Our Last November in This House Comes to an End

Val is home from college for one more day for the Thanksgiving break, so we are all here together. She will be back in less than two weeks, after finals. 

Andrew is working on college applications, which are due TOMORROW. He is applying for a performing arts major, which requires so many supplemental pieces. There are many due dates, then auditions in early winter. 

I feel...as I have often felt...like being in water, pushed and pulled this way and that. 

I am a little less sad, at the moment, about the impending move. It's going to be a ton of work, but after, it will be somewhat of a fresh start, in terms of organizing a house. I think, I hope.

November. It was really nice. We got a bunch of rain. I've been going to yoga again after 20+ years. My body is stiff and everything hurts. But I lost five pounds by taking better care of myself, so that's something. I survived cooking the Thanksgiving meal. 

I don't know how to not be sad about Thanksgiving. It has never been the same for me since my maternal grandfather died in 1992 and we stopped celebrating the holiday at his and my grandmother's home. It's just a place I can never return to. 

That's such the theme with me lately. I feel like the next big thing I need to figure out is how to live with all the different kinds of grief I'm experiencing and to also be content. I'm so busy and stressed right now, that it is just something I am aware of. 

I know I will have to return to creating art. I saw an artist speak years and years ago and she told us something like, "You've always known what you want to paint." It stuck with me, so I think it must be true.

Well, then. Goodbye, November. You were lovely. 

Photos

1. The river with seasonal footbridge

2. The river without seasonal footbridge

3. Our kitty in the window

3. The moon yesterday afternoon

Our Last September in this House Comes to an End

It's such a relief when September comes around. The change in the slant of the sunlight, the earlier evenings, the turning of the leaves. I always look forward to the first day of fall.

I invited the neighbors over for an Autumnal Equinox Party one of our first years here. I had such aspirations about being involved in my community! I am still very good friends with a neighbor down the street. Her daughter just left for college. We used to go for walks together every day, the newborn daughter swaddled in her moby wrap, Valerie holding their dog's leash, me waddling with Andrew in my belly. And I have grown ever closer to our elderly neighbors over the years--the thought of moving away from them breaks my heart. They are my parents' age and it has been so reassuring having them next door.

September 23rd is my late beloved Grandma's birthday, so a special day for me (and my sister and cousins). I don't think I'd be who I am today if it weren't for her. So, I celebrate her memory and feel so very grateful.

I felt extra sad walking to the river yesterday morning. I chatted with another neighbor on the way back about house prices and flood insurance. I so wish this could have been our forever home. House prices have doubled since we moved here.

I am busy with work all week, and sometimes with Andrew's sports or music events. Then the weekend comes and I feel so much anxiety looking at all I have to do. I feel ashamed for having so much clutter. But then I remind myself that I haven't had much help all these years. Hubby works 50-60 hour weeks and we have no family close. And I've been working since 2015. 

And raising my kids in this quiet neighborhood in a little valley village, close to a river, and just inland from the sea. It's all that really matters.

(The photo is of a huge cactus patch down the street that bursts with brilliant ripening nopales this time of year.)

Our Last August in this House Comes to an End

August flew by, which isn't surprising because I went back to work on the 4th. Andrew started school on the 7th, and Val came home from her (incredible) summer internship on the 9th. 

It is not lost on me that this is, likely, the longest stretch of time we will all be together in this house again. If I weren't so busy, I'd be even more sad. Work has a way of occupying your time, and your mind. 

I didn't have a job when we moved here, besides caring for a two-year-old twenty-four, seven. I was so excited to be leaving the sprawl of unincorported San Diego for the quieter and cooler Central Coast. Hubby was going to be getting a nice paycheck, and I figured we'd buy a house within a few years. But that's hard to do when you don't have a down payment and prices keep going up.

So we stayed in our rental and celebrated holidays and milestones, taught the kids to ride bikes on our little street, sent them to elementary school up the hill, then six miles to middle school, twelve miles to high school. Val went to community college (seventeen miles)  and last year moved away to university (one hundred seventy-eight miles).

Now that it's Andrew's senior year, I have to pay extra attention to the school bulletin, and start attending PTO meetings again. There's a lot going on.

And the light is changing in our little neighborhood. The sun sets further west over the mountains, and a bit earlier. These seasonal changes always take me back to our first few years here, when everything still felt new. 

In another ten months, I'll be learning how to take these memories with me. I can't really imagine how that's going to be. To keep the panicky feelings at bay, I make sure to be present when the realization comes over me. 

That's exactly what prompted me to take the photo of our kitty looking out the window. It's my same view each morning while drinking my coffee and having some quiet time to myself before opening my laptop for work. I don't know what my window view will be in a year from now. I really like this one, and I think I'll miss it.

Our Last July in this House Comes to an End

We got a scare at the end of May. Nothing devastating, but huge in our lives, nonetheless. 

Andrew will be a senior in high school this year, so on May 28th, when our landlords told us we would need to move out soon, I cried. I had been dreading this possibility since the kids started school. It is notoriously difficult to find "affordable" housing where we live, and within our school district's boundaries. 

We have been renting our house for 19 years, which is a whole other post, but here we are, and not where I ever thought we'd be--Gen Xers who have never owned a home.

On July 2nd, our landlords agreed to our request to stay, with accommodations, and that we could live here for another year. I had been holding my breath all of June. I am grateful and relieved. And here we are.

I've been doing a bit of decluttering nearly each day of my summer break from my teaching job. The dates on papers at the bottom of piles are from 2018, the year I went back to work. Makes sense. In all honesty, I haven't filed anything since we moved here. Hubby did some filing about...15 years ago or so. I have boxes in various places throughout the house where I would typically put all the mail and documents I needed to save right before company came for Christmas each year, 2006-2017!

I have given myself such a hard time over the years for not being more organized. In fact, that was pretty much the theme of my first year or more of blogging. I am actually a very organized person, when I have the time and energy. I always tell my kids that they will be amazed at how nice and neat our house is someday. And we now have a timeline to that day because there is nothing like moving to force you to purge stuff and get organized (we moved several times before living in this house).

I hope hope hope our next move is into our own home. After the first of the year, we will start looking in earnest. 

~*~*~

So, that is the backstory to why I am writing a blog post after nearly 1.5 years. Each day since July 2nd, I have looked around and remarked that this is the last July we will be in this house. On my neighborhood walks, I have tried to memorize the morning mist on the hills, the early evening light through the trees, the smell of bay laurel, the trickle of the river.

I told a friend the other day that the past 21+ years since Valerie was born feel like an out-of-body experience. And 19 of them have been here. So much has happened! And so fast! I can't really wrap my head around it. I mean, part of these feelings are mid-life and menopause, but my brain also goes to other places: my Grandma in her 100s, Carl Sagan quotes, the "big questions" that Andrew and I used to discuss at bedtime when he was little--but not for too long because they were kind of scary. Indeed.

I thought I might like to chronicle this last year here. Maybe add a testament to the collective of my own experience with the transition from parenting teens to young adults. My own transition to...well, we'll see, won't we.

Second-to-Last Day of School

I am at home with my kids.  This is not how I planned to spend today.  I was going to meet a friend for coffee, then make one last kid-free trip to Trader Joe's before summer vacation.  But no.

The phone rang at 6:15 a.m.  A recorded  message from the school district.  A shooting threat made against the middle and high schools.  Police presence, security guards hired.  All schools to remain open.  Contact the school office if your child will be absent.

I sat on the edge of the bed listening to my third grader pour himself some cereal.  My seventh grader was in her room brushing her hair.  I started weighing risk in my head and a thought came to the surface like a bubble released from the deep, dark ocean floor.  I should not have to be making this decision.

I took a breath to steady myself then told Valerie about the threat and that I would be keeping her home today.  She glared at me.  Her friends at school are the highlight of her life right now.

In the kitchen, Andrew asked, "Why?"  I said, "It's probably just a joke."  Then he asked if he could play Minecraft.

This is the first time since the kids have been in public school that a threat has been directly made at one of their sites.  I have wondered in the past if it would ever happen and how I would react.  Now I know.  I emailed absence notifications to the school secretaries.

I hate being in this position.  I want to let my kids be at school.  I want to trust that they will be safe.  But I cannot.

Most days I feel pretty resilient in this world.  Not today.

The Curator

Another of the many things I did not know would happen upon becoming a parent:  I am now a curator.

The closets are stuffed, under the beds are packed, the hallways are lined...with stuff.  In the busyness, craziness, and exhaustion of mothering small children things have not been, shall we say, sorted properly.  Schoolwork, artwork, toys, craft supplies, etc., etc., etc.

And it is my job to go through it all, piece by piece, and make decisions.  Keep or toss.  Recycle or upcycle.  Take a photo and let go.  Save.

Daunting.  And a little sad.

We have been in our rented house almost eleven years now (we never planned on renting for so long!) and so much has happened and so quickly.

What to save?  Every small bit holds a memory.  An anchor to the fleeting moments of my kids' childhood.

So I edit and create the collection.  It is a work in progress.  With no end in site.

(The Pucci Pups above did not make the cut.)

I'm Gonna Miss You

This morning as I watched my son run ahead of me to his first grade classroom, "I'm gonna miss you," popped into my head and tears filled my eyes.  He was smiling and bounding down to hang up his backpack so he could run and get a ball for us to play with.  He likes to get to school early so he and I can kick a bouncy ball back and forth to each other on the field before the bell rings. I never know where that ball is going to go when he kicks it, and I'm not much more accurate.

I feel bad that I'm not very enthusiastic about this morning ritual, and I won't say I'm disappointed when the bell rings and he has to put the ball away and go to class.  But he is.  He would kick that ball back and forth with me all day if he could, and I'm not even kidding.  So I do enjoy it, if a little begrudgingly.

After he has reluctantly put the ball on the rack he gives me big hugs and kisses and I tell him I love him and will see him after school, and he trots off to his classroom door.  Then he turns and waves, and I wave and blow him kisses, and he blows me kisses right back and waves some more and smiles at me with such exuberance.  Then he runs back to me for one more hug even though the late bell just rang, and I burst with joy.

When he finally goes inside, I turn and head back to the car.  The P.E. teacher, who is setting up for her first group says, "That's OK, take it while you can get it," instead of passing judgement on me for not getting him into class right away.

And that's the thing.  He is just going to keep on growing up.  I try to think about all the wonderful things to come, but the fact is, I'm going to miss him the way he is now.

I approach the wing of fifth grade classrooms hoping for a glimpse of my daughter, who pulled away as I tried to kiss her goodbye this morning.  She will be finished with elementary school two weeks from today.  I already miss her.  She is a smart and beautiful girl, and I love her, but I do sometimes (OK, often) wish for the days when she was little and I got a lot less sleep, but also a lot less drama.

Someone told me or I read somewhere (I can't remember stuff anymore--I blame mommy brain), that these are the best days of my life, these days while my kids are young.  And as the years fly by, I think I agree.  Not that I am pessimistic about the future, but I feel my children separating from me, and it hurts.  And entering the middle school years is just plain scary.

So, my work now is to keep up the connection I have with my kids, even when they don't act very affectionate--or are behaving downright rude.  My job is to keep on loving them and to meet them where they are now, even if I miss them the way they were.

A Song for Father's Day (and Every Day)

I'll Carry You

I can tell by the way you dance

you will run right towards a life filled with romance

and I want you to know that I love the thought

of you spinning through the tall grass just to fall down safe and soft

into your dreams and they’ll hold you tight

but darling if you find that you’re not feeling right

I’ll be right here for you to run back to

you carry your burden and I’ll carry you

There’s no end to a father's love

though it may be hard to let you go I’ll try to act tough

and I can give you some tips to take on your journey

but know it’s your life to live and your mistakes to make

and you’ll do fine 

no do not hesitate

to take hardship in your hands and turn struggle to fate

they’ll teach you and they’ll lead you toward your truth

darling let your courage carry you

I’ll carry you 

By Chris Dorman

This song keeps popping up on one of my Pandora stations.  I get choked up every time I hear it, thinking of my daughter and my hubby (and my son, too).  I guess it also makes me think of my own dad.  I am fortunate to have a super father, and to be married to another wonderful dad.   

My favorite line is "...and you'll do fine..."  Isn't that just reassuring all the way around?  We have to have faith in ourselves and in our children.  We all just do the best we can. 

And, usually, things do turn out just fine.

Happy Father's Day, daddies.

Kindergarten for Number Two

Today is Andrew's first day of kindergarten.  I am kind of crushed, even though Andrew did great.

Hubby took him to his class while I took Valerie, the big fourth grader, up to hers.  She actually turned and said "bye!" to me after the bell rang, so that was good.

The poem above was given to Hubby by Andrew's teacher.  I knew it would make me cry (we got the same one when Valerie went to kinder), so I didn't read it until later, after I had dropped off the dry cleaning.  Then I cried.  Then I ate the little chocolate bar that was in the bag with the Kleenex and party horn.  Then I went for a run.

It is such a funny feeling to be able to set up my own weekly schedule just for myself.  I am so lucky to be able to take one more year being a "homemaker."  I get to drop my kids off at school, and pick them up.  And the hours in between...Now it's time to catch up on all the unfinished projects from the past nine and a half years, since Valerie was born.  Oh where to start? 

I'll begin by taking a deep breath, relaxing my shoulders and maybe just sitting here for little while.

Lasts

I took Andrew out to breakfast this morning.  Just the two of us.  He chose the restaurant, a place where we all call each other by name, though Andrew is usually so shy he can barely utter "thank you" when the host brings him paper and a cup filled with crayons.

First, Andrew drew what he wanted to eat--oatmeal.  Then, what I wanted--pancakes.  Then he drew a truck.  He's driving and Daddy is throwing sausages out the top.

On the back of the page he first drew me, kicking my leg up.  Why?  Because it's summer!  Indeed.

Then, he drew himself in another truck pushing a train (right up against my waist, it appears).  And more sausages launching out of the top.  It's all about the action.  I love watching him draw, chattering on about it all the while.

Now we are home.  In under an hour we will go to the elementary school to pick up Valerie from her last day of third grade.  So, my days with just Andrew home with just me are soon over.  Today, this morning, is the last.  Ouch.  These transitions are hard.

And then the long summer.  Summer:  it seems like a good idea.  And I am trying to be proactive in my thinking about it, planning (though the best laid plans, they say...) to avoid the crazy.  Mostly, even on the craziest days when the kids are arguing and I am losing my mind, I will try to hold on to at least one precious tiny moment.

I will hold on dearly to the lasts.

Well, Hello

Well, hello there.  I haven't been here for a while.  Just too much to do, not enough getting done. 

I was telling Hubby the other day, "I haven't really stopped feeling overwhelmed since the day Valerie was born."  (Perhaps a few days before, actually.)  Even after all these years, I am still finding it hard to "get it together".  I am beginning to think/realize/believe that getting it together is an unattainable goal for me.  I just need to have more realistic goals, I suppose.  Hard to do.

Valerie is off to a good start in third grade, though she says every morning that she doesn't want to go to school.  She is a very good student, always top of her class.  So, this worries us a bit.

Andrew cried and cried when I left him at preschool yesterday, in the arms of the school's very wonderful director.  (This is the same school he went to all last year, never having cried at drop off.)  I cried as I walked to the car, then sobbed after I had driven around the corner and parked, until the director called to tell me he was fine, happily playing.  He has school again tomorrow and I just don't know what to do.

Drawing above is Andrew's.  He and his kitty, Rover, in a truck, with so many details, I couldn't begin to list them all.  Kind of like how I couldn't begin to list the many details of how I love my kids. 

Oh, the emotional work of parenting. I think it may just destroy me.

Go Clean Your Room

I can tell already that this is going to be a "GO CLEAN YOUR ROOM" kind of day.

All...day...long.

Meanwhile, I'll be attempting to sort, fold, and put away the above mountain of clean laundry. (As I'm not the kind of gal to show you my dirty laundry.)

Meet Thomas

A few weeks ago, Andrew got really interested in Thomas and Friends. They have all hit it off really well. In fact, they are practically inseparable. Boys and trains. Here we go.

More Weaning, No More Naps!, and Breakfast Out

Andrew has night weaned. He sleeps through 'til morning now, and so do I. But I finally had to morning wean him, as well, so he wouldn't ask for milk from 4:30 AM 'til daylight. So now he gets to choose between cuddles or getting up for breakfast when he wakes (provided it is at least 6:00 AM). He often chooses cuddles first, the little sweetie. And this morning he didn't even ask for milk first thing when he woke up, for the very first time. It is a bittersweet thing.

No more naps! No matter what time Andrew gets up (like 5:30 AM yesterday, which isn't the norm, but does still happen on occasion), if he naps during the day he will not be able to fall asleep 'til about 9:30PM. Yesterday, I thought it wise to get him to sleep around noon, and I enjoyed 45 quiet minutes reading while he car napped. But it was totally not worth it at 9:15 last night when he was still awake. Lesson learned, again, and possibly for the last time. The afternoons are going to be rough for a while.

Yesterday was one of those days. I was just agitated. Plus the neighbors had the tree trimmers over taking out a huge old (dead, unfortunately) oak. It was a symphony of chainsaw and wood chipper. So, when I picked Valerie up from school we went for breakfast out (and the two cups of coffee was quite the mood adjuster!). She and Andrew enjoyed making and "erasing" drawings out of the long skinny sugar packets (mostly dinosaurs, of course, as above). We had such a nice time. Good thing my favorite restaurant serves chocolate chip pancakes until 3:00PM.

Night Weaning, Radical Parenting, and Breakfast Out

Into the third week of the third attempt at night weaning Andrew, I am a zombie. Whatever happened to third time's the charm? We were almost there back in October when he got an ear infection ten days in, and I decided to wait. Then we were a week in last November when we ended up with the swine flu. Then there was a lot of traveling, thus waiting. This time, I am so ready, nothing will stop me. Andrew, however, is that much older, that much wiser, and has other ideas. And he just got a cold. I have it, too. That is why I caved at 5:54 a.m. this morning, and went ahead and nursed him instead of spending the next hour (waiting for the sun to peek through the curtains) beside a toddler yelling, kicking, and tugging at my hair.

We'll be back at it early, early, early tomorrow morning, I'm sure.

Which brings me to Radical Parenting. (I couldn't find a synopsis provided by Discovery Health, which aired the show, so I am just providing a link to upcoming air times.) I happened upon this TV show last week in a rare instance of channel surfing. Well not so rare in the evenings before my 9:00 p.m. bedtime (you have to go to bed early when you plan to be woken up at 4-ish a.m.), since I have been a zombie.

Apparently, in some ways, I am a radical parent. Certainly, my own parents have thought that, at times. I just try to do what feels right. And I read Attachment Parenting when Valerie was just a few months old, then Mothering Your Nursing Toddler, when she was nearly two. Both books were in contrast to other parenting books I had in the stack. And they made me feel much better about the decisions I was making, including: baby-wearing, co-sleeping, extended nursing. But according to the show, I guess I am radical because of it. I honestly think that every parent's style of parenting would be considered radical by someone else!

Anyway. Me, zombie. So yesterday was especially trying because of the time change, and then Andrew took a spill at the playground that resulted in a very loud clang as his poor little noggin hit the play structure, and I nearly had to vomit from the fright of it. And the afternoon was crazy because he is also in the process of giving up his daily nap.

No nap + night weaning + time change = insanity. Just in case you needed me to do the math.

But this morning, after we got Valerie to school (tardy, I might add, which is NOT the norm), I took Andrew out to breakfast. And we had a lovely time at my favorite breakfast joint, which lifted my spirits. And I had two cups of coffee so I could come home and write this post!

The Return of the Weekend

A few Saturdays ago, I was sitting on the couch crocheting. Tom was in the armchair reading a book. I looked up at him and said, "It feels like a weekend." Something I have not said in nearly six years.

I remember that first weekend after Valerie was born, after we had brought her home from the NICU. I realized that there were not going to be anymore weekends ever again. Well, at least not for a long time. No more relief, on Friday afternoons, that the work week was over. No more sleeping in, then leisurely thinking about what I would like to do on a Saturday or Sunday as it stretched out before me. Life with a baby/child would be all work week all the time, leisure would have to wait for retirement.

But then, a little while ago, something wonderful happened. Valerie and Andrew started playing together. Really playing, for extended periods of time. It has taken so much pressure off! The kids still want to play with Tom and I, of course, but just not all the time. It is like something pleasant I was guaranteed when I became a mother of two has actually come to pass. Actually, there have been several things: the exponential growth of love in our family as a whole, the joy of watching the first child love the second and vice versa, the coziness of having a warm kiddo on either side of you, etc.

But just a tiny bit of weekend leisure returned is a gift I had all but forgotten. Thanks, kids!

The End of Naptime

I have seen it coming ever since mid-December. Andrew will be giving up his nap soon (which has been a nice daily bit of rest for me since August). It has been getting less and less likely that he will nurse to sleep around midday, especially if he has slept in past 7:00 a.m. Then, he might get sleepy and want to nap around 2:30 p.m. And if you have kids, or have cared for young children you know that afternoon naps lead to late bedtimes which lead to...insanity.

On the other hand, keeping a worn-out toddler awake when he really just wants to nap is no fun either. And it just seems wrong to keep a kid awake who wants to snooze. You must pick your poison in these cases and decide if a grumpy child now who will fall asleep early in the evening is easier to deal with (or fits better with the plans for the day) or a bit of rest now in return for, did I already mention, insanity as late at 10:00 p.m. later. A tough call.

I usually cannot alone (it is easier when there are others to help entice him to stay awake) keep Andrew from dozing off for just a while even when it is "past naptime". Plus, like last Friday, I might just hold him the whole time and stare at his irresistible face as he sleeps and breathe in the sweetness of his little self that is growing bigger so fast.

The payoff for no more naptime is the earlier bedtime, and often up to twelve hours of sleep for the child, and even the parents if they so choose. When Valerie gave up her nap it was like I suddenly had all this time in the evening to myself. It was great. The thing about the prospect of this happening again is that I know better now. Sure, more time for me, but also just another of Andrew's milestones met on his journey through childhood. And away from his mama. How do I survive this, my kids growing up?

A Visit From the Tooth Fairy

Valerie lost her first tooth last week. The Tooth Fairy left her a shiny golden Sacagawea dollar coin under her pillow. Good thing she had obtained a roll of them from the nice guy at the bank who had to go into the vault to get it just the week before.

This seems like such a huge milestone. It first hit me when we noticed the bottom left front tooth was loose the week before Christmas. Then the bottom right. Then the two adult teeth started growing in behind. Pretty soon it was like, just fall out already! But secretly, I knew the event would be a little bittersweet for me. I love to enjoy these milestones with Valerie and celebrate how big she's getting, but at the same time I just want "put a brick on her head" as my grandma used to tell my sister and I, to keep us from growing up. I totally get it now.

Off to pick up a brick. Make that two bricks.

Love and Grace

My New Year's Resolution is to meet stressful situations with my family members with love and grace. Love, because that is what is at the core of our relationships. Grace, because I want to be more graceful instead of grumpy when such situations arise.

I had been doing pretty well with it, until yesterday. Before bed, I gathered Valerie and Andrew in my arms and said I was sorry for being a grumpy mama and sorry for all the yelling.

And today is a new day. Love and grace, love and grace, love and grace, love and grace...

Note: Images courtesy VintageHolidayCrafts.com

Up Too Late Watching PBS

Tom and I have stayed up way too late this week. Yeah, that's right, we've been up past eleven. I'm blaming the excellent programming on PBS. And no, it is not a telethon week, thank goodness.

We've been watching This Emotional Life, a three part series that ended last night. I hate to be telling you about this after the fact, but I'm pretty sure you will be able to catch it again, probably even this week.

I'm so glad that we live in a time when these things are discussed more openly than ever before. I'm especially glad for our kids. It has gotten me thinking about one of the main strategies I used as a teacher, and now use with Valerie and Andrew: getting kids to talk about, identify and accept their feelings. I think this one strategy will go a long way in their emotional health. I hope so, anyway.

And that's one of the things we do as parents, right? A lot of hoping.


Note: Image is of a painting by Valerie at age three.