Friend Request? Really?

A few months back I mentioned that my former mother-in-law wanted to friend me on Facebook.  I sent her a message saying that Corey wasn't interested in contact with anybody from that side of his family, but that I'd be willing to update her and send her pictures and whatnot.  Never got a reply.


Then a slew of people I barely know wanted to friend me.  I just leave them in friend purgatory because I don't know if they get a "you've been declined" message or not.  I'd just rather not.  And it's not like I'm on Facebook ever.  If you were to see my wall, you'd see people wishing me Happy Valentine's at Christmas because they figure that's when I'll get the message.


A month or so ago my sister Rachelle friended me.  I'd never say no to her for anything (except the offer to come stay with us for three weeks after Fynn's born... with her exceptionally rambunctious son).  Next was my niece.  I wouldn't say no to her either.


Last night I got the oddball friend request to end all oddball friend requests.  From who?  Rachelle's husband.  He is not one of my people.  The feelings are mutual.  We are courteous to one another when we happen to be in the same place, but that's a rare occurrence because he often skips out on Shell's family gatherings.


I decided to click on the link to his Facebook page to see what he had going on (before accepting or declining).  I never noticed anything once I saw his "photo."

What could be more appropriate than that?  And it's practically true to size, too!

Friend Request

I've had a few odd friend requests via Facebook lately.  Corey's paternal grandmother (who did not respond to my message, in case you were wondering) and people from my mom's church who I know, but barely.  But that's not what this is about.  This is about my friend Jody.


She and I have been friends since Corey and her son, Aaron, were about to turn one.  I was newly separated and Jody eventually set me up on my first blind date.  I think it should go down in history as one of the worst blind dates ever.  It was so bad I wrote about it here seven years later (I apologize for the extra large font).


Well Jody is back on the matchmaking front (did she ever leave?).  Tonight she called to tell me about this great Deaf guy she knows ("he's smart and everything!"), who can't seem to find a (presumably hearing) woman to date who'll get past his deafness.  She wanted to know if any of my former sign language students would be interested.


Despite a strong desire to protect my peeps, I mentally ran down the list of candidates.  One man, one lesbian, several married women and a 12 year old Pakistani girl.  Nope.  Not a single candidate.  *Whew!*  Then I remembered Natalie, but she's a few years older than I and the guy is 10 years younger.  Still no. *Double Whew!*


We got off the phone just after she said, "Well think about it.  If you can, throw me a name." 


Yeah, okay.

Trading Off

Corey had mentioned that he wasn't feeling especially well a few times lately.  I noticed a bit of a cough, but it didn't seem to be holding him back, so I just didn't worry too much.


About a week ago, while we were enjoying our spring break, Corey went outside to load up the car with the last bits of slag concrete that had been pulled from our backyard.  (Yes, this is how one enjoys a vacation with a teen who has gotten himself grounded.  Many things were crossed off a lengthy list.  Quite enjoyable.  For me, anyway.)  As he opened the garage door, several police cars (marked and unmarked) pulled up into our cul de sac and stopped in front of our home.  Officers got out and headed down the street (we're on the corner)... straight for Corey's friend's house.


We closed up our house and didn't try to gawk or find out what was happening.  In the meantime, Corey was visibly upset, as you can imagine.  I gave him a hug.


Do you know how rare it can be to get a hug from a teenaged boy?  For all the problems I have with him, Corey's a pretty affectionate guy, but he's still a guy.  So I hugged him tight and we talked about how he could offer to let his friend come over here any time problems were happening at home.


I gave him some guidance and love.


He gave me his cold.


I'm gonna say that, even though I am now home sick... and I must look as bad as I feel based on the way people looked at me yesterday... I came out ahead.


That's saying something because in 36 hours I've gone through three large boxes of tissue and three rolls of toilet paper.


I have considered walking around with whole tissues sticking out of each nostril, just so I don't have to wipe one more time.


According to my now painful stomach muscles, I may be on my way to having abs of steel from the coughing.


I can't taste or smell anything.


The nausea (which still hasn't gone away) has gotten worse from all of the moco draining.


I have to carry tissue around to spit into or otherwise gross people out by retching in the middle of conversations.


And I have had to give serious thought to changing from a panty liner to those massive things women use after giving birth.


On the upside, I had to make a presentation at a real estate office yesterday.  These used to be pretty frequent and I had a routine down, but it's been a while since the last one.  Nancy normally co-presents to make sure my stupid remarks and lame jokes are kept to a minimum.  (For example, a few years ago I introduced us as Shannon and Nancy Parker.  Then to cover myself, I added, "We're from Massachusetts."  That sort of stuff doesn't always go down as well in a professional setting as one might think.)


On the way to the presentation I mentally prepared my words.  I am proud to say that I did not go with my first choice, which was to ask, "Which one of the seven dwarfs am I - Sleepy, Dopey or Sneezy?"  Besides, it was a trick question.  The answer was D) All of the above.

My New Favorite Sound

... is the silence after a houseful of people have left.


It's been a lovely weekend.  Yesterday's class was preceded by an hourlong trip to the bookstore by myself.  Yes, I might have spent my time reading an entire People magazine for free because it annoys me that the website has pop-ups despite my blocker, but guilt be damned, I'm glad I did it (or as glad as I can be for reading that crap).  I also looked through some of David Sedaris' books that I haven't yet read.  I liked "When You Are Engulfed In Flames" and loved "Me Talk Pretty One Day," but the new (to me) stuff didn't hold my interest.


After the class we drove back up here and took the kids and ourselves out to dinner.  I have vague recollections of the last time that happened.  The weather was consistently warm then; that's as close as I'll come to narrowing it down.  We had a lovely time, and Mad wasn't any more difficult out than she is at home (which is saying a lot... she's an easygoing kid).  However, she did try to get the server to bring more milk many times.  She got to use that same cup this morning and it was fun to watch her remember where it had come from.  As she's losing her baby words, her facial expressions are also becoming so much clearer.


Last night we stayed up late.  Tom did the grocery shopping after dinner.  My first big hint that something was up was that he'd bought six bags of tortilla chips.  Now I did request that he purchase enough food to last the entire week, and we do live with a teen boy, but that wasn't quite what I'd had in mind.


I went to bed around 11:00 and awoke at 2:00 AM to the overwhelming scent of something lemony.  Turns out he was downstairs shampooing the carpet.  We've lived here 11 months and have cleaned the carpets four or five times.  I don't think it's an unreasonable amount in either direction, but the fact is the carpets get cleaned right before something is going to happen (except for when Maisy went through that phase in November).  I didn't figure out what the aroma was until this morning when I took Mad downstairs and saw all the furniture was sitting in the kitchen.


Tom came down and we put the furniture back.  He started doing some deep cleaning, but declined my help.  Normally I'd honor his response and "dutifully" go upstairs and take a nap.  This time I cleaned the bathroom downstairs and washed some windows and the slider screen.  By the time I finished, most of the rest of the work was done, too.  It was still only mid-morning, but Mad wanted her nap.  Once she went down, so did I.  Tom had some mysterious errands to run and Corey had a friend over to play video games.  Kind of a nice way to pass the time on a Sunday, I have to say.


When he returned home, Tom said I had to get showered and dressed and be ready to leave by 2:00.  In the meantime, he had another errand to run. 


I sent a text to Nance to say I was thinking about her.  We had been in the midst of a meeting at Starbucks the other day when an elderly woman walked by and Nance broke down.  Checking in on one another is normal for us.  She lied said she was at her mom's signing more papers (the home is in escrow for the second time this month... keep your fingers crossed).


In keeping with his family traditions, Tom wasn't home even by 2:10.  A few minutes later my mom walked in.  She could tell I wasn't expecting her (maybe it was the way I said, "Something is up, but don't tell me"... I'm subtle like that) and made up some cockamamie story about just coming up for a visit.  On a Sunday, when she's got church in the morning and in the evening.  On a spring break weekend, when the pass is filled with hundreds of thousands of cars returning from Vegas and the river.  And with her recent knee problems that are exascerbated by driving.


The doorbell rang and it was Nance and a small crowd of people, including Tom.  Apparently they'd all met up where Tom had ordered the cake and had come over together.  I almost cried when I saw them.  If they had been the only people to show up today, I would have been a very happy girl.  But the doorbell kept ringing and people kept arriving.  The last few times I suspected it might be one of our smokers or the kids just playing around with me, but it never was.


There were gifts, but none were as special as what Tom had done.  However, my second favorite has to be the one from my dad and Margaret.  We have talked about the cravings I've had with this pregnancy and about what a hard time we have finding decent cranberry juice.  Neither of the places we shop carry Ocean Spray's straight 100% cranberry juice.  Dad's gift?  Cranberry juice, lemons, tomatoes and salt.  Between that and the cake, I could be set for the next week!  I might not have any teeth left, but I'll still be smiling.


Once everybody left and Mad was in bed, Corey invited his friend back over.  I felt bad he'd had to leave earlier, but I thought we were going somewhere.  Tom and I played gin rummy and had a picnic dinner on the front room floor.  It was perfect.

Sisters By Birth

As you might know, my family motto is, "Putting the F. U. in fun," which I consider to be at least one step beyond "Putting the fun in dysfunctional."


As a child, I grew up with my brother (same mother and father), (step)sister, and stepbrother.  My sister has always been one of my best friends.  Her (*sigh* okay, our) brother has been a source of wonder and chagrin.


Down the road about 80 miles, bio-dad and his wife (my "Wicked Stepmom," whom I adore... and who is another of the best women in my life) raised my two half sisters.


Eventually my mom and dad divorced and, as Dad is wont to do, he remarried pretty quickly.  Margaret has two daughters that I sort of think of like stepsisters almost.  Anyway, I think of their kids as my nephews and nieces.


You'd think a girl like me wouldn't need any more siblings, right?  Well I think I've got room for more.


When we were expecting Madelyn, Tom and I took a prepared childbirth class together.  The instructor, Pamela, was phenomenal.  She also teaches a new mommy group after the babies are born.  Two of the women from my childbirth class were in the same group.  (Okay, so three women, but one was only there once and we were all... including Pamela... relieved when she didn't return.)  It was nice to see familiar faces.  Pamela strongly encouraged the mommies to meet for lunch afterward each week.  Some of us did.  Five of us continued to meet for months after the five-week course was complete.  We are still in contact, although some more than others.  We're an odd mix, because the only thing we have in common is our babies.


Think I'm kidding?  Here's a summary of each of them:


Lauren celebrated her 21st birthday during the mommy group class.  She's from New York and away from all of her family for the first time.  Very private, unfortunately, she dealt with a serious case of postpartum depression.  She just had her second child and except for a confirmation through Jennifer that everyone was doing well, we haven't heard anything.


Next up is a Jennifer, who came to class with her expensive sunglasses on each day, as though it was too bright in the building.  She has established a mommy group through her church and doesn't really hang with us anymore.  My heathen beliefs and attitudes could very well be the reason.


Third in line is Valeria.  Valeria, from Belarus, is a former model.  She used to work for Disney doing something with costume design.  Now she is working on her own fashion line.  Valeria and her husband were in our childbirth class.  She and I are on the cusp of friendship even though she is a germ-obsessed (seriously... she put hand sanitizer on her daughter's hands because Sami put her hands into her own water cup) mom who can't fathom letting her daughter sleep in her own room.  "It's so far."  (Uh, it's less than 30 feet away and you have a video monitor.)


Last up (in order of preference) is Heather.  Heather is the mother of Luke Skywalker.  Yes, I'm serious.  I, the least sci-fi person on the planet, have sister love for someone who named her kid after a character from Star Wars.  Heather and her husband were in the childbirth class, too.  Nobody really hung out and chatted there.  Tom saw them arrive at the hospital while I was laboring.  Girlfriend arrived three hours after us and delivered four hours before us and I still like her.


On the surface, we don't have much in common either, except that Luke and Mad were born on the same day, mere yards apart.  Her approach to dealing with feelings and emotions is much different than the way I tend to move.  For example, feelings and emotions are important to me, but not necessarily the driving force in decision making and interacting with others.


Maybe it's that we both come from crazy families.  And that we are both talkers.  That's probably enough right there.  Whatever it is that forms our bond, it seems to be getting stronger.


Yesterday I found myself consulting with her about Madelyn's birthday.  Last year we did a huge housewarming/Mad's first birthday bash.  It was way bigger than I'd wanted for her birthday, but I didn't want to deal with two parties.  We scheduled it pretty quickly, not thinking about the fact that we might be interfering with their plans.


Once we decided, then Heather and Richard got to choose their date for Luke's party.  And do it around the other babies' parties, too.  After all the way-too-big parties were over, the mommies made a pact that we wouldn't do that to ourselves next year.  We agreed that private parties with family and then a small get-together where the kids draw names would be better for everyone.


Two days ago I made the mistake of asking Tom an open-ended question.


"Got any thoughts about Mad's birthday?"


"Yep.  I think we'll keep it small this year."


"Yay!"


"So the family..."


(The family, not our family.  Okay, that's 24 people.)


"... and some of our friends.  And of course, Mad's friends.  She should have some people her own age."


So a "small" party is approaching 40 people.  Yes, he is crazy, thanks for asking.


I called Heather to commiserate and to see what her plans were for Luke.  She is going to see if she can stick to our plan better than I could.  I'm pulling for her.


She was surprised when I asked her to figure out Luke's date first, but to me it only seemed right.  I feel like we're related and our kids have the same birthday.

Comin' Together

***Although this post was started on April 11, it wasn't finished/posted until April 22. Until I remember how to change this, it'll read as if from a time warp.

Hard to believe we've lived here a month already. Now I know why shows like House Hunters revisit the new owners after they've been settled in for three or four months. Only crazy people have housewarming/first birthday parties three weeks after moving in.

Of course, only crazy people move in five days before escrow is really closed.

The party went well, though, and I'm glad it's over. And for my coworker who is almost done with her own home buying experience, we have set the bar comfortably low for her party. Most of the stuff we really can live without is still packed up and making a wall in the garage. Our cabinets are still only painted on the ends. Some people loved the color. Some thought it was black. Some didn't care for it. One of the things that I love about them is that they are not for everybody.


Our dining table is still in the box. Staining the chairs has gone very badly. I'm not sure if the problem is that it's a cherry stain or if it's water-based. I'm leaning toward the former, because Corey stained Mad's dresser with a rosewood water-based stain and it came out beautifully. In a couple of weeks I'll deal with that. At the party we just used our old dining table which was, as usual, way too small for the occasion.

The walls are still bare. We still only own three lamps. Thank goodness for battery operated camping lanterns or I'm not sure what Mad would use for lighting in her room. We still have no dishes. Probably Mother's Day weekend we'll deal with that.


We haven't brought our computer desk over from my mom's place yet. I hope we do soon, though. I've used this table of Tom's for the past three and a half years and it isn't that comfortable.

The day of the party was pretty cool. We had just over 50 people in and out. Most of them stayed a lot longer than I'd anticipated. I'm not sure why I thought people might come in, have a tour, snack a little and leave, but mostly they didn't. The only ones who did were Tom's coffee drinking relatives. When my mom arrived without her promised coffee maker (yeah, I have one... I decided to clean it with vinegar... who knew it wasn't supposed to be an entire pot of vinegar? OK, you knew that, but I didn't), I headed off to Starbucks to get some of their travelers. Took a bit longer than I'd figured. If I were a thinking girl, I'd have sent someone. Like my mom. But it would have felt like punishment to her. By the time I returned, the coffee drinkers were gone. They live in Santa Monica and L.A., and felt like our old place was "out there." C'est la vie.


Mad handled the party like she handles anything new and overwhelming. She was confused and upset for a little while, then she was fine. When she saw Grandma Margaret, however, she was free and happy to roam around and check people out. And so was I. Margaret was Mad's familiar face and arms in the crowd. She made sure that Mad got something to eat, gave her the afternoon bottle. And when it was naptime, Margaret climbed our staircase so she could rock our baby in the same chair that Margaret used to rock her own babies.


I point out climbed our staircase because it impresses me that she did it. That she can do it. A few years back she and her two daughters and their five kids were in a van that rolled three times. Margaret was the second most badly injured. The "relatively simple surgery" to repair some broken vertebrae took triple the time we were told to expect. Afterward Dad and I met with the neurosurgeon, standing over Margaret's unconscious body. Dad asked her, "When will we know if she's paralyzed?"


"Mr. S., she is paralyzed. In a year we will know how much she can recover." Ugh! It still pains me to think about it, even though I know what she's done since then.


So having Margaret get up those stairs is amazing. It's not easy for her. She has to use both hands on the handrail (it's not a super wide staircase, so there's only one rail) and pull herself up each step. She'd already been up once to see the place, but for Madelyn she did it again. Margaret doesn't say I love you, but she does.

One of the activities we'd planned for the party was Easter egg coloring. We had 10 dozen perfectly boiled eggs (thanks again, Margaret!) for people to color and take home. Apparently nobody got the and take home part of the message.

Madelyn's part of the party was nice. Naturally my camera wouldn't even turn on when it was time to do the cake (yes, I'd charged the battery the night before... this is just not supposed to be my camera). Meija saved the day by snapping photos for us. The other activity was designing our backyard. Out of all the people there, we probably had a dozen entries. Two were from a six year old boy. His dad also did one, which included grass growing up the sides and dirt overhead. Imagine what the boy's looked like!


We had two prizes: For the winner, a prize of questionable greatness ($50 gift card for Red Lobster/Olive Garden); and for the loser, tools and gloves to come work in our yard.


There were two contenders for the loser prize. One from my friend Jesse. It had four stick people, a rat dog and a tiny house (roughly the same size as the adult sticks) with a chimney. She came in second. The winning loser was Tom's friend Ray. His had a pond with a "No fishing" sign, a horse in a cage (yeah, the yard's decent, but not horse-sized) and an outhouse with yellow stuff leaking out the bottom. Have another beer, Ray!


There were four top choices for winner; two were really pretty and two were very technical. One of the technical ones won. It has a garden on the side (yay!), trees and a place for Mad and Corey to play. Sure, Corey's nearly 16, but he's a very young nearly 16. We can't imagine Steve and Meija eating at Red Lobster, so we're getting them something more appropriate... a gift card for an organic nursery.

We're pretty good about making sure Mad gets organic baby cereal and I make all of her fruits and vegetables and meats. But if we can't find something organic, we move on. When Meija couldn't find organic barley baby cereal for her daughter, she found organic barley and ground it herself. As Tom said, "Whoa. They're hardcore." Props to them.


After the party was over, some of Tom's guys stuck around for a poker game. They're fun guys who really enjoy giving one another a hard time. I had a lot of laughs hanging out with them.

Oh, we did have a neighbor come by to welcome us the day after the party. We thought he was pretty cool right up to the point when he said, "You know, there are a lot of blacks in the area." Oh well, better to know up front than to find out later, I guess (uh... I mean about him... we'd already seen the neighbors before moving here... they looked nice).
Dad and Margaret brought my sister's family up to check out our new home this past Saturday. That evening Mad attended her first birthday party for a friend. She was quite a hit in her party dress.
Since our party day, nothing has been done besides laundry and a bit of straightening. We have only had one evening as a family (tonight). It was spent pulling Mad around the neighborhood in her wagon. We didn't meet anybody, but one woman waved. She's one of "the lot" but saw fit to be friendly with those of us who are pigmentally challenged (do I sound jealous? I might be) anyway. Go figure.

Where Did the Time Go?

I haven't written on this blog for over five years. I guess the whinefest I left last time I was here was just too damn annoying to return. One of my friends, Tiana, recently established a blog here, so I figured I'd send her a little shout out. It took me about five minutes of fooling around to figure out that I'd never remember my user name/password combo. Once that was all squared away I reminisced (after gagging during the last post) by reading some of my other essays.

I've also been following the blog of a woman whom I guess a lot of people followed, Michelle Mayer's Diary of a Dying Mom. She passed away today. Reading her posts have often left me in tears. Heck, thinking about her posts has often caused my eyes to sting.

It's admittedly shallow, but I don't tend to carry other people's problems around with me. It's not exactly an out-of-sight-out-of-mind deal, but it's close enough that I'm not proud to admit it.

But Michelle and her family, especially her young children have weighed heavily on my mind. Maybe it's because of my own two kids and how I worry about what will happen to them if anything should happen to me. It's probably also the clear, open way Michelle has written about her experience and journey from life to death. Somewhere along the blog I could see that she's the type of woman I would have as a friend, and I felt like a friend to her, silently cheering her on. Even as she said her good-byes, I hoped that the disease that was claiming her life would miraculously reverse itself. It did not.

I wondered how I would react when she passed away. My heart has been aching for the past several days. Between yesterday and today I must have checked her blog 10 to 15 times at least. The image of all those people waiting for the light to go off in Evita has come to mind frequently.

This evening, the news came that she had passed away earlier in the day. As soon as tears started to well up in my eyes, I calmed back down. What a relief for this wonderful and brave woman. And there must be some relief for her family, too, who have seen her through the last year or so of what must have been intense suffering. I am sad. I'm sad for Michelle and for her family and friends. I'm sad for me.

But I'm hoping that Michelle isn't really gone; I hope she's finding out what's on the other side. I hope that it is peaceful and pain free, filled with people who love her and have been waiting to welcome her. Her grandmother, for example. I can't buy into the Baptist version of heaven that I was raised with, in part because I can't believe that streets paved with gold and pearly gates are truly of any value beyond what we place on them here. Perhaps the John Whatshisname's version is the one she's found. In any case, hope Michelle is able visit her mother as requested.