From the ashes

At the therapy center where Lucas goes, on Thursday nights he attends a feeding clinic. For two hours, he and a group of children sit around a dining table with various therapists, and they attempt to eat a variety of foods. We have been attending for several months, and in that time, all of the children have made great strides.

Adjacent to the room where the children are, the parents watch from a webcam linked to a monitor in our room. Slowly, over the course of weeks, friendships were forged. We've laughed together, we've listened to each others cries. It has been an amazing journey.

There is a huge comfort in connecting with other parents of special needs children. They are other parents who share the same worries, fears, and hopes that we have. They delight in the excitement of tiny milestones reached.

It is amazing to know that I am not alone. Others have been there. Others are arriving. We're all finding our way, slowly and with carefully placed steps. This piece really resounded in my heart today. I have printed a copy, and put it in the front cover of Lucas' binder of medical documentation

“Jacob, where do you find the strength to carry on in life?”

“Life is often heavy only because we attempt to carry it,” said Jacob. “But I do find a strength in the ashes.”

“In the ashes?” asked Mr. Gold.

“Yes,” said Jacob, with a confirmation that seemed to have traveled a great distance.

“You see, Mr. Gold, each of us is alone. Each of us is in the great darkness of our ignorance. And, each of us is on a journey.

“In the process of our journey, we must bend to build a fire for light, and warmth, and food.

“But when our fingers tear at the ground, hoping to find the coals of another’s fire, what we often find is the ashes.

“And, in those ashes, which will not give us light or warmth, there may be sadness, but there is also testimony.

“Because these ashes tell is that somebody else has been in the night, somebody else has bent to build a fire, and somebody else has carried on.

“And that can be enough, sometimes.”

~Noah benShea

With a heavy heart

Bruno, a big headed jabberwocky, died peacefully today at home, under the shade of the maple tree in his yard. He was five years old, residing in Woodbridge, VA. He is survived by two adults, two children, three birds, and his best friend, Rizzo. He will be sorely missed by all, except for maybe the birds. He never hurt anyone, which is more than I can say for most of us.

Nine.

In western lands beneath the Sun

The flowers may rise in Spring,

The trees may bud, the waters run,

The merry finches sing.

Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night,

And swaying branches bear

The Elven-stars as jewels white

Amid their branching hair.

Though here at journey's end I lie

In darkness buried deep,

Beyond all towers strong and high,

Beyond all mountains steep,

Above all shadows rides the Sun

And Stars for ever dwell:

I will not say the Day is done,

Nor bid the Stars farewell.

Words I might have ate

I have always badmouthed Bank of America. They have been our bank since moving to Virginia. Until today, the only thing they really had going for them was their plethora of ATMs. Their hours were inconvenient, their fees are exorbitant, their customer service is stuffy, and I generally dislike them.

However, today, after returning home from a lovely day of Christmas festivities* with the family, we received a phone call from the bank. They introduced themselves, and said they were calling from the theft and fraud department. They were concerned about transactions made with the Hubbins' debit card.

They named the transactions in question, and they were correct - we had not, in fact, made said purchases. The charges were from local stores in our town, just a few blocks from our home. We were alarmed to say the least. The Hubbin' got on the line, and inquired as to how purchases were made, when he was in possession of his wallet.

But a quick check of his pockets, and we discovered that he was not in possession of his wallet. After tearing apart the house, the car, and retracing steps, it was concluded that the wallet must have dropped on one of our Christmas adventures, and some unscrupulous scumbag picked it up and went on a shopping spree with my husbands recently deposited paycheck.

Which set on an torrent of phone calls, cancelled cards, and so on that was both stressful and terrifying.

A side note here, BlogFans. . .Begin rant. I don't know how many of you have ever lost your wallet, but I find it to be particularly ludicrous when you report a card stolen, and the first thing the representative asks you is to read the sixteen digit account number from the front. If I had the sixteen digit account number in front of me on said card, I would not be reporting it stolen for God's sake. End rant.

In the end, and let us hope, BlogFans, that this is the end, Bank of America stepped up to the plate - not only nipping the fraudulent activity in the bud, but also immediately replacing all misspent funds.

Kudos to you, Bank of America. I won't speak badly of you again. For at least a week.

*pictures and stories about tree hunting tomorrow, BlogFans! Stay tuned

Gobble Gobble Splat

Dear Reynolds,

This Thanksgiving season, I decided to try something new. It seems to be all the rage on cooking shows for one to brine ones turkey prior to cooking. Having never brined before, and a violent opposer of all things salty, I was very hesitant to try this technique. However, the interwebs assured me that my turkey would be moist and delicious, tender and juicy, and most importantly, not at all salty.

We have a modest bird, 13 pounds and a little extra. I spent the day concocting Thanksgiving delicacies, and finally, at 11pm, sent the Hubbin' out to Wegman's, to purchase your turkey size bags to brine my turkey. We rinsed and patted down our bird, set it gently into your (paper-thin-piece-o-crap) bag, and poured our cooled brine into the bag. We tied it off and set back to admire our handy work.

"Wouldn't this be a huge mess if the bag popped?" I foreshadowed.

The Hubbin' agreed, so we decided to set the whole thing in a large stock pot, to ensure that any leakage would not befall my other Thanksgiving accoutrements that were residing in my fridge.

As soon as the turkey in the brine in the bag was settled into the pot, there came an awful sound. The sound of gushing fluid. Your stupid Reynolds gianormous "oven safe" bag had split at the seams and was overflowing out of the pot, spewing forth a mixture of raw turkey germs, brine, citrus bits and bay leaves all over my pristine kitchen*!

The Hubbin' and I made scrambling attempts at damage control, one of us feebly trying hold the ever-ripping bag together, the other grabbing any towel, cloth or paper product we could find, making our best effort to keep the germy brine from flowing over the edge of the countertop and onto the floor, or worse, dribbling in between the cabinet and the stove. We managed to scoot the whole mess into the sink, where our poor naked turkey bobbed listlessly in its broth, a deflated, useless bag hovering around it like a shroud.

"Maybe we should scratch this whole brine thing," the Hubbin' said, trying to be helpful.

"No. Absolutely not. I made this brine, and I will use this brine," I argued, stubbornly.

Luckily, you folks at Reynolds must know how pathetic your bags are, and were kind enough to package two in a box. We very carefully set the same scenario up again. Knock wood, Reynolds, it seems to be holding. But if I wake up tomorrow, and my fridge looks like anything other than this:

we will be having words tomorrow.

PS - I really didn't feel like bleaching down my counters, cabinets, dishwasher, stove front, floor and sink tonight, especially since it is well after midnight. Just so you know.

PPS - This is all your fault.

* Read: super-messy-I've-been-cooking-since-six-this-morning kitchen.

Noooooooo!!!!

The extra three exclamation points up there are so you guys know that I'm super serious.

I think I'm getting sick. That awful ache and burning in my lungs, the I'm-wearing-the-warmest-socks-ever-and-two-shirts-and-pants-and-i'm-under-two-blankets-and-a-down-comforter-and-FOR-THE-LOVE-OF-GOD-WILL-SOMEONE-TURN-THE-HEAT-UP feeling just can't be ignored. I've taken proactive measures, like using my neti pot, drinking lots of water, taking vitamin C, but it won't go away! WTF, blogfans?

And so, you thought that post a few days ago was the lamest post ever. Which it was. Until now.

Sidenote: I totally promise to put up a good post tomorrow. I finally have iphoto back, and I can upload the billion pictures that my camera is holding hostage. Prepare to be amazed!

In which I write the lamest blog post ever

The problem with BloMo, is that I begin to falter with my posting around the halfway mark. This year seems to be no exception.

I have good posts coming, BlogFans, don't you worry. But they are stories for another time.

Tonight my eyes are tired and my body is tense and anxious. Tonight I sleep.

Eight.

Once there was a tree.
And she loved a little boy.
And every day the boy would come

And he would gather her leaves

And make them into crowns and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk

And swing from her branches

And when he was tired, he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree.

Very much.

And the tree was happy.

But time went by,

And the boy grew older.

And the tree was often alone.

Then one day the boy came to the tree and the tree said:
”Come, Boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy!”
“I am too big to climb and play” said the boy. “I want to buy things and have fun. I want some money.
Can you give me some money?”
”I’m sorry” said the tree,”but I have no money. I have only leaves and apples. Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in city. Then you will have money and you’ll be happy”
And so the boy climb up the tree and gathered her apples and carried them away.

And the tree was happy.

But the boy stayed away for a long time

And the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back and the tree shook with joy, and she said:
”Come, Boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy."
“I am too busy to climb trees,” said the boy. “I want a house to keep me warm,” he said. “I and want a wife and I want children, and so I need a house. Can you give me a house?”
“I have no house” said the tree.

"The forest is my house, but you may cut off my branches and build a house. Then you will be happy”
And so the boy cut off her branches and carried them away to build a house.

And the tree was happy.

But the boy stayed away for a long time

And the tree was sad.

And when he came back, the tree was so happy she could hardly speak.
“Come, Boy” she whispered, “Come and play”
“I am too old and sad to play,” said the boy. “I want a boat that will take me away from here. Can you give me a boat?”
“Cut down my trunk and make a boat,” said the tree. “Then you can sail away and be happy.”
And so the boy cut down her trunk

And made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy

But not really.

And after a long time the boy came back again.
“I am sorry, Boy,” said the tree, “but I have nothing left to give you— My apples are gone.”
“My teeth are too weak for apples,”said the boy.
“My branches are gone,” said the tree.”You cannot swing on them—”
”I am too old to swing on branches” said the boy.
“My trunk is gone,” said the tree. “You cannot climb—-”
”I am too tired to climb,” said the boy.
“I am sorry,” sighed the tree. “I wish that I could give you something, but I have nothing left. I am just an old stump. I am sorry.”
”I don’t need very much now,” said the boy. “just a quiet place to sit and rest. I am very tired”
“Well,” said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could, “well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down, and rest.”
And the tree was happy.

Weekend Rewind

Saturday night

Go to visit Lauren -> Decide to make a fire in the fireplace -> Neglect to open the chimney flue -> Fill the entire house with smoke -> Frantically fan the smoke alarm with tiny sheet of paper while Lauren carefully balances the poker in the flames to prop the flue open -> Step outside to enjoy a Parliament light while the smoke clears -> Lock ourselves out of the house -> Moment of panic when the situation survey turns up a lighter as our only asset to breaking in the house -> Finally jimmy open a crawl space window and shove Lauren inside -> Back inside it is discovered that Harry Potter is on TV -> Decide God loves us -> Burn a whole bag of microwave popcorn -> Maybe we were wrong about the God thing -> Decide baking cookies would be tempting fate on an already dark day and opt to give another bag of popcorn a try -> Relax into Harry Potter bliss

Sunday Afternoon

Load the Hubbin', children, and 100lb black and white dog into the car -> Drop Hubbin' off for a haircut -> Get to the groomer and wrangle dog and children into the shop -> Realize I have no proof of rabies vaccination with me -> FML -> wrangle kids and dog back into the car -> drive home -> wrangle kids and dog into the house -> Tear things apart until I find the rabies tag -> wrangle kids and dog back into the car -> Drive to groomer -> wrangle kids and dog back into the groomer, only to present a dog license, not a rabies tag -> FML -> wrangle kids and dog back to the car -> drive home -> wrangle kids and dog into the house -> Tear things apart again until the rabies tag is found -> wrangle kids and dog back into the car -> Drive to groomer -> wrangle kids and dog back into the groomer -> hold 100lb pitbull still for ear cleaning and nail cutting -> wrangle kids and dog back to the car -> Drive home -> Drop dog off -> Pick up Hubbin' from his haircut -> Bring Lucas for his haircut -> Go to WalMart -> FML -> Wait in like for 45 minutes to pay for my $5 laundry basket

I don't know whether to be hopeful for Monday, or exceptionally fearful

Pass the tissues

Seeing as how I've acquired the Death Plague of 2010* I felt it imperative to make a partial list of my last will and testament.

I, Saki, being of (somewhat?) sound mind and body bequeath:

all of my yarn and knitting supplies, and my chia Obama head to the Lovely Lauren

all of my fantastic shoes and my wardrobe to LAN

all of my debts to George W Bush (Love ya, Dubs!)

all of my Harry Potter books to my Hubbin' (don't watch the movies without me!)

all of my lawn ornamentation, including concrete donkeys to my mother

all three parakeets to Rike and Myan, because God knows once I'm gone no one will remember to feed them

*Or the flu. One of the two.

ZzzzZZzzzzz

Did you ever have one of those nights where the sleep Gods just shine on you?

You get into your bed which seems extra soft; your pillows feel extra fluffy; the house is warm enough to be cozy, but cool enough to snuggle deep into your blankets; somehow the bed seems 10" wider, so that you and your significant other are close enough to be secure, but far enough away that no ones arm is draped over the others forehead and everyone has enough room for their legs; your mind is pleasantly at ease, and slipping into sleep is like wading into a deliciously warm bath...

Except an hour into your perfect sleep night, someone small in the next room throws up. And then starts shrieking as you clean hair, sheets and floor. Shrieking loud enough that the even smaller person in the adjacent room wakes up and also begins shrieking as your clomp down the stairs, an armload of smelly sheets and jammies in your arms. By the time you get everyone settled, cooling blotchy tear streaked faces, offering sips of water and gingerale and rubbing backs until the house is once again quiet.

So you slide in socked feet back to your perfect sleep.

Except now some bogart has replaced your bed with a sack filled with rocks; and the fluffy down feathers from your pillows are poking though the case and scratching your ears; the house is fifteen degrees warmer than it needs to be and your significant other is laying half on top of you, snoring noisily with morning breath. But at that point, you're just too exhausted to care and you drift off to sleep wondering if you remembered to pay the bills online last week, and if you locked your car.

I effing hate when that happens.

Baby you can drive my car

Knocking wood so as not to jinx it, but I have had a working fridge for eight (8) whole days now! For those of you not in the know, my fridge stopped working and was repaired June 25th. It stopped working again July 3rd and just got repaired last Thursday*. You can imagine what the stuff in my fridge looked like after a month with no refrigeration. Obviously we discarded things like milk and cheese immediately, but did you know that jelly completely liquifies when it goes bad? And bad garlic smells disturbingly like hotdogs.

I had to completely empty, sanitize and restock the fridge this week, which is no easy job with two kids in tow...but let's not kid ourselves here, nothing is easy with two kids in tow. My fears were quickly assuaged, though, because Wegman's has rocked my socks this week with their super convenient car carts!

Beepbeep Beepbeep YEAH!

* If you live in Northern Virginia, and have a broken fridge, do not use Quality Appliance Repair. You've been warned. Angry letters by the dozen this month, kids.

A Night in the Life

12 midnight - Head to bed after a 16 hour day that included breakfast with the inlaws, throwing a birthday party for Cecilia and her friends, hosting my family back at the house, having the kids across the street over for three hours to play, and cleaning up messes of the aforementioned events.

12:45am - Corral husband back into bed after a dream that sent him running and yelling into the hallway, looking for intruders

1:15 am - Clean up vomit from Cecilia's bed, hair, face and clothes.  Put her to sleep in my room.

1:25 am - Throw all vomitous laundry into the washer after shaking the particularly chunky sheets outside.

1:35 am - Crawl back into bed, jockeying for space in the queen size bed amongst my husband, my three year old and my infant 

1:50 am - Wake to Cecilia screaming and hold vomit bucket and her hair back as she gets sick.  Repeat 1:15, 1:25 and 1:35's events again.

2:30 am - And again

3:10 am - And again

3:55 am - And again.

4:10 am - Lucas wakes up, wanting to nurse, and realizes his sister is in the bed.  Spend the next 20 minutes trying to keep Lucas from kicking Sissy in the back or pulling her hair.

4:30 am - Everyone in the bed finally falls asleep

5:30 am - Alarm goes off

Seven.

From the start
She knew she had it made
Easy up 'til then
For sure she'd make the grade
Adorers came in hordes
To lay down in her wake
Gave it all she had
But treasures slowly fade
Now she's falling hard
Feels the fall of dark
How did this fall apart?

A smile of sweetest flowers
Wilted so and soured
Black tears stain the cheeks
That once were so admired
She thinks when she was small
There on her father's knee
How he had promised her,
"You'll always be my baby."
"Daddy come quick,
The dreaming tree has died
I can't find my way home
There is no place to hide
The dreaming tree has died."

I want my MTV

Today, I had to call Comcast Cable Company.  I had been putting it off, because phoning the cable company is like it's own little level of hell.  As we all know, all (800) number calls are routed to one call center. I wanted a cable box for upstairs, so that we could get the Sprout channel for the kids.  I expected to be on hold nothing short of forever, so imagine my delight when my representative picked up with in 30 seconds of placing the call.

Comcast Customer Care Representative:  Goodmorning, thank you for calling Comcast, this is Tim, how can I help you today?

Saki:  Hi, Tim!  Can I call you Tim?

Comcast Customer Care Representative:  Yes Ma'am.

Saki:  Great!  So Tim, this is what I need.  I want to get the sprout channel - I need one of those box thingies, yes?

Tim:  Yes Ma'am.  

Saki:  Okay then.  So how much will that set me back?

Tim:  Well, the normal box is $4 per month, the HD box is $8 per month, and the DVR box is $14 per month

Saki:  Okay, well, it doesn't matter, I want the littlest one you have.

Tim:  They're all the same size, Ma'am.

Saki:  No, they're not.

Tim:  Yes, Ma'am.  They are.

Saki:  But I already have a DVR box downstairs.  And it's big.

Tim:  Yes.

Saki:   . . .

Tim:  . . .

Saki:  So, put me down for one of those little ones.

Tim:  There are no little ones.

Saki:  Yes there are.

Tim:  No, Ma'am.  There are no little ones.

Saki:  Well, I'm from Jersey, and we have little ones there.

Tim:  I know.

Saki:  So, can I get one?

Tim:  No Ma'am.

Saki:  What?

Tim:  . . .

Saki:  I can't have one of the little Jersey boxes?

Tim:  No, Ma'am, it won't work in Virginia.

Saki:  Well, can't you like, order me one?  I go there all the time, I can pick it up.

Tim:  Yes, but it won't work in Virginia

Saki:  But I want one.

Tim:  I'm from Philly.  I want one too.  But you can't have one.  It won't work here.

Saki:  Oh. . .Okay, well, I don't know what to say right now, so I'm going to call you back, Tim.  

What the hell, you guys??  I don't have anywhere to put one of those big boxes!  Remember the days when you could give your cable guy a $20 and get HBO hooked up on the DL? Life should be so simple.  I'd totally slip a $20 to get a hot wired sprout channel!

The Tale of Two Stories

I had a bunch of errands to run today. Small ones, one thing here, two things there, at a million different places - you know the type. I made Evan drive me, so I could just hop out of the car and run up to the door and not have to worry about parking, and dragging my pregnant self and my toddler across the hot parking lot. Very convenient.

My first stop was the party store, because I needed more thank you cards. I hopped out and into the store I went. In the baby aisle there was a woman who was shopping with what I assumed to be her mother. Neither was pregnant, but from overhearing bits of their conversations while looking for cute thank you cards, it sounded as though they were throwing a shower.

And this is how it happened:

I had found my cards, and was getting ready to head to the register, when I heard. "Ma'am? Are you having twins?"

Huh? Me?

I glanced over, and both women were looking at me, obviously awaiting an answer. A quick peek over my shoulder revealed no one other than the stockboy, who was clearly not pregnant, let alone with twins.

I don't know if it was the heat, or the agitation that I felt by being asked such a ridiculous question, but before I knew what was happening, I heard myself say:

"No. Are YOU having twins, you heifer?"









And this is how it really happened:

I had found my cards, and was getting ready to head to the register, when I heard. "Ma'am? Are you having twins?"

Huh? Me?

I glanced over, and both women were looking at me, obviously awaiting an answer. A quick peek over my shoulder revealed no one other than the stockboy, who was clearly not pregnant, let alone with twins.

"Huh? Me? Oh...Uh, no, there's just one...
he just sticks out really far....
it's just that it's my second baby...
and i'm really close to my due date...
so i guess....
it just....looks...
um...
bigger...
i guess...
you know....
good...uh...good luck with the shower..."

And I sniffled the whole way to the register and paid for my thank yous and ran to the car and burst into huge amount of tears




God I hate being pregnant

Day 5

Dear Diary. . .

Day 5 with no car. Toddler driving me insane. Pool in the backyard deflated into hapless heap. No capri sun pouches for said toddler. There isn't enough tylenol in the free world.


**********************************************************************


Dear Lindsay Chevrolet,

You have had my new car since Monday night. I know that you had to wait for the insurance to come out and do their thing, but truly, would it have killed you to be slightly proactive and order some of the necessary parts; like, you know, the hood? The roof maybe? I now have to wait 15 business days for my poor car. Fifteen BUSINESS DAYS! Do you know how long that is in real people time?

Signed,
Bored, Cranky & Sore

The Car Gods Giveth..

And the Car Gods Taketh Away.

Sadface.

Six

"For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these: It might have been."

To Whom It May Concern...

Dear Dairy Products,

Oh how I miss thee.  I count the days until we can be together again, with no one coming between us.  Only 214 more days.   

Love,

Your Beloved Saki

****************************************************************

Dear Lactaid,

Fuck You.

No, really.  Fuck You.

Sincerely,

Saki

*****************************************************************

Dear Yoga Pants,

Don't tell Dairy Products, but you have become my new favorite thing in life.  

With Love Always,

The Very Comfortable Saki