Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Some of you already know that one of the reasons my husband, our son, and I returned to the Pacific Northwest from our beloved Texas was to attempt to help both of our mothers clear out decades of stuff from their respective homes. My mother lives in Portland, in a house just over 1,000 square feet (which I'm fairly certain doesn't include the semi-finished basement or attic), encompassing 2 bedrooms and 1 bathroom, while my husband's mother lives in the suburbs of Tacoma, in a sprawling house of 2,245 square feet (which may or may not include the garage), which has 5 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. My mother has lived in her home 26 years, since my parents were divorced; his mother has lived in her home 34 years, the majority of those with her husband (now deceased), who collected as much stuff as she has. For year, my husband thought his father was the clutterbug, that his parents had so much stuff because he wouldn't let go and kept bringing things into the house. After his death, however, it soon became apparent that my sweet mother-in-law (MIL for the sake of brevity here) has just as many issues with stuff as my father-in-law did. Just, you know, different stuff. While he had a habit of hanging on to decades-old bowling trophies and books and ordering things from infomercials (am I the only person who has actually seen Billy the Singing Bass up close and personal on Christmas morning?) she tends more towards food/kitchen contraptions and shoes. Those are only the main categories for each of them, mind you.

Anyhow, when I took the job in Portland, one of the reasons the boys moved in with my MIL in Tacoma (other than the fact that my husband got a job there) was so my husband could help his mom clear out & do some light remodeling on her house so she can sell it and move down with one of her sons & his wife in Phoenix. Obviously, you can't expect to sell a house when it is crammed full of clutter. But that was 20 months ago, y'all. And while my husband guesstimated it would take a good 2 years to go through everything and get it cleared out, I can tell you that only 2 rooms in the house are ready for sale: our son's bedroom (which was my husband's growing up, aaaaw!) and the main bathroom. My husband's room (which is also my room when I'm in Tacoma, hee hee) was decluttered, but has not yet been painted or had the carpeting replaced. Rooms that haven't been touched? The living room, the kitchen, the dining room, the den, 2 more downstairs bedroom, the large upstairs bedroom (which includes several “attic” closets), the garage, the laundry room, the 2^nd bathroom, and a utility room. Oh, did I mention there are also two locked sheds in the backyard, one for her and one for him? My husband once mentioned the last time he saw the inside of either shed was in the mid-80s, and they were both crammed to the rafters. The backyard is also filled with decrepit grills, toys, tools, and various paraphernalia.

So I think I can safely surmise that the decluttering plan has not gone exactly, well, according to plan. So I'm stepping in, gingerly. It's like edging on to a field full of live mines, I swear. While I consider myself an effective organizer in all types of situation, the particular combination of people involved in this clutter (my husband and my MIL, two of my most beloved people in the world) make it very difficult for me to be as ruthless and analytical as I can be with friends, colleagues, and strangers. Common sense and logic hold no sway in this crazy, mixed up, stuffed full world. Forget the 1-year rule; in this house, there's not even a 30-year rule. If you ask my MIL if she would rather have her clutter or the space in her home, she will undoubtedly tell you the stuff. My husband claims it border on pathological. Take, for example, the bedroom that was his father's for the last years of his life. After his death, my husband and 2 of his brothers purged the bedroom ruthlessly, dumping almost everything within days, before the funeral even. They had the stained carpet ripped out, replaced it with easy-to-clean laminate wood, painted the walls and replaced broken fixtures. We returned to Texas feeling confident that at least one room of the house was clean. That was in August. When we returned to visit at Christmas, the room was filled, to the point that you couldn't even walk in. My husband posits that there is an actual fear of space at work here.

I get it, I do. She's a 73-year-old black woman. She was raised in rural Louisiana, the segregated South, and never had enough as a child. She then became a military wife, moving all over the world before her husband retired at Fort Lewis (now Joint Base Lewis-McCord). She raised 4 boys, the fourth of whom (my husband) is nearly 20 years younger than the oldest. Until her husband died several years ago, my MIL had never lived alone. Ever. But I also understand that her stuff owns her. It's keeping her from living the life she says she wants to live (retired in Phoenix with her son & daughter-in-law). It's not healthy. It's not at the point of people feces, like you see on that hoarding show on TV, but as I priced & boxed up some things in preparation for a yard sale today, I found mice droppings. I also worry about my son eating expired/spoiled food. Sigh. Finally, I know that if we don't deal with this situation now, my husband and I will be dealing with it after she dies. It's frustrating, especially since I'm used to being the professional help, but I'm starting to think that we're going to have to bring in some other professional help, someone who isn't related to her. Sigh. Seriously, y'all, help me out. I know what to do when it comes to decluttering and organizing, I just don't know if it's worth it trying to do it in this particular situation or if I should figure out a way to pay someone else to do it. Thoughts?

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A Funny Thing Happened at the Baby Shower...

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It's amazing how uttering the words, "I had a c-section," completely shuts down a conversation about childbirth. Nobody asks to hear your "birthing story" - is almost seems like, in the eyes of some other mothers, you haven't given birth. Which, of course, is ridiculous. If I didn't give birth to my son, how exactly do you think he got here? He certainly wasn't hatched from a giant blue robin's egg. Nor did we build him out of spare parts, like Frankenstein. It's hurtful when other women assume you have nothing to contribute to a discussion about childbirth because your baby came out of a surgical incision in your abdomen instead of your vagina. Am I supposed to be ashamed of the way my son came into the world? Like somehow, I didn't fulfill my destiny as a woman, or what? And if that is the case, what about the mommies who adopt? Is your effectiveness as a mother dependent on the way your child enters the world? I say no, and I resent the implicit idea that someone who births their child "naturally" is doing what is best for their baby because they love their baby more than someone else. Self-righteous, party of 1, anyone?

Unlike some other c-section mommies I have spoken with, I don't feel as though I was somehow cheated out of my ideal birthing experience. Honestly, I wasn't too hot on the whole idea of a vaginal delivery, and 29 hours of induced labor did nothing to increase my enthusiasm. Yes, that's right, 29 hours. And that is after 42 weeks of carrying my child, 14 days past full term. I have the stretch marks, the saggy tummy, and a 6 inch scar that say I gave birth, no matter what anyone else says. I also had a doctor who decided my 10 lb 9 oz bundle of joy was stuck trying to get through my cervix and it was time to take him out another way. I don't regret having a c-section. I don't regret going through labor. I don't regret having our sweet Monkey Boy. I do regret going so many years allow myself to be shut out of these types of conversations without standing up for myself and our birthing story.

So consider yourself warned, women of the world, when you run into this topic with me at a baby shower, at a mommy's night out, at the grocery store, on Facebook: I am no longer putting up with people expressing negative judgments about any woman's birthing story. C-section mommies of the world, rejoice! We have healthy, beautiful children who could care less which hole they came out of, or even if the hole was in our body or another woman's! How they come out doesn't matter; how we raise them once they're out does. 

It's Not All Bad. Really.

Since it tends to pop up in conversations, I’m assuming most of you already know my husband and I have been living 200 miles apart for the past 17 months. If this is news to you and you are like most people I know, there are probably at least a few questions running through your head, the first of which is likely to be something about the health of my marriage. Good news: Despite what the church mothers at my mother-in-law's church think (secret divorce), we’re happily married. Celebrating 7 years next month, actually. But my job is in Portland and his job is in Tacoma. So now, assuming all of this information has not completely blown your mind and you’re still paying attention, how about this tidbit that makes most folks’ mouths drop open: this is not our first time living apart, it’s our third. In fact, in the 10 years we’ve been together, Mr. MIHM and I have spent a total of 2 years and 9 months living in separate states. Yes, I said states. The first time was 12 months with him in Washington and me in Virginia (approximately 2,700 miles distance) – I tackled my first year of grad school while he finished up his undergraduate degree; the second time was 4 months with him & Monkey in Washington and me in Texas (approximately 2,200 miles distance) – I completed my clinical internship at a children’s hospital in Dallas while he & Monday set up shop in Tacoma, where I was supposed to join them post-internship…until my husband visited me and fell in love with DFW, as I had; and now there is the (relatively) short distance of 144 miles that we take turns traversing almost every weekend. As one of my friends joked, at least we’re headed in the right direction, with the miles apart getting smaller each time. 

So guess what? Although all of my friends and families are co-habitating with their spouses (as far as I know), apparently, Mr. MIHM and I are not alone.  Apparently, there is a name for couples who are together but live apart, whether due to jobs or by choice: Living Apart Together, or LAT for short. So how does one use that knowledge in conversation? As a noun, like, “My husband and I are LAT-ers”? Or is it more verbish, as in, “My husband and I LAT due to our careers”? I’m not really sure, but it seems worth doing some casual research. Another term I’ve found for people in our situation is being in a Commuter Marriage, and more than 3.5 million couples in the US do it. My husband and I join the ranks with traveling salesmen, migrant workers, the incarcerated(!), and soldiers on deployment. 

Anyhow, I bring all this up not to impress you with my research skills or wow you with statistics (although, I’m hoping you love statistics as much as I do), but to share some of the benefits Mr. MIHM and I have found in living apart while still being together. Yes, believe it or not, despite the many obvious (and sometimes overwhelming) negatives, there are some positives to be found!

      1. When we are together, we are more likely to focus on being together

Because our time is limited, I try not to make other plans on our family weekends. When you hardly get to see your family, even running errands (finding new sneakers for Monkey, going to the dry cleaner, grocery shopping) can make for a fun afternoon. And, as my husband just relayed via text message (it's a Tuesday, after all), "Freshness. Feeling like you're dating again, at times." Indeed, we have been on many more actual dates during the past 17 months than probably the entire 5 years we lived in Texas. Makes me feel like we're going to have to try harder when we're co-habitating again!

      2. Less wife/mommy (or husband/daddy) guilt on the weekdays

When I need to work late unexpectedly or have work events in the evenings, it doesn’t affect my family in the same way it did in Texas. When one of my childhood friends hosts her monthly weekday knitting nights, I can RSVP without wondering what my boys have going on that evening. When I feel like knitting a baby hat and watching Ugly Betty DVDs until I’m ready to go to bed, I do. Yes, it’s lonely. But it’s also led to me attempting to have a social life and to indulge in things I may not have time for when we’re all living together. 

      3. More appreciation for helping out around the house

I got to spend a week with my boys in October. One day, while my husband was at work, I washed, dried & folded five loads of laundry. He was thrilled! In September, my husband spent a long weekend with me in Portland. While I was at an all-day Saturday work event, he scrubbed my bathroom & kitchen until they were sparkling. While these tasks all fall within our usual division of labors when we’re living together, it really makes you appreciate the other person when you no longer take that task being done for granted. As I brush my teeth over my currently less-than-luminous bathroom sink this evening, I will think fondly of my dear, sweet husband and his exemplary sanitation skills – and I can only hope he will feel similarly the next time he runs out of clean undies!

      4. Less dancing around the issues

Family weekends are somewhat of a microcosm of our regular family life when we all lived in the same home. We still share the joys, the sorrow, the happiness, the anger – but in shorter face-to-face chunks. For me, a people pleaser and avoider of confrontations by nature, this means that I have had to step up my communication game. It’s a lot harder to go to bed angry with your spouse when you know he has to go home the next morning. So we say what we both need to say, I cry, sometimes we yell – but is generally gets worked out within a few hours. Or at least we can agree to disagree for the moment and to try and work it out more in-depth via Skype or telephone over the next week. 

      5. Week-long foreplay

I know, I’m pretty G-rated on this blog but, hey, we’ve been together 10 years and we have a 7-year-old. Clearly, we’ve been having sex. And, although living apart limits the frequency of our rendezvous, it has also led to an increase in sexting, suggestive emails, X-rated phone calls – in other words, an increase in long-distance foreplay. The drawback? I have to be careful not to let anyone rifle through the photos on my Blackberry. The benefit? Use your imagination, dear reader, and imagine me with a big smile on my face when I say that!

So what about you? Have you ever lived apart from your spouse and/or have you ever wanted to? Do you have friends or family members who LAT due to jobs or by choice? What do you think about this living situation? Since it’s a weekday, I’ll have plenty of time to read your reply after work tomorrow ;-)

I'm Making the Time

So I may not have this "slow down" lifestyle down pat. After a blissful 10 days up in Tacoma with my family, I arrived home late last Monday night, hurled my bags on the couch, and fell into bed. The next four days were a blur of work and errands, then a big day yesterday with Monkey Boy competing at a Highland dance competition in the morning and more errands and family time with both Daddy & Monkey in the afternoon. My boys headed back North around 9 pm last night, as Monkey is singing at his Granny's church in honor of Veteran's Day this morning. I won't say I'm not sad to see them go (as always), but having today to unpack from my last trip, do laundry, do dishes, mealplan for the week, etc. is necessary, if not the most exciting way to spend a Sunday. So I'm making this my "slow down" day - a little laundry here, a little dishwashing there, all interspersed with some email checking, book reading, paper shredding, receipt scanning, all done to the background of a self-declared Sex & the City Marathon playing on my computer. Am I the only person who still adores that show? I like it more the older I get, actually.

One of my "slow down" goals is to spend more time here, reflecting on what's going on in our little world and trying to keep myself sane and balanced. So I apologize in advance if some of my posts (like this one) are really more rambling thoughts than useful information, projects, etc. What can I say? I'm learning how to put myself first - the ultimate challenge for a working wife & mom. 

 

Fine, I'll Slow Down

[Note: This was written in bed a little more than a week ago, roughly 12 hours before I made an unexpected trip to the emergency room due to unbearable pain]

Are you an overachiever? Are you a people-pleaser? Do you put everyone and everything else before your own needs? It's hard to balance life when you are a wife, a mother, and have a full-time job...and when do you find the time to just be a woman? And in the case that you figure out how to make time for yourself, how do you decide what pat of you take priority? Do you focus on your mental health needs? Do you make time for social interaction? Do you process your emotional responses to the hazards of daily life? Do you take the time to connect with your higher power? Do you care for yourself physically, as in exercise, nutritious food, *and* enough sleep? 

That's the part that's definitely being neglected for me right now - my physical needs. I feel compeltely disconnected from my physical being and my body is apparently not feeling the love. When I was younger, such blatant disregard for my own shell resulted in the really bas respiratory infections, the ones that incited asthma attacks and led to wheezing that lasted for weeks. Since turning 30, the full-body shutdown source has moved further south - directly into my digestive system. The more time and energy I put everywhere else, the more my guts revolt: cramping, gas, indigestion, diarrhea, constipation, bloating, tenderness and sore spots, as well as full-body symptoms of fever, fatigue, sore joints, and achiness from my bellybutton to my knees. Standing hurts, sitting hurts, walking hurts. The only semi-tolerable position is propped on one side, stretched out in bed, surrounded by pillows. Which is why I'm writing this on a yellow legal pad with a pallpoint pen. I'm guessing blogging while bedridden is probably much easier with a laptop than a desktop.

I wish I had some insightful, lovely way to wrap up what is really a dismal, gross post - I mean, who really wants to read about my angry guts? It's distasteful enough for me to deal with and write about and they're part of *my* body. My weekend has been spent heating water for tea, motivating myself to chug water, taking acetaminophen as often as allowed, and trying to keep myself calm and physically relaxed during too-frequent trips to the bathroom. You know your body is trying to tell you something when you can't pee without abdominal cramping. So not cool.

But I got nothing. All I know is I don't know what to do, just that I have to do something. It seems like the first step will be slowing down and trying to figure out what I can change. So, fine, I'll slow down.

Can't Hold My Own Hand

I just read an absolutely lovely story about a couple that has been married for 50 years. Seems like a long time, doesn't it? I've been caught up in the "10 year-ness" recently - hard to believe that my dear husband and I will have known each other for 10 years this November, and married for 7 in December. Even though we drive each other nuts sometimes, we both know that we balance each other out and bring out the best in each other. You know, when we want to. We're also getting to the point, though, where we're both realizing that living apart for work this year is a lot harder than the last two times we did it. Of course, this is also the longest stretch. It's not so much making time to talk or text or Skype, although those things can be difficult, especially during the school year. The things we miss are really the little things. I love driving around aimlessly at night with my husband behind the wheel, talking about everything and nothing and my feet up on the dashboard and the windows down and just being, really being, just us. No distractions. We are a high consumption couple when it comes to fossil fuels, I'm afraid. We're 13 months in to a 24 month committment. How this journey will progress, I have no idea, but I'm hoping that I have my partner back with me again soon. Who knows, maybe an opportunity will pop up for us before next summer. I just have to keep reminding myself - God's will, not mine.

It's So Much Better With Three

My husband and I had a plan on Saturday: take Monkey Boy to dance class, after which we would proceed to keep him busy and (hopefully) amused for as much as the afternoon as possible. On Friday evening, my husband announced that Monkey got to pick what we were going to do Saturday afternoon and asked for his preference. Monkey decided he would give us options (such a sweet boy!) and listed McDonald's, Redbox, and Old Chicago Pizza as his top 3 choices of things to do on Saturday. Two eateries and a movie - yes, perhaps we need to keep working on expanding Monkey's horizons. McDonald's is a NO from me 90% of the time, Redbox he & I have done a couple times this summer (plus one important part of the plan was to keep Monkey out of the house!), so Old Chicago Pizza won by default. Very scientific, no?

First up was dance class, though. While Miss Hilary put Monkey through his paces (I'm happy to report he has entirely remembered his whole Sword and is hard at working learning the first step of the Fling!), my husband and I headed for the nearby Edelwiss Sausage & Delicatessen, or "the German shop", as my mother referred to it when we were growing up, which has been a Portland landmark nearly as long as I've been alive (they opened their doors in 1982, when I was barely a year old).

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Though he's heard about it for years and enjoyed their sausages on multiple occasions at my dad's house, this was my husband's first visit to the hallowed aisles of Bavarian yumminess. We picked up a few fresh pastries to take home, a process that involved my husband asking many questions and ooh-ing and aah-ing over the heavily accented answers from the dear German woman assisting us. I was not at all surprised that, by the end, she was cooing over him like he was her own darling son! Once the pastries were packed up, I led him over to the lunch counter, where I ordered a turkey & havarti sandwich and my husband got a bratwurst on a fresh roll - yum! Did I mention that, technically, this was our breakfast? Sometimes it's good to get all continental on a Saturday morning, I think. I remembered to ask for no butter on my sandwich and my husband did the same with his brat's roll. The woman seemed startled by the request, but politely complied. If my dad needs only one big sign that his daughters have acclimatized to American culture, I think that would be it - no butter on my turkey sandwich, thankyouverymuch!

After picking up a slightly stinky Monkey Boy (Highland really makes you sweat) we headed over to the Scottish Country Shop, where a fellow dance boy-mom had told me she'd taken her son to try on various sizes of Balmoral hats. Can I just say, after 20+ years of being first a Highland dancer, then a Highland teacher, and now also a Highland mother, I literally have no idea where to start with outfitting a 7-year-old boy for competition? The male dress code is sooo much harder to figure out! Case in point: I assumed that the clerk at the Scottish Country Shop would know exactly what we needed when we arrived, Monkey in tow, and explained he was a competitive Highland dancer who had just aged out of Primary and was now a Beginner - wrong! Good thing I had taken a moment to look up the name of the hat style (Balmoral) before we left the house that morning, or we would have been completely out of luck. As it was, she left us on our own to figure out sizing, color, etc. My husband and I managed to find a hat that was just barely too big (several ladies in the know have advised me to purchase a hat with a finger's-space between the brim & Monkey's head, then take a stitch in the back so it will fit now, but also fit longer as he grows - brilliant!) but got stuck when it came to checked or plain. See?

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...and assuming we can figure that out, then there will be the matter of the crest. What crest, exactly, is appropriate to display on the hat of a small boy who is Swiss/English/Irish/Welsh on his mother's side and African/Creole/Native American on his father's side, for the purposes of competing in Scottish Highland dancing? Does the United Nations have a crest, perchance?

For the time being, as he has at least a few years as a Pre-Premier dancer in his future, we've given him the choice of wearing a hat or not and, while Monkey enjoyed trying on the Balmorals and prancing in front of the mirrors, he has decided to go hatless for now. Phew!

Finally, it was time for the main event (in Monkey's mind, anyway) of the afternoon: Old Chicago Pizza on Stark Street, a mere stone's throw away from Mall 205 and my teeny little apartment, as well. Apparently, Monkey had heard about this place from one of the other boys in his theater camp last week and was eager to try it. My husband and I were pleasantly surprised to learn, as we were seated, that Happy Hour was mere moments away. At 3 pm on a Saturday afternoon, the bar looked like it was buzzing, but the restaurant itself was nearly empty, except for several friendly servers, a few other patrons, and several television screens showing live Olympics coverage. It was awesome.


My husband thought it was strange I took a picture of the Happy Hour menu, but I figured it would be good to keep on file for those evenings Monkey Boy & I really need to get out of the house. For less than $20 before tip yesterday, we were able to get a massive plate of nachos & a lemonade for my husband, a personal pizza & a lemonade for Monkey, and a frozen strawberry margarita & artichoke dip for me. Granted, the margarita tasted virgin (which is fine at 3 pm, honestly), but the artichoke dip was hot and delicious and came not only with toasted bread, but also with crudites for my dipping pleasure. Who knew carrot sticks and artichoke dip tasted so good together?!?

The day came to a perfect end when, after running errands that evening, we came to a halt at a stoplight behind this car:


The "BAGPIPES: putting the fun back in funeral" bumpersticker was perfectly accented by the ubiquitous "Keep Portland Weird!" down below, don't you think? It certainly was a nice place to spend a relaxed Saturday with my boys.

Raise Your Hand If You Can't Sleep

After a good...what has it been, 6 weeks? Seven? I have finally succumbed to another nasty respiratory infection. Ugh. Or, as my husband said, "When exactly are you going to get your septum un-deviated?" Okay, yes, my doctor did recommend it a couple years ago. So sue me, I've been busy doing things like moving across the country, working full time, and commuting 200 miles every other week to see my family. Yes, I'm bitter. And cranky. And craving sugar and lots of hugs, which seems to be how my body tries to keep me sick and spread the germs to everyone around me, as well. Well, that and incorporating the dreaded chesty asthma cough that only seems to happen when I lay down and try to sleep. Aargh.

What do you do when you can't sleep? I texted with my husband tonight until he fell asleep. Or maybe lost interest. Hard to tell when you live apart, so I'm just going to assume it's the first reason. I worked on the kiltie I'm trying to put together for Monkey Boy. By worked on, I mean pressed the pleats (which have been pressed and tacked, but not yet cut) and cut the material for the lining. Monkey chose bright red broadcloth for the lining. Raise your hand if you're not surprised. Anyhow, I made sure not to actually sew anything this evening. I realized a couple months ago, during a spell of insomnia, that can't-sleep-sewing rarely leads to anything good...like spending an hour the next day ripping out stitches, for example. Sigh.

The red lining looks pretty awesome with the Dress Blue Thompson tartan, though, don't you think?

...too bad the only people who will see it will most likely be me & Monkey as he's getting dressed to compete, huh? Oh well. See how that picture is sitting sideways up there? Totally tried to turn it. Gave up. Tired. Ha! If this kiltie turns out even halfway decent, I will be very pleased. It's actually an upcycle project - the wool came from a long, pleated skirt donated to a family friend of one of our dancers in Dallas.

I'm also watching trashy television on YouTube. Thank goodness Comcast got me connected before I came down with this respiratory nastiness! Trashy choices of the evening include Real Housewives (any city, not picky), Little Miss Perfect, and Dance Moms. Oh yeah, I am digging my drama tonight :-)

So how about you? What do you do when you can't sleep?

Mine

I had a moment of pure, unadulterated joy as I left my office yesterday evening. A bout of early morning wakefulness (so unexpected and irritating, at the time) led to me arriving in my office at 6:15 - a wee bit earlier than I generally arrive, I'll admit. Amazingly, I had no trouble staying awake all morning and was actually quite productive. On my lunch break, I discovered a very interesting book in the communal bookshelf in the coffee shop upstairs and spent close to the entire hour lost in a gripping storyline. So, overall, not a bad day, but at 5:05, when I walked out those big double doors and breathed in the fresh Portland air, I was sooo happy. Why?

In my purse, I had a shopping list and my debit card. Waiting for me, after a luxurious stroll through Safeway? A kitchen. Large? No. Tricked out? Not really. Mine? All mine? Yes.

Mine.

All mine.

:-)

They weren't fancy recipes, the 3 that I chose to make last night, just a few of the freezer recipes I used to make so often for our little family in Texas. Normally double batches (although when divvied up for feed just me, they ended up being quadruple batches), made to feed us after busy days at work and school. But last night, it was more than that. It was chopping and stirring and seasoning and simmering and knowing that the combination of a prescribed set of ingredients, prepared and combined in a prescribed method, will almost always result in the same resulting dish. It was feeling the simple joy of doing something I used to take for granted and haven't done in so long.

It was home.

It was love.

It was, for the first time in many months, me feeling like myself, despite my location, my job, or being away from my boys.

Mine.

All mine.

:-)

Operation Closet Begins!

Okay, I gotta say: I'm pretty darn proud of my moving efforts today. Well, this past weekend, too. I headed out to our little storage space all by myself and dug out the kitchen boxes, sorted out the necessary from the extra, and loaded up my car with the former all by myself. I had forgotten my iPod in Portland, too, so it was a very quiet endeavor. Then, even though I spent an extra night in Tacoma, I managed to wake up on time and leave bright and early this morning to head back to Portland. Traffic was decent and I made it to the apartment a full hour before I needed to be at work - meaning I had time to unpack the entire car full of boxes, yes! Then work was going so well this afternoon that I put in an extra 2 hours, arriving at home just in time for dinner a la Dad (there are crazy-awesome benefits to having a former chef as a father!) and then putting in another hour to moving, going through a large chunk of my closet and loading up a duffel bag and a garment bag with "keeps" - did I mention that I then put those in my car so that they're ready to be unloaded when I swing by the apartment tomorrow during my lunch break to work on painting the dressers? And yes, now I am watching Real Housewives on YouTube and blogging and browsing Pinterest but, hey, I have to settle down for bed somehow, right? Keeping fingers crossed tomorrow will be another successful step toward the end of the move-across-town-that-never-ends!

Measure Me in Moves

When semi-strangers find out how much we have moved over the course of our adult lives, the first question is generally, "Is your husband military?" Nope. Even once I explain that my chosen field of work is fairly specialized and not offered at many universities, there is still that look of consternation that can't easily be explained away, other than to shrug, laugh, and close the topic with something along the lines of, "Yeah, we both come from pretty nomadic families and seem to have inherited the wandering spirit."

It's true, actually. My husband's parents were born in rural Louisiana and lived, by way of my father-in-law's military career, in many different homes (including a stint in Germany) before settling in the Tacoma area when he retired while posted at Fort Lewis (now Joint Base Lewis-McCord). Pretty far to travel when you both grew up as poor black kids in the country pre-Civil Rights era. A couple generations before them, my husband's ancestors were slaves. We haven't been able to trace his lineage past his grandparents as far as given names go, and documentation is scarce. Even my father-in-law didn't have a birth certificate; we think he was about 70 when he died but, since he picked his own birthday, that may be off by a few years.

My dad is from Zurich, Switzerland. His parents both came from large, farming families, but moved to the city to find work as young adults. Even now, 30 years after leaving home, my friends describe my dad as sounding "like he just fell off the boat from Switzerland!" So funny when they ooh & aah over his accent except, you know - Switzerland is a land-locked country. After completing trade school, my dad moved to Toronto for a job, where he met my mom. She grew up in Saskatoon, but her father was an English immigrant and her mother a first-generation Canadian who was raised in a boxcar. We've been able to trace back several generations, enough to know that my grandfather's father died in World War I, there is a strong streak of Irish on my grandmother's side, and I am without question the tallest woman ever in my family at 5'9" - most of my female ancestors hovered around the five foot mark.

So perhaps wandering & moving is in my blood, but it's still a pain in the ass. Every time we move, I swear we'll never do it again. Even now, as I pack boxes, yet again, I know that this is merely a resting point, not a final destination. You know, unless all three of us want to squeeze into a teeny one bedroom apartment at some point in our lives. It's part of my personal history, I suppose: college dorm shared room to college dorm private room to junior year off campus house to senior year off campus house, all in Washington; third story apartment, basement apartment across from Mormon missionaries, townhouse, rent house, all in Virginia; crappy apartment, third story apartment, run-down apartment, nice apartment, all in Texas; my parents' guest room, my new teeny apartment (with my boys at my mother-in-law's), and then...? 14 moves in 13 years - ugh! And yet, the memories created in each of those homes? Irreplaceable, indescribable, beautiful. So I'll keep packing.

In Transition, Yet Again

After what seems like many more months of waiting for the apartment to be ready for me to move into, enough construction has been completed that we were able to move my couch and other big pieces of furniture in today, before the doorway between the office and the apartment is walled up. Now don't get overly impressed when I say big furniture - that consisted of a couple dressers, my bedside tables, and a rolling-deskie-thing I purchased at a garage sale last summer for $10 that will be my microwave & other small appliances holder at the new place. I'm still loving the fact that it's on wheels, especially since my new little kitchen is, well, little.

The team was assembled by 8:15 this morning - me, my husband, my dad, my intern, and two handsome fellas from her ward. Have I mentioned that having a twenty-something, single intern definitely makes me feel like a thirty-something, old married gal? Ha! Good thing she shares my affinity for cupcakes. The U-Haul truck was loaded up by 9 am and we headed over to the new place. Nothing like driving a big ol' truck over the Marquam Bridge at a mere 50 mph with a stupendous view of downtown Portland in gorgeous sunny weather! Can you believe it's nearly 90 degrees in Stumptown today, after weeks and weeks of yucky clouds and rain? Thank goodness Spring seems finally to have sprung!

So after unloading the truck & bidding our new LDS friends farewell (they had to head home and get showered for church at 1:00), my dad & husband headed over to my mom's house to pick up the table she has been putting off taking to Goodwill. Don't let the intended fate of this table fool you - it is *gorgeous*! Seriously, though, if my mom says the words "table pad" to me one more time, I may fly off the handle. This table has lasted nearly twenty years in your house, but suddenly it needs to be protected in my apartment? Picture me rolling my eyes...

While they were gone, I got busy hanging curtains and installing the lamp in my unwired bedroom. The ruffly shower curtain and clear liner went on without much issue, but halfway into the kitchen curtains I realized the power drill/screwdriver wasn't fully charged, so they will remain partially-installed for the next few days. I was happy to see that my pink & white fleur curtains looked right at home over my wide bedroom windows, though, even if they're not yet earthquake-proof. My husband oohed and aahed over the office closet curtains and the living room window curtain, this being the first time he'd seen them. I'm so excited to get everything installed and unpacked and to feel settled in my own place - it has been a *long* year of feeling like we're always squatting in someone else's home.

Gotta Motivate Myself

I'm going to do some serious packing this evening. Really. I am. After a long, bananas day at work, I pretty much just want to curl up and go to sleep. But I also want to be done with the business of moving (which you may recall was supposed to happen in early April) and, honestly, if the place were ready tomorrow, I definitely would not be ready to move. Sigh. I'll be honest, this year is starting to feel like it's kicking my butt. I'm not feeling awesome about my performance at work, at home, with friends, with family, anywhere. I'm not working out enough, I'm not sleeping enough, I'm not spending enough time focusing on a healthy diet...double sigh. Where do I start? Step one appears to be packing. The sooner I'm packed up here, the sooner I can settle in the new place and start to try and make it feel like home. All the curtains are done, so the sewing machine, fabric stash, and patterns are going to get boxed up tonight, not to be seen again until they are firmly in my new home. Wish me luck!

Living Room Syndrome

Note: This was written Sunday, when I was traveling from Denver to Portland. 

Do you know someone who suffers from Living Room Syndrome? Perhaps you yourself have suffered. You see, Living Room Syndrome is far more painful for those around the afflicted soul. Attacks generally come on with no warning and can last for several hours without a break. Recurrence is unpredictable, though experts say people in their 20s & 30s tend to be most susceptible, although unmarried men in their 40s & 50s also often show symptoms.

What is this terrible disease, you're wondering? Simple. Living Room Syndrome is marked by unthinking acts of careless rudeness on airplanes, the most marked of which is reclining ones seat, therefore stealing space from the person behind you to get a little more for yourself. Also included: loud conversations, walking up and down the aisles for most of the flight, using electronic devices that make noise audible to other passengers, and more. Basically, the person with LRS forgets that they are in a public space, not their own living room.

If you have taken a flight in the last 5 years, you have probably suffered the effects of someone else's Living Room Syndrome. My sympathies go out to you. And to those of you who are afflicted by LRS? I hope never to meet you in an airplane. God bless!

 Photo Credit

Feeling Sick & Ogling the Cottage

It started a couple days ago with a headache and some stuffiness. Next came the fatigue and achy ears. Finally, around 1 am, it all hit - fever, stomachache, diarrhea. Ugh. This is one of those days that being home alone is definitely not enjoyable. I would be overjoyed if I had someone to bring me some gingerale and hold my hair back while I puked today. Sad, I know.

In the spirit of giving you more than my piteous state of health to read about, here are some more "before" pictures of the cottage I will shortly be moving into, this time some details:

The bathroom. That is a serious green paint job!

The view of the hallway/front door from the kitchen doorway

The light fixture in the hallway. Screaming for a chandelier, no?

The view looking out the bedroom door

The teeny, tiny, adorable door in the living room, with steep little stairs leading up to the attic

The view across the attic. I'm curious about the reinforcing beam in the middle of the floor.

The sad part is I was supposed to go by after work to sign a rental agreement and get the keys today. Sigh. No taking possession of the cottage for me today :-(

The Little Cottage That Could

So things are changing. Next week I'm picking up the keys to an extremely adorable little cottage in SE Portland, a mere 5 minutes from my office, and will begin the process of painting so I can move in at the beginning of April. Is painting really needed, you ask? Well, let me show you some samples of what the interior looks like at the moment:

The hallway - beige, white & sea green

The bedroom - sea green & a bright red built-in wardrobe

The kitchen - white, with one red wall, a beige floor & the avocado fridge

...and a sneak peek at the living room, also sea green

Yeah. Not really my colors. Are you a cotton-candy pastel kinda guy or gal? Then maybe this would work for you. Personally, I was overjoyed to hear from the owner that I am welcome to paint, install shelving, etc. at my discretion - yay! One of the many benefits of renting privately instead of through a corporation. It's going to be a busy few weeks, but I'll do my best to keep y'all updated on my progress with the little cottage that could...in the middle of the city, of course.

The Timing Part is Hard Sometimes

I'm feeling restless and cranky this afternoon. I didn't sleep well at all last night, a combination of an afternoon nap before driving back to Portland and then just being...well, alone in my bed last night. After 5 nights with my dear husband next to me, when I can just stretch out my arm and feel his warm body next to me when I roll over in the middle of the night, it's hard to go back to alone-ness. Just me, 3 big blankets, and a space heater. It's a chilly nocturnal existence I'm leading these days and only slightly better during the days. I miss my boys.

I am dragging my pathetic, lonesome self out of the house tonight and checking out a local gospel choir with one of my music therapist friends. They're having open rehearsals for a couple months since they're looking to add a few new members. I should probably add that this friend has a wonderful, big, resonant voice, perfectly suited for gospel. I do not. I can sing on key, I've been told I have a lovely tone, but I have what my dear husband once termed a "white girl voice" - belting and filling a space are not really within my scope of performance. Oh well. Maybe they need a white girl in this choir...we'll see...

Mommy & Daddy's Weekend in Astoria

Dear Monkey,

I took Daddy on a surprise trip this weekend to Astoria, Oregon. Can you find Astoria on the map?

First we drove from Portland, which took about 2 hours. What direction did we drive?

We drove through Seaside, Oregon, where I saw an advertisement for a Shark Tour. Maybe we can go on a Shark Tour next summer!

Once we got to Astoria, Daddy and I drove around and crossed all 3 bridges. The biggest bridge took us across the river to Washington State. Can you find the name of the big river we crossed? I definitely want to learn more about the big bridge and when it was built.

It was a little rainy and windy on Saturday, but we still had fun driving around. We went up some steep hills to a tall monument. Up there, we could see all of Astoria and the 3 bridges. Can you find the name and a picture of this monument?

Daddy agreed to go to some little shops downtown with me - brave Daddy! First we went in a fabric & yarn store that smelled funny. I saw lots of pretty things, but didn't buy anything because the prices were about twice as much as my favorite fabric store in Portland. Then we went in a toy store that had lots of baby toys, but no big boy toys for you, sadly. Finally, we went in a store that had clothing from the country of Nepal. Do you know what continent Nepal is on?

Daddy was very patient while I tried on pretty shirts, skirts, and scarves. I ended up buying a red skirt for $10, a blue skirt for $10, a brown shirt for $20, and a brown sweater for $27. How much did I spend altogether? Then, surprise! I got a free scarf from the store owner because I spent more than $50, and guess what? It's purple!

Then Daddy and I went to the hotel, checked in, and took a nap. I still don't understand why you stopped taking afternoon naps - they are great!

After we woke up from our nap, we went to a little movie theatre near our hotel. Daddy was wearing a PLU sweatshirt and one of the boys working at the theatre asked if we were from Tacoma. It turns out he went to the high school where Daddy worked as an aide before we met. After so many years living in Virginia and Texas, I'm still not used to running into people who even know where Tacoma is, let alone used to live there!

I decided to be brave and chose a scary movie, called "The Woman in Black". Daddy didn't think it was scary, but I had my eyes closed at several parts & held Daddy's hand through most of it. I'm still not entirely sure why people like scary movies - I was exhausted from being so tense through the whole thing! One of the previews was for The Avengers, made by Marvel - we saw Thor and his hammer!

By the time the movie was done, it was pouring down rain and really dark outside. I was still a little scared from the movie, so I held Daddy's hand REALLY tight on the way back to the car. We went and bought a pizza to have for dinner. Daddy's half had Canadian Bacon & pineapples; my half had chicken & tomatoes. What would you have put on your pizza?

Daddy slept really well last night, but I had a hard time staying asleep. Good thing we didn't have to get up early this morning! Our hotel room had a bathtub so big that Daddy & I both fit in it together - it would have been like a pool for you! I let Daddy be in charge of the bubblebath and so we ended up with *mountains* of bubbles. It was like taking a bath in whipping cream! What do you think it would feel like to take a bath in whipping cream? I bet it would be hard to find your sharks.

For breakfast we went to a cute little cafe that served breakfast in the mornings and sushi in the evenings. Do you know what sushi is? Do you think Daddy likes sushi? I had a bagel with delicious cream cheese and jelly, as well as a fruit smoothie. What is your favorite kind of smoothie?

We drove back to Portland a different way than we came, going along the Columbia River instead of through the forests. There were lots of homemade signs for little shops along the way, including one advertising "Elk Jerky" and "Buffalo Jerky" - we didn't stop for those. We did stop when Daddy saw a Blockbuster Video store that was going out of business, though. I got about 25 DVDs for $20, it was pretty cool.

When we got back to Portland, Daddy and I stopped for some lunch and then I dropped him off at the train station. We had a great weekend, but I know he was ready to come home to you and I am excited to see you soon, too. What kind of adventure should we have the next time I come to visit?

Here's our yummy lunch: roast chicken, salad, and a little cheese fondue

Here's our lunch 10 minutes later!

Love,

Mommy