did I mention that I'm working a full day today, plus staying late for a service project, then coming back to test another software/hardware upgrade? I'm told they'll only need me for a few minutes, around 9 p.m., but that time I stayed until 6 a.m. I had been told we'd be done by 10:00 p.m. or thereabouts. So I'm going to wear comfortable clothes.

And yeah, as an indication of my overworkedness (if that's not a word, it should be), let's consider the mailing of my grandmother's birthday card. Her ninety-ninth birthday is tomorrow. And I drove to the main post office yesterday, addressed card in hand, ready for the mailing. And I put it in the mailbox, well before the deadline of when they pick up the day's mail. Re-read that paragraph. What's missing?

The stamp.

How dorky is it to FedEx my grandmother a new card?

Greek birthday party

Last night we joined our Greek friends to celebrate their son's birthday. Without saying much, I can say that their son is closely associated with where I work. And he's doing very, very well. Well enough that it's easy to forget what brings them to Memphis.

His mother and I have become buddies, originally linked because our daughters became fast friends in school. Masha has made numerous friends in the Greek community in her two years here, but I seem to have become her official "American" friend. Which means that when my family visits their house for a celebration, we're the people in the room who don't speak Greek.

And when I say we don't speak Greek, I'm saying that I have no ear for it at all. Spanish, French, German, even Italian, I can comprehend a little. If I overhear a conversation in one of those languages, I can probably tell you what is being discussed. If it's the right topic, I might even be able to tell you more. Heck, I can even pick out a little Japanese here and there. But Greek? Nope. None. Embarassingly, I can't even keep names. Especially of one person, this sweet Greek man who has lived here for years. And I told him yesterday that I've renamed him Gus. He laughed and didn't get mad at all, and then he taught me to say "I love you very much" and "You're a big dummy" in Greek. I'd completely forgotten both phrases by the time we had gotten home, a seven-block drive.

I like hanging out with European people. And I'm lucky to be able to do so frequently, due to my primary job and my very-part-time employment as a Local Care Coordinator for a large Au Pair placement agency. The perspective, of this family and of the group of au pairs I work with, is different; their experience is different. It's easy, as an American, to think that our culture is the "normal" culture in the world. Our language is almost universally spoken (at least a little); we've exported enough of our culture that most major cities have at least a few American things that add a sense of familiarity.

But spending some time talking to someone from another country, like Greece (or Bulgaria or Poland or Romania or anywhere else, really), gives me the opportunity to hear a different viewpoint on the war, on our government, on politics, on race relations, on recent history. In particular, spending time with this Greek family, who enjoy the privileges of class and wealth (the dad is a celebrity in his country, and is also an elected official there), gives me a different vantage point in looking at our world.

I try hard to avoid looking like an ignorant, "ugly American." That being said, I don't follow current events very closely. My commute is not spent listening to NPR; it's spent listening to music on my MP3 player. I rarely watch the news, other than "The Daily Show." I don't read much beyond Gourmet magazine and Tony Bourdain. So I don't have a hell of a lot to add to a discussion of today's political scene, the upcoming presidential election, or similar topics. But last night? I held my own, and even did America proud by (accurately, in context) quoting Karl Marx (woot!) and mentioning that Al Gore's post-political career reminds me of Jimmy Carter's. (I know, great analogy, right?)

Not surprisingly, I learned more than I contributed. I learned how hard it is, as a foreigner, to endure what happens upon entry into the country these days. "Humiliation" was a word I heard a few times last night. "I'm just a damn foreigner," was said with a rueful smile. American citizen "Gus" told of being treated very differently in airports because of his accent and Mediterranean complexion, despite his American passport.

And I know, with a little bit of shame, that the same thing would not happen to me if I were to visit their country. I would be treated well. I would have no problem finding people who speak my language, who understand my culture. And not just because I'll have well-connected friends when I visit. But because my skin is white and my birthplace is America and my speech is unaccented. edited to add: I'm talking about how I'd be treated coming INTO America, dealing with customs. Not being overseas.

But I also learned that the American life, despite its commercialism and materialism and relative lack of cultural history, is good. Masha and her kids love their lives here, no matter the circumstances that brought them to Memphis. Gus's daughter, who is in her early 20's and as American as I, confided in me that she thinks the kids will have a hard time adjusting to life when they return to their country. Masha has told me the same thing, months ago. I suspect they're correct.

I did, however, see the gleam in her daughter's eye when she told me on Thursday that she'd be flying to Greece in three days. She hasn't been home in two years, and she can't wait. I know she's not had an easy time: two years ago she spoke no English and had become a great reader in Greek; changing to an American school with English textbooks and English-speaking kids must have been enormously difficult.

Gus's daughter and I had a nice chat; she's a lovely young woman who is just beginning her adult life. She's visited Greece many times (her father still owns a home there) and cannot comprehend why some of her friends are resistant to visiting. She also told me that knowing this family has made visiting Greece even better, since they are so well-connected. I had already suspected as much, and have begun planning a trip to Greece, once their son is well enough to go home. Given what I heard last night, I have a feeling I may not want to come back.

Vacations and best friends

My dear, dear friend Kaki visited yesterday from Montana. She and I became friends when our firstborn were infants. And yesterday's landmark birthday forced us to own up that we don't get to say we're "new" friends anymore. It's been ten years!

When the kids were little (still in diapers, little) we had discussed and even started planning to take a vacation together - both families. That plan wound up not happening due to other things needing to happen at the same time, and we never managed to work out our schedules to try it again.

But yesterday, perhaps inspired by the rosy glow induced by takeout Indian food, birthday cake, and wine, as well as a conversation in the car this weekend, we talked about a joint vacation next summer.

My vision is to do really wacky stuff: see the largest ball of twine, things like that. I love the campy and crazy things that our country has to offer, and I'd like to take that kind of trip while the kids are still young enough to enjoy it. Because the sullen, it is coming. I remember it. We have little time before it is upon us.

We talked about the Corn Palace. We talked about Devil's Tower (not so much campy, but definitely strange). But then Kaki was truly inspired: Florida. There's so much wacky and campy in Florida, and her dad has a house with a guest house there. And there's the beach.

So maybe that's the plan.

But the midwest/near west still seems like a good plan, too. Because the largest ball of twine? Is still growing.

Ten

My baby girl turns ten today.

Gulp.

The obvious question - how did that happen - has an obvious answer. Gradually. Over ten years. In bursts and stretches. Like watching a garden, but not quite so fast. We were out of town last week for just two days - really, only about 50 hours - and I could see changes in my tomato plants when we returned.

My daughter, the light of my life, the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, my moral superior. She's so much more than I ever expected her to be. I expected smart. I expected tall. I expected quirky. But I had no idea that we'd get the most amazing laugh, the smile that lights up the room, the eyes that make us melt into puddles of butter, the wicked sense of humor. I didn't expect her seamless social skills. I didn't expect her confidence. I didn't expect her pragmatism. That phrase, you know the one. It's not ordinarily used to describe people, but it sums her up so well: The whole is greater than the sum of the parts. Because she has so much of me, so much of Craig, but so much more that we can't claim or assign responsibility.

She was a perfect baby. I can say that now, because we're so far past that phase that it can't really make anyone want to throw tomatoes at me. She barely cried. She was so, so, so adorable. Made her milestones just a little early, which is such a relief for new parents. Nursed like a champ, made the move to solid foods with gusto, smiled a lot, slept well.



Her transition from baby girl to big sister came at an early age, but she handled it beautifully, with grace. Like being a big sister was her true calling. And she's been the best big sister I've ever seen, with a little brother who loves her deeply and truly. Their sense of family and belongingness is heartwarming and assures me that they'll be okay once Craig and I are gone.



When she started preschool, her teachers were astonished that she'd never been in any type of day care or preschool before. Only Sunday school. She fit in with ease, adjusting to the routines and the various children and making friends. She soon wrote her letters, then her name, and learned her phone number and address and all kinds of other great things.

The transition to public school from private preschool could have been horrible, but again, she managed change easily, taking the new demographic group in stride. She made friends, charmed teachers, and aced the academics. When we moved to our new house, the folks at her old school were devastated to see her (and her brother) leave.

And she wrapped the new school around her little finger, too. And the neighborhood. And the church. It would only be a slight exaggeration to say that flowers bloom in her wake.

The best part is that I'm the one who still tucks her in at night. I'm the last person to kiss her before she goes to sleep. I'm the one she confides in. I'm the one who can look at her beautiful face, her strong body, and say, "I made that."



Happy birthday, you beautiful, wonderful girl. It's been a great decade. Let's make the next one even better.

Best birthday gift ever

Late, but true:

You are cordially invited

So the birthday party went quite well. But there's this thing. This thing that I often do.

I overshopped. There's way the hell too much food in my house now.

Which means,

Dear Internet,

Please come to my house to eat barbecue pork tacos.

Love,
Kaleigh

P.S. They're really, really good.

But no cake remains. Here's a tip for you: one layer of devil's food cake plus two layers of orange cake equals delicious. Very.

It was a great birthday party. With tequila.

Longer than I expected

I'm finding myself at a loss for words lately. We're at the end of the school year, so we've been busy with recitals, end-of-year programs, and the like. None of which are really blog-worthy. The school's music program included both kids: Susie sings in the chorus, and Alex plays guitar and was featured in the second-grade section of the program. And it was fine.

Tuesday's piano recital was fine, too. I can't say that I was completely loving listening to a bunch of kids I don't know play their little songs, but it wasn't too long, and Susie did a great job.

Yesterday's event was the Girl Scouts end-of-year awards program. And potluck. Again, fine.

I feel a little sorry for Alex, as he's been an audience member more than a participant in all this. He was pretty obviously bored during the scouts event, and his interest level was only slightly higher at the piano recital (except when the kid who sometimes is mean to him totally messed up his song....Alex was on the edge of his seat for that one). (And am I a completely horrible person if I admit that I enjoyed that moment just a bit more than I should have?) (The kid really is a jerk.)

So yeah, not much to say. I was really busy and now not as much, but still ink on the calendar.

Oh, and our birthday party (Alex's, Susie's, and mine) is Saturday. You're invited. We're cutting the cake at 6. I gave up on trying to figure out some clever menu and am going with a taco bar. Because everyone likes tacos, right? If I also have regular taco meat and chicken, would barbecue pork be too over-the-top as one of the options? Because this weekend is the barbecue festival just a few blocks away, and I thought that might be funny. And I make really good pork.

Keep answering the survey. I'll share the results as soon as I have enough.

Welcome to 2007

My kids and husband all got MP3 players/IPODs for Christmas. They were the perfect gifts for all of them, but on the long drive home from Michigan, I realized something. I felt a little bit jealous of all of them.

There they sat, listening to whatever they wanted, since all their favorite tunes were loaded into these tiny bits of electronics. So tiny and cool. And I felt left out.

No more! Mother's Day + my birthday occurring on the same day = great loot! We found time during the busy, busy day that was Sunday for me to open gifts. In the church parking lot, in the shade of the minivan's hatchback. Seriously.

And I got a really cool MP3 player which, most importantly, is pink.

I didn't consider that my sweet, sweet husband would make me learn how to use it myself.

See, I used to be very computer-savvy. And good with electronics. I set up the VCR, the TV, the satellite box, all that stuff. And I did it well. I was a very competent computer user and had no trouble setting up peripheral equipment and installing software.

But I didn't quite keep up. Which is why I use Blogger instead of designing my own site. And it's why I haven't even touched our new DVD player and still don't know what channel on the satellite is the weather channel. I got a bit of technology overload and stopped caring how it worked. Fortunately, Craig proved himself completely capable of doing all those things (and knowing exactly which channel is the weather channel, bless him!).

And when I asked for an MP3 player, I honestly expected that he would load it up with music for me. Because he's good at that stuff. Plus, he knows what I like better than I do.

Imagine my surprise at the gleam in his eye when he told me that I was going to have to sort all that out.

So I installed the software on the laptop on Sunday night and charged up my new pink thingie. And last night I started ripping CDs onto it. I've got 262 songs now, but I haven't created any playlists or anything like that, because there are more CDs to go. His music is mostly stored on the computer upstairs. I asked him last night if he would please occasionally put "cool" songs on my MP3 player since he knows better than I do.

But he was helping me pick out CDs last night, and I noticed that he editorialized a little bit. Because he put Barry Manilow in the stack, hidden between the Cure and Nine Inch Nails. I think he's trying to tell me something about what a dork I am.

36

My birthday is this weekend, but the weekend is so very busy that I'm quite sure I won't post anything, so I thought I'd celebrate early, at least here.

In honor of my 36 years on this planet, here are three dozen things that I love. If you feel the need to buy me a present, or make me something, this would be a great place to get ideas. But if you don't feel that need, that's okay. Just leave comments about how pretty I am. Or something.

1. Fresh baked bread
2. Petunias
3. My pink cell phone
4. Tiaras
5. Kittens
6. The way my dining room and kitchen look when they're clean
7. Country fried steak
8. Coffee
9. Beer
10. Jasmine tea
11. Châteauneuf-du-Pape wine
12. My pillowcases made of this fabric
13. These shoes
14. This makeup
15. This shirt
16. This piece of furniture
17. Books by Anthony Bourdain
18. Books by Poppy Z. Brite
19. The food at Bouchon in Las Vegas
20. Pretty cookbooks
21. The cute backpack my mom gave me for my birthday (thanks, Mom!)
22. My Roomba (but it really needs a friend)
23. The quilts my grandmother made for me
24. The quilts that I made myself
25. Frank Kozik posters
26. Wacky 1950's and 1960's kitsch
27. Yoga pants
28. Flip flops
29. Pajamas
30. Shonen Knife's music
31. Three 6 Mafia (my husband thinks I'm such a dork for that one)
32. My dog, Biscuit
33. My other dog, Gravy
34. My husband
35. My daughter
36. My son

See, that wasn't so hard. Now we have proof that my inner 5-year-old is definitely alive and well (kittens, tiaras?!), but so is my inner gangsta'. Sweet.

And a shout out to my mom, who was so tired of being pregnant thirty-six years ago today. Sorry I didn't manage my escape before Mother's Day. That would have been a nice gift. But watch this space on Mother's Day (probably after dinner). I'm hoping to post the BEST POST EVER!

Countdown commenced

We had a fun, busy weekend. Which is going to be followed by a very busy week. (Okay, a correction: I'll be busy, the kids will be busy, but my husband's semester is over so he's chillin'.)

We had extra kids in our house just about every moment this weekend: Friday we had two girls spend the night, and one boy who didn't spend the night but came home from school with the kids and left at dinnertime. Saturday, the girlie went to a girl scout function in the morning (while I went to rehearsal and the boy and husband went on a bike ride to our favorite place), then one of the sleepover girls and one friend from girl scouts were at the house when I got back. They left about the same time that Susie's best friend since she was four came to spend the night. She stayed with us until mid-afternoon Sunday, at which time we braved a sudden downpour and went bowling with the brother and sister who had joined us on Friday night. Dinner out after bowling, then a little television and sleep for the kids.

Did I mention that we also finished Alex's school project about howler monkeys (including making a cd of sound files found on the internet of the noises they make that give them that name)? And that Craig helped me make twelve fairy wreaths for the concert? And grocery shopping and a trip to the most horrible place on earth? And that I went shopping BY MYSELF for the supplies for the fairy wreaths and school project?

Honestly, sometimes I come to work because I get a little rest.

So, instead of a real blog entry, I'm sharing my list for this week:

Monday:
Me - dress rehearsal for Gilbert & Sullivan, 6:15-11 p.m.
Alex - guitar class

Tuesday:
Me - dress rehearsal for Gilbert & Sullivan, 6:15-11 p.m.
Alex - guitar

Wednesday:
I think we actually have a night off here

Thursday:
Me - tentative rehearsal, but not on stage because the stage is otherwise occupied
Susie - piano lesson until 5:15
Alex and Susie - school music program at 5:30. I have a feeling we're taking two cars to this one because I'll probably have to run to rehearsal.
Do you get the feeling we're a little bit triple-booked here?

Friday:
Me - concert, then dinner afterward
Alex and Susie - invited to spend the night with friends

Saturday:
The unofficial celebration of my birthday - family bike ride to our favorite place, and maybe this place too. And a neighborhood grill out thing. And I'm pretty sure there's something else. I hope it's written down. Oh yeah, Susie is going to a birthday party. Across town. So I guess we'll find something to do while she's watching Spiderman 3.

Sunday:
My birthday. Mother's Day. Oh, and just in case that's not enough....I'm also leading worship and delivering a sermon at church, THEN singing the concert at 3 p.m. Because me? I love to be busy. Eating? Yeah. I'll get right on that.

Siblings

Inspired by this really great post, I thought I'd share a little about my kids and their relationship. I tend to write about one of them or the other, but rarely do I write about them as a unit.



Because they often function as a unit. This wouldn't be so surprising to me if they were twins, or both girls or both boys, but they're not. Susie is 22 months older than Alex.

Even though she was only 13 months old when I got pregnant with Alex, we decided to talk to her about the upcoming arrival. I'm sure she had no clue what we were talking about, but we kept on talking about it throughout the pregnancy. When we decided what his name would be, she pronounced it as best she could, and from then on, her version of his name became the name for my belly. It also became our son's nickname (still is).

I need to scan some pictures for something I'm planning to do for Susie's birthday, and many of those pictures would be perfect illustrations of this post.

The day Alex was born, my mom was taking care of Susie, and she and Susie came to the hospital to greet the new baby. They were both in the room when I was wheeled in, on the gurney. The baby was wheeled in separately in an isolette. Susie immediately wanted to be with me on my bed, and she patted my belly ("Gently!") and said her brother's name. I looked into her sweet, nearly-two-year-old face and said, "Not anymore. Here he is." And we put the baby on the bed too. The expression on her face told me that she understood. This was her baby brother, and she must love him and protect him and help to raise him. (A big responsibility for a toddler, but I firmly believe she was up to the task, and she's never proven me wrong.) We got their first kiss on video and on film. It's one of my favorite pictures.

Over the next few months, Susie demonstrated an amazing aptitude for big sistering. Whenever "her" baby cried, she ran to me, telling me, "Baby is crying. Nurse baby! Nurse baby!" She seemed to understand when I was busy tending to the baby and couldn't hold her or play with her at the moment. She loved to touch him and kiss him and talk to him.

And here's the moment. The moment that defines the two of them as brother and sister, a unit of two, not mediated or moderated by Craig or me. It's July 4 weekend. Baby is three months old. Susie is 25 months old. He's still in a rear-facing car seat, buckled in the middle of the back seat. She's in a forward-facing car seat, which means they're facing each other and their faces are around two feet apart (maybe even less). So he's looking at her, she's looking at him, and she's making her favorite joke, which consists of saying "PBJ Otter" over and over (it was her favorite TV show at the time). She's cracking up, and then we hear this strange sound from the baby. It sounds like he's choking. Wheezing. I turn around to check him and see him doing something he's never done. He's laughing. He's laughing so very hard, with his whole body. Laughing at his sister's joke.

Their next couple of years were at home (Craig and I worked different shifts, so one of us was always home), and are well-documented. They dressed up, they made forts out of the dining room chairs, they ran around the house naked, they made beds for themselves with towels. They invented bizarre games that made no sense to our adult minds. They sang songs and watched the same television programs.

And school didn't make a dent in that growing relationship. When Susie began preschool, two days a week, Alex was a little annoyed at first. He missed her. She went to school on the days I worked, so Craig and he had five hours together those days. Fortunately Craig is a great dad and created adventures for them. But when I brought her back from school, she got the hug before I did most days. When he started preschool the next year, he was always so excited if he ran into his sister in the hall.

Years later, and they're still each other's biggest fan. But we're having some growing pains, and it shows me that everything is so fleeting. The beginnings of adolescence are causing Susie to crave more privacy and more time to herself. Her friends, too, are less tolerant of a little brother hanging around and tagging along. He's not there yet, so it's hard for him to understand how his life's companion would suddenly not want to spend every waking minute with him.



They had a hard night a few nights ago. He wanted more time together, and she didn't. I sat in his room and talked to him (Gently, gently!) about how hard it was that his sister wanted to be by herself. He was so deeply sad. So hurt. And it would have been easy for me to cajole her into spending just a bit more time with him.

But that wouldn't be fair to her. I went to her room next and spoke with her (Gently, gently!). I reminded her that her brother is not going through the same changes she is, and that he really doesn't understand her need for privacy and solitude. I asked her to be gentle and patient with him while they worked out their relationship. I also requested that she try to spend a little more time with him in the afternoons so he didn't feel excluded. She understood, but protested a bit: "I already do spend a lot of time with him. Too much time!"

And they're both right. They're just in different places, developmentally. He'll catch up in a few years, and the balance will be restored. And I bet I'm right when I predict they'll be best friends again.

Birthday party contest

Last year I had a really amazing birthday party. I was turning 35 and I decided that was a pretty important occasion, so we celebrated very well. We went with an Asian theme, and the food was great, the drinks were great, and my house was full of people who were all having a great time.

And it's getting to be that time again.

This year is 36. Three dozen. So my thinking is, let's keep the food all themed in "dozens."

But that's where I get stumped. Eggs come in dozens. So do donuts. But what else?

One of my friends, whose husband is a chef, suggested that I use egg cartons to serve the food, and that way I wouldn't get bogged down in the whole "dozen" quagmire. I think she's onto something. But what shall I make? And what drinks? (Beer comes in dozens, right?)

So....I guess this has to be a contest so you lurkers might actually be encouraged to leave a comment. Leave your perfect "dozens-inspired" party menu in the comments. The winner will get a custom-created party menu, along with tested-by-me recipes, for his or her own birthday celebration. And a really goofy birthday present, too. And cookies.

Celebrations

My parents came to Memphis this weekend to visit. The timing was perfect: they arrived the day after the boy's birthday and they were around to celebrate Easter with our family. (Which may have been a little anticlimactic for them, since they're Presbyterian and we're Unitarian Universalist.)

They arrived Saturday afternoon, and we immediately set to assembling the lovely shelf unit they brought from IKEA! Hooray! We had a few laughs at the non-verbal pictogram directions.

We stopped laughing when we realized that we were apparently illiterate even in non-verbal pictogram, because we had put in the wrong screws and had to start over. Twice. But it finally worked, glass doors and all, and I'm proud to say that no cursing happened. At least not audibly.






See the beckoning cat? It brings wealth. It needs to work harder.


All that construction work (and egg coloring, and Sims playing) made us hungry, so we headed out to Bigfoot Lodge, the boy's favorite restaurant. Well, it used to be his favorite restaurant. But when the manager got him out of his chair, stood him in the middle of the restaurant and had everyone in the place wish him a very loud and sincere "Happy Birthday," the trauma level may have caused him to not like Bigfoot Lodge anymore. Plus, we wouldn't let him order this:

But since we used a Restaurant.com Dining Certificate that covered $25 of the meal for $6, Bigfoot Lodge is now my parents' favorite restaurant EVER since we all ate and drank (34 oz. beers!) and the check wound up being $31. NICE.

After the kids went to bed, eggs were hidden and we followed the kids pretty quickly. Because all that construction work and eating made us tired too.

The kids woke up Easter morning and quickly found most of the eggs, emptied them of candy, ate the candy, then washed the candy down with some sweet rolls. Because sugar? Makes for a wonderful breakfast. I got started on dinner, then we headed to church.

Hungry again, I guess from all the singing and listening and watching kids hunt for eggs (again), or maybe because sugar isn't such a filling breakfast, we ate Mexican food then returned to the house to make dinner.

Since my parents intend to move to Memphis in the next few years, I wanted them to meet some nice people. We have gotten to know a family who is in town temporarily from Europe (their son is a patient at St. Jude and the kids go to school together). The dad of this family mostly is still in Europe (pesky job!) but arrived here on Friday for a few weeks. So I invited them all over for Easter dinner, which was extra fun to prepare since I had the able hands of my mom in the kitchen to help. We made deviled eggs, pork tenderloin with orange marmalade, bourbon, and capers, roast chicken (my favorite recipe from this book), potato balls (my dad's favorite food in the whole world), English muffin bread, asparagus, and carrots with ginger. And since birthdays wind up more like Hanukkah than Christmas in our family, we had birthday cake for the boy.

Lovely, fun, lovely, fun. And with European cheek kissing. Ahhhh.

And yesterday we took the kids to school, watched Craig leave for work, and we didn't do much interesting, but it was nice. And barbecue for lunch. Leftovers for dinner. (Because the internets care what I eat, I know you do.)

Mom and Dad left this morning, and I already miss them. It's nice being their kid, and it's nice to have parents around who love you and see you doing things mostly correctly. They're fabulous grandparents and the kids really enjoy being around them.

It's that time of year

Every family has "that" time of year. A month, or a season, or a week, in which many occasions happen. Birthdays, anniversaries. A co-worker tells me that her family's month is February, with two wedding anniversaries and a birthday on Valentine's day alone!

It's our week this week. My brother has a birthday today. My mom's birthday is Monday. Our wedding anniversary is Tuesday. And Alex's birthday is a week from today. Add in Easter, the "Father-Daughter" dance for girl scouts, our church's celebration of our new minister's installation on Sunday, and you've got a busy ten days. Oh, and did I mention my parents are coming to visit for Easter? No? Because that, too.

The nice part is that I'm not really overwhelmed by any of it this year. The kids have decided that since they like each other's friends, they're going to have a co-birthday party sometime in between their birthdays, so I don't have a party to plan just yet. With my folks coming to visit just after Mom's birthday, I can select her gift and not worry about shipping it to Michigan. And we can have a family birthday celebration for the boy when they're here.

The only thing that gets the back burner (and it often turns out this way) is the wedding anniversary. It's our fourteenth, which is astonishing to me (we're that old? really?), but it's not one of the "milestone" anniversaries, like the twentieth or even the tenth. We had a lovely party for our fifth, and I'd love to have one for our fifteenth, but fourteenth? Eh. It's a Tuesday, and American Idol and House are on.

So how should we celebrate? Not sure we can find a babysitter, so let's consider that to be "not an option."

Friends, part 2

Continued from prior post.

Not every woman has a friend from high school who remains a friend in adulthood. It's not always an easy transition. JWM stores memories that I'd sometimes rather erase. She knows some serious dirt on me - some really embarrassing stories that make me cringe (but, truth be told, it's a two-way street and I could dish on her, too). Sometimes I wish she'd forget some of that dirt (especially when she reminds me of it - I keep those high school yearbooks in a box on a closet shelf for a reason!). But she also remembers some moments that defined me and shaped my adult life. She was there for the milestones: the prom, graduation, leaving for college, falling in love, the wedding, the birth of my children. And I was there for hers, too. There are precious few people in my life who can recall stories and the accompanying laughter or tears with just a word or two. JWM is that friend.

So. It's my junior year of high school. I've moved to a new place, again. I'm starting school in a new school, again.

(I'll interrupt the story a moment to make an aside. There are a couple of other significant friends I had that year, but I'm not including stories about them because when those friendships ended - on the same day - it was really, really horrible and painful and I'd just as soon not go there, and honestly, I don't care anything about them as adults. I don't know or care where or what they are doing, or even if they're alive. So if you're reading this and wondering about B.S. and E.S., here's their mention. Bitches.)

Where were we? Oh, yes, I met my friend J.W.M. We circled each other for a while, having a class in common and both invovled with theater, and it was good. That first year in Michigan, we weren't as close as we became later (only because I was wasting my time with those bitches mentioned above, plus I was extremely boy-crazy that year), but we were comfortable friends, and by my birthday we were good enough friends that she bought me a present. And I bought her one, too.




We grew closer my senior year, and even double dated to the prom. We stayed in touch through college, and she even visited me in Memphis a few times (riding along with my parents) and we met in Chicago, too, where she met my then-boyfriend Craig for the first time. When I returned for the summers, we spent as much time as possible together, going out, staying in, having a great time (and even hanging out with a rock band back in the day). When I moved into my first apartment in Memphis, she came to visit, braving the horrible Memphis August heat. A little over a year later, she returned to attend my first wedding shower (again, driving down with my mom). And a few more months later, she visited again, this time to be a bridesmaid.

JWM's life got complicated after that. Around the time she finished college, she had a pretty significant romantic relationship that ended very badly. That man was bad news, and he treated her like garbage. (And I'm being kind. Bastard.) She made some bad decisions about the relationship, but his behavior was inexcusable. Eventually she really, really understood that, and she made a decision: she was moving to Memphis.

She moved into our guest room for a few months, while she found her feet in my city. She found work and an apartment and made friends and went on some dates. We spent a lot of time together, and life was grand. I don't, however, want to paint a picture that is all roses and love and unicorns. We sometimes had, um, issues. We had gotten very good at being long-distance friends, only reuniting for weeks or months out of the year. We were great correspondents. We were amazing at talking on the phone. Sometimes the immediacy of living near each other was hard. And each of us made decisions that the other didn't necessarily like. The transition from school friends to adult friends was not always graceful, but it was made.

But we made it through. I had a baby and she's the godmother. She threw an awesome baby shower that makes me grin to remember it.

She got married the same month my daughter turned a year old. It was my turn to be a bridesmaid. The man she married was difficult. When they were dating, they had come close to breaking up several times, and honestly, when they decided to get married I was shocked. She must have known that the relationship was less-than-ideal when she asked me, the evening before she got married, "Am I making a mistake?"

What could I say? I was a complete and total coward and mumbled, "You're only making legal what your heart already has decided," or some complete crap like that. The marriage was short and rocky and over in a year.

We spent a lot of time together the summer of 1999. My second child was a newborn, I had quit my job, and she was going through what one goes through when one's first marriage ends. He didn't make the divorce easy. But one morning in December she drove to my house looking jubilant. Her divorce was final. It was over.

The next spring, she wanted me to meet someone. She'd met him (I don't remember how) and he was nice and EMPLOYED! and STRAIGHT! and seemed to be pretty great. I checked him out and he didn't seem even a little toxic. Cute, smart, interesting, witty, even. And smitten. He was going to love her. Things looked good from my vantage point, and I gave her the thumbs up.
Good thing I did, because Earth Day that year brought them a bit of a surprise. She called me about ten seconds after the second line appeared on the pregnancy test. She was going to have the baby, and the father-to-be couldn't be happier. I, too, was delighted. Delighted that she was happy. Delighted that she had met a man who knew how to be a man. Delighted that she would be a mom.

The next few months were hard for JWM; she had morning, noon, and night sickness. Her gall bladder went bad. Pregnancy was a physical nightmare. But there was a wedding, too, that summer, and a real honeymoon, and the newlyweds were happy and in love. The end of her pregnancy got dicey, with toxemia rearing its unwelcome head, and she didn't get the birth she wanted, but she got a healthy baby and a proud papa and she was okay.

Our friendship, however, was growing a bit distant. By choice or by chance, every time I tried to call or visit after the baby was born, she was sleeping or occupied and not taking visitors. I wanted to be there for my friend but I wasn't able to. Unbeknownst to me, she was having a very hard time with breastfeeding and really needed help. I wish I'd tried harder to be there and support her. I wish she'd called me and asked for support. But that's not how it happened*.

She and her husband decided that spring (2001) to move away from Memphis. He had never liked Memphis, and the summers were hard for my Michigan-native best friend. I was sorry to see her go, but things had gotten strained, at least in my mind, and we hardly saw each other anymore anyway, despite living only a few blocks apart.

Fortunately, we already had practice at being long-distance friends. Remember? We were really good at that for a long time. And it was like riding a bike - we're still good at it! We've seen each other about once a year (when we visited Michigan or she came to Memphis) and we've had a great time. We talk on the phone for at least an hour a month. She had another baby, a lovely little girl who was born in a victorious homebirth. This time she was prepared for breastfeeding difficulties and sailed through her second child's infancy. And she's expecting a third in just a few weeks!

Being apart, however, has its drawbacks. She has expressed that her biggest regret in having moved is missing the opportunity to watch her goddaughter turn from child to woman. And since she and her family moved when their firstborn was months old, I've not gotten to see her parent. It still sometimes seems unreal to me that she is a mother, because I've not witnessed it. Like anyone with children, sometimes she needs to interrupt our telephone conversation to give attention to one of her children. I listen closely at those times for a hint of what kind of mother she is. So far, my take is that she's sensible and sensitive. Which sounds lovely, and not really a bit surprising. She loves language and I'm sure she will transmit that love to her children.

She's the first friend that I knew, with every fiber of my being, would still be my friend when we're old. We joked, ages ago, about being old ladies and living together with a bunch of cats. It's still not hard for me to imagine. And maybe we'll even start that garage band she's been wanting to start.

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*I wrote this before receiving an email from JWM. I had written to make sure it was okay to blog about her, and to check to see if anything was off-limits. Her response was very interesting, and she told her side of that story, unprompted. It's very interesting to me that we actually saw it more similarly than I had thought. If we're lucky she'll comment. (hint hint)

Alone

So Craig is taking the kids and leaving me.

(Insert dramatic music.)

Until tomorrow.

Susie's best friend moved to Nashville last year, and it's her birthday, so off they go to celebrate. With ice skating and sleepovers and ice cream and puppies. Tweens. So cute and giggly.

Delightfully enough, this best friend has a younger brother the exact same age as Alex. This brother thinks Alex is the most awesome kid in the whole world. When they still lived in Memphis, after a sleepover he tried to keep Alex from leaving, asking, "Can we keep him? Please?" So Alex will be entertained and adored, too.

Craig, on the other hand, will enjoy a night alone in a semi-respectable motel, with Ipod, computer, and DVD's. And liquor.

And as luck would have it, I've already got plans (plans that were made ages ago and ETCHED IN STONE which is why I'm not going to Nashville). Plans that involve girls and night and in (though "out" for me because it's not in my house) and makeup and beverages and food! Maybe we'll even braid each other's hair!

With the vacancies in my house until sometime Saturday afternoon, I have very noble plans to clean and do laundry and sew patches onto Susie's girl scout sash and even make a skirt like this and even make a weekly meal plan and grocery shop. But let's get real. What will I really do? Have you seen my TIVO? No? There's a bunch of this and this and this and I bet I won't even get dressed until well after noon with all that temptation. I do need to stop by the jewelry store to pick up my sweetie's finally-repaired wedding ring and my Christmas necklace with the new chain.

So please forgive me if I don't blog this weekend. Climbing the stairs to the PC may not fit into my plans even a little bit.

****Roomba update: I finally got brave and let the Roomba upstairs. The manual assures the reader that Roomba has infrared sensors that won't allow it to tumble down the stairs. My upstairs hall carpet looks great, and Roomba did not fall down the stairs even once. I love this little thing. I want to spoon with it. And give it an outfit.

Old People

Two interesting facts, both concerning old people.

1. My grandmother turns 98 today. That's very old. And I'll see her in ten days, approximately.

2. The oldest person in the world died yesterday. She lived here in Memphis. And one of my co-workers is her great-granddaughter. She was 116 years old.

If my grandmother lives to be 116, I'll be 53 years old when she dies. My kids will be 27 and 25. Which would mean she possibly would live to see her great-great-grandchildren.

However, if that happens I'd be dead at 53 just from the shock of having seen my grandmother turn 116. Holy cow. That's old.

Being sick and distracting myself from it

I hate being sick.
I hate being sick.
I hate being sick.

However, I really love planning parties, so to make myself feel better, I started planning a birthday party for the Husband and our neighbor. They both have birthdays within a week of Christmas, which means they normally get lame birthday parties. Or none at all. So I've decided to have no other seasonal parties...no Christmas party...no New Year's Party. And instead I'm going to focus the fun on these two lovely people.

And everyone better come and bring them good gifts. Because they deserve a good time.

In other news, my singing group begins rehearsals on Saturday for our holiday concert. I'm very excited, since I sat out from the last two holiday concerts, and, despite being a mostly agnostic, I really really really really love Christmas music. Almost as much as I love planning parties. Which is a lot. Because I'm an extrovert.

Also I've been looking at diets. And I found this really cool site: www.mediterrasian.com. I like what they have to say and I think we can implement a lot of their suggestions in our family. All the research I've done about the Husband's "Metabolic Syndrome" diagnosis suggests that the Mediterranean diet is the solution. So we're gonna try. And if I lose a few pounds in the process, even better. He even told me today that he's interested in tai chi. As long as there's red wine, I can follow any diet.