Two Roads to the Same Spot

I met Paul at our Senior Luau

in September of 1999.

I was 16 years old  and had a crush on another guy

but I still remember meeting him that night

and thinking that given his 6'5" stature

and my love of high heels
he'd be the perfect prom date.

By February of 2000 we were a couple.

High school sweethearts in a big way;

first loves and everythings.

Sitting next to one another

on the bench seats of his '83 Caprice Classic.

And we went to Prom

and he left for college

and it was la la la la love.

Prom 2000

But like most good, sweet,
and innocent things

it came to an end.

Because I needed fixing

and he tried but he couldn't.

Because I needed loving

and he tried but it wasn't enough.

Because I was a bottomless pit

convinced an 18 year old boy

could solve all my emptiness

and he tried but he finally gave up

when he knew I'd drown us both.

And it was sad and I was devastated.

And we tried to keep dancing

and stay friends

but it was too painful.

And our lives had become too different

and I threw myself into a lifestyle

that had no place for him.

And I sunk myself in a counterfeit place

where I could forget about him and he moved on.
He chose his own path in his own wood

and we didn't speak for about a year.

Until we did.

Until I found myself
wounded from my life and so very lost

and needing to speak to someone who knew

who I was before I was what I had become.

And he answered the call and he came,

because that is who he has always been.

And because sadness and loneliness

and being 20 is super confusing

and fraught with impulse and irresponsibility

I found myself pregnant.

And we had two different ideas

about what needed to happen

and I felt alone

and resentful

and angry

and rejected.

And it was so hard

and it was so painful

and I crucified him

in thought and action

to myself and to anyone who would listen

because the wound was so deep.

And it took me a million years

times a million years

to realize that I hadn't been the only one

having an experience.

That he had had plans and ideas too

and now they were changed.

And in April 2004
our beautiful boy was born and Paul was there.

 

And that baby came home to furniture

his dad had put together.

And the first time Lucas was sick,

Paul drove him around in his Suburban until 6am
 because the noise lulled him to sleep.

And we weren't together

but we managed to be parents.

We did birthday parties and doctors appointments.

Picked schools and insurance.

And it was still hard and it was still complicated

and we made mistakes aplenty

but we limped along.

Limped off into separate personal lives;

mine which lead to another child 4 years later

and his into his own story to tell.

And anyone who knows me can tell you

that I really never stopped loving him. 

And it was years of hating instead of hurting

and stabbing each other in the back and in the front.

And if you ask him,

(which I have)

he stopped loving me for a very long time.

Always the more logical one,

he had closed the door and moved on,

placing me comfortably in the category of "Lucas' Mom"

and getting on with his own life.

And so we traveled for years,

each on their own path

but still in the same forest.

Peeking out every so often

to make sure the other was still safe,

even when we weren't meaning to.

And I don't know what happened

but suddenly we were back in front of one another.

Totally different but still the same.

And we circled one another suspiciously for months

and it was still painful

and it was still complicated

and there was still baggage.

And I kept saying, "Come on!"

and he kept saying, "Hold on!",

and there was a lot of "Slow down!"

and "What do you want?!?!"

until one day

there wasn't.

Until one day we must have said,

"The hell with it!"

and got on with giving each other a chance.

Buried old hurts and old selves

and got on with a new history.

This last year has not been perfect

and it has not been painful.

We've stayed out of the highs and the lows

and remained pretty much camped out

in Quiet No Drama Land.

Even in the rough patches and the growth spurts

we've managed to behave like grown-ups most of the time.

I think I only stamped away twice

which I'm pretty sure is a record.

I cannot describe the precious gift it has been

to love someone in a new way.

To burn it all down and rebuild it,

to be with someone whose worst

you've already seen

and bring out the best in one another.

Turns out those two roads led to the same spot.

I didn't know

it could be this sweet.

A Zillion Weeks of Fotos

In no particular order,

here are weeks and weeks

of fotos.

As the the seasons have changed

although the temperature 

has not gotten the memo.

As the boys became

a 3rd grader 

and a pre-schooler.

As we ate grilled cheeses

and made forts

and baked bread on lazy Mondays

when we were all off.

As I became obsessed with "Game of Thrones"

and posted up on the couch 

which I never do

and actually kind of love now.

As first handprints 

and "Back to School" night

and car dance parties

continued to fuel that part of me

that wonders if it is in fact possible

to die from too much joy in your heart.

The sun is setting earlier,

Halloween is popping up here and there,

I hope the weather cooperates soon

and Fall makes a legitimate debut.

There are apple pies to bake

and cuddles to make.

I'm sort of obsessed with the new album by

The Walkmen.

I don't need perfection,

I love the whole.

The Walkmen - We Can't Be Beat

Happy Weekend. xo

A Weekend with Giants

We left at 7am on Friday.

2 cars packed with people I love

and camping gear

and snacks

and a book I never cracked.

Off to Sequoia where I had never been,

where my cell phone was worthless,

and died an hour in so I don't have pictures.

Where you have to put all of your food and smell good stuff

in a metal locker.

Because there are bears.

I drove up and Paul only reprimanded me once for my revving.

We made it in 5 and half hours and it was beautiful

and we set up camp 

and stopped by a lodge to call the other car

and pick up some wood.

"Have you seen any bears lately?"

I asked this partially expecting the kid behind the counter

to say no.

"Nope, not here. *pause* But they've been around Stony Creek."

(aka our campsite)

"What'd they do?"

As I nervously smiled and glanced over at Paul

who thought this was hilarious.

"Oh rip up a tent and mess with someone's trailer."

The kid was being very nonchalant.

"Yeah *nervous laugh...sigh...nervous laugh* but no one was in it right?"

"Oh no...the guy was in it.  Turned out he'd been BBQing all night

and went to bed in his clothes."

Needless to say

 I OCD'd all weekend about food smells

and food out 

and scrubbing Lucas down 

with unscented baby wipes.

I may or may not have choked 

on my beating heart Friday night

waking Paul in tears 

because I was convinced

every pine needle falling from every tree

and every twig snapping

was a black bear coming to eat us.

Saturday the two of us woke before dawn

and headed for a spot called "Lost Grove".

We moved Lucas to Paul's mom's tent

and took his uncle along with us.

We drove in the dark to an unmarked spot,

walked down a dark, sparse trail

to quiet peace of heaven amongst the 

trees and moss and woodpeckers.

I went for a walk and Paul took pictures.

We came back and made bacon and pancakes

and my coffee had grounds in it but I didn't care.

We spent the day,

7 of us in one car,

walking and climbing

and laughing

loving the weather

which was a stifling 73 degrees.

Apparently Los Angeles nearly died in the sweltering heat while we were gone.

We came home and made bacon wrapped hot dogs

and I secretly wondered if the bacon smell would attract the bears

and then we had s'mores and I drank hot tea

and for the second night in a row

Paul read Sherlock Holmes to Lucas and I

until we fell asleep.

On the last day we made breakfast and broke camp

and the other car left for home

and Paul and I drove for 7 hours through Kings Canyon.

It was beautiful and peaceful

and I don't know how and when we got so good together

but 

we are so good together.

We made it home Sunday night and unpacked

and washed dishes

and made a replacement list for the supplies.

We took hot showers

and my hair still kind of smelled like smoke

and we went to bed

and I didn't have to be afraid of bears.

We retire the camping gear until spring.

Sad face times infinity.

Admissions in Disheartening Decisions

I don't want to write about it because

I'm afraid to be judged.

I don't want to write about it because

I'm afraid you'll judge him.

I don't want to write about it because

it makes me feel sad.

And anxious.

And like we've failed in some way.

People have always had opinions

when it came to my children.

From the women sharing their

labor stories with me in an elevator,

to my well meaning mother

chasing after me with the boys' sweaters.

I still remember bursting into tears

when the daycare provider convinced me

that my then 2 year old Lucas was speech delayed.

No speech delay here...

the kid barely draws

a single silent breath.

Sometimes I take the advice

and sometimes I don't.

Sometimes it angers me

or leaves me feeling insecure;

and sometimes it doesn't.

My non-speech delayed son

walked at nine months

and was climbing trees

and playing in mud

and hanging upside

pretty quickly afterward.

Nimble fingers and quick-mind,

taking things apart

and putting them back together;

working to figure out

how this world worked.

His Pre-K teacher told us he had

problems focusing and staying on task;

we felt he was just bored.

How many worksheets can a 4 year old do?

His Kindergarten teacher said the same thing.

He's just a boy we thought.  Boys are hyper.

His first grade teacher said it again.

She doesn't like him. He's being bullied.

His second grade teachers (all 3 of them)

said it too.

We have to do something.  Third grade is hard.

It was at the end of last school year

that we decided to look further

into the causes and conditions

of ADHD.

We felt it was over-diagnosed.

We didn't want to medicate our son

(he's already on one for his epilepsy).

We didn't want him to feel different.

We didn't want the eternal thems and yous

to treat him differently,

but it was all becoming more and more

obvious.

And after conferencing with his

phenomenal teachers last year

and meeting with a great

behavioral science team,

we knew we had to do everything

we could to set him up for success.

Which is why last week

we started our son on medication.

And I felt like a failure.

I felt like I hadn't tried hard enough

to help him in other ways.

I felt terrible for putting a

chemical in my perfect son's body.

I cried because I gave myself

5 minutes to feel really fucking guilty

and really fucking sad

and even sort of angry.

I still don't know how I feel

other than ferociously protective

which is why I'm writing this

even though I don't want to.

It's a letter to the universe

asking Lucas' future self

for forgiveness.

We really are trying to do

what's best.

The medicine is not a cure all

and I refuse to believe it is

a forever thing.

I'm trying to do best by my kid,

but that can be so difficult

when the water seems so murky.

Be gentle with us

Friday Fotos on Monday and Life in General

Paul is quizzing Lucas

on subtraction flash cards

as I type.

They are getting frustrated with each other

and it is hard not to intervene.

There is chocolate chocolate chip 

banana bread in the oven.

James is with his dad until 6pm

and I miss him on quiet, lazy days

when I bake and am totally relaxed.

I wish he was here

to stir and eat and be kissed.

All last week I felt like this video...

Talking Heads - Once in a Lifetime

I think I was a gypsy

in a past life. 

It would explain why

sometimes when life is 

really, super good

or really, super hard,

I feel like the roots that ground me

are also strangling me.

A good friend and fellow blogger

wrote last week about "keeping it real"

and I totally understood.

Because so often times 

we of the digital age 

are inclined to share 

a sanitized version of our real lives.

The good days,

the pretty Instagrams,

the laughter and the love and the joy.

Today I can write about the past 2 weeks

because I am no longer in the midst 

of the past 2 weeks.

The truth is sometimes

it's really hard to be a mom.

I have one child who is constant energy and opinions

and another who is a crier;

and sometimes I don't like them very much.

The truth is I am in a relationship

with a really great guy,

and I love him and it is so god damn good,

and good and great

are not synonyms for perfect.

The truth is I bear the scars of every non-great guy from before,

and my head is loud and it doesn't always say nice things

and sometimes I have to fight myself

not to burn it all down.

The truth is I suffer from depression

and other forms of soul sickness

and sometimes for no reason at all

I wake up and I am painfully

uncomfortable.

It used to be that if I felt like I was feeling recently,

that I brought everyone else into the ring with me.

I am so glad that that is no longer the case.

I am so glad that I'm not immobilized.

I'm so glad I still managed to do all of this:

Work...

on a boat...

on a beautiful day...

and not throw up.

Spend a Saturday morning...

...finger painting with all three of my favorite guys.

Find moments of sweetness...

...and humor...

...and love...

...and more humor...

...and ice cream.

 Pool parties...

...and being thrown never getting old.

Photo booths...

...and night swimming.

Time for warm bread.

Ready or Not...Here I Come

Recently I heard about a couple
that decided to break up
over their mismatched views
on having children.

One wants them,
one doesn't.

They are lovely and awesome
and I hope they realize
they can't live
without each other
and decide to have
3456398465 babies.

Or at least one.

I also know of one couple "trying"
and one couple getting ready to "try".

All of this got me thinking about
my total non-choice in having children.

I think being a mother was something
I assumed I would do when I grew up.

After college and trips to Europe,
gin soaked vacations,
my own apartment,
and a decked out wedding
with the man of my dreams.

In my mind the idea of motherhood
lived in the land
of Far Far Away.

The last thing I did was plan it.

With Lucas,
I found out I was pregnant on a Sunday.

Labor Day weekend 2003.

It was the middle of the night
and I was high on a cocktail
of too many things

I am still too embarrassed to name.

I was living in a big house

full of drunken strangers.

I wasn't really speaking to my family,

my best friend had just moved away,

and the other half of the chromosomes

wasn't spending any time with me

in the daylight.

I've told this story dozens of times.

About how suddenly at 2am

I realized I hadn't had my period in awhile.

About how mysteriously there was a

pregnancy test under my bathroom sink.

About how when that faint pink line appeared

I blamed the drug haze
and my blurred vision.

About how the next morning

there were two more tests.

Brighter lines.

Clearer vision.

I know the first person I told
was my roommate.

And then maybe I told a few friends.

I know I went to Barnes & Noble
and died a thousand deaths
trying to find a manual
on how the fuck I was ever going to do this.

I settled on
"An Idiot's Guide to Pregnancy & Childbirth".

I know I called my mom
and tried to nonchalantly
request her presence
at an upcoming Dr.'s appointment.

And when she asked why,
my nonchalance crumbled into
whispers and sobs.

I know we were supposed
to meet for coffee that night
but we never made it out of the car.

And within weeks
I moved out of that crazy house
and back into the room I grew up in.

I gave up all of my bad habits.

It was less than ideal
and I have been so painfully imperfect,
but there was never a moment
when I doubted my choice.

Something in me just knew.

And when I started spotting
at 8 weeks,
I experienced that first
ferocious instinct
to protect my child.

My introduction
to the ever present parallel
of fragility
and tigerish indominability.

My pregnancy with James
was a surprise as well.

I do not know
what it is like
to plan for a baby.

Ovulation charts
and schedules,
financial and emotional preparedness
are foreign to this mama.

A part of me
still wishes I had had
that experience.

And another part of me
smiles knowingly
at the false sense of security
those things provide.

Because with all of the planning
no one is ever prepared
for a hurricane.

Friday Fotos 6/29 (Better late than never)

Faith and fear

are battling it out in my

tummy and mind.

Faith is winning

4 to 2,

but these last few days have
been tough.

I think
it was quite
a plunge
from the high of a weekend away.

The car is back
my wallet is lighter
I am in a state
of flux.

Only in a Palm Springs thrift store can a girl find a $1.99 turban.

He said these are the stars in space.

Frozen watermelon, orange juice, and a banana.  Delicious.

He is the consummate bus partner.

I've been escaping in books again...

No Car + Walking - Waiting for the Bus = Sunburn

Homemade pizza.  We like fungus.

Me and my people.

Bus days.

Bus days Part Deux.

Lumineers - Ho Hey

I've been trying to do it rightI've been living a lonely lifeI've been sleeping here insteadI've been sleeping in my bed,I've been sleeping in my bed
So show me familyAll the blood that I would bleedI don't know where I belongI don't know where I went wrongBut I can write a song 
1,2,3 I belong with you, you belong with me you're my sweetheart

Exactly.

Happy weekend folks. xo.