Slightly to the left…

Dear faithful readers as well as all the rest of you:

Please click HERE and join me as we blow this pop stand!

That’s right baby, I’m moving this party to my own little domain and you’re invited! As special incentive I am offering you a fabulous celebratory post by my very first ever guest blogger which you won’t want to miss.

Come on, let’s go!

Dear Stephen Hawking:

No, really.

Dear Stephen Hawking, I need your help. See, you can’t type or talk but you’ve got that cool little machine thingie that somehow reads the brainwaves from your pinkie finger and types out super complicated theories about blackholes and the basic nature of the universe and probably also grocery lists and whatnot. We won’t even talk about top down cosmology here because that’s probably not the type of thing most of my readers are interested in, or at least, they don’t KNOW that they’re interested in it (of course they are, but it would be easier for them to identify with it if it were named something less pretentious and you might want to consider that the next time you’re naming fancy theories, that’s all I’m saying Stephen Hawking.) but let’s just say that you have come up with some unbelievably complicated crap since you lost the ability to speak or feed yourself. Plus, you were on Star Trek The Next Generation that one time so no matter what I will always love you like Whitney Houston loves Kevin Costner.

OK So but here’s my problem Stephen Hawking: I have this crapped out thumb/wrist situation which is seriously impacting a previously mildly disturbed elbow situation and turning my whole right arm and shoulder into a thoroughly buggered DEAR SWEET JESUS TYPING, TEXTING OR WRITING MAKES ME A MURDEROUS STABBY BITCH type of situation. It also make sitting motionless at my desk without crying, picking up my toddler without falling down or OPENING A BOTTLE OF WINE incredibly difficult, but I understand that you can’t fix everything Stephen Hawking and therefore all I’m trying to talk to you about today is the fact that I want to borrow your voice synthesizer except that I need it to work the other way around, get me?

Great.

I can talk. There’s nothing wrong with my pipes Stephen Hawking, just ask my husband. And I don’t have any big fancy theories that I need to communicate to the world, I just need to be able to talk to people on the interwebs and on the phone without being driven to chop my hand off using a pair of baby nail clippers.

Since you didn’t answer my first (private) letter or simply mail me a fancy voice synthesizer machine I went ahead and saw an Orthopaedic Surgeon today. His name is Jeffrey and while he didn’t offer me any kind of voice synthesizer substitute, he did give me a nice juicy shot of cortisone into my wrist so frankly he’s the current front runner for my favorite Doctor Guy in the universe, even if YOU DO understand that universe better than he does.

Stephen Hawking, I’d like very much to put you back in front of the line of super smart guys who understand important crap so that I don’t have to, but frankly if you don’t pony up soon with the synthesizer I’ll be forced to bump you back behind Perez Hilton, because at least he’s making an effort to explain the whole Miley Cyrus thing to me. So come on Stephen Hawking, let’s go. Bring me some solutions not problems.

But I swear on Worf’s Bat’leth, if you mention Vlingo Stephen Hawking, you are dead to me.

Dead.

Watch This Space

Y’all I am so sorry I haven’t really posted all week.

Doesn’t that sound snotty? Like you’ve been on tenterhooks waiting for me to write ANYTHING? Like you have nothing better to do than sit around and blog stalk me?

I know that’s not true and yet I still feel the need to promise you I am coming back. Soon. With New And Improved Real Fruit Flavor, or you know, something like that.

To give you a sneak peak into all of the exciting posts I have planned for you over the next week or so(ish) I thought I’d let you in on my working post titles:

* “Ta Na!” – Revealing some changes, and a Surprise! Guest! Blogger! My first guest ever so y’all better be nice. Wear your clean jeans or something.

* “Why I’m Planning to Stalk Stephen Hawking” or “My Rich Old Lady Disease and Why It Sucks For You Too”

* “Father’s Day Recap and Why I Picked The Best Guy Ever To Have A Baby With”

* “We Gave Up Cable And We’re Not Dead Yet. No Really.”

* “Is It Possible I’m Australian And No One Told Me?”

* “I’m going to BlogHer and All I can Think About Is Buying New Clothes”

* “How An Octopus Eats My Baby’s Toes Every Night And It’s The Cutest Thing Ever”

* “Week One Of Piper’s New Daycare Room And I’m The One Who Needs A Nap”

I hope you guys stick around a bit longer, I miss you too.

Thanks.

Mae

In which I forget how to be me

Or at least one version of me.

I’m a very organized person. You know, the kind of organized person that other people make Monica from Friends jokes about? Most of the time. I handed out timelines to wedding party members, vendors, hell even GRANDPARENTS at our rehearsal dinner so that everyone would know exactly where they were supposed to be and when they were supposed to be there. I plan vacation activities down to the day. I can tell you what we’re having for dinner every night this week as well as what days Topher is taking leftovers for lunch vs which days he gets to choose between a can Chef Boyardee from last year’s hurricane stash and a PB&J.

And yet today, I am all in a tizzy and feel as though I can’t find my sunglasses, car keys or underpants. Ok, well I can’t find my sunglasses, the car keys and underpants have been located.

I feel scattered and disconnected. I have no idea what I’m doing or what needs to be done, where I’m going or when I’m supposed to be there. Whether I am on track to accomplish very big and important things or if I will instead being wearing the same pair of jeans all week because I’m so distracted that I can’t remember to wash any clothing.

I’m a big list maker but at the moment I feel that I have too many lists going on. Perhaps the problem is that some of them are wholly in my head and some are partially written down and partially in my head. Also, there is no Master List.

And that’s where my real problem is. At this moment in my life I have more plates spinning than I can ever remember having. Blogging, sewing, baby-raising, marriage maintaining, job doing, life altering plan making… there are so many things going on right now and none of them are small. All demand attention in significant quantities. I can have all of the grocery/chore/blog post/BlogHer ’10 Sessions to check out/ territory review/ required trainings/ hot dog day/ vacation packing/ date night planning/garden seed buying lists in the world, but if I don’t have some kind of Master plan that tells me what tasks I need to be doing right now to make all of these big things come to fruition at the right time for my family and my work. I’m drowning.

So once again I come to my friendly neighborhood interweb friends for help. What do you guys do to keep it all together? How do you keep building the big picture stuff according to spec, while dealing with the day to day minutia?

Also

How you do wear the same jeans for a week without everyone noticing?

Thanks.

harmless

Back in the days of MySpace I got tracked down by an ex boyfriend. It had been at least 7 years since we broke up, and before we’d started dating in our senior year of high school we’d been friends for several years. So when I got the myspace message from him I wasn’t displeased. It turned out he was married and local to our area. I didn’t have many friends here and was excited to get together with something of a known quantity. We met him and his wife for drinks, and then later a dinner. She was awesome, and we got along really well. He hadn’t changed much since high school, still making borderline inappropriate comments and jokes which I found annoying but harmlessly so. In fact that was the word I used to describe him in my head. Harmless.

We lost touch a year or so later, their lifestyle and ours were quite different what with the consistent partying on their end and the hermit like tendencies on ours. By the time I surfaced on the internet again I had a three month old, and and his wife’s FaceBook profile listed her as single and living in another state. Obviously I had missed something.

I asked, but he dodged the question and suggested meeting to discuss. I mentioned coffee and he mentioned cocktails. I mentioned getting a babysitter so we could meet up one evening and he mentioned meeting up without Topher. Then he mentioned cocktails again. I mentioned being busy. That was a while ago.

A few weeks ago Topher and I were watching that episode of Parenthood where the hunky stay at home dad confesses to his uptight workaholic lawyer wife that the super hot stay at home mom bossy playgroup yoga chick made a pass at him. Lawyer mom is livid, and demands they cut all ties. Stay at home dad sighs, their 5 year old daughters are best friends, but he agrees. Later in the show lawyer mom sees the little girls snuggling together while watching a puppet show. She relents so that her 5 year old won’t lose her best friend.

Bad call, lawyer mom. Bad. Frickin. Call.

I would like to state at this point in an effort to avoid any misunderstandings/hate mail that in advocating that couples protect their marriages I am in no way advocating remaining in or tolerating a relationship that is abusive in any way. Get the hell out of that kind of mess immediately.

A few weeks ago I got a text from the ex who was so keen about having husband-less cocktails, asking if this was still my number. I ignored it. Then I got a phone call but no voicemail. Then I got a FaceBook message talking about drinks again and telling me he’d moved, to which I responded with my good wishes and not much else. Later in the week I got another text inviting me to a party at his new place which I also ignored.

The night of the party I got yet another text, asking where I was, calling me “baby”.

I’m not your baby, you disrespectful jackass. Enjoy your party. Lose my number.

There was some back and forth after that wherein he professed his disbelief that I no longer had any interest in being “friends”. I could practically feel him trying to work his way back to “harmless” through the phone. But the truth is that he isn’t, no matter how much of an idiot I think he is, no matter how little of a “chance” he may ever dream of having.

I don’t need friends who threaten my marriage. My daughter does not need me to have friends who threaten the marriage which is the framework of the family life we are building for her every day. It is my job to protect that framework, to protect not only MY marriage but HER FAMILY.

I’m not saying that I think I can guarantee a happy and successful marriage by eliminating my ex boyfriends as FaceBook friends (pretty sure he was the only one, but whatever) or that I have all the answers for how to never get divorced. I know that I do not.

What I’m saying is that marriage is work, but it’s not just working ON the marriage in my opinion. I think we also need to take stock of what’s happening around the marriage and the contributions being made to it by people who aren’t in it. Because the people you surround your family with have influence on your relationships. It’s that simple. If what’s happening around my marriage isn’t going to help it thrive, isn’t going to help make this family strong for myself, my spouse and my children, then I need to seriously consider if that thing really needs to be a part of our lives or if it needs to be eliminated.

At the end of the day the accountability for the relationship between two married people rests on their shoulders and no one else’s. But that accountability isn’t just about reacting to situations that come up, it’s about the relationship as a whole and how it’s developed, cared for, protected and regarded by the partners who build it every day. And I can tell you that to protect my marriage I’d go a hell of a lot further than a text message, or disrupting the social life of a 5 year old.

How far would I go? Exactly as far as I need to.

How far would you go?

Stacks

I’ve gotten a few questions lately about what I’m working on. I’m not ready to full on fess up just yet, so here’s a hint:

There are 319 of them, and I still need more.

the day the laptop died

So I had stuff planned to blog about today, but then yesterday I saw an ad in the target circular for dysons on clearance at target, so I went on my laptop to ask the budget spreadsheet fairies if I could have one and they said of course not and to please stop balancing the laptop precariously on the arm of the sofa because it was freaking them out and I said shut up it’s fine, you guys are such alarmists and also screw you guys I’m getting a dyson and they said fine go ahead you idiot and then this happened:

So then I had to trade my imaginary money into real money and not get a dyson and instead got this:

And no I am not referring to the shoe although it was also expensive and I never would have bought it but it was for a wedding I was in a few years ago and has therefore become one of those shoes that I don’t like and never wear but can’t bring myself to get rid of because I spent so much damn money on it.

I was talking about my new netbook. The shoe is just there for scale, people.

Anyway, all of that is to tell you that I am currently blogging at you from my blackberry so if you could forgive the typos that would be awesome because sometimes the berry makes certain “choices” for me when I’m not looking that I find out about later and they usually cause a fight and also that I will be back shortly once I get my junk together and also that I am an idiot and also that when your budget spreadsheet fairies tell you there’s a man in the closet with a knife or whatnot don’t stand around asking questions just get on up out of there because those bitches know what they’re about.

Happy Birthday Old Man

There have been a lot of birthdays in my peripheral life lately, Two of my Blogher ’10 roomies, Beth Anne and Mandy had birthdays this week.

But today, June 3rd is my Grandpa Joe’s birthday. He would have been 97.

He was fucking awesome.

He was an amazingly important influence on my life, even though he died when I was 17. Piper Josephine was given her middle name in his honor, and frankly it was 50/50 whether she was going to be a Josie or a Piper up until she was born and I actually met her.

When I was growing up in a tiny town in northern Michigan my Grandpa and his second wife (who I didn’t actually know wasn’t technically my Grandma until I was about 7 or 8 years old) lived in our same teensy town, in fact they were pretty much the reason we lived there. My Grandpa built a little house on the lake in the 1940s, when his wife and kids used to “summer” there and he drove up every weekend from Kalamazoo. By the time I came along, the joint had been “winterized” and Grandma and Grandpa lived there all the time. It was still on a lake.

That’s Grandpa and I’m on the left with my sunglasses on upside down. No he was not going to throw me and what I think is my cousin Julie into the lake fully clothed. We were going on a boat ride, hence the lifejackets. SAFETY FIRST PEOPLE.

Remember how I said he was fucking awesome?

My dad on the right, obviously also very excited about the kick ass turkey.

He loved jokes, especially dirty ones. His collection of booze themed cartoons snipped from the newspaper remains protected on the inside of the liquor cabinet door in the kitchen of what is now my Dad’s lake house. He loved jazz, his favorite instrument was the clarinet (I played one in middle school for that reason) and he sang whenever possible. He also loved explosives of all types. He frequently carried cherry bombs around in his coat pocket and would light them from the bowl of his pipe whenever he felt it was appropriate. He had a wonderful voice, like warm molasses poured over gravel, wrapped in smoke.

Speaking of smoke.

In almost every memory I have of him speaking to me he is talking around the stem of a pipe. The big table inside his kitchen door was covered in pipe tobacco and paraphenalia. He used to bring me bags of pipe cleaners to make crafts with. It was years after he died before the house didn’t constantly smell like tobacco to me. Last time we were there when I was pregnant with Piper, I could still smell it sometimes in the kitchen. He died in 1996.

If you’re pointing at the screen saying “Why the hell didn’t she crop this photo?” or “ZOMG ghosts!” my responses are “I meant to not crop it” and “I’m not sure we can be friends anymore because you’re 7” respectively. It’s smoke. From the ever present pipe.

It dissipated after a while.

When we left the house after a visit, we made silly faces at each other as we drove away. When he tried to take my parents out for a nice grown up dinner I always got mad because I couldn’t go with. He always let me order the fried shrimp.

That’s my mom on the left. Hotness right? Also, hey Mom! That’s the quilt dress we were talking about the other day that I loved and that you don’t remember. Remember?

He never in my whole life was ever anything less than absolutely and wholeheartedly delighted to see me. Even right before he died.

I’ve never been loved by anyone quite the way I was loved by him, before or since. It wasn’t just unconditional love, the man got palpable joy out of my very existence. All I had to do was show up and I had made his day. It was the least complicated and in some ways the most inspiring relationship I’ve ever been a part of. He asked nothing of me, but made me want to give everything.

This Summer after Blogher we’re headed up to the lake and Piper will wear a much more stylish if uncomfortable looking lifejacket for her boat rides. I’ll show her where to hide her sandcastle shovels under the marble slab above the beach that we keep the towels on, and how to walk on the dock without getting splinters in her tiny feet, and I’ll blow bubbles in the water when I swim, pretending to be a sea monster while she rides on my back just like he did. And I’ll pray that she gets to experience an uncomplicated and generous love like the kind he gave me.

Happy Birthday “Old Man”. I still miss you. Every day.

When are they ready?

Despite our assumptions (based on feedback from experienced Florida home gardeners!) that our first growing season would be wrapping up and our garden starting to “fry” any minute now, it’s still going strong! We’re producing tomatoes and cherry tomatoes with regularity and even the broccoli is continuing to make strides. We’re still too nervous to pull up any more carrots, but maybe this weekend? I think I want to make a roast, and that sounds carroty, right?

While watering last night we got into a debate about the tomatoes.

When exactly does a tomato become a tomato?

With some it’s pretty easy to tell. You come out one day and all of a sudden there’s a 3 inch tomato there that you would swear on your favorite shoes simply didn’t exist the day before. And before you know it, it’s red and almost ready to go:

Then there are those that you catch in their infancy, or earlier. For example (look closely to the left of the obvious one):

Ok so the one on the right, the obvious one I’m ready to call a baby tomato. The one on the left, we are calling a late term tomato bud. But what about the middle one? I couldn’t get a picture of it, it’s so teensy tiny, but I swear to you it’s in there protected by those tiny leaves until it grows big and strong enough to hold on to the plant amidst raindrops and wind gusts.

But is it a tomato yet? When will I know? How exactly can you tell when that happens?

I’m sure you guys are getting tired of all the comparisons of my daughter to vegetables but I can’t help it. Being out there makes me think of her little mysterious, miraculous life almost every time.

When will we know that she’s ready to stand in the world and feel the rain on her face without the umbrella we provide? Will she really be ready when she thinks she’s ready? Will we keep trying to hold the umbrella long after she’s outgrown the need for it because we still need it? We don’t want to be helicopter parents, raising kids who don’t know how to balance a checkbook by the time they leave for college or whatever, but we don’t want to push her to grow up and away from us too fast either. But how will we know when the moment has come?

Which moment am I talking about? I have no idea. Any moment, I guess. I strongly value independence and want to teach it to my daughter, but I also want us to be and remain her safe place to fall for as long as possible in this life. I don’t really know how to make sure we create that kind of upbringing for her. I will freely admit that I have yet to figure it out from the daughter side, let alone the mother side. But I’m still trying, on both fronts. She makes me see things differently.

What do you think? How do you know when they’re ready… for anything? When do you consider your babies to be tomatoes?

Blueberry Madness

Sunday morning we visited a U Pick Farm about an hour’s drive away with Piper’s Godparents, a trip we’d been planning for weeks. I thought I was really excited for the adventure, but when we swung by their place to caravan over, Robyn put me in my place quite promptly by (literally, which is pretty impressive since she had back surgery 5 months ago) jumping up and down like a kid, telling me all about her blueberry donut and blueberry coffee and how excited she was to drive her blueberry car to go blueberry picking.

She even wore a purple shirt. It was hot.

Piper was a trooper and napped in the car. While she slept we drove, held hands and listened to the radio. It felt kind of like just the two of us again, and at one point I even remarked to Topher that it felt like we were on vacation. That’s a big part of what we like to do on vacation, drive around and do random stuff. I’d never spent any time in this part of our area before and the new scenery was refreshing in more ways than one.

At first she wasn’t so sure about our expedition, but to be fair she had just woken up to a crazy lady in a cowboy hat talking about blueberries:

She was slow to warm up:

But once she realized she could put small things (berries) into larger things (buckets) she was pretty stoked:

And well, once she got her feet under her she was completely won over:

On our way out, when we were supposed to be “done” but Mommy and Uncle Justin couldn’t physically stop picking berries because of some insane but delicious compulsion, we saw a bird. We’re working on learning to say “chirp”

We all walked away with something from the day. Topher got 8+ cups of blueberries which has so far translated into one pie, some turnovers and a possible fun vodka drink(?!?!). Piper got the immense satisfaction of putting lots of small things into a large container. I got this:

I totally win.