Retirement: November Quote

So dull and dark are the November days.
The lazy mist high up the evening curled,
And now the morn quite hides in smoke and haze;
The place we occupy seems all the world.
- John Clare, November

Dear Santa

Todd and I have been enjoying the advent of the Christmas holidays, because this is the first year that Rollie has really started to get the concept of Santa Claus. Although he is still a little confused. Yesterday, when we talked about it, I asked him if he knew about Santa and he said, "Yes, he comes in? And he goes into the fireplace?"

Close enough.

While we were eating Thanksgiving dinner, Rollie, Matilda, and our friend Kate's daughter, Laura Catheryne, were running around in their diapers. (It is a laid-back family we have here.) Todd and I were telling my parents and Kate about our discussions with Rollie about writing to Santa to tell him what he wants for Christmas. Todd decided to illustrate this by example.

Todd: "Rollie, come here. Remember how we talked about writing a letter to Santa to tell him what we want for Christmas?"

Rollie [Obviously brightening at the mention of Claus:] "Yep!"

Todd: "What do you think you want Santa to bring you for Christmas?"

Rollie: "Pants."

I Don't Know What to Say

That's why I haven't written anything this week. See, I mostly write about what I know: The little things my kids do every day that drive me crazy, or make me laugh, or make me cry; the things that make me angry about this world; the things that scare me about the future; A book or movie I enjoyed; Fun trips and events.

All of that stuff seems unbelievably small and inconsequential in the face of the death of a child. A close friend of mine lost her nephew to bacterial meningitis this past week. A mother and father lost the center of their world. A child lost a brother he will never know, much less remember. Anything I write here, even the most irrelevant little tidbit, like what shape pasta Rollie and Tiller ate for dinner, will be something that the child's family will never be able to write about him again.

So, i have spent these last few days talking, and hugging, and kissing a little bit more than usual. I have been more forgiving, and more patient, and more lenient, and more indulgent; I have cherished.

Why don't I do this every day? I should do this every day for the rest of my life.

Tiller Tricks

Day before Thanksgiving. Too busy to blog, but here is a little Tiller zen*. . .

*Warning: Gratuitous cuteness.

Rollieism

Rollie: "Mama, I sick."

Me: "What's wrong, sweetie?"

Rollie: "I have a cough, bless yous, and hiccups."

The Rise of Why

Let it be noted that this week was the beginning of the neverending whys. Why, why, why? Rollie asks why 100 times a day. I never knew my world could be so confounding. Sometimes there just aren't any good answers to "why?" Example:

Rollie: "Yoda is a Jedi."
Me: "Yes, Rollie, Yoda is a Jedi."
Rollie: "Luke is a Jedi."
Me: "Yes, Luke is a Jedi."
Rollie: "DarFader is a Jedi."

I pause to ponder how to explain this one, the concept of someone with so much promise going over to the dark side. How to explain how it comes about that someone chooses darkness?

Me: "Well, Darth used to be a Jedi, but he isn't anymore."
Rollie: "Why?"
Me: "Well, he went bad."
Rollie: "Why?"
Me: "Well, the dark force pulled him."
Rollie: "Why?"

[sigh]

Me: "You are just going to have to trust me on this one, until you get a little older and can understand about The Force, and good, and evil."
Rollie: "Why?"

Next week, Rollie and I will discuss why there is evil in the world if there is a God. How can that be? Why? Also, why is the sky blue? Why do cats have tails and people don't?

Guilty Admission

I have a confession to make. Last night, when we were doing the usual spooning, foreplay, married sex thing, I couldn't help feeling guilty. I just couldn't stop thinking about this. I felt so guilty for enjoying every second of that video, huddled by the laptop with my headphones on, trying to conceal the irrepressible smile on my face, guilty for thinking that "Welcome to the Jungle" was pure genius, and how great is it that it lasted so long that they had to use the extended version?

Know what is better than an orgasm? Seeing Brandon Cox thrown down, and him getting up and losing his cool.

I am so sorry, baby. I had to say it.

Disclaimer

After receiving an email from a male friend, asking if he should really read the Outlander series, I feel it is my duty to explain more fully about the genre of the book: Outlander has tons of fans in the romance category.

I am not one to sit around reading romance novels, so I didn't mention this. I guess I didn't want anyone to think I was a romance reader. That being said, the reasons that I like the book have little to do with romance (although I would admittedly leave my husband for him if the hero showed up at my doorstep) and everything to do with genre-bending characters, strong females, adventure, what it might be like to live in the past, and a touch of time travel and witchcraft, mixed in with a healthy dose of biology and horticulture.

I don't read them because of the love story, but all of these other things I mention do add up to make this one of my favorite love stories (with apologies to Mr. Darcy.)

So, male-friend-who-shall-remain-nameless, I think since you went ahead and bought the book, you should go out on a limb and read the damn thing. If for no other reason than that you can share a discussion over a bottle of wine with your girl, and she (and I) will be highly impressed with the level of security you feel in your manhood.

My friend Mike, at the urging of his wife, did so. He liked it and ended up reading more of the series.

Weekend in NC

Had a lovely weekend with the girls in NC. It could have been a little cooler, as it was downright hot on Friday and during the day on Saturday, even in higher elevations. Dana and family were as gracious as ever, and i ate and drank myself into near oblivion. I also slept in on Saturday until 10 am. Unless you are a parent, you will not understand the fucking awesomeness of this.

The best part of the weekend was the company, and next to that? The walking in nature. I miss grass. and leaves. and trees. Haybales. Woods. Horses, cows, dogs, and tractors. Vistas. Sticks and the smell of decaying leaves. The sound of my feet crunching them. All that shit.

Wine is good, too.

Here are the pictures from the trip. I wish I had taken more, but it is honestly quite difficult to wield a digital camera while holding a glass of wine and a fine chocolate.

Honey, Latenight

Laura, latenight

My Morning Coffee

Fields of Honey

When was the last time you rode one of these?

Honey in Woods

Haybales at sunset

The Farm

Prize of absolutely no value goes to first person to correctly identify what I am doing here.

View of Table Rock from the front of the house.

Aunt Honey and Q

Sweet Afterglow of Victory

Well, the annual "Temporarily Annul the Marriage Day" went better this year than last.

Georgia 37
Auburn 15

This season still sucks for a GA fan, and the sting of that god-awful Tennessee game and losses to Vandy and KY will never fade, but this does give one hope for next season. It can work.

Glen Alpine, North Carolina

I would rather chew my own arm off than drive to Charlotte, and then to Atlanta. It is too beautiful today to leave.

It will be nice to see my own kids, though. I miss them. And I can tell them to shut up while I'm drinking my coffee. Other people's? Not so much.

Charlotte, North Carolina

Nothing four glasses of pinot grigio and one hydroxyzine won't cure.

The Things We Don't Say to Our Children

I went to pick up Rollie today from Mommies' Morning Out. When I got there, he was pouting, and when I told him it was time to go, he threw a fit. Both the teacher and the aide looked concerned, and the aide said, "We have Lunch Bunch today and he heard the kids talking about it and then saw them pull out their lunches, and he got really upset." Lunch Bunch is this thing where you pay extra for your kid to stay there from noon til 1pm, thus giving moms an extra hour of freedom. I told Rollie he needed to put on his jacket, so that we could go see the doggie in the car (Quint always rides with Matilda and I to pick up Rollie). He began crying pitiful, tortured tears of sorrow at not being able to eat with his classmates.

I felt the heat of tears welling up in my own eyes, and struggling to fight them back, I clutched Rollie to me with one arm (the other occuped with Tiller) and held him to me as he struggled. I managed to get his jacket on him, and grabbed his hand to take him to the car, Matilda still in my other arm, and Rollie struggling all the while. He managed to break free, screaming "I want Miss M____" (his teacher) and threw himself into her legs. She picked him up and offered to take him to the car, but i declined and said it was okay, he needed to learn that he couldn't stay.

I knew that i had about five seconds to make my way out of that classroom before I burst into tears, and I managed to make it out the door and around the corner before the dam burst. Tears began flowing freely down my face as I struggled to get the keys out of my pocket and open the van doors. I fought them back and then realized it was no use and began angrily wiping them away as soon as they fell, finished strapping both kids into their carseats, and got into the driver's seat. There is a point when tears come, at least for me, when I know there is no turning back, that once i give in to them, they will not stop. Everything in me wanted to lay my arm across the steering wheel and sob my guts out right there in the church parking lot, with all the well-meaning do-gooders coming in and out with kids in tow, but for a proud non-cryer like me, there is nothing more horrific than the thought of being comforted by church ladies with their well-meaning pats on the back, and their concerned looks, and, God forbid, their attempts at giving me a hug.

I had to get the hell out of there.

I drove to the end of the parking lot, and knew I was in the clear, as it is one way during pickup time. As I rounded the corner out of the lot, the tears came on full force, and Rollie said wonderingly from the back:

"Mama, what happened?"

"Mama's sad."

"Why you sad?"

"Because I love you."

Great, i think to myself. Now he thinks it's his fault.

The tears came harder, and became sobs, with my voice sounding to me like someone else's, coming forth of its own volition. I just gave in to it, and I cried the whole way to the light, where I sat and sobbed and snuffled and sniffled, and wiped snot on my sleeve and rubbed my eyes roughly, and did all sorts of undignified shit until I got the left turn signal, where I wiped away the tears, turned left and headed straight for McDonald's drive-thru. Sometimes your son just deserves the chicken nuggets, with the fries rather than the fucking killjoy apple slices, and with chocolate milk instead of white milk (the annoying term for regular milk that drive-thru employees in the 'hood call it. Those of us with an education call it "regular milk.") Sometimes his Mama deserves to say, "FUCK WEIGHT WATCHERS. I WANT A NUMBER 2 VALUE MEAL, PLEASE." That's just the way of the world.

Rollie says, "Mama, you like chicken?"

"Yes, Rollie, I like chicken, but i am going to have a hamburger."

"Tiller badiller likes chicken. She not like chocolate milk. She likes regular (yes!) milk."

"Yes, Rollie, she likes regular milk and chicken and french fries."

"Mama, french fries make you happy?"

"Yes, Rollie, they make me very happy."

"Mama?"

"Yes, Rollie."

"Why you cry in the car?"

"Because I'm happy. Sometimes mamas get sad. Sometimes they are happy."

Sometimes you don't tell little boys that you are crying because you are sorry that the house hasn't sold, so we live 30 minutes from the school and if he stayed for Lunch bunch, he and matilda would fall asleep in the car, and then there would be no nap, and how could i have the silence necessary to figure out the budget in a vain attempt to find some miraculous way of allowing me to stay home with them longer? Sometimes you don't tell him that even if we lived five minutes from the school, we probably couldn't afford the Lunch Bunch, and that he is never going to get to do Lunch Bunch with his new friends, because in less than two months, we are going to have to yank him out of that school and put him somewhere that will take him all day, and hopefully it will be somewhere that will also be able to take his sister, but it probably won't, and so they won't see each other all day long, and we will have to figure out how to get him to one place, and her to another and me to an office, and I fucking hate offices and their fucking fluorescent lights, and I hate that i will have to get up two hours or more earlier than I do now and that I hate that I won't be able to see him at lunchtime, or drive him through McDonald's, or yell at him to stop trying to hold hands with his sister, because she doesn't want to hold hands right now and that is why she is crying. I hate that I will get back two tired, over-stimulated kids, who will argue and cry over dinner, and I will be tired and not even have time to play with them or just sit and watch a cartoon on the couch with both of them in my lap. That I hate that now I have them from 7:30 a.m. until 7:30 p.m. every day and that the times that I don't have them are like magic, not torture, but that will change, and it will all be torture and the maybe two hours i have with them every day will be sweet torture, too. I don't tell him that I will think a hundred times a day how much i miss him annoying the shit out of me with wanting me to build the choochoo tracks and give him snacks, and how much i will fucking hate those people who give him his snacks every day when he should be trying to get them out of my fridge at home with me trying to stop him. I don't tell him that I feel like Tiller is completely getting the shaft, that he got me for over three years, and she barely got me for over one year. I don't tell him that I am scared of the people who will be talking to my baby, who is just learning to speak, and who knows what kind of frightening grammar they might teach her? Or that I read to her in the morning, and before quiet time, and before bedtime, and it is our special time, and we have a routine and she is warm and she laughs when I nuzzle her ear as I whisper into them some of the words.

"Mama," Rollie says, "why are you crying?"

"Because I love you, and I am happy, and I am sad."

I don't tell him that it is because my heart feels like it is about to break.

NOOOOOOOOOOO!

Fuck.

No ma'am. You DO NOT KNOW HOW TO CLIMB STAIRS. I will not have it. I will tie your ass down to the floor with back-to-back episodes of Sesame Street. The allure of Elmo will be too great, and you will never learn to climb stairs, and I will be able to continue child-proofing the downstairs, setting you down on the floor, and lying down on the couch to read while you explore.

That is the way it is going to be.

Oops . . . Must go get daughter off upstairs landing before she plunges to her death.

Great Expectations

This morning. I posted about it on Atlanta Metroblogging, but must also brag here on the people who were working the polls. They were so surprisingly courteous. Anyone who knows me knows there is just about nothing i hate more than shitty or rude service. In government employees, it makes me see red. I expected the usual surliness and rolling eyes, but instead was very pleasantly surprised.

Before we go hailing Dekalb County as a mecca for great service-oriented government employees, I must add that I also had completely rude and dismissive service earlier in the week when seeking information on redistricting the Dekalb County schools from an Area Superintendent. However, i am giving said rude bitch (with a doctorate no less! Can anyone get one of those things?) a chance to reply to my latest request for information before posting anything further. Maybe she (and her two higher-ups, whom I copied on the email) are just out of town for a long weekend. I am sure they will be back by Monday.

Halloween Pictures

Rollie doesn't have school on Tuesday, so costume day was Monday at school. They don't allow anything scary, or weapons or masks, so Rollie's costume was out. Instead, he went as a cowboy. This is Matilda (in her Little Pumpkin outfit) and Rollie before school.

For Halloween, we invited friends Ned, Vanessa, and Scarlett over, and Jackie, er. . . i mean, my sister, Lisa also joined us for the festivities. I made a bigass (Trust me. It's one word.) pot of chicken chili and cornbread. Mostly, we put away some wine and beer, and a tad too much candy. I was a little foggy yesterday.

Tiller and me. She's a fairy and I'm . . well, me, but with some icky makeup on.

Lisa held down the fort while Vanessa, Todd, and I took Scarlett, Tiller, and Rollie out trick or treating in the neighborhood. I was completely surprised with how well everyone took the experience - zero tears, despite it being almost bedtime, and the fact that Rollie had no nap and Tiller was teething.

This is Rollie at the first house, the monks next door.

Rollie taking the steps in stride.

Our little Yoda

Rollie did a great job, walking the whole way, taking the steps in stride (only a few spills), and dealing with a malfunctioning pumpkin handle that dumped his candy all over the street a few times. Todd and I were immensely proud that he sometimes said "thank you" without prompting.

Vanessa and Scarlett (as Raggedy Ann)

A boy and his Daddy

Todd, Rollie, Vanessa, and Scarlett at "The Jackpot House"

Tiller, with wand, which she held onto the entire time we trick or treated. (Which wasn't very long, because Tiller and Scar don't get candy, and there was wine for the mamas back at the house.)

My little Fairy (rear view)

My little fairy, amazingly smiley for past bedtime

Okay, let's take this picture and open more wine.

Retirement: Halloween Quote

One need not be a chamber to be haunted;
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Material place.
~Emily Dickinson