Thursday, December 20, 2018

More Travel with Malcolm Tales

We had a great time in Arizona. It was nice to see family, and everything was lovely. Here are a few pictures before I tell you two stories I want to remember.

Our hotel couldn't have been better.










The last full day we were in town, Mal's grandma wanted us to have an early Christmas. We had dinner at our hotel, then went to a Christmas parade, and finished up the night with hot chocolate and presents at their house.

Earlier in the day, Mal and I went to Safeway to get chips and drinks, and some Christmas cookies. I ended up getting a big Christmas cookie decorated as a snowman. Mal said he was ready to eat some, and I explained that it was for dinner that night. He said he wasn't going to wait for dinner, and I disagreed.

We picked out some snowball cotton candy for Mal to enjoy at the present, and he said he liked it but was still insisting he was having some of that cookie in the immediate future. Once again, I told him we were waiting for everyone at dinner.

Once we'd gotten everything and were ready to check out, Mal said, "Mom, you're a dumb, dumb guy." We hadn't been talking, so I asked, "Is it because I won't let you eat the cookie right now?" He said, "Yes." It's probably rude, but I have not laughed that hard in a very long time. I know some parents might get onto their kid for calling them a "dumb, dumb guy" (James said his insults need work because this one sounds quite childish) but it's the only way he has to express how disappointed he is. And it cracked me up.

The other thing:

On Saturday, we messed around most of the day and were returning our car at about 3 o'clock. When Mal realized we weren't keeping the snazzy blue Nissan Sentra we'd used all week, he was super bummed. He said he hated our silver SUV and he didn't want it anymore; he wanted to keep the Sentra. He cried when we returned the car. He cried when we got onto the shuttle bus to the airport terminal (but first, he cried after an employee told us to run across a circular drive to get to the OTHER bus stop because the bus was over there, and it pulled out right as we arrived). And he cried a lot during the TWO HOURS we waited for our plane. (I had gotten there early because I don't know Phoenix weekend traffic enough to plan otherwise.) Mal also kept telling me he didn't want to get on the plane, but wanted to drive back to the hotel.

In his defense, Mal was tired. He fell asleep as we were taking off. He slept about half an hour and woke up in a much better mood. But when we got onto the shuttle for remote parking, he said, "I don't want to go back to our silver car! I want the blue car!" When we arrived at our parking space, he went full-on bawling, declaiming his hatred of the silver SUV and mourning the loss of the Sentra.

I helped him get into the car seat while expressing my empathy for his disappointment. Then we took off for home.

I was impressed, by the by, with The Parking Spot. Our plane landed at 9:00 and we were at our car by 9:23. I had downloaded their app, so while two other cars waited at the manned exit to pay, I just scanned my phone and was on the road. It was great!

We got about 1/3 of the way home when I heard Mal singing under his breath, "I love you. silver SUV. I missed you so much and I'll never leave you. I love you so much!" Love the one you're with, I suppose... :D

Monday, December 17, 2018

I knew it was just a matter of time...

More on my trip with Mal soon, because there were some doozies I want to remember, but I have to denote this most special of occasions.

Ever since the last time I got pregnant at what the medical community at large  (but never, ever my awesome team of midwives at Birthwise) would call "an advanced maternal age," I've known it was coming.

And it finally happened last night:

"Is that your grandbaby?"

I expected it to be more cutting than it was. Frankly, it was anti-climactic.

Part of this might be because the lady who asked me this both called Mal a girl repeatedly, after he corrected her, and then requested a ride to a bar down the street. From McDonald's. At 8:45 on a Sunday. Bless her.

But I think that most of it was because of the work I've been doing on accepting and loving my body (and all bodies). While what I've wrestled with most has been internalized fatphobia, I feel like really examining and deconstructing biases I've been taught my whole life has helped with everything, this included.

To be "offended" by being mistaken for my child's grandparent, I think I'd have to have more stock in pride of visibly defying my age, or shame in maturing. I have neither.

Actually, a few hours before that, I'd been telling James about an article I read on the thin privilege of "small fats," or what Roxane Gay calls, "Lane Bryant fat." I told him that in addition to the "privilege" I experience of not having to worry whether I'll fit into a restaurant seat, or have to buy two airline tickets, or be told by a doctor when I go in with pain in my breast and I should lose weight and I'll feel better, I also seem to have reached a milestone that many women meet with mourning, but I find exhilarating:

Largely because of my age, I'm "invisible."

When I was young, I was on the receiving end of much overt disgust (*shudder* "You're so fat!") and impertinent assumptions (the first time I was asked if I was pregnant, I was 16) very often. There's a trauma that comes with stigma in which someone isn't victimized only by overt actions; they are hurt over and over just by the anxiety they live with in anticipating the next unwanted negative interaction.

What I'm describing as my personal experience pales in comparison to the things that other minorities and "super fats" endure every day, but it was still a big part of my younger life.

It isn't anymore.

And the reason I believe it is not is that I have reached an age where it isn't seen as my civic duty to be attractive to the male eye anymore. And so I'm "invisible," but, to me, in the best possible way. I am not on the receiving end of objective scrutiny and catcalls. I know men are being kind when they hold a door open, because they don't have ulterior motives. Some women hate that; I think it's an incredibly comfortable place to have landed.

So, being mistaken for a grandma when I'm not wasn't a blow. I wasn't taken for being any "older" than I am; my sister, who is younger than I am, is a grandmother.

Actually, there's an important lesson there: You cannot tell how two people are related by looking at them. I should never make assumptions.

There we have it: The first, and likely not the last, time I was presumed to be the grandma. Very often, when I go to bed at night, I certainly feel as tired as a grandma after a grandkid has visited all day! So it's kind of accurate.
Ol' Granny and Mal, Jr.

Tuesday, December 11, 2018

First time traveling alone with Mal!

Greetings from just outside of Phoenix, Arizona! It's actually quite a bit outside of it, but we'll get to that part later.

After our Disney trip, I promised Mal we wouldn't have to fly again until we go to Hawaii in 2020, but the opportunity arose for us to take a quick trip to visit James's mom, and we had enough points for airline tickets so didn't have to pay anything at all, including tax, because we also each had a $15 credit from when our tickets to Florida decreased in price. Yay!

This morning, Mal woke up about an hour earlier than usual, and two hours earlier than he had Monday. It wasn't because he was excited about the trip, because even though he knew it was coming, I haven't been playing it up as he has anxiety about air travel.

He sat up in bed asking to go to Target, so we did. We spent about an hour there, and Mal found a group of tiny squishies that I knew he'd enjoy on the plane.


Then we drove to the Parking Spot and took a shuttle to the airport. He went from being against flying at all to being pretty excited about it. We had some time at the airport, so we stopped for yogurt (I got a smoothie, largely so I'd have a cup for him to pee in on the plane, if the need arose; it did not) then went shopping and read several books in the bookstore.

When it was time to go to the gate, Mal opened a couple of his trip surprises. He was so excited! A guy across the way made the mistake of asking Mal about the character he was playing with, and he got an encyclopedic explanation.




He was itching to board by the time we did, so that was great. I think he just wanted to be in the air and have the whole thing underway. Oh, and I had not retrieved the headphones from James after he took Mal out Sunday night, so Mal did the flight with my hands over his ears on takeoff, and just for a bit when the "brakes" are on full blast to stop the plane at the end. I was super proud of him!

Oh, also, THERE WAS AN AUSTRALIAN SHEPHERD PUPPY ON OUR FLIGHT.


A lady from Phoenix had ordered an emotional support dog from a breeder/trainer in the Austin area. Rather than pay $500 to have the poor pup shipped to her in cargo (tear drop; I wish no one would choose that option), the lady got to the Phoenix airport at 3 AM, got to Austin by 8, the breeder brought the dog to the airport, then they just got on the next flight and came home. She said it cost about half the shipping charge. Oh, his name is Moose. My goodness, he was a cutie.

We had to take a shuttle to the remote car rental hub, then it seemed to take a LONG time for us to get our vehicle with "FastBreak" by Budget. I realized I should have just checked in at their regular booth, which had no line but several free agents, instead of going down to the parking lot kiosk. In theory that should have been faster, but they also have people who booked through AAA and AARP go down there, and they had significant paperwork to complete, whereas I'd done everything ahead of time. Mal didn't mind the wait. We can always find something to do.


We'd ordered this sort of "mini booster seat" for me to bring on the trip, and I have to tell you: IT IS A PAIN IN THE BUTT. DO NOT RECOMMEND. Thirty minutes later, we hit the road in Phoenix, just in time for rush hour! It took us about 30 minutes to travel the 7 miles to McDonald's, but Mal was so good. He didn't complain. And the sunset was super amazing, so we had lots to look at.

I had the most greasy, delicious mushroom Swiss Quarter Pounder. It tasted so spot on after a day of snacking on the go. Mal had his usual, and played a while on the PlayPlace.

Then we headed further out of town to Walmart to get a few food items for the room. That drive was the only time Mal complained that it was taking a long time. We'd been away from the house for more than 8 hours by that time.

When we got back in to the car to travel the last 40 minutes, I asked Mal if he wanted radio, no radio, chat, or sleep. He said he was going to go to sleep, and he did. We were super beat by the time we got to the hotel, and the office was locked so I had to call someone to come check us in. But look at what was waiting for us!


We didn't mind waiting at all, and when the gentleman came to assist us, he had a big black dog named Hank who was the friendliest pup. Now I'm all showered and ready for bed. Mal might be going strong for a while, but I've given him a deadline to at least try to go to sleep for the night. We'll see how that goes.

Thankful for a drama-free, if long, travel day. Can't wait to look around the hotel and see Grandma tomorrow!

Sunday, December 9, 2018

Quick Thought About "Dumplin'" the Movie, a personal note

If you haven't watched Netflix's recent movie "Dumplin'", do yourself a favor and do. The most negative feedback I've read is that it's not as good as the book, and movies never are, so I waited to read it until I'd seen the film.

There is a lot to love about it. For me, the lion's share involved the portrayal of female friendships (mostly among high-schoolers). In almost every movie where you have an "outcast" (fat, nerd, jock girl, etc.) and then "normals," one or the other will be framed as basically evil, and one or the other will spend much of the movie plotting revenge or hating the other.

None of that in this movie. The main tension is between the title character and her mom, though there is some cursory idiot teen guy bullying (there are plenty of great guys in the movie, though; the jerks don't get much screen time or character development).

The young women in this movie are kind and supportive of each other. They might disagree, and even argue, but there is an underlying good will that pervades. I feel like this is a much more genuine picture of my experience with girlfriends.

But here is one thing that really struck me about the movie:

One of the story lines (not the main one) is of a male co-worker who is interested in the title character. He is conventionally good-looking, and straight-sized. The main character is also attractive, and is fat.

When it becomes obvious that he likes her and she sees a beauty-queen-type flirting with him, she becomes upset and tells him that they don't work "in the real world." She tells him that he should reasonably be with someone like the pageant staple girl (who, by the way, is an absolutely guileless character; not demonized at all, which, have I mentioned, I LOVE?!).

This was NOT my experience in high school.

I blame my lack of a real high school boyfriend on two things: I was fat (and, really, I wasn't *that* fat). I was not having sex. Maybe also that I'm a dork, but whatever.

I was never flummoxed when a guy liked me. I was always thrown off when a guy DIDN'T. No matter how many times it happened. No matter how consistent it was, and how much self-esteem-damage I had, and how much I hated my body. I was repeatedly crushed and incredulous when a guy in whom I was interested wasn't having it.

I seriously thought, "Do you KNOW me?! I'm super cool, and fun, and funny, and smart, and you'd love hanging out with me!" I might have felt like a flabby monster compared to my closest friends, but I KNEW I could hold my own in terms of personality and having so much to offer a relationship.

I am sure there are plenty of people who feel like Willowdean did: That if you look a certain way, you don't get the "Patriarchy Prizes" (h/t to Virgie Tovar). I'm very sad for those people, and am ready to build a world where this isn't the case. But for me, it never was. I always assumed I was worthy of love and respect and companionship. I'm going to credit my parents for that.

I've still spend a stupid amount of time in my life trying to diminish my body to fit into the ridiculously tiny box considered "desirable" by people who truly don't deserve my efforts. But somehow I've always seen that part of my struggle as separate from the person I am, who deserves good things just as much as my birthday twin, Cameron Diaz.

Friday, December 7, 2018

Blogging is Hard

In case you're wondering: Yes, we're still on the "go to bed at 12:30 AM, wake up after 10 AM" schedule. Which sounds kind of perfect, in terms of sleeping nine hours, but... It makes it difficult for James and me to spend time together, since he has to be in bed in time to get up early enough to miss traffic into his newish job; and it makes blogging a chore because I tend to actually wind down and start heading to sleep before Mal (waking up to tell him it's late enough and I'm turning off the lights). Then in the morning, there is waking up to do, and I try to get my chores done. Then that's just about the time Mal wakes up. Oh, and I watch TV. In fact, I just opened up my tablet, determined to blog, when I saw a video I'd started watching while I made dinner last night, but then got waylaid. I was about to press "play," but knew that would mean zero blogs today. :) So here we are.

Mal watching TV at the fun Disney Jr. play area at Barton Creek Square
First of all, an observation: The other day, it was a little chilly. In the middle of the day, I realized that what I was wearing -- leggings, a long-sleeved under shirt, and a man's button-up that fits kind of like a dress -- was pretty much the exact "outfit" I have on in a picture my mom took of my sister and me coming into my apartment from the store when I was in college.

For most of my life, I've skirted the edges of poverty, typically in the lower middle class. For that same time, I've also thought that it would be nice to have enough money that I could dress a little "better." Well, here we are with enough so-called "disposable" income that I could upgrade my wardrobe if I wanted to. And I DO purchase clothing that is more comfortable and better-made than I used to. But apparently having a little bit of cash in your pocket does not give you style, and so I'm pretty much always going to look like an out-of-touch stay-home cheapskate mom... because I am.

Similarly, we realized some caulking was coming up onto our dishes from INSIDE the dishwasher. At first, I thought I was pulling out some nasty stringy cheese, but realized, no... it was literally caulk. A brief internet research junket showed that it's dangerous to use any kind of sealant inside a dishwasher if it isn't aquarium sealant and therefore safe for animals (like humans). This was obviously the stuff you pipe around your bathtub.

Since the dishwasher was original to the house, built in 2007, we decided to get a new dishwasher. The first year we lived here, when we had the house warranty, we had someone come out about 4 times for various problems, and it's vibrated loudly through two cycles ever since then, but mostly worked.

We'll probably have to replace our refrigerator soon, too, and I've been eyeing these lovely candy apple red appliances. James did some research, but after he bought some Black Friday electronics, turned the dishwasher selection over to me. I found a couple of beautiful red ones. Both Smeg and Big Chill make them. And the morning I sat down to order, I ended up buying a Cyber Monday deal on a slate one (like the other appliances we have) from The Home Depot because I couldn't justify doubling the cost of a dishwasher just for it to be red. So that's how my brain works.

Mal seems to have even MORE energy than ever right now. We're going on a little trip next week, just the two of us, and I'm looking forward to getting and keeping him out for a while. He is loving being out. Wednesday, we went to south Austin to celebrate the Brownie girls' birthdays. Then we went to the mall because he loves Barton's play area (pictured above) but I can't justify driving down there just to visit the mall. After that, and being stuck in rush hour 360 traffic for 45 minutes, he wanted to play at Little Land. We closed that place down, then went to the McD's play area where he played with other kids for an hour and a half.

Yesterday, we met one of his friends at Chick-fil-A, then when they had to leave, we went to McD's AGAIN and he played there for a couple of hours.

Today, he's wanting to go to IKEA, where I can get 1.5 hours of child care for free! So it sounds great to me!

I was not premature in celebrating the end of "deedees." It's been a month since that post, and we're definitely done. The week after I wrote it was difficult. He remembered it, and wanted to go back. I didn't want to actively stop, but since we had, it was easier to say, "I'm sorry; it's too late." He cried himself pretty much to sleep a couple of nights. But he was fine. Yesterday, he was upset about a lot of things and said, for the first time in probably three weeks: "I'm not special anymore because I don't have deedees!" He has no idea how "special" nursing for four years is!

I've mentioned becoming a much more laid-back parent over the years. It might appear like "permissive parenting," but it's actually intentional and often difficult; I'm not just sitting back and letting my kid do whatever he wants because I'm lazy (which I can be, but that's not my overall parenting strategy). It's more about my trying to have empathy with where my kid is, and not allowing my pride or perceived authority be offended because how we interact doesn't look the way an authoritarian model looks. But it's so bizarre and sweet at times.

Yesterday, Malcolm was very frustrated because he had already eaten one of the Trader Joe's chocolate ornaments off of our tree. I don't control what he eats in general, but since the ornaments are for the whole family and not just him, I'm limiting him to one per day. He was furious, and kept saying that he was going to take another. I told him he was not going to do that. He yelled, "I am so angry with you right now!" I told him I was sorry he was mad, and I walked past him to see if he'd let me pick him up. He did.

I sat on the couch, and he nuzzled into my neck, crying and saying, "I'm just so mad at you!" while I said, "I'm so so sorry you are angry" and rocked with him. He eventually calmed down, and it seems so healthy to me to be able both to be mad at someone AND to receive comfort from them. 

Later, we reached a compromise of sorts in which I let him finish off his advent calendar, because that WAS his, and while I sliced onions for dinner, he ran over to show me his "ultra rare" finds, like a chocolate wreath or stockings or Santa. He kept saying, "I love doing this! I can't stop!" He enjoyed himself so much, and the calendar was for his enjoyment, so I'm glad he was able to have at it. We have a wooden advent calendar we can still use daily. It's not quite as tempting.

Oh, Mal wasn't as thrilled when he said he wanted another calendar and I told him Trader Joe's is out of them. I bought them in the middle of November because they're $1 and I know how they fly off the shelves. Ehh, life lesson, I suppose.

Here's a picture my dad took of Mal on the trampoline at the Brownies'.
We got our 23 and Me results back, and James has a much more broad base of ancestry than I do. We'll go into some of the results later, but it was a lot of fun to do. One thing it does if you want it to is it finds people who are likely your family. For both of us, it founds cousins we already know. So that was pretty cool.

We have a special project coming up that is part D's Christmas present, part a thing for the whole family. We're all looking forward to it, and I can't wait to share that, either!

Time to watch that video (hopefully) before Mal wakes up! Have a great weekend!

Friday, November 16, 2018

Christmas came early! (kind of)

I should have taken pictures of the whole thing, but I didn't.

This year, James and I decided to give each other something a little different for Christmas: genetic testing! Woo hoo!

The packets came in the mail yesterday, and we should have results by the holidays. It says not to eat or drink 30 minutes before, well, it's gross, but... spitting into the vial. And I didn't. However, the last thing I'd eaten, about an hour or so before that, was a red Airhead. So my sample is decidedly pink, and it'll be interesting to see whether that makes a difference or not.

I didn't notice until I'd produced enough to pool, and then I wasn't sure whether I could empty and rinse the tube out, so... I sent it in with my best wishes, and time will tell.

Incidentally, the paperwork said it most people could fill the vial in about six minutes. It took me half an hour. Another thing I read said it took this lady's male friend 4.5 spits. It took me like 20. It took James under 3 minutes, and his spit was super bubbly! Weird! And gross, I know. But you read this blog, and you get what you pay for.

So, you have to sign some permissions and acknowledgements, including opting in to receive three medical reports that they say professional organizations recommend you DON'T receive: namely late-onset Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, and I forget the third. However, we both opted into those because we're not worriers and because the knowledge will just be a tool in our arsenal if, thirty years down the road, we need it.

This was interesting to me:

"There may be some consequences of using 23andMe Services that you haven't considered.

"You may discover things about yourself and/or your family members that may be upsetting or cause anxiety and that you may not have the ability to control or change.
"You may discover relatives who were previously unknown to you, or may learn that someone you thought you were related to is not your biological relative."

Dad and Mom, is there anything you want to tell me?

More updates as we get 'em!

Wednesday, November 14, 2018

Super Sensitive, but Super Sweet

D was fairly easy-going as a little one. Puberty brought on some stuff, but it's a lot easier to deal with a verbal child in distress than one who can't speak (although it still took me a couple of years to really plug into what was happening).

You may remember (I SURELY DO) that Mal just cried for 4+ hours every day for the first 4+ months of his life. They kept asking me when I wanted to rejoin some volunteer stuff I was doing, because once a newborn isn't a newborn anymore, you expect that they don't "need" as much. I never went back because Mal never stopped needing.

He wants so much. He feels SO MUCH. He has so many opinions. He isn't super open to alternative ideas. He's, frankly, exhausting but I'm very grateful I came upon gentle parenting as he was born. If I'd tried parenting him the "I'm-not-taking-no-nonsense" way in which I parented D, I can't imagine what would have happened.



As Mal has gotten older, it's both easier and more frustrating to deal with his moods. On the one hand, we know what he wants. On the other hand, sometimes he wants things that aren't even physically possible, and he cannot understand that we're telling him the absolute truth; there IS no way to do it, and an hour of cajoling, asking more politely, crying, and whining won't change things.

He has a thing he does now where he will say, for instance, "I want to go to the Disney Outlet." "We can't because I have to take the car into the shop since the 'check engine' light is on. If we drive it too much, it might break." "I like the car being broken." "No, you don't. It means you can't go ANYWHERE any time."

"Don't be rough like that or you'll break your mirror." "I like broken mirrors." 

"I like to scare the cat."

"I like you being sick."

"I like not being nice."

Etc.

I know it's just his way to steamroll what we just told him is the barrier, but, guhh, you can't reason with someone who... can't reason. And it is taxing.

In as much as it is possible, I try to accommodate Mal's requests. If he asks for baked potatoes and I make them, then he says, "I wanted broccoli!" I will make broccoli. Whatever. He'll eventually eat both.

And there are times when I genuinely cannot help him out. Those happen frequently enough, I typically don't dig my heels in if I don't have to.

To that end... we have recently decided to take a break from hanging out with a child Mal always is excited to play with, but who delights in upsetting him. I acknowledge that my child is easily upset and dramatic. That's something he will hopefully mature out of. In the same respect, this other child will hopefully mature out of purposefully pushing Mal's buttons.

Every time we get together, within ten minutes, the other child is telling Mal something he can't do (and this child has no right to tell Mal what to do, but Mal takes it seriously and then tattles to me that this other person just told him he can't whatever) or that this child doesn't like Mal anymore and doesn't want to be his friend, or teasing him with "You can't" play with a toy or have my snack, when Mal hasn't asked for either, but then being told "Here's this cool thing you don't have access to!" upsets Mal.

It's just draining, and I deal with it enough with Mal alone. I don't need someone antagonizing and stoking the fires.

So.

Last night, Mal looked SO tired. He'd looked fatigued most of the day. By about 8:30, I had pulled out the trundle bed and was snuggling in with some new blankets we just bought to deal with the fact that our house is drafty. We played for 45 minutes or so, then Mal said he was ready to watch TV. Great. It was plugged in 3 feet from where he was. He didn't want to get it.

He hopped into bed with me and covered up, saying his legs were tired and he couldn't get the computer, but that I (still further away) needed to. I said I was not getting up.

For literally 45 minutes, he cried, begged, opened the closet door so a light would shine in my eyes, got up and grabbed something that was right next to his computer, and was generally a mess. Like I said, I usually will try to keep things easy-peasy, but this night, I was just not going to do it. I wasn't unkind. I wasn't harsh. I chatted with him about other things. But when he fell back into that, "I need YOU to get me my computer!" again, I just laid down.

At one point, James came into the room to chat, and Mal said, "No, Daddy! I don't want YOU to get my computer! I want Mommy to get it! I don't want you or me to get it! MOMMY!"

James went to the store, and when he got back, Mal was still on about my getting his computer. At 9:48, he sat up, eyes rimmed with purple, and cried, "I just love you so much!" He buried his head into my neck. He was snoring in 15 seconds.

THAT KID, guys. 

It's the earliest he's gone to sleep in weeks, so it was a nice chance for James and me to catch up.

Today's been easier than yesterday. Then again, at 5:15 PM, the night is still young...

PS One time recently, when Mal was aggressively demanding something, I asked him, "Can you say 'Mummy, *I* want an Oompa-Loompa! Get *me* an Oompa-Loompa!'" He did, and it was HYSTERICAL.

Wednesday, November 7, 2018

The End of an Era

International Breastfeeding Awareness Month is in August. When it rolled around in 2015, I was both pleased I was still breastfeeding after almost a year, and tired... of breastfeeding. I was unable to nurse D at all because of a tongue-tie (and my unwillingness to mechanically intervene to address the tie) and especially since Mal was so so fussy his first couple of years, was pleased to have this tool at my disposal this round. Not to mention the savings we must have realized (or not realized, but sustained) not having to purchase formula. We did buy a few bottles, but by 4 months, I'd thrown them out. Mal has drunk one 4-ounce bottle in his whole life. Otherwise, it was all me.

I was more along the lines of "whatever" in 2016 when Breastfeeding Awareness Month rolled around and we were still going at it. I mean, the World Health Organization recommends feeding for at least 2 and up to 7 years, based on several criteria. Mostly, I wanted it to be Mal's choice to stop when he was ready, and at two years old, he was definitely not ready.

When I went to meet the resident pediatrician in early 2017, after we'd moved into our new house, he asked what kind of milk Mal was drinking. I told him and he said, "Oh, well, you can stop that any time. We definitely don't want to see that in a 3-year-old or especially a 4-year-old!" So I didn't go back to that doctor, even though I liked him.

Without a good reason, I wasn't going to force Mal to stop nursing. Even though I was way over it.

After he turned 3, Mal only nursed when he was going to bed or waking up, or when he was really, really upset or tired. And the reality is that before Mal was about three and a half, he'd never gone to sleep without nursing, unless he was in motion in a vehicle or stroller. I tried several things, but nothing else ever worked.

Breastfeeding Awareness Months 2017 and 2018 rolled by, and I didn't really notice. I was well aware. I was also pretty much dried up. I had a little milk left on one side, but Mal was clearly nursing solely for comfort. And, once again, though I was getting pretty sick of it, I didn't have that nursing aversion where women report their skin crawling and their wanting to punch something. I just started cutting it off after a minute or so.

Also, people who say that once a child is getting the majority of their sustenance from food and are just nursing for comfort so shut them off... Do they have that attitude about everything that brings their child comfort? "Oh, come on. You don't NEED this doll to go to sleep. It's a bunch of cotton stuffed into a rag that was sewn together. You just want it for comfort, ya big baby." I couldn't do it.

I was waiting to get to a point where the pain (physical discomfort, embarrassment, etc.) outweighed the benefits (easier bedtime, continued bonding, etc.). But it turns out, I didn't really have to.

As of now, it's been one week since "deedees." I think, friends, that I can call it: We're done!

Mal has asked a couple of times, but it was a good 4 days before he thought of it. And when he's asked, I've said, "Not right now, but let's snuggle" and he might persist a little, but eventually happily moves on.

I'm glad we didn't have to do it through nights of crying and begging. I'm glad I didn't have to lie to him about how he's so big, it doesn't "work" anymore. I'm glad I didn't shame him about being too big. I'm glad I didn't manipulate it, except to limit the time for my own sanity. I'm glad it sort of ebbed out because the time was right.

Someone asked me if I would miss it. Maybe some day. Like 15 years from now. Maybe. It's hard to imagine missing it, honestly. Maybe it's too soon to be sentimental about it. Right now, I'm just happy and relieved. I mean, I'm happy it's over, but I'm also happy for all of the reasons I detailed above. I feel like we did it well and ended gently.

If you've used any of the methods I described above, I'm not judging you. I get it. It's tough! It's weird that it was literally feast or famine, too. Might have been nice to do 2 years with each kid instead.

Another thing that has happened over the past 6 monthsish is that Mal is actually sleeping through the night. I mean, he doesn't go to sleep until 12:30 AM, but once he's asleep, he only wakes up like all of us do, mumbling a bit, turning over, asking for a blanket, going right back to sleep. That's huge. I really thought it would never happen. I mean, I understand it generally *does* happen, but not all kids ever actually sleep through well. I firmly believed we'd be one of those families. I'm grateful I appear to have been wrong.

Finally, a year after ditching diapers in the daytime, we're totally done with them! Mal will have the occasional overnight accident, as all children do, but during the transition, he surprised me. I'd often think, "He went to sleep so early; there's no way!" and would sneak a pull-up onto him; then he'd be dry in the morning, but immediately use the restroom upon waking.

So lots of cool developments!

I genuinely thought that when Daylight Saving ended this weekend, we'd get a reprieve from the 12:30 bedtime. Sleeping 11:30 to 9 seemed a lot better than 12:30 to 10, just because 1) I am DEAD by 12:30, and 2) stuff starts by 10 and we only sporadically make it to things like church and story time at the library. But, no. He absorbed that extra hour like it was nothing, so by the next day, he was right back on the clock.

But with the milestones we're erecting, I have to focus on the good stuff. There is plenty of it. Even running on fumes at 10 AM.

Friday, November 2, 2018

Birthday wishes and a bit of looking back

Happy birthday, D!

I won't say the trite things like "I can't believe you're 17" or "It all happened so fast," mostly because I CAN believe it, and it happened in exactly 17 years. I've been uploading pictures to the cloud from old back-up thumb drives, and have relived so much of your life through visual memories in the past few days. And I have some thoughts. (surprise, surprise)

Man, I've loved being your mom. Most of my best memories involve you, even if you don't remember them yourself. The pictures bear out those times. But they also testify quietly to some things you CAN'T see in the pictures. Every parent, every person, has things in their life that they would like to go back and tweak. I don't spend too much time worrying about those things. But there are several overreaching aspects of your childhood, and of being your mom, that I regret significantly and wish I had not done/could undo/had done better. They are:

1) Authoritarian parenting. I didn't ever think about whether there was another way when you were a kid. It was all I'd been exposed to, and so it was easy to fall into that. And when telling you what to do didn't work, I would tell you what to do again... either LOUDER or just with more words. Over and over again. And I hate that. I desperately wish that when you'd been born, I'd seen our relationship as more of a partnership than a top-down enterprise. I always tried to respect your opinion and personhood, but it was always with the idea that I was in charge. I am sorry. I'm sorry it took me until you were a teenager to realize that there was another way. 

2) Lack of empathy when you were genuinely in need. There have been times in your life when I've been incredibly impatient with you when you expressed exhaustion and frustration at times that were inconvenient to me. When I look back on them, I can think of only a few reasons I reacted in such an ugly manner.

The first is that, when I've recognized that you absolutely COULD do something (like math when you were 6, or riding a bike a few miles when you were 11), I thought pushing you to complete it using whatever means necessary would eventually help you see that you were capable, too. How stupid. That doesn't work for me; why would I think it would work for someone else?

The second is that, in some situations when you were ready just to give up, I didn't have an out or know what else to do. So I reacted in my own stress and inability to your stress and inability.

The final one is that, in times when I've been extremely needy and requiring the most support, I have found that same need in others to be ugly. So maybe I was kind of mad that you needed emotional support when I didn't feel like I had any to spare? 

Regardless, I'm so sorry. I wish I'd stopped everything every time and sat with you to figure out a way we could work it out together. The "reasons" I've thought of aren't an excuse, and I regret it deeply.

3) Related to the above, but encompassing a lot more: I wish that the day I filed for divorce, I'd started the habit of waking up every morning and looking at myself in the mirror and reminding myself, "You're the adult. You're doing what you need to do. Your feelings will save for later; take care of D's." I was so focused on my own hurt for a good year and a half after the divorce that I was not at all as attentive to your moods and needs as I should have been. I wish I'd left the church after the first meeting with the elders; that failed reconciliation process sucked so much energy and joy that I could have focused on you. I wish I'd not tried to maintain any extra-familial relationships that required energy and were draining. In general, I'd never want to live any of my life over, but if I could go back to that time and do it over, knowing what I know now, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I failed you on so many occasions.

Those things said, I hope you know or someday will realize that I have always wanted you to be happy and have made conscious decisions at the time that I believed would be to your benefit. Even when I was wrong.

There was one time when you were about 5, and it was a gorgeous fall day, and you'd dressed up like you were going to a party, but we weren't going anywhere special. Instead, we went outside, and you were crunching around in the leaves and chasing butterflies. I sat down on the driveway because it was warm, having been in the sun all day. I thought, "This is a magical moment." Everything slowed down. I didn't have a camera, and knew I'd have to carefully remember everything  exactly as it was. You were happy and free and I absolutely relished those moments of your childhood.

Another favorite was driving all over Texoma with you, doing mystery shops, listening to audio books and eating French fries and trying on clothes. You were such a great companion; I never could have done those things if you hadn't been game. (I'll never forget coming back to the car after a revealed shop at the Burger King near Love Field when you told me, "Dumbledore is dead." I felt like a different person the whole drive home.)

Also, all of those day trips into Dallas to visit the art museum, or the zoos, or Sharkarosa Ranch. I hope you are glad we homeschooled. I feel like I had a chance to live another childhood of wonder and exploration because of it. 

I have always loved spending time with you. As you've matured and come into your own, I don't wistfully wish for those times back; I'm just extremely grateful to have had them. It's been a blessing to watch you grow up. I will miss you in a few years when you set off into your own solo adventure.

I love you. I hope you have a great 18th year. 

Mom

Sunday, October 28, 2018

Dear 15-year-old me...

Hey, you. I know you're upset right now. Your first experience with a boyfriend just ended, and you're disappointed. I'm sorry. It really does suck. But before you start high school and before you begin a journey that will eat up so much of the next three decades of your life, I want to intervene. I want to assure you that there is another way. And, mostly, I want you to understand how much you can accomplish if you are willing to try to throw off the false messages with which our culture has been bombarding you since the day you were born.

I know something about you that maybe no one else knows. You hate your body. You feel monstrous and huge, completely "other" from even your closest friends. When you sit on the floor, cross-legged, reading notes at a sleepover, you notice how the flesh on your friend's leg doesn't round up at the calves like yours does. You see another friend wearing clothes that you think would look like a clown costume on you, and you're jealous that she can get away with picking anything from the thrift store shelves and it will look nice. You stand in front of your parents' vanity mirror and extend your belly as far as it will go. "I hate you," you tell yourself. "You're disgusting."

That, you will learn, many, MANY years from now, is called "internalized fatphobia." You have bought into the idea that fat people are lazy and gross. You are neither. Your self-talk is making it worse. First of all, isn't true; your future self will look at pictures of you at this time and be shocked at how someone so beautiful could feel so ugly. Secondly, even if it were true that you were exceptionally corpulent, science will bear out that genetics and puberty are the culprits and not your lack of motivation or appreciation of good food or any moral failure on your own part.

But every time you reinforce to yourself the message that you are somehow "less" because you do not meet some arbitrary standard of beauty, you make life worse for yourself.

You do not owe thinness to anyone. Not even yourself. You have believed a lie, and you will waste so much time and emotional energy powering this machine. Please don't. Please try to find the better way.

You don't realize it, but every time you indulge in self-hating fatphobia, you also make life worse for other women. Every time you judge yourself, you judge them, too. Either they're "thinner" than you and therefore an object of envy and resentment, or they're "fatter" than you and a source of judgmental feelings of relief and maybe even superiority.

Other women are not your competition. You don't have competition. This isn't a race or a game to be won. Living that way is isolating. Other women are your comrades. Don't you see how damaging this is to you all? You should all be on the same side. You should be about dismantling this world view, not continuing to prop it up.

Let me give this to you straight: Purposeful weight loss (through dieting and/or exercise) does not work in the long-term. Science has borne this out time and time again. Any program or study that promises or shows weight-loss only follows participants for two years. Within 5 years, 95% of people who lose weight have gained most if not all of it back. I'd cite multiple sources, but you do not have the internet like we do yet. Trust me, the future is great in this regard. You'll have access to so much information and so much validation. I just wish you could believe me in 1987.

Not only does purposeful weight loss not work, it backfires. Your body's metabolism slows down when you lose weight, and it stays slower. This means that the ultra-low-fat diet you will engage in from the time you're 20 until you're 23 will affect your ability to manage weight for the rest of your life. And again when you're 30 and lose weight "healthier." And 33. Every time, it will be harder. Every time, it will require more work. Every time, you'll have to expend more energy to work out and eat fewer and fewer calories. And you'll always gain it back. Always. Even when you keep it off for almost 7 years.

Health-wise, weight cycling like this puts a huge burden on your cardiovascular system. And repeated dieting interferes with your ability to listen to your body's hunger and satiety signals. It will further separate you from your social contacts, when you don't allow yourself to eat after a certain time of day, or when you check out of a conversation early because you cannot miss a workout or terror will ensue.

You're not going to believe this, but this is the most important thing: The best thing you can do for yourself at 15 is to rid yourself of the fatphobic attitudes the culture has given you, and then work on helping everyone else do it, too.

This is actually easier, and much more fulfilling, than hating and berating yourself. It's more productive than engaging in a mental and physical illness to make your body more appealing to yourself and others.

So... what if you do it? What if you manage to chip away at every lie you've ever believed about yourself and your body and decide to dedicate your energy to things like pursuing your passions? There is a two-pronged problem here, and you'll have addressed only one.

The second part is that, yeah, pretty much everyone in our culture has co-opted bigotry toward fat people. This will include men in whom you are interested, and who you want to be interested in you.

I wish you could just forget about dating for the next ten years, but I know you won't, so maybe you'll just take this to heart:

If any man claims to care about you but shows disdain toward your body, HE DOES NOT LOVE YOU. Love is not conditional. He might like your personality. He might find you humorous or think you have a beautiful face or feel like you might make a good partner. However, ultimately, he is selfish and foolish.

Your body is not a shell that holds you. Your body IS you. You are your body. Everything you do -- sleeping, talking, walking, laughing, watching a movie, singing -- EVERYTHING you do is enabled by your amazing body. It's not a shirt you can change to please someone else (though, for what it's worth, if someone doesn't like your shirt and thinks he can tell you to change it, he's probably not great for you, either).

If someone shows disdain for your body, END THE RELATIONSHIP. That might sound drastic, but it is absolutely necessary. There is no getting around or over it. If someone's feelings of affection for you are predicated on your body looking a certain way, that is not unconditional love, and you need to remove yourself from it.

I heard a podcast once (kind of like a radio program) where a woman was saying that she'd realized something about a man she was living with when she was engaging in disordered eating and exercise: He was probably the only person who knew how unraveled her life was, and not only did he not stop it, he encouraged her. He encouraged a woman he alleged to love to continually sacrifice her pleasure and ease (by passing up food she liked, by spending hours doing work-outs she hated, etc.) because her thinness was social currency to him. To put a finer point on it: He shows up with a hottie on his arm, and it make him look like a big deal. So she's doing all of this horrible labor just for him to glean the benefits. That's definitely not love. It's dysfunctional.

And if any man says, "I can't help it; I'm just not attracted to bigger women," then whatever. Good luck to him. He is a bigot, and you don't need that kind of person in your life.

Not at all incidentally, you, too, have that bigotry. It is death, and you need to cut it out immediately. Everyone, including yourself, yes, but EVERY SINGLE PERSON, deserves respect and the freedom to move and exist in the world without harassment regardless of how they look, of their size, of their abilities, of their health, or of anything. Every single person deserves to eat what they want, go where they want, wear what they want, and be who they are without anyone else's opinions being foisted on them. You have to take your thoughts captive and excise them. The phrase, "Do they even own a mirror?" should die on the vine long before it becomes a conscious thought. No one should do this to you. You cannot do it to others. Or yourself.

I'm writing you because I don't want you to look around at the great life you have 30 years from now and wonder how much further along you might be if you could trade those 300,000+ minutes (that's more than half a year!) you spent working out and the countless hours you meal-planned and obsessed over what you were going to eat, and how many calories it had, and how much fat, and when was your next free day, and how many candy corn could you manage in one day when you otherwise ate only dry spinach for doing something that would have made your life or the world at large a better place.

You will get to this place of freedom. It will be a hard-won battle, and, actually, it will be ongoing, as some of these dogmas die more slowly than others. But if you could just start on it now instead of after your second divorce (*wince* I KNOW), you could save yourself a lot of heartache and wasted time.

I know you don't cuss. I wish, just a little bit, that you did. Because instead of responding with silent and hidden hurt when someone judges you as unworthy due to your body type, I really wish you could just happily respond, "F*(4 that" and get on with your life without a second thought. Before you're middle-aged.

In retrospect,
46-year-old me

Sunday, October 21, 2018

Random Observations

1) We missed quite the drama while we were on our little trip to Dallas to the State Fair of Texas! "Our" lake filled up so fast, beginning on the day we left, that it is now 146% full, ergo flooded. It has started abating this morning, and I'm sure the home- and business-owners are eager to get to cleanup. The lake has been more than 20 feet below full for the entire summer. It crested at 23 feet above full, most of it  in about three days. To put it into perspective, an NPR headline read that Lake Travis had taken on more water in one week than the city of Austin uses in FOUR years. Further, a gentleman on NextDoor said that, not accounting for the water lost via Mansfield Dam (which was releasing 11 millionish gallons of water PER MINUTE last night), the lake had taken on a gross of 253,433,873,760 gallons of water last week (just based on levels retained in the lake).

2) We go to the fair for a couple of main reasons: a) fair food, b) Little Hands on the Farm and the animals, and c) the butter sculpture. None of these disappointed, though a slight change in LHotF made it less kid-friendly, as far as I'm concerned. First, the food:

A cotton candy taco. The cotton candy was marshmallow-flavored. Waffle cone shell, plus marshmallow drizzle and crumbled cookies, with two Pocky-stick-kind of things

Fried Hill Country: mozzarella with basil, green tomato slices, battered and fried.
Field greens below, Texas honey/balsamic vinegar on top.

Fried shepherds pie with gravy, and fried green beans.

These were hearty and delicious, especially on the chilly, rainy day. But I enjoyed the beans even more.

Fried s'more. Pretty self-explanatory.
But it's not just the million dollars you spend on fair food that's awesome. The State Fair of Texas has a Go Texan! pavilion with samples. Among them are:



"I can keep this?!"

Toffee!

Ice cream float with choice of root beer or Dr. Pepper. Hmm, Texans are weird. #teamrootbeer
There was also beef jerky and cheese, local honey, and coated nuts, among others. Man, I love "free" food.

Okay, yes, you pay an admission to get into the fair, and that includes all of the shows and exhibitions. But there is never any reason to pay full price. During the week, there are daily discounts (don't go on the weekends; just don't). We chose the day to support the North Texas Food Bank. We each took 4 cans of food, and got in for $4 each (as opposed to $16). Seniors are free on Thursdays. There are some food specials on Thursday, too, but you're limited to the offers, and we like to select our treats.

This was Mal's first year to do Little Hands, and he enjoyed it.


In the past, you'd get paid at the farmer's market and immediately trade your "money" for something like a granola bar or packet of crackers. This time, it was a coupon for free ice cream that was outside of the building and around the corner, plus Mal didn't want ice cream, so there was no way to get his treat and save it for later.

They've moved the farm indoors, along with putting the animals in the same building. I thought the change was a positive one, overall.

That baby, though!

Ce-boooooooooo!



We'd picked a hotel that was close to a Dart light rail stop in Irving, so we were able to take public transportation down for cheaper than it would have cost to park. So it was a great little trip to take on a budget.

Oh, and butter.


I've never noticed it before, but the sculpture had a few blooms of mold on it. I think today is the last day of the fair, anyway, so it'll all probably get fed to pigs or something now. I just Googled it. I didn't find it, but in Ohio, it gets recycled into things from tires to soap. Also, I learned that a vegan is the sculptor for Texas, and has been for several years. Interesting.

3) I think my son is on a 25-hour schedule. Every day, he goes to sleep a bit later. Last night/this morning it was 1 AM. I DON'T LOVE IT.

4) We have tried A LOT of the meal prep delivery services, and after the initial welcome discount, I cancel because it's too expensive. Most are around $10 per serving, and, I'm sorry, I'll just go eat at a restaurant if I want to spend that kind of money. We've been doing Every Plate for a few weeks now, though, and really enjoy it. It's only $5 per serving, which is closer to what I spend on groceries, especially if you account for the unfortunate food waste which makes me wish we had animals or a compost heap.

If you try it, and you should because you can save $20 off of the first couple of deliveries, which means the cost is more like $3.50 per serving, just know that their average 10 minute prep time is only accurate if you have a cooking companion or if you have expert-level knife skills and a really good set of cutlery. I cook full meals at home 4-5 times per week, and it takes me about 25 minutes to slice and dice the produce. The finished product is awesome, though, and I like that I didn't even have to do active ordering and arrange for delivery. Also, it's refrigerated, so you don't have to be home. Oh, also, they do charge something like $7.99 shipping, whereas other companies ship for "free," but the cost per serving is still a LOT lower with Every Plate.

***I have other random thoughts that I'll share soon, but I'm going to get ready for church and just pull Mal into the car and go, because we need a bedtime closer to 10 than 1, so it's time to start the pain of waking that kid up earlier!

Friday, October 5, 2018

J + L : A long, drawn-out love story

(NOTE: I began this post in August 2017 and just finished it. So this first bit isn't entirely accurate, but it's why I started it.)

Everyone's kids are starting back to school, and I realized recently that it was exactly thirty years ago that I was gearing up to start a public high school after three years in a private junior high. The only people I knew at Van Buren High School were two girls I'd met candy-striping at St. Edwards that summer - cousins Tam Nguyen and Jan Nguyen - and a guy with whom I'd gone to elementary school, and who had moved across the river into our neighborhood over the summer.

I wish I could tell you about how the clouds parted and the sun shone down and lit up my heart the first time I laid eyes on James, but that's just not how it happened. We were in proximity for a long time before he really registered on my radar.

Our school wasn't tiny, but not nearly as big as it is today. We moved in pretty similar academic circles, and had multiple classes together. The one I remember most from sophomore years was French. James sat beside me, either in front of or behind his girlfriend. They held hands under the desks a lot, and were generally disgusting.

By the end of the year, I considered James a friend, that I know. For some reason, I wasn't really close with his girlfriend. Then in junior year, James and I had even more classes together, and by the time summer rolled around, James was no longer in a relationship. And I was interested.

For the life of me, I can't remember how this happened, but at some point, I was invited to play Dungeons and Dragons at James's house several times over the summer. I'd never played before, but totally wanted to hang out, so I jumped at the chance. I also sucked really badly at it. I couldn't keep the races straight, or remember what my strengths were, or anything fun like that. I got killed every dang week, early, but I kept coming back because... well, I wasn't exactly having fun, but I enjoyed the company.

You'll have to forgive my foggy memory here. I think I discarded a lot of this to make more room in my brain during the years that history pertaining to James didn't feel like it would be important to my future life. But something happened during this time wherein James and I discussed my job at Harvest Foods (Safeway) and he had told me he'd drop in and say "hi" on this one particular day.

Oh. My. Goodness.

Although I can't recall exactly how that came about, I do remember being extremely excited and nervous. Suddenly all of the "gross" stuff I'd thought about James when he was in a relationship with someone else seemed like it'd be sweet... you know, if I were on the receiving end of it. How great a boyfriend would he be?!

My co-worker and great friend Danielle shared my excitement with me, and kept an eagle eye on the door while I bagged my groceries. She kept telling me how awesome my hair looked, and generally being my hype man.

Finally, I registered the glint in her eyes and looked over my shoulder. There he was! He walked in, kind of looked around a moment, then before he saw me, a curly-haired blonde I'd never seen before trotted in, caught up with James, and took his hand in hers.

What?

Danielle looked almost as deflated as I felt.

Once again, this memory fades into obscurity. I'm sure James and I exchanged niceties. I was just stunned. I'd never seen that girl before, never heard that there was someone James was interested in. Where had she come from?

I know now.

Apparently, James was driving home from work one day and thought he saw someone he knew at a mailbox in his neighborhood. He waved at her, then realized it was not who he thought it was. It was a new person. This girl. And that's their meet cute. (Which, as I've stated, we did not have.)

I went back to Dungeons and Dragons one time. James's new girlfriend was there, sitting in his lap, as I remember. I couldn't after that. I was done.

Right before school started, my friend and I decided that senior year would be a cool time to join the band, in which neither of us had ever played. My friend had the advantage of being able to sight-read music and play a couple of instruments. I could read rhythm charts, so I ended up in auxiliary percussion.

We started practice during the summer. Long, hot mornings in the wide open practice field. The percussion section was fun, though, and I loved it. One particular break, we were standing in line for the water fountain when James, who was right behind me with his girlfriend, said to me, "Laura, I know it gets you all excited to see me so hot and sweaty like this. I get it." I cannot for the life of me explain why I had a double-edged response to this. It was half, "Eww, get over yourself + how can your girlfriend stand you" and half, "That guy has zero confidence issues. That's appealing."

Also, it was very clear that, whatever else he might have said or done, he treated his girlfriends with overt admiration and care. Um, he also did stupid stuff that got him suspended from school for days at a time, but I wasn't aware of those things until much, much later.

At some point I started dating... well, honestly, the first of two gay guys I dated that year. He definitely had some confidence issues, as a closeted man in 1989 small-town Arkansas likely would. But one time stands out. I think we might even have broken up by then. Whatever, we were all heading over to the football stadium for a game, and for whatever reason, the band bus wasn't available. They had a van for the bigger instruments, but told us all to get a ride with people who had cars. (I'd wrecked mine, so didn't.)

I ended up in my friend Tim's vehicle, with some other guy riding shotgun, and James and me in the back seat. It was a totally forgettable 4 minutes in the car, except for what happened when we got to the field.

I got out of the car and was hauling some gear to the bandstands when my boyfriend (wink wink) marched up to me, livid. He said, "You be careful around that James Gates. He only cares about one thing." Seriously, he was shaking. I will never understand that, but... he was kind of right.

So we graduated. We were good enough friends that my mom took a picture of him receiving his diploma, an honor reserved for only about a dozen of my closest buddies. The next fall, I headed off to college near Little Rock, and James went to Kansas. By the end of the semester, we both returned "home."

James's parents had moved, so he and a friend ended up living in a "swanky" bachelor pad near the fairgrounds in Fort Smith. I was going to the community college, and maybe he was, too. At some point, we ended up hanging out again. He was single, and I, once again, was VERY INTERESTED.

Interested enough to hang out at the aforementioned anti-frat-house and listen to a bunch of self-entertained young men recite "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" in its entirety. We also went to see "Dances with Wolves" at the theater (yes, first run; we are not young people) together. James complained afterwards about the inclusion of Kevin Costner butt with no balance of lady butt. At this point, you might be wondering WHY I was so interested. I can't explain it. There was a lot more to James than his juvenile male shtick, but for some reason, that WAS a part of it. I think it still is.

And then James decided to join the Navy. He was going to go to Colorado to be with his family for a bit first, then he was enlisting. I wanted one real live date before he left, so, in my characteristically understated way, I asked him out on a legitimate date... By drawing a short comic book called "Middle-Aged Deformed Kung-Fu Lizards," about some super anti-heroes who end up trapped in a book until they successfully convince James to go on a date with me. Because I like to play things cool.

It worked, though. He agreed. I don't remember this at all, but James said that I asked him to write down everything he'd never done, so I could plan something totally new for him. Not sure he ever completed that assignment, but what I picked was a day trip down to Hot Springs to go to Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum, then lunch, then finishing off at the Midamerica Science Museum.

I picked James up and maybe 20 minutes into a three-hour drive, he fell asleep in my car. I was super irritated! Now I realize he might have been playing possum just to avoid anxiety over my frightening teenage driving habits.

Back in the day Midamerica Museum had an underground viewing room so you could see into the pond that butted up against the main building. As we stood watching the fish swim around, I told James, "When I was little, I'd stand here and pretend I lived in the water. I wanted to be able to breathe underwater so much." Quietly, James said, "I still do." I seriously felt like Cupid had just shot a freaking arrow into my heart and that I might drop dead right then and there.

Spoiler alert: I did not.

As an aside, if you ever have a chance to go to the Midamerica Science Museum, do! It's really fun. We should plan another trip there soon.

So, after a fun day out, I drove us back to northwest Arkansas. And that was it.

Except.

I'd left something at James's house. I'm thinking maybe it was lipstick? Something. Anyway. I needed to pick it up before James left town for good. The night I did so, I was going out with some girlfriends. I believe it was Danielle and Laurie. They sat in the car as I hopped out to meet James in the front yard. We said goodbye and hugged as my heart raced, hoping maybe, just maybe, he would kiss me goodbye. He did not.

When I got back into the car, Laurie said, "That was a very passionate hug." She was wrong, but it was a sweet consolation gesture.

James moved to Colorado a bit before Christmas 1991. I thought it'd be neat to make him a Christmas video, so a new friend I'd made in the local community theater and I drove all over Fort Smith and Van Buren for days, getting footage. In the end, my dad and I edited it using his work editing hardware, which allowed us to lay down a separate audio track, meaning the Christmas parades I filmed were played over Mannheim Steamroller music instead of just street noise. It sounds simple enough now, but at the time, I thought James would have to be super impressed by my technological prowess.

At the beginning of 1992, I moved to Fayetteville to attend the University of Arkansas. James headed off to basic training. We corresponded for some time. I would write him in the third person, as though the person about whom I was writing (myself) were a princess. I related everything as an allegory, rather than the actual boring recounting of going to classes, going to work, etc.

James told me that he would spend hours every night writing letters to people, after days full of working out and studying. He was only getting about two hours of sleep per night, according to his recollections.

Our correspondence died off in time, as we both got busy with separate lives. Somehow, though, over the years, we managed to keep up, even before the internet was much of a "thing." James got out of the Navy fairly quickly. If you know him, you know that the kind of structure and authoritarian nature of the military is just not a great fit for my husband.

The next time we really connected, he was living in Stillwater, Oklahoma, and I was in Las Vegas. As we exchanged a couple of letters, I met D's dad. I wrote James: "To be perfectly honest, I got in touch with you to see if the time was right for us to try to get together. But now I've met someone and we're engaged." James's characteristic response to that news was, "That's nice. But what does your engagement have to do with us?" It was comforting to know that his charm had remained so consistent across the span of time.

We still managed to keep up, exchanging updates every few years, until we connected on Facebook in maybe 2009 or so. James was never extremely active on Facebook, but I caught him online every once in a while, and we chatted. After my divorce in 2011, we started talking a lot. For once, I wasn't interested in him romantically. We were both trying to date people, and we'd commiserate about the frustrating stuff.

In October 2011, I went up to Tulsa for the Oklahoma Sugar Arts Festival and saw James at a contra dance to which he'd invited me. He was there with a girl he was dating, and I didn't realize it at the time, but they were in the process of breaking up. It was the first time I'd seen James in person in twenty years. He hardly looked different; his hair was longer, but that was about it.

In time, I learned that James and this girl weren't seeing each other anymore. He seemed a little less communicative than usual, so a couple of times, I invited him to come down to Dallas on one of the weekends I didn't have D. On one of those occasions, he said, "That sounds like fun. A lot more fun than watching my dad die."

James had gotten laid off of his job just in time for his family to contact him and tell him that his dad was very ill and he needed to get there as soon as possible. James spent about six weeks in a hotel with his stepmom as his father received whatever care they were able to administer, then he passed away.

I agonized over attending the funeral. I tried to figure out a way to make it work. I calculated driving up to Kansas the day of the funeral and driving back immediately afterward. I couldn't make it work.

Then James disappeared.

Months later, I happened to see him online when I was down in Temple for an insurance thing. I told him I'd be home over the weekend and asked if he wanted to visit. He said he had no means to get there, so I offered to come see him. I asked him his address. He wrote back something to the extent of "Listen, I wish I could be what you need for me to be right now, but I can't." I said, "I'm coming to Tulsa. You can send me your address, if you want." For some reason, that broke through some wall, and he said, "I suppose I could hock a guitar for gas money." I told him no need; I'd just head up to Tulsa after driving home, feeding the cats, and repacking.

I didn't actually get a response from him until after I'd gotten home, regrouped, and headed north supposing I could enjoy the city if I didn't hear back from him. I did. He warned me to stay in my car until I saw him, because he lived in a dangerous apartment complex. He also warned me that his place looked like a train hit both a bookstore and a liquor store. He wasn't kidding.

My first thought, when I saw James come around the corner of the building was, "He looks like a little kid." He'd lost a significant amount of weight since I'd seen him the previous year. I'd been worried that James was depressed, and I think he was. But he genuinely likes a "pleasantly" cluttered space. His apartment was that on steroids. Plus, his complex had bedbugs. And roaches. And... you get the idea. I had no idea how to make sure he was going to take better care of himself.

We went out to dinner to catch up. The next day, James took me to the Philbrook Museum of Art, where we rescued a bright blue and green lizard. Then we went to the grocery store and I bought stuff to make beef and broccoli, brownies, and several other dishes he could freeze to eat later.

While we cooked (at my hotel, as his counters were covered with dishes, boxes, paperwork, etc.), we showed each other videos that were meaningful to us. We talked about politics. About religion. About friends. About what we were doing.

It was a great weekend, and I returned home hopeful that he'd been cheered up at least a little bit. For once, I wasn't hoping anything. I hadn't had ulterior motives in visiting. I had no expectations. But James was already messaging me when I returned. He knew I was planning to move to Austin and wanted to see me again before I left, if that wasn't too much to ask.

And, I don't know, we ended up falling in love.

There was a lot more to it. Like, I helped hook him up with a job in Dallas, and he moved there several weeks before I moved to Austin. Yes, I could have changed my plans. But I'd learned from a previous experience not to change my life's trajectory because of a new relationship, no matter how promising it seemed.

Then I moved to Austin while he worked in Dallas, from August until February. The long distance thing sucked. But when he moved to Austin and got a job here, it was worse. At least we'd spent weekends together when we were in separate towns. Once he lived in town ,we'd manage an hour or two here and there, but he was otherwise exhausted from the new grind, or I had things going on with D.

It was wearing on me and putting strain on our relationship when one night in the middle of March, James had come over for dinner and said, "I think we should get married on April 1. That seems appropriate."

The rest, as they say, is history.

I'm going to tell you the truth: James and I were both super hot messes when we got together. We were both 40ish, but when I think back to some of the things we were doing or thinking or saying to each other, I feel like we were still babies. The fact is, we were both still reeling from a lot of emotional damage. We probably should have waited longer before pursuing a relationship.

On the other hand, we've both been very, very good for each other. I think we balance each other out in so many ways. I've never been as content, hopeful, and secure with myself and my life as I am with James. I think he gets something good out of this, too... Like the fact that I check the mail and make sure bills get paid and minutiae like that.

James has also made me a better parent, also because of the balancing factor. He's chill and has perspective and patience when I'm freaking out. He also provides for us so I can stay home with both kiddos, even the one who doesn't really need me too much anymore (sniff... but not really).

I have told James, and continue to believe, that whatever I might have fantasized being in a relationship with him might be like, the reality has surpassed it.

A funny side product of this is that things I used to LLLLUUUUUHHHHHHHHVVVVVVE, I now still enjoy, but not nearly as much, because my actual life is so enjoyable. Examples: Back when Rockapella was verboten (don't ask; I couldn't explain it), I extracted so much happiness from their music and seeing them perform. When they came to Austin a few years ago, James and D went with me to the concert. And it was so good. But it wasn't the super-bright mark in a pretty dark existence that it had been in the past.

Another one: We just got back from vacation, and we had a lot of fun and delicious meals while we were there. In the past, I would have poured over menus ahead of the trip, and decided on what to order long in advance. I deprived myself of so many foods that I loved, except on special occasions, that I was just obsessed with meal planning, especially on vacation. Now, I eat what I want when I want whenever it's available. So I had fun getting "free" food on vacation, and things I don't normally eat because we don't eat out a whole lot. But it wasn't the luxurious break from a monotonous relationship with food that I've had in the past.

This is, of course, a vast improvement over what my life was before. When your life is so pleasant that it's hard to make it MORE pleasant, that's pretty amazing. And James has given me that. Finally. (!!!!)