Darling Don't Be Afraid I Have Loved You

Happy Birthday sweet spicy little bear.  You're 11 today.  It's crazy how the seasons have come and gone.  I woke up this morning with this song in my head:

Heartbeats fast
Colors and promises
How to be brave
How can I love when I'm afraid to fall
But watching you stand alone
All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow
One step closer

I have died everyday waiting for you
Darling don't be afraid I have loved you
For a thousand years
I love you for a thousand more

Time stands still
Beauty in all she is
I will be brave
I will not let anything take away
What's standing in front of me
Every breath
Every hour has come to this
One step closer

I have died everyday waiting for you
Darling don't be afraid I have loved you
For a thousand years
I love you for a thousand more

And all along I believed I would find you

Time has brought your heart to me
I have loved you for a thousand years
I love you for a thousand more

One step closer
One step closer

I have died everyday waiting for you
Darling don't be afraid I have loved you
For a thousand years
I love you for a thousand more

And all along I believed I would find you
Time has brought your heart to me
I have loved you for a thousand years
I love you for a thousand more

I never really understood that song.  I mean, I guess if you believe in reincarnation then it makes perfect sense.  Because when I was a bat before being me I guess I was, in essence, waiting for you.  And when I was a rat before I was the bat, then I guess I was waiting for you then too. 


But when I woke up this morning singing it- that I've loved you for a thousand years- it sort of made sense to me.  My love for you feels old; it's like I've been loving you for more than 11 years.  That you were mine before I was even me.  Okay, now I'm starting to get weird.

In all seriousness I think "time has brought your heart to me" and we've been so lucky to have you make our white walls brighter, our socks a little funkier, our cookies a little better, our parenting books a little more thorough, our hearts a little wider.   

And when I'm done here and turn into a bee, a snake, a bear, or a fat cat just know that I will love you for a thousand more.  

A Little Porn For You...You're Welcome

I haven't forgotten about you.  We're too busy up here dropping trees on four-wheelers and being all snarky and stuff.  In other news Claire got clocked (finally) by one of her brothers and so we've reached for a NEW parenting book to see what sort of bag of tricks we can now fling over our shoulders.  I'll tell ya how that works out for us. 

But something has happened as of late that has gotten me to thinking about my life.  I mean when you were a little kid and you pictured yourself as a forty year old what did you imagine?  Seriously, did you think you would have the life you have right now?  Like, did you really think you'd have 8 dogs, a donkey and a miniature pony?  Or did you think you'd have the option to own two houses on Lake Champlain?  Or did you imagine that you'd be driving around in a mini-van?  I think I've covered my three readers here.  But seriously, I never in my wildest dreams ever imagined that I'd be welcome in a group of friends that has pushed every single limit I've ever imagined myself having.


A couple of weekends ago we had ourselves a No Pants Party.

 

I can't tell you the number of men who when I told them about it said, "What?  No boys allowed?  Seriously?"  Hells yes, seriously.  How could we ever don wigs and underwear and shoot jello shots till we puke with our better halves around?

 I don't really know what happens to us but there is this unbridled comfort level that lets us pull out all the stops and let down our hair, or wear a wig, or take it off, or dance like we have the ability, or....LOVE OURSELVES COMPLETELY.
 

I was surprised to have snagged Paul Bunyan (who deserves someone like that really?).  And I was surprised to have had a healthy creative beautiful daughter.  And I was definitely surprised to have birthed two boys with the exact same genetic make-up.

But what I think has surprised me the most about my life is that I'm a member of this secret club of women who support each other, lift each other up, laugh, cry and tell each other we're beautiful, smart, strong, capable, and able.

I've never had this in all of my life.

And sometimes it takes looking in from the outside before you realize how lucky you really are. 

Blowin' in the wind.

A few days before Christmas we were hit with a crazy windstorm.  The last day of school before break was cancelled and for the teachers who didn't receive their crappy gifts from all their students, I'm sure, it felt like the world ended.  Our kids were psyched.  And then the power went out.  Word got out that it might be out until Christmas Eve.  "Wow," I thought, "what am I going to do with that gigantic pig butt we have for Christmas Eve dinner that was thawing out in the grill outside?"  "Wow," I thought, "wish we could use that grill to cook that gigantic pig butt since I have no oven to use."  And then I thought, "Wow, I wish the grill had not blown over in the storm and scattered into many little pieces on the ground because now I have to buy Paul Bunyan a new grill."   

Luckily the juice was only out for 48 hours.  And then I took a shower.

I sat at a stop light last Monday when I was returning home from work.  Yes, (throat clearing), I do work.  And I witnessed a hydrangea head blow through the intersection like a tumbleweed in a Western movie.  I looked around and saw the grass in the Waterbury Green looking flat and brown.  The two feet of snow that came down between Christmas and New Year's got washed away from the rain last weekend right into the Winooski River.  It looked disgusting around here.  They say there has been a January thaw every year since the beginning of anyone recording it- except maybe one year (1977) when either there was no winter, or winter was in summer, or I can't remember why. 

But it's snowing right now; in fact, the wind is blowing too.  I'm feeling a bit like I'm in a blizzard, tucked all up inside of its center.  I'm getting blown around like a tumbleweed across the desert. 

There are two types of people; well, there are many types but for right now, in this demonstration, there are two.  1) the people who wait for experiences to come to them and 2) the people who go after what they really want and make it happen. 

Jules and Cath and I were talking about this last night at the bakery.  Jules had an offer from another company come flying into her lap, as if it dropped out of the sky at the moment she needed it most.  What luck!  I've been waiting for something to drop out of the sky now for a few years- something other than rain on beautiful fluffy snow.  And then Paul Bunyan did something for me last April to help me become that other type of person that actually does something to make a dream come true.  He helped me to start doing this:

And I've loved doing this, especially with him.  Big schemes in my head about beer specials and building a special barn and having people come to fill growlers and campers converted to traveling bars inundated my brain.  BUT last night as I was standing in line to order my dinner I started to talk to a couple behind me, also from my hometown, who are STARTING A BREWERY one valley over.  Same concept- barn, growlers, parties, bands.  Our little town can't support two "come fill your growler" kind of establishments. 

I felt like my hydrangea head just got blown in another direction.  Is this a sign from the stars?  Is the world trying to tell me something? 

How is it that I turn 40 in 3 months and 10 days and I still am not sure what I'm "supposed" to be doing?  How does anyone ever really ever know that what they're doing is "supposed" to be what they're doing?  Are you supposed to be doing what you're doing?  Yes?  Really?  You think so?  What a wonderful feeling that must be!  Because this tumbleweed action is starting to make me feel like groupie following the wrong band.

Merry End of the World Christmas.

So, the world is supposed to end tomorrow.  In a few hours in fact.  And because of that I'm watching the History channel right now to learn a little bit about how I might survive- because I'm a procrastinator and all.  I've got about an hour and a half.  They're saying that a pandemic is what is coming- an Ebola-Pox virus (of course, the Russians created it).  There is also the potential for a gigantic meteor to hit, possibly some zombies?  I'm learning about the right style of bunker to buy.  Definitely round and sealable.  They can be buried up to 42 feet under ground.  I'm seeing many prototypes; many people have t.v.'s and microwaves in their bunkers with cooshy couches.  Because there is definitely going to be electricity when a meteor hits us or a nuclear bomb goes off.  I'm learning that I'm not as ready as I think and that I think I need a GUN!  To shoot all of you as you try to make your Ebola-Pox way up to my "haven" up here to steal my Christmas caramels and sand tarts (my families famous crispy Christmas cookie).  You might also try to steal the mountainous mound of pork and chicken I have in the freezer.  Paul Bunyan is probably going to finish off the four or five pints of Ben and Jerry's so if that's any deterrent..

oooh- I just found out that the government is prepping itself for the end of time!  They're spending billions on cement bunkers!  What's a few more billions to add to the trillions of debt?  Just (in case) the world ends.

After a catastrophic collapse happens they say there is 72 hours until everyone goes ANIMAL- primal.  Over 250 million Americans live in cities, so if an American city goes ANIMAL there will be no water, food, electricity.  So, pack your back packs and GET OUT of the city.  Find drinking water.  The race for resources is on...so come on over!  It's a party!!  BYOB.  Just as long as you don't have Ebola-Pox. 

Here's what we've got on the mountain after the year of pork is gone: we've got a red squirrel in the attic, plenty of mice in the shop, a cat that would stir fry up nice and a very muscular dog.  I guess we should fatten her up.  We've got a rooster too.  He's livin' like a king on food scraps; we're gettin him nice and big.  Oh, and the ten alpacas.  We could smoke those suckers.  Add a little curry, maybe some Caribbean rub.  Oooh- that reminds me I should stock up on some rum.  I should learn how to make that shit.  Oh no, now I have to watch Moonshiners.  They did just tell me that I can live 40 days without food; I'm not sure how long I could go without liquor, but hopefully I won't have to find that out. 

Well, I'm not too worried.  You think I should be?  They're trying to scare me (and you).  I realize this.  I'm glad you're not watching it.  I think I'll go climb into bed and start a new book and not do the dishes or fold the laundry- because they'll be no reason, right?  And if I wake up in the morning with more snow on the ground than I have now then I'll know that the world did not, in fact, end.   It feels like we might be headed towards the end, what with climate change making our winter 2 months instead of 5, and young adults murdering classrooms of children.  The world does seem like its...

oooh-  prisoners escaping?  This IS getting scary.  Looters?  No gas?  Fashion a radio from an abandoned car?  WHY?  Communicate with other people?  Really?  This is crazy.  Oh, there are preppers ready with their ham radios to communicate with you.  They have ham radios that run on generators; oh, but wait...there's NO GAS! 

Okay, I have an hour and ten minutes more to go.  I'll let you know the most vital things to do when your city goes ANIMAL; I just have to wait till this commercial ends.

So here goes: 

Get a rally point in the mountains (PARTY AT MY HOUSE..unless you're sick)!

Stay calm (DRINK RUM)!

Find water (WE GOT IT)!

Make shelter (WE CAN DO THAT)!

Phew.  I'm glad I live on a mountain.  Well, I think I'll go get a bag of chips and a beer from the keg in the basement and watch this shit go down. 

Well, we've got a bunker too.  But I'm not sharing my microwave popcorn.  Just sayin'.

I have some cheese from my head for you.

Pig Pig didn't die on the first shot.  I didn't want to tell you that.  It's a sad thing and this is the season for happy happy things.  But there you go.  I said it.  And now we're eating him.  Because that's the way things go.  And he tastes really really good.  I have some head cheese here for you.  I've been holding on to it for your visit.  I'm also making some homemade mustard to spread on the homemade rye bread which will hold the head cheese while I serve it to you when you come.  Just give me a days notice.  

Well, since it's the time of year to say our thanks- I thank you Pig Pig.  You have been a nice addition to our breakfast and lunch and dinner table.  We've been frying you and baking you and grilling you and I even rendered down your back fat to make lard.

And then Paul Bunyan made donuts with the lard and fried them in your rendered down fat.

 And we all said "Thank you".

And then we ate one and we all said "Thank you" again.

And then the kids put Nutella on you and brown sugar and a maple glaze and we bowed down in honor of you.

And then Bee got a hold of one of your bones and puked it up at 4 a.m. on our bedroom floor.
Thank you Pig Pig.

No, in all seriousness, the "thank yous" are running rampant all over the internet, especially on Facebook where people are writing what they're thankful for EVERY day from now until, what? I don't know.  They're thankful for coffee, chocolate, etc. etc.  No one ever says that they're thankful for flush toilets or the fact that they can fly through the air while sitting in a padded seat while still able to breath.  But whatever. 

So we hosted our 27th annual friends thanksgiving this year, which is always fun.  We had some 20 hot bodies rolling around and I was sure grateful it was a nice day because the football was thrown and the kids played outside for most of the day.  I think Timmy was the only one who cried.  I stuffed a bird and served flat beer and everyone else brought a side dish and a pie.  E brought a bird too, which was juicier and much better than mine.  Turns out even though my special Convection Roast option on my oven cooks a 20 lb. bird in three hours, it dries the shit out of it.  So we're going low and slow in two years when I host again. 

I put up a branch in a bucket and told people to write what they're thankful for on a piece of paper and then I told them to hang them up.  We got lots of cute responses from the kids:

"My mom and dad."
"My dog and cat."
"plants"


Timmy wrote, "I'm thankful for water, shelter, food, oxygen, and family," which was much nicer than what his sister wrote which was, "EVERYTHING except: my brothers, germs, bad food, bad people, football, bad music, school, baseball, mosquitoes, flies, wasps, and boogers." 


And from the adults:

"The support of fabulous friends, family, and a ever optimistic wife."
"Healthy family and friends, abundance, amazing love all around."
"For snow, friends, family, and pumpkin pie."
"My red-headed children, grey haired husband, cat and dog."
"Snow and Dogs."


And from me, a little cheese from my head:

Thank you love of my life for the time and support I need to heal myself and for making Pig Pig donuts. 

The Ghost of Peter

Paul Bunyan started ripping apart our bathroom.  I'm not super excited about the mess or the thought that I'm fairly certain the project will take the good part of a year or five but we've started.  I've lived with plywood floors now for eight years and haven't gotten a splinter so what's a few more months?  I'll be excited to paint over the ghastly florescent green paint I've had to weather all these years and I'm definitely pumped to get rid of these tiles I've had to endure too.

Now Peter Hart, I've been told, was a gay man.  I'm sure in 91' when he built his house he probably thought these tiles were cool.  I don't know, maybe he got them on sale, but I'm thinking he definitely most likely really liked them.  So, of course, I'm all nostalgic about taking down what might be the last thing left of Peter in this house.  It's a very tragic thing for him, I'm sure, to watch us pull apart everything that he created or designed or loved dearly about his house.  I'm crazy, I know, but it's just how I think.

So as Paul Bunyan is pulling off drywall and the tiles Peter picked out I'm feeling a little forlorn.  And then Paul Bunyan has to take down the old fan and cut a space in the ceiling for the new one.  And I'm not sure what transpired in that attic, he won't give over the details, but there on my plywood floors, when I went up to check progress, was a dead bat.  WHAT!?  OUR RESIDENT BAT!?!?  Who comes back every year, OR doesn't even leave but sleeps the winter away in our cozy attic?  YOU KILLED OUR BAT?  I was very mad, sad, upset to say the least.  BECAUSE WHAT IF THIS BAT IS PETER!!  Seriously?  What if Paul Bunyan killed the ghost of Peter?  I can't get over it.  The whole night I sulked and pouted while he justified that he thought he was going to get bit and ruined for good by rabies while the bat was flying over his head in the very small space in the attic.  YOU KILLED OUR RESIDENT BAT!!  I would yell.  Don't you know that there are no bats left in this world, which is why there are more mosquitoes, which is why there is EEE killing people and horses and probably a few cats?

I was very upset.

 And then he threw Peter's tub over the balcony.  And that was the end of the discussion.


A few days later I gave Paul Bunyan the gruesome task of killing off two of our old hens and the young rooster who fought for his life in the nastiest cock fight any house sitter could ever witness.  Now before you go and get all upset about us just knocking off our hens I have to let you know that they stopped laying as they were nearing their fourth year, and well, He was just getting a free ride.  I put up a post on Craig's List to see if anyone wanted to come and get them for their stock pot.  One interested guy turned into a no show and that meant that it was time for them to go.  We didn't want to spend time, money, energy to keep them alive over the winter.  They've had a good life and the two hens should have felt very proud about surviving a fox and a puppy who definitely would have killed them if the electric fence wasn't between them. 

Well, this next part of the tale comes from Paul Bunyan.  "Supposedly" he twisted that roosters head enough times to kill the loud bugger.  He left it on the compost heap to bury.  It didn't move.  He assumed it was dead.  Then he went to get the two remaining hens.  He did his job and when he returned to get the rooster to bury he was GONE.  Paul Bunyan searched the woods and surrounding area and couldn't find him anywhere.  And when I came home later that day the rooster was pecking his way around the chicken yard acting as if no one twisted his neck four times in order to do him in.

It's Peter, I told Paul.  He walked away from me.



Well, it's an unfortunate thing that Pig Pig must go this week.  I was worried that after having to put down and cut up and eat his brother, I might become too attached to him.  But I haven't.  I mean he's cute and all,

 but, seriously, this butt is going to taste really good.

I'm just hoping for Paul Bunyan's sake that the ghost of Peter doesn't try to stay alive in Pig Pig.  Because that would just be really really freaky.


I'm sorry I've left this place to tarnish like an old silver earring in your jewelry box.  I'll be back now and then to polish it up.  But don't throw it away. 

Do we have it all?

My friend Susie recently pointed me in the direction of a Parenting.com writing contest on the topic of whether or not we have it all.  The deadline was Oct. 1st.  Some 16 days ago.  I'm a little late.  But I've been thinking about the topic often.  At first I started to make a list of all the things that parents do have:

first smile
vomit
giggle giggles
blowing bubbles in the bath
sleep training
finger grasping
snuggles
lost blankies
favorite stuffy
laundry laundry laundry
pooping on the potty
soccer practice in the rain
nightmare in the dark
waddle waddle diaper walk
first bike
feed the dog your dinner
not funny
time out
for mommy too
brush your teeth
try this peach
polka dotted footed pajamas
diaper rash
rats nest morning hair
did you just say "no" to me?
tickle bug
better yet...zerbert
peak-a-boo
nappie time
Cheerio
pout
Ring Around the Rosie
tumble class
finger paints
toe nail polish- on the floor!
1st tooth
favorite book
sweet sweet dreams
dimple
milk breath
sweaty fever head
the best hugs in the world
Whose bed is this?
That's okay, I'll share because you are mine.


I could go on and on but I don't know, this came instead:

All my jeans used to have holes in the knees.  That's when I was changing two sets of ammonia smelling cloth diapers every two hours.  Kneeling at the baby in front of me on the floor, kneeling at the toilet spraying poopy diapers, kneeling at the washing machine loading them in.  I should have bought more Carhart's with the reinforced knees.  Shortly after this I wanted to put a hole in my head because my 3 year old daughter started to say "no" to me.  A defiant stubborn absolute NO.  I spanked her once because I didn't know what else to do and then I cried.  Lately I feel like I have holes in my elbows as I arm wrestle them to pick up their dirty socks, put away their clothes, take the recycling down the the basement.  But then there are the holes in the ground we dig together to plant the crops in the Spring.   And there are the holes in the blankies that they curl up next to me on the couch to watch me mend.  And there are the holes in the socks that I have to throw in the trash- just one more symbol of their growth.  Like the holes in their mouths from missing teeth and the holes in their understanding of how the world works.  But we'll try to change that.  Me and him.  Mom and Dad.  We'll teach them to turn the pancakes when there are holes in them and how to mend a hole in a sweater, a wall, or even a heart.  They'll find out where the holes in their arguments are, what it feels like to have money burning a hole in their pocket, and maybe even the joy of getting a hole in one.  They'll make wishes on the whole of the moon and follow a road or two with many potholes, learning as they go.  I'm  hoping they meet beautiful people who complete them and who they can start on a whole new path together with.  I'm trying not to think about the hole in my heart that I'll have when they leave this nest or how I'll fill that hole, or mend it, or accept it.  But we'll build a bridge across that river when we get there.   I guess what I'm saying is that we can't have it all- ever.  Not with all these holes.  It's just that there are too many places to fill.  We can't have it all.  What we must do is seek the joy in filling in these empty spaces.  And then keep looking out for where the next small cave might be.



Thanks Susie!  I didn't get it in on time.  But you made me think and that's one way of filling in the holes in my brain!