Guess where I am.

Did you guess? If so, congratulations! You just won an all-expenses-paid trip to the next paragraph!

I am at the mall on this very rainy Saturday.

But I'm not shopping because I'd rather stick a toothpick in my ear.

Rather, I'm sitting in the food court whilst these two kiddos do their kiddo thing.

I believe it's both of their first time to be let loose without family to window- and birthday shop on their own.

I'm fortunate in that Mal is a pretty mature kid, and he has some mature friends. I wouldn't trust every tween in this way, but these young 'uns got it.

It brings back memories for me of walking around Central Mall in Fort Smith, Arkansas, as a teen. I loved Coach House Cards and Gifts. They had such beautiful trinkets that I could never afford; but I still enjoyed staring at the figurines with the crystals and dragons and mermaids. Also, I LOVED humorous gift cards. There was also a big "pool" in the center of the mall with four separate fountains. It added some ambient noise to quiet the hubbub of the masses, and it made the whole place smell vaguely of chlorine.

Before that, when my mom would go shopping at Walmart, she'd give me a couple of quarters and I'd play the PacMan arcade game in the entry vestibule for half an hour or so.

We're at that stage where it's time to give Mal some slack to play with. One of his friends recently moved into our neighborhood, and he's walked to their house to hang out a couple of times already. That was after his solo excursions during the icy few days we had last month. He'd walk around for half an hour, check in, and go back out. He's showing himself to be pretty responsible in that respect.

By this time next year, I'm really hoping that his youth group (all kids roughly the same age, +/- a year) will be pretty fully autonomous. I enjoy the parents in that group (as opposed to all of the parents I ignore at most of the other places we go; not because there's anything wrong with any of those moms, but because I've already seen that when a homeschooled kid grows up, I'm not likely to be friends with many of those other parents), but I think giving the kids the opportunity to make their own decisions, take some risks, and even make bad decisions in a pretty safe environment is definitely the move.

Revving back up

School starts back up this week, and Mal's calendar is about to get busier again, as well.

I have a mystery shop today; we're going to a trampoline park! Yay! I did some shops this weekend, just taking pictures, and those were NOT worth it. But today's will be a great indoor activity to keep Mal entertained without dying.

One of my shops this weekend was here. Let me know if you know what it is!

Then this afternoon, we have a Zoom call with Mal's school to kind of set expectations for the year. It sounds like there was some student drama last year and I'm guessing they want to stop that before it starts. The school is so awesome; they love the kids, and they're so affirming and patient. It's been a real blessing for Mal, and that's why we keep sending him, even though we are DESTITUTE. 

(Not really. It does feel like that sometimes. Anybody want to hire my husband?)

Wednesday, I have my one-year follow-up with the endocrinologist who referred me for surgery. I'm overmedicated, which is suppressing my thyroid-stimulating hormone (which you want to do at first if you've had cancer, just to make sure everything withers and dies), and has my cholesterol absolutely soaring. I am going to ask if after this appointment, I can switch medication management to my primary care office. They charge under $200 per visit, as opposed to my very competent and in-demand endo, who charges (and deserves) more than $450 per visit. Her office has worked with me and been extremely kind to keep pushing appointments back by 6 months while still adjusting and renewing my Levothyroxine prescription. I recognize that this professional bunch should be paid well for their amazing work... I just wish it were insurance and not me paying it! Feel me?

Also on Wednesday, we should be able to check in for our cruise! I know what you're thinking: "You just said you were destitute!" Well, yeah. We have planned a couple of trips expecting that James would have a job at some point, and so we're doing them... but after we visit Mexico in March, we'll put the kibosh on traveling for a bit. When it's been 2 years without a real income, we'll have to reevaluate some stuff.

BUT.

I'm very excited about the cruise because D is going with us! It's their first cruise in 15 years, and I know they're going to love it. It'll be nice to have the whole fam together (maybe not on the drive down or back, but, you know, in general) for a change.

My friend referred me to a sweet woman who's going to stay with our cats while we're away. She charges the same price for housesitting that we paid Rover to come feed the cats and empty the litter boxes for half an hour per day! Yay!

Then next week is the third anniversary of our "library" group! We started LGBT-friendly homeschool meetups because when I see stuff like this, I know they don't mean "us."

We'd had 6 regular members for a couple of years, but one kind of aged out (I wish we had more older kids, but that hasn't panned out yet) and one moved to Washington. It's cool, though, because Mal and Kona talk to him online and they play Minecraft or board games several times a week.

More recently, another kid has joined us, and he just fit right in! I'm really proud of our core group for not being cliquish; it probably helps that the group IS so small. I'm just excited to see what Year Four brings!

Also next week, Mal's classes soft-start with a couple of weeks of self-directed days to get back into the swing of things. And the open gym he attends is resuming sessions.

It will be his birthday before you know it! And actually, it will be MY birthday before that, so mark your calendar!

Cool Miners

Mal and two of his homeschool friends have an online "club" called Cool Miners.

Cool Miners cerca 2023

Caleb moved to the Pacific Northwest last year, and Kona lives close enough that we can almost see her house from our house except for one hill and a bunch of trees.

Today, I had an errand to run and Mal was going to go with me, but he ended up being on a call with his fellow Cool Miners, so he elected to stay home.

He just got off of the call, which lasted about three hours. 

It reminded me of when I was about Mal's age and my dad was the president (or some "cabinet" position)  of the local Chamber of Commerce. This was before we could afford call waiting, so my sister and I had a 15 minute limit on phone calls, in case urgent business from the CoC needed to come through. 

I'm glad Mal has made a few groups of close friends here in the homeschool community. We moved when D was about his age, and that middle school time is a difficult one to break into a whole new social scene.

I mentioned our "field trip" yesterday where Mal got to hang out with his one-day-a-week school friends, including a friend he made who no longer goes to the school on Wednesdays, so Mal rarely gets to see them anymore. 

And Mal has his post-church friend who's been meeting him almost every Sunday for the past maybe 3 years. 

It's fun to see my younger kid coming into his own, and figure out who he is outside of us. 

Remembering Sondra and Jude

In 2018, I got off of Facebook for mental health reasons, and it worked! Unfortunately, I have missed some major life events in the lives of people I consider dear friends. I'm going to tell you about two of these people.

Sondra, Jude, and I met (along with others like Jennifer, Jade, Amy, Stacy, Liz, Angela, April, and Aura) on a Yahoo! Groups page dedicated to Rockapella in the late 1990s. I have SO MANY stories I could tell you about the Rockapella days, but we're going to stay on track here, starting with Sondra.

Sondra lived in the midwest and had been in a small orbit of the town she grew up in her whole life. She was several years older than I was (I remember feeling weird when she turned 40 as I was still freshly into my 30s), and had worked at a big box retailer her whole adult life. She lived in an apartment over a convenience store, that also had a view of a major waterway. 

Sondra was a photographer and loved doing portraits and candid shots of friends and family. She would also capture unusual boats coming down the river by her apartment. She had an old cat she loved very much.

Her family had been through a lot, including the death of her mother when she was young, and the loss of a house to a fire before she lived independently. She adored her father, and was close to her sisters and their families. She loved kids so much, though she never had any herself.

At some point during my late 20s, Rockapella was coming through Las Vegas, where I lived at the time. A lot of people I'd only met online were coming into town to see them, but Sondra couldn't because she didn't have the money. I knew that not having money was a recurring theme in her life.

We didn't have a lot of money, but this was pre-kids, so I figured that I could swing the airfare and get her a ticket when I bought mine. I floated the idea, and she thought about it. She'd never been on a plane, much less traveled that far from home and alone.

After talking to her family, who discouraged Sondra from visiting me because I might be a man and regardless would probably kill her and bury her in my back yard (remember, this was before it was normalized to try to meet people you'd only interacted with online), Sondra decided to come out!

We had a great time! I think my ex-husband didn't want to deal with anything remotely related to Rockapella, so he left town for a few days (I had and still have no idea where he went, and honestly couldn't be bothered to think about it at all). I had just found out I was pregnant, and was a little nauseated and sleepy most of the time, but we went to the Fremont Street Experience (when it was new), bummed around on The Strip, spent time with my family (she was enamored with my niece Hannah), and chatted a lot.

I did not kill her nor did I bury her (alive or otherwise) in the back yard.

Several times during the week, she "spoke" online with the aforementioned Jude, another Rockapella fan she'd started to kind of long-distance date. They were super cute, but I also remember one night being just beat and ill and lying on the couch, grateful that she had something besides me to occupy her. But she was having so much fun chatting that she kept yelling to keep me apprised of their back-and-forth.

Sondra and Jude had a lot in common. Although they were only a few years older than I am, they were both old souls. They loved Lucy and other contemporary television series. I guess an acapella vocal band is kind of old-school. But they were both sort of unimpressed with more modern entertainment, and really bonded over nostalgia. 

So... I thought it might be neat to post the one picture I have that Sondra took of her and me at Red Rock Canyon, and I don't have it anymore. Not to go on too bleak of a tangent, but I'm not kidding when I say that my ex-husband hated anything to do with Rockapella. At some point, I think I got rid of anything remotely related to that in order to try to "save" a marriage that was never going to be fixed.

After the concert and meeting so many new faces who would go on to be long-term friends, Sondra flew back home. That trip gave her the confidence to make plans to go see Jude in person. They saved up for a long time. She worked in retail, and he worked at a local grocery store.

Jude lived in Louisiana. I probably got to know him better than I would have otherwise because of our mutual friendship with Sondra. He was a little sillier and more light-hearted than she was, though he'd certainly seen his fair share of adversity. One of his two brothers had died pretty young. Like Sondra, he had grown up and remained working-class. 

I do have pictures of both of them, from a cheesy pre-Photoshop (to me, anyway; apparently PS was already 13 years old at this point) thing I made to hype Sondra up for her trip. I scoured the internet for pictures of them separately and did... well, this monstrosity.

 

Over the years, Sondra visited Jude a few times and he might have gone to see her once. I don't remember exactly how it happened, but they eventually split up and it came out that Jude was gay. When we spoke, he insisted that he'd told Sondra "exactly what I am" from the beginning and either she didn't fully believe him, or thought love could "fix" things.

Jude and I actually got closer after this, because at least one member of Sondra's family had reached out to him and been very accusatory and chastising. She told Jude that he was bad to break Sondra's heart and that he needed to change his ways or he'd end up in hell. 

First, I thought Jude was a stand-up guy and I liked him. Second, I unknowingly dated 2 gay guys in high school, and I could totally empathize with him in a way that I wish I'd had my "gaydar" up and could have empathized with the young men I dated. But it made sense: Sondra was a woman, like me, whose femininity isn't performed over the top. And having a long-distance girlfriend/fiance is very comfortable for a man who cannot, for whatever myriad of reasons, live a fully authentic life.

I knew that Jude had loved Sondra in his way (the same way I think the guys I dated cared about me and had no intention of hurting me). And I knew that he didn't deserve to be attacked or condemned by someone who had maybe only ever met him one time.

As time passed, of course our Yahoo! Group slowed and shut down. Everyone was on Facebook, so that's where we kept up with each other. Less frequently, of course, as we all matured and had busier IRLs. 

One day, Sondra was at work and this guy she'd gone to high school with turned up. He was expressly looking for her (they were both well into their 40s at this point). He told her that he'd had a crush on her and very quickly asked her to marry him.

He was a kind and generous guy who ended up telling her that she could quit the retail job she had hated for three decades to concentrate on her photography. They still lived in her little apartment over the store, and they seemed very happy.

One thing I noticed about Sondra, though, was her predisposition to kind of having a "Debbie Downer" way about her. Maybe she always did, but as I loosened up, I saw it more .There was a time or two she'd comment on something I put on Facebook and be negative about it in a way that got on my nerves. I sniped back a time or two, and we'd go for a while without communicating, but we were still always friendly.

Jude went on with his life and started to come out of the closet a bit, at least online and kind of away from his home circles. I never asked too much, but he seemed like he was happy enough, just that he wished he could find someone for a real relationship instead of someone who was just looking to use for whatever. 

After 2018, I pretty much lost touch with both of them. I do sometimes check in on old friends to see what I can see from their public profiles. In 2023, I sadly put together that Sondra had been in treatment for cancer during the second half of 2022. She had posted something like, "I am hopefully going home tomorrow. I miss my cat! It's going to be hard learning how to live with diabetes and heart disease alone with the cancer, but I'm taking one day at a time."

She never made it home. 

I scrolled through hers and her husband's profiles. It looks like she'd had a great support system, with the volunteer fire department holding a benefit to raise money to help with her medical expenses. I am so sorry that she's gone. She was still in her 50s. I never met nor interacted with her husband, but I hope he continues to be happy and do well.

One of the last times I interacted with Jude, he was telling me that his phone had just died and he didn't have any money for a new one. That's how he was using apps to meet like-minded folks in the area, and it really cut him off from a social window that was hard to come by. 

James had just upgraded his phone (which was rare; we don't usually get a new phone until an old one dies, but he'd done a lot of research on PlusOne and had to make the leap). so I asked Jude if he wanted James's old phone. We sent it to him and made sure he got it up and running. It never occurred to me to tell him to grab my phone number while he was setting it up.

We're going to Louisiana soon, and I thought it might be cool to finally put a face with the name and voice I have for Jude. I figured I could find him on FB and try to send him a message, but I was surprised with how many people have his name. I googled his name and city, and found... his obituary. He just died last year, from complications of diabetes. He was 55.

Aside from the normal sadness that comes with having friends die, I firmly believe that ZIP codes and household incomes growing up have a lot to do with the fact that I'm still alive and my friends are not That part makes me mad. I don't know what to do about that, so I'm just sitting with it for the moment.

I do take comfort in the fact that Jude, too, had a support system. There was a barbecue fundraiser for him a few years ago to help raise money for his medical expenses.

Both of my friends were well-loved.

Both of them had to raise funds for their medical care, though, which is extremely cruel and should offend anyone who believes that life is sacred,. Access to preventative and ongoing care should be a human right. If you don't believe that, then you are one of the reasons my friends are gone from this earth much too soon. They worked hard. They simply could not afford the care that they needed to ward off problems before they started, nor to combat disease once they were ill. 

And so I remember them both with sadness that our system works like this, but with a heart full of beautiful, complicated memories. I'm better for having known both of them.

...

OH! And I just remembered: I don't think my ex-husband knew that Sondra never paid me back for that airline ticket. I lied out my ass about it, because it was one of my little rebellions. So if you are reading this, sir... well, I won't type it in case my mom comes across this post.

Food Freedom, Kids' Edition

The other day, Google photos showed me this li'l gem from 14 years ago.

This is D with their friend Morgan (in the background) at the Dallas Zoo. I noticed that D was holding a long twisted marshmallow (a much better choice than when we bought a popsicle in June at the San Antonio Zoo, and its rainbow immediately melted all over D and me, and then it just fell off the stick entirely), but what really struck me was the fact that Morgan also had one. 

Morgan's mom Susan and I were different in a lot of ways, but we got along well and I always thought she was one of the most genuinely kind and encouraging people I've ever met. This picture made me appreciate the ease of parenting in Susan's vicinity. One or both of these kids saw the marshmallow and wanted it, and we both got them. Simple.

Mal has so many good friends whose parents very heavily influence what they eat. If we're somewhere and Mal gets a bag of cookies, those kids also want cookies... and it turns into a whole "thing." They ask their parent, the request is declined, they beg, the parent gets frustrated.

I'm sure the other parent really wishes that I wouldn't let Mal get whatever he wants. But letting my kid eat intuitively is a parenting philosophy I decided on when D was very, very young. I didn't want my kids to have weird food stuff to unravel when they became adults (or if they did, anyway, I didn't want to be the cause of it).

The more I thought about the ease of feeding D and their friends when they were small, though, I realized that relaxed eating was the norm pretty much everywhere we went. When we had lunch at enrichment classes, people had all sorts of stuff, and no one really commented on what anyone else was eating unless it looked good and someone wanted the recipe.

In fact, I remember vividly the exception to that rule when I was watching D's friend's sister once, and she was hungry. I asked if she wanted a grilled cheese sandwich, and she said, "I don't think my mom would want me to eat that much sugar." I was flummoxed. What did she think was in a grilled cheese?

I've heard this from one of Mal's friends many, MANY times. The thing is, I'm very good friends with her mom, too. We just have different food philosophies. But it makes her and Mal's together times around snacks and meals more stressful.

Whereas another friend of Mal's would come over here and eat whatever regardless of what her mom might think, this friend will often reject certain offers by saying her mom wouldn't like it. The other day, after she said no to a banana, an apple, and string cheese, I offered her a Lunchable. She said, "Oh, no, my mom wouldn't want me to eat that. She said they're so bad that even the creator wouldn't let his kids eat them!"

Mal asked me if it was true that they're "bad" and I just indicated that we weren't going to talk about it. But I had to know if that was the truth, so I looked it up. First, I did find a couple of websites that indicated that Bob Drane, who was one of the Oscar Mayer employees who developed Lunchables to help them sell more bologna, didn't let his kids eat the kits (which are not enough food to be a full lunch, in my opinion, but they're adequate in a snack situation) but they were all URLs like "healthvalues" or "eatingcleanforlife," etc. Not what I consider reliable sites, with zero citations. 

I finally tracked down an article from Popular Science entitled "Industry insiders don't use their products like we do. That should worry us," It's a bunch of elitist crap, like the fact that Steve Jobs's kids didn't use iPads. Listen, if I could outsource my kids' every moment, what they do in a day might be vastly different. But this isn't an instructional article for me. It's just saying, "Wealthy people don't have to live the same way that most of us plebes do."

Furthermore, it doesn't say that Drane didn't let his kids eat Lunchables. It says that one of his two adult children doesn't let her kids eat Lunchables because they're "junky" and "awful," and "we eat very healthfully." Barf. Or high five. Whatever.

Here's why I don't really pay much attention to "nutrition" guidelines or diet fads: I've seen them change too much over my lifetime. Eggs are terrible. Steaks are death. Butter will murder you. No, wait! Those fats are good, and protein is great, and margarine is fake and IT is the real danger! Don't eat fat and you won't be fat. Nevermind. Fat is good and satiating, but added sugar is something to avoid. Processed foods and things that are ultra-palatable is what's causing the downfall of our food society! Heck, even salt, which has been vilified for years, has recently made a comeback when studies have shown that the recommended intake of sodium that the American Heart Association publishes is actually associated with WORSE health outcomes than consuming moderately more sodium. 

When D was a baby and couldn't breastfeed, I fed them a bottle of formula. We'd only been home from the hospital for a couple of weeks, but initially, D was losing weight and becoming jaundiced. They were also very frustrated because they were literally starving. I made a bottle, which they slurped right up and were so content. I had been contacted by lactation consultants who offered to come help me figure out the breastfeeding thing, but I was just exhausted and ready not to have to worry about my newborn's health. The threat of being re-hospitalized was too much. I just wanted to know that D was getting enough to eat.

We visited the pediatrician a couple of days into formula-feeding, and I sheepishly admitted that I didn't have the will to try too hard to go back to breast-feeding, and did he think that D would suffer? As he continued D's exam, he asked me, "Is your baby gaining weight? Does your baby seem content? Is your baby thriving? Then I don't care what you do. Keep that up."

I guess that's been my feeding philosophy since. 

Fundamentally, there is a difference between "nutrition" and "health." Nutrition is literally a measure of the nutrients in any given food item. You might say that spinach is more nutritious than a slice of cake, and that's probably true (if it's a real cake and not a fake "hide 'healthy' ingredients" recipe). However, calories are important to consume! And joy from having a treat is a mental health boost that goes a long way toward a total "health" picture. Health isn't just about maximizing every calorie for its narrowly-defined benefit to the mechanical function of your biological components.

Food is about joy and family and socialization and meeting your needs in a specific moment in time. I love a good salad! And I also appreciate a Cinnabon. There is literally no time when I could switch one out for the other. Nor would I want to seek out a "more nutritious" version of a cinnamon roll in order to biohack my body's performance. And I'm certainly not putting that weight on my kids' shoulders. When they're hungry, I want them to listen to their bodies, not to have my voice in their brains knocking around, nor to see my side-eye even if they can still that voice. 

So... here's to those two kids in the picture with uncomplicated relationships with the stick of spun sugar and corn starch that they're carrying around during a fun day at the zoo. They and their moms are my heroes.

"I think I'm going to start taking pictures of my clean folded laundry"

"It might seem crazy, wearing stripes and plaid. I Instagram every meal I've had." - Al Yankovic, "Tacky"

A friend of mine moved recently, and we've been keeping up via email and the occasional text. She'd offered me a one-off job, and when I responded that I really didn't have the time or energy to do it, I was kind of in a funk. Those have been happening on and off for the past year or more, and I'm thinking it might have to do with peri-menopause and hormones. Anyway, I sent her a link to our December pictures because we really did have some good times that month (we have good times every month, actually, of course).

When she responded, she said that she really enjoyed the pictures. "I especially loved seeing your food photos. They are proof that you are accomplishing things every day! I should do the same. Maybe I’ll also take photos of piles of folded laundry!"

My friend is literally the most encouraging person I know. After I'm around her, I always feel so lifted up and affirmed. So her sentiment was sweet, but I also don't think she (or maybe anyone else) understands why I take pictures of food. Maybe it IS because I'm "Tacky," although I don't IG my meals (probably only because Luke is the account-holder-of-record).

But long before social media was a thing, I've taken pictures of food. It started with when I'd eat at really nice restaurants, which wasn't often. Food is plated with care, and it's like a work of art. It's also ephemeral. So I like to capture the beauty of it before it's gone.

James spent hours working on his first bookshelf. He took pictures of each step to record the progress, he learned a lot, and the finished shelf is beautiful. We still have it. We will have it for years. Every time I make a meal, I spend time on it. I learn things when I cook. I produce something that is for my benefit, and often for the benefit of the entire family (except that ingrate, Mal, who only eats my desserts and never my actual meals). 

For me, I don't really take pictures of the food to remind myself that I accomplished a meal, though I suppose it will be a good reminder if I ever need one. It's because I delight in the aesthetics of a pretty, delicious plate (or bowl; or tumbler). I enjoy a tasty, fulfilling meal. Taking a picture of it means that once it's gone, I can still see the picture and remember that great serving of food.

I also take pictures of doughnuts, cakes, ice cream, pretty drinks, cool and weird candy I've never seen before. I mean, I take pictures of everything, actually. My family, nature, public art, weird stuff... This is primarily how I remember things. Every day, Google reminds me of thing that happened on this day last year, the year before, the year before that... And it's fun to see "Oh, yeah, we've been doing the vegetarian eMeals for almost a whole decade!" and "I'd forgotten that I made that cake for Valentine's last year!" and "Thank god Mal isn't a baby anymore!" 

I don't have as much visceral pleasure eating food as I used to, back when I was restricting. Back then, I would practically moan through a good meal or dessert. Now, I still appreciate it, but when you eat what you want, it all kind of stabilizes. Kind of like when you're generally happy, your highs aren't quite as high as they used to be, because you don't have super lows to bounce back from.

Anyway, here are some pictures of meals we've had in the past few weeks. Call me wacky, but I don't think I'd feel as happy about pictures of my balled-up socks.

Obviously, I didn't make these. Aren't they cute, though? Super tasty.

A veggie pancake I saw on TikTok.

Arepas I prepared after we watched "Encanto" a time or two.

Happy weekend and happy eating!

A Sneak-Peak into Mal's Day Out with His BFF

Last Saturday, Mal wanted to go to Indigo Play, so we picked up one of his best friends, a girl named Kona (we've talked about her before) and she went with us.

I have to share some of the conversations, because it was a fun, fun afternoon.

First, when we picked Kona up, she gave us a packet of Christmas cookies. As we were driving off...

Kona: We made those cookies from touch.

Me: Oh, are they thumbprint cookies?

Kona: I mean, we... they weren't at the store.

Me: You mean you had the ingredients at home and mixed them together?

Kona: Yeah!

Me: You made them from scratch!

They had cute kid conversations on the way, then played for almost four hours. It was loud and exhausting, but they had a fun time. Mal was not ready to leave when I told him it was time to go (I later found out that Kona had been ready to leave for some time, and he hadn't relayed that information to me), so I tried to sweeten the deal by telling them that when I went to the grocery store, they could each pick out anything they wanted to take home with them.

In the meantime, Indigo Play had free lollipops sitting out, so in the car, Mal had the stick hanging out of his mouth.

Mal: I look like a guy from the 8000s.

Me: The 8000s?

Mal: No... the 18s?

Me: The 1800s?

Mal: Yes!

Me: With like a cigarette hanging out of your mouth?

Mal: No. The... tumbleweed.

Me: Oh! Straw? 

Mal: Right.

Kona: (brightly) Yeah, you do, Mal! You really do!

Mal: Kona, you're such a good friend. It means so much to me for you to say that.

When we got to the grocery store, Mal quickly decided that he wanted some Lucky Charms. I needed to get apples, milk, jalapeño slices (which Kona found for us), and eggs, so we headed back to the dairy section.

While I was looking (unsuccessfully) for lactose-free whole milk, inspiration hit Kona. "I want a small chocolate milk!"

Me: Good choice!

I didn't see her open the milk case, but as she put her choice into the cart, I realized she'd picked a half gallon... which IS smaller than a gallon!

Later, when we were in the car, Mal said, "Mom! Kona is drinking out of the bottle!"

Kona's mom reported that she did share with her sisters when she got home. I guess they don't mind drinking after each other.

Those kids were just a lot of fun to hang out with. 

It's weird: I remember being very stressed when D had a friend over for whom I was responsible. It always felt like I was "on." I don't know whether I've mellowed, or... well, yeah. I've probably mellowed. Anyway, I'm happy to chauffeur and eavesdrop on Mal and Kona any time.

I'm just gonna zoom... away

You know what has been reiterated in my brain the past few weeks? I am NOT a video call person. I have never enjoyed them and I continue not to enjoy them, even as everyone is going to them as a way of connecting face-to-face.

I decline.

I don't need to see someone's face in order to feel their presence. When I'm on the phone with someone, I usually do things like cleaning the kitchen or sweeping or taking out the trash. These things are neither visually stimulating nor easy to accomplish if you have to hold a device and keep it trained on yourself.

When you add in more than two people, it just goes straight off the rails.

I know that people use Zoom and other conference technology for work. I think it mostly works in that way, because it is assumed that there is an agenda and people are mostly orderly in their input -- although James told me today he also eschews most "let's just get on a quick Zoom call and wrap this up" invitations because he prefers email, where both parties can think about their words and present a coherent, complete thought that will also be in writing.

But my church is trying to keep people in touch with Zoom and every time I've participated so far, it's been awkward. Either one person just talks more than everyone else, or when people try to chat, three people start at the same time... then stop... then start again... and it's just hard. There's a difference in person, where you can kind of feel the timbre of the room and tell by someone's body language that they're about to launch into a story so you don't interrupt. As much.

Also, it still doesn't "feel like" getting together. If you get together with a group of 12 people, there might be three active conversations going on at once. You can't do that if you're on a Zoom call. And hearing. Maybe it works for people who use sign language, but, again, you'd have to maximize the right window. Ehh.

THEN this week, they did a virtual happy hour (which James's work is also doing) where they were going to have a sing-along. Oh my word. My sister and I were talking about this earlier, how Zoom emphasizes one single sound source. It's kind of neat when someone starts talking and Zoom identifies who it is and highlights their window so you can tell who you're listening to without having to scan thumbnails.

However, this means that whoever sings loudest in a sing-along will be the main thing one hears, even if that's not the person with the accompaniment... or pitch. It just sounded like an awkward disaster waiting to happen, so I begged off. Well, it *was* my anniversary. And I also decided that a sing-along like that must be total hell on the other people in the house who are not participating. Especially if the user has earphones, as I would have.

So if you want to get in touch, feel free to call me! On a voice call. After you've texted me to warn me. And maybe I'll answer. Miss you all, though! Really!

I Don't Think This is Going to Work Out

Have you ever met someone and known almost immediately that you weren't going to be able to have a meaningful relationship with them?

Today we went to the park to meet a couple of homeschooling families. One, we've hung out with before. The other, it was our first time meeting them.

The child we've played with before had upset Mal by screaming in his vicinity, which is a cardinal sin Malcolm cannot forgive. The girl's mom was talking to her, and the child referred to Mal as "she." The mom reminded her, "No, he's a boy. Remember? He just has long hair." The little girl tried to make sense of it, looking at the new mom's baby and saying, "That baby is a boy, too."

The baby's mom said, "No, she's a girl. See? She's wearing a bow on her head."

Well, dang. That... doesn't really help.

If you've been around for any amount of time, you know my feelings on the arbitrary and useless binary gender traits we assign to people. I think boys should be able to wear bows if they want (Mal certainly did when his bangs were growing out to "not bangs," because I couldn't find many hair clips that were... uh... manly??). And paint their nails. And have long hair. And girls should be able to -- well, here's one area in which girls actually have more freedom than boys. But they should be able to wear overalls and stay dirty and belch proudly, I guess. If that's what they want.

However, beyond that, even if you tend to be more "recent Western traditional," I want for you to think about something else for a minute. Here goes:

Strict binary gender expectations hurt EVERYONE.

If we assume that "female" = "feminine" and that it looks or acts like a certain thing, it has the potential to hurt people who cannot fit into that category, despite wanting it desperately and trying their best. Maybe a girl is too fat or too poor or maybe a woman has worked hard in a rough profession all of her life.

Virgie Tovar talks about being very confused about her gender growing up (and she's a SUPER "girly-girl") because the store didn't sell cute clothes in her size. I remember feeling like the clothes I had to buy were boy clothes because I was bigger, too. My choices were boy clothes or adult clothes, which were way too mature/business-casual for my 13-year-old self.

So if we insist that "feminine" means a dainty little thing with an adorable sundress, but then we only make sundresses up to a certain size, then it necessarily excludes big girls who might REALLY want a cute sundress to wear on their fat bodies.

If we insist that "feminine" means long hair (a nearby private Christian school dress code states that girls must have hair longer than their ears), then we heap shame and fear of rejection on girls who might have alopecia or trichotillimania or medically-caused hair loss. Or who might just want a Mohawk.

When I was a kid, I wasn't scared of bugs and I wasn't ticklish. Apparently, that's what girls did -- run screaming from boys with bugs, and shriek in delight at boys' poking their armpits -- and I felt VERY "other" because I wouldn't fake it. In my elementary-school brain, it clicked as that I was just too big and too hearty to be an actual girl. Boys didn't like me "like that." I wasn't "girly" enough.

Recently, there were some pictures in the media of a famous family whose older child has recently changed her name and gender identity. One comment I saw was, "He doesn't look even remotely like a girl. He's not fooling anyone."

Maybe you agree with this kind of thing?

But how can we demand that a person look exactly like the "norm" we have taught ourselves to expect or else be rejected? Can you see that when we impose those expectations on people whose gender identity doesn't match up with their biological sex, it ALSO harms then people who are cisgender and maybe just don't live up to those characteristics, either? Even if that's what they desperately want?

It would be so much easier for EVERY SINGLE PERSON ON EARTH if we'd agree to dispose of the superficial gender "clues" that so often steer us wrong.

We've come a long way toward this in my lifetime, but the fact that my son has to explain almost every single day of his life that he's a boy indicates that we have a long way to go.

And I think it would be extraordinarily challenging to have a friendship with someone who was dedicated to propping up the stereotype of "bow = girl."

Saying Goodbye

I met Rob when we were two of half a dozen second-graders put into a first/second grade "split" classroom at Morrison Elementary school in Fort Smith, Arkansas, in 1979.

Me: Gentlemanly haircut courtesy my barber grandfather; second to the end on the left in the back row of kids.
Actually, Rob's hair is not unsimilar. He's 2nd to the end on the right, same row.

When we were seven years old, 46 sounded old. So very old. Even older than our parents! Of course, at the time, we had zero thoughts of what our lives might look like after school, after families... it all seemed like much MUCH later. Too much later even to consider.

Since Morrison only had one of each grade, we were in school together. Our little sisters were best friends. Our parents were in the PTA together. We spent a lot of time in the same space until we started junior high, at which point I went to a private school and then we moved across the river, one town over. Coincidentally, Rob's family moved to Van Buren the summer before we started high school, and once again, we were in school together.

We had some mutual friends, and a couple of my good friends dated Rob. But mostly, we were in separate social circles throughout high school. Rob was in ROTC and ended up serving in the Navy. He got married the year after we graduated, and and next time I heard from him, it was thanks to the internet.

I don't remember whether it was Yahoo! or AOL, but I remember chatting with Rob when he was living in Hawaii and I was in Las Vegas. It made the world feel extremely small. Two kids from small-town Arkansas had made their ways across the country and were still very far apart, but able to catch up in real time over a computer screen whenever it was convenient.

Later, we became friends on Facebook. Rob and his growing family had moved to the Austin area. I was living in North Texas. And, as you know, I ended up in Austin, as well.

James and I went to the Hayeses' for dinner once shortly after we got here. It was long enough ago that D was still hanging out and went with us, spending the entire night playing Minecraft with Rob's older child, Mak. Even though we were in the same basic metro area, it was almost an hour from the Nuthaus to Rob and Sarah's.

We invited them down once, but Rob got a migraine so just Sarah and Peyton, their younger daughter, came. Sarah told me about Austin's moonlight towers, which gave me something fun to research downtown. It's pretty cool history, and I was glad to know about them.

Later, we moved WAY further south, then, almost two years ago, we moved to a tiny town about 6 minutes from Rob and Sarah's house. We kept talking about getting together. Sometimes, when they'd visit "our" park to kayak, Sarah would ping me on Instagram, but I never noticed in a timely manner.

But today, after having grown up neighbors, lived all over the place, and once again being neighbors in a totally different place, I saw Rob. I wish I hadn't.

Because 46 doesn't seem so old anymore. It's downright youthful, isn't it? And it's much, much too young to say goodbye to a spouse.

Hearing so many people speak of Sarah today inspired me on a couple of levels.

For one thing, I tried to pinpoint the first memory I have of her. You know what it was? That she showed up at prom my junior year with a senior who was probably the first guy I was ever truly in love with. I thought he and I had all the same friends, but I'd never seen Sarah before. Then that was basically all I remember until, right around her graduation (which was the year after mine), Sarah and Rob got married. Babies in love.

Sarah had a history with cancer. You can (and should, really) hear about it from her in this video she made four years ago. When we had dinner with them, she spoke about some of her experiences... but not much. Mostly, we talked about family and our common histories and jobs and normal "grown-up" stuff. She had an easy, hospitable way.

And everyone who spoke at her funeral today spoke of being loved, and seeing Sarah love others so tangibly. Rob's aunt said that, having known Sarah since shortly after the wedding, she'd never seen her raise her voice or say a mean word about anyone. Now, I realize no one is perfect and likely Sarah did both of these things at some point, but no one who knows me could say that about me... on any given single day of my life, honestly.

So the other way I was inspired by Sarah's funeral was just to be better. To live a joyful, hopeful, outward-facing life that will leave everyone I touch better off than before they knew me. My track record so far is not great.

As Rob and the girls try to figure out a new way to live, I am confident that the love and goodwill Sarah put out into the world will enfold the family. He joked today (yes, he spoke at his wife's funeral) about how Sarah was basically The Energizer Bunny and that he certainly couldn't have stopped her... but I hope he knows the person he is, and the partner he was, gave her the space to do the things she did. I wish every possible ease and comfort for the whole family. And I'm grateful I got to know Sarah, if only briefly and somewhat distantly. Rest in peace.

"...like a fat kid loves cake"

The other day, Mal wanted to go to Altitude Trampoline Park. It's almost an hour from where we live, and it's a bear to drive down, but we'd had kind of a weird morning, so I thought it'd be a fun thing to do. As much as Mal likes Jump Street, which is considerably closer, they have only one area where kids under 4 are allowed to jump. It has 3 long trampolines, a bouncy slide, and a bouncy obstacle course. It's fun, but at Altitude, he can go everywhere. It's also considerably more expensive, except when they have open toddler jump, and we can't seem to get a straight word from them on when they're going to start doing that again.

Anyway, none of this is really about that. It's about something I noticed during the hour we were there.

There were more kids there than I was expecting, but I guess it's possible a lot of them were homeschoolers, or that some schools start later than AISD. I was amused by this one pair of middle-school-aged girls who just hopped around to places to sit and gab most of the time. Like: jump jump jump, sit on the stand for 10 minutes; jump, jump, walk, sit in the corner against the wall for 15 minutes; repeat variations on that theme. I know how much it costs per hour for kids to jump there. I'd just drop them off at the mall. But they were having a good time, regardless.

Mal had seem someone with popcorn and wanted some, so we went to buy a box. Making our way to the snack area, I saw those girls sitting out in the lounge. The smaller of the girls had an Icee. The larger one had a straw, and every now and then would take a drink, but it was obviously the smaller girl's, and she never handed it over.

Something in my head said, "That big girl doesn't think she's allowed to have a slushie in public." Then I decided I was projecting, and went on.

When Mal was ready to go, we packed everything up and I was throwing our trash away when I saw the girls again. This time, the smaller girl had a cup of Dippin' Dots ice cream. The bigger girl was, again, not eating anything.

Now, it's entirely possible that one girl just had money where the other girl didn't. Maybe the second girl's parents just thought they'd spent enough on the admission and that she could drink out of the water fountain. I realize that.

But it made me remember of a friend of mine who said it used to make her cry when she'd see a fat kid eating a hot dog. She said she wanted to yell at the parents not to let their kid eat that way. I didn't realize at the time how fatphobic and wrong-headed that "concern" (judgment) was.

This girl, the one who had an Icee and ice cream, can eat whatever she wants in public and no one will ever say a word to her. But the eyebrows fly when a bigger girl might want to enjoy the same foods. And this food policing is a breeding ground for private binging.

The double-standard -- like, the Gilmore Girls eat two large pizzas between them and it's adorable, but if a real life fat person ate half a pizza, throngs would chime in "that's why you are the way you are!" even though EVERYBODY has times they overeat, or eat non-nutritive foods, and not everybody's bodies look the same.

That double standard is troubling enough lobbed at adults. But, man, it's particularly infuriating and damaging when a kid feels like they can't have a treat because they've been taught they don't "deserve" it; that there is something wrong with them and it's their life's work to fix it so people will treat them with at least some respect for being a "good far person" and trying, even if they aren't ever able to make their bodies into lithe forms pleasing to the fickle eyes of our culture.

This made me ponder the phrase I used in the title. Something like "I love you like a fat kid loves cake." How dumb is it? I mean, most people love cake. Why wouldn't you love cake? (Or at least icing.) And my guess is that, for a fat kid, eating cake can be particularly fraught: This tastes good. It's so bad for me. I want to eat it. I shouldn't eat it because it'll make me fatter.

I hope those girls had a great day. I hope I just read a lot of my own feelings into that situation, and maybe that bigger girl had just come from IHOP and couldn't have eaten another bite, anyway. And I look forward to the day that I don't have to worry about a little girl's self-image at the hands of a cruel diet culture.

I seriously *do* want friends!

Oh my goodness, I'm so relaxed right now. Mal has typically only been interested in his computer at bedtime (for which I'm grateful; when he's active + sleepy, that = injury) but he's playing a game on PBSkids RIGHT NOW so I'm able to... well, not play Cars for five minutes or so. I mean, I have a genuine affection for Disney Pixar Cars, as you well know. But hours per day every single day of my life... I just need a break, friends.

Speaking of which: Two opportunities to meet and get to know other people have presented themselves this week, and I blew one off and am getting ready to blow the other one off. Which SUCKS. I think there is some misfire or maybe just abject laziness in my being that prevents me from working very hard to obtain what I believe I really want, which is close friendships for myself and for Mal.

First, Mal has a few friends he likes hanging out with. One is the grandson of a couple who lives around the corner from us. They typically have him one day a week, but last month had him for a week while his parents were on vacation. He and Mal hit it off, and have played together a lot. I like the grandma. She's a bit younger than my parents, but not much.

Then he has another friend he met at storytime. Even though Mal doesn't go anymore, we get together every couple of weeks. The mom and I get along, but when her son starts school in a couple of years, I'm not sure whether we'll stay in touch much, except maybe for things like birthday parties (their birthdays are a week apart), and probably then only for a couple of years. You know how it goes.

He has a third friend he's gotten together with a few times and really enjoyed, but that friend started school last week, so there's one down.

That little bit of reality had me reaching out to a few homeschool moms/grandmas I know about getting together, because each of the kids Mal plays with now will be in school by 2020.

As you might know, I'm not on Facebook anymore. I was on Facebook for ten years and made maybe one or two local friends from it, so I'm not concerned that I'm missing out on networking in that regard. Even within the homeschool community, I never found a place where I felt we fit in. There's an awesome group that has a centrally-located meet-up called "Yawp!" It's kind of a pay-as-you-can playgroup, with affinity meetings and fun events. The problem (for me) is that it's a half hour drive. People drive further than that and love it, but I desperately want the kind of friends I can ask to come over at the last minute, and they can be there pretty soon, if they're free. And, again, we have that right now in the kid Mal met at storytime.

So, I posted in NextDoor, which is a hyper-local social media site. I asked if there were any homeschooling moms with kids preschool age. I think the answer must be "no" but I did get one response.

"I have a newly 3 year old, a 1 year old, and expecting in January. Been looking for mommy friends myself! I started hosting a little walk once a week in Cedar Park and you should totally join! Very easy going and pace is whatever we want, nothing crazy. If you’re interested let me know!"

I tried. I really did. I messaged her. She messaged me. I know where the walk is. It's tomorrow. But here's my reality: 1) Mal won't "go on a walk." So he'll be in a stroller. 2) He'll want to chat, because he'll be bored (if he doesn't go to sleep, which would be HORRIBLE since that means midnight bedtime). 3) At 9 AM, it's in the high 80s, with humidity in the mid 60s. YUCKKkkk. 4) Are these fitness moms? I DON'T NEED FITNESS PALS. 5) I really want to sit on my butt while kids play and make noise and a mess around me. 6) IT IS TOO HOT TO BE ALIVE RIGHT NOW.

Oh, also, my parents are coming to visit tomorrow morning, and that's the excuse I'm going to give for skipping out.

There are what seem to be lovely women at the church Mal and I have been attending for the past few months. It's difficult to get to know anyone much at church, anyway, but with Mal running around and being ready to jet toward the end, I've been looking forward to an outside-of-church opportunity to chat. There's an upcoming meal, but it's when we're going to be out of town. And last night, there was a women's planning event at a local restaurant.

James got home in time for it to be conceivable for me to go. I had planned on trying at least a modest amount to go, but here's the thing about weeknights: 1) I feed James, and we eat dinner together, even if it's just one of us running to get more Cars while the other eats, and trading off these duties. 2) It's just difficult for me to leave the house in the evening. I need to go by early afternoon, or the inertia of the day slows, and the gravity of nighttime and sleep starts pulling on me. 3) I took Mal to Walmart at 4:30, and IT IS TOO HOT TO BE ALIVE RIGHT NOW. I was so drained by one vehicle trip into town, and I knew before we got all of the way to the store that I would be staying home once I got back.

That's it for now as Mal is back into playing with cars and only allowed me 10 bonus minutes to finish this blog post. Also, we're making Pop Tarts. So who needs friends, really, I guess.

Daddy's Gone, Day 3

Hey-o!

The downside of Mal falling asleep so early last night is that he woke up for the first time at about 11:30 PM, but was easy to get back to sleep.

When he woke up at 3:30, I realized that he'd been lying funny and managed to pee out of his nighttime diaper, even though it wasn't super soaked. So at 3:42, I was stripping a bed to wash the linens. Those waterproof zip-up bed covers have saved our mattresses' proverbial butts so many times! And since there are two twin beds in there, Mal just moved to the trundle where I usually sleep and I ended up on the naked mattress. I did not pee in it. Not even a little bit.

While I was up and trying to get this emergency laundry session started and also grabbing a quick drink, my other child called out to me with an important wee-hours query: Did we have any extra keychains? Having a nocturnal teenager is such a hoot.

I miss my husband, truly I do. But at about this time this morning, I pictured him sleeping alone in the dark and silence of a hotel room. I realized that since we've been together, he's gotten more than ONE THOUSAND FULL NIGHTS' SLEEP in excess of what I've gotten. It's a very good thing for him that I don't keep track of these sorts of statistics. Also, that I love him very much.

It is 5 PM and Mal's eyes already look ready for bed. I have to keep him awake! I'll do this by continuing to ignore him for a few moments.

Today, we got out to go to the store for soda this morning, then one of Mal's friends came over to play a couple of hours this afternoon. Although my plan was to lounge in PJs and no makeup while James was gone, I've ended up going somewhere every day, and have done mom makeup and "I'm kind of trying" clothes.

UPDATE: It's 9:50 and he's still awake. Please send help.

How Do You Do?

Today, I met a lovely woman for the first time. Our kids are about the same age (we are not!), and this family just decided to homeschool, so we ended up rained out at Chick-fil-A for our introductory play date. The kids got along really well and had fun; Mal had been so sad/borderline scared about being at a different Chick-fil-A than "ours," but the little girl and he ended up playing and he forgot all about it. The woman seemed really nice, too.

But you know one of the early things she said to me? We were discussing giving birth or something, when she said, "I used to be super skinny until I had her. Then it just creeped up on me over time. Actually, I recently lost about 20 pounds, but I'm kind of taking a break now. I need to get back on top of it before it gets out of control and I gain it all back."

As it happened, I just sat there and ate my food, largely not responding in any way to what she'd said. I wish I'd been brave enough just to ask one little question: "Why?"

Why is one of the initial things a woman shares to choose with another woman was that she wants to change her body? Why is being heavier than you used to be tantamount to being "out of control"? And if it IS, why is being out of control (i.e. eating what you want and moving how and when you want) worse than expending limited time and emotional energy on maintaining a certain type of body?

Our culture is one rife with fatphobia, and we internalize it so much that we are horrified by our bodies' natural shapes and shifts. I, for one, don't have the desire to spend much mental real estate on that kind of stuff, and I wish every woman I know could be free.

Jessamyn Stanley, one of the many women showing us that health and fitness don't have a single "look."
DON'T BUY THE HYPE!

The Internet of Things (not *that* one)

I'm going to share with you some excerpts from long-ago blog posts. The place: Spokane, Washington. More specifically, D's dad's friends' basement, where we'd been staying for a couple of months while looking for gainful employment after a very stressful separation from Girls and Boys Town of Nevada.

September 22, 2002:
"It's 51 degrees outside and I'm wearing shorts and sandals! Why? Because everything I own that is even remotely warm is behind boxes and boxes and taped securely so as not to get dusty. I don't even know where my socks are (or underwear, which, fortunately, I don't really need more of at this point) or the shoes I'd wear with long pants or skirts, if I had any of them... Thursday I'm going to storage to take out every stinking one of the wardrobe boxes. I hate to clutter up our room, but it's going to be cold soon and I'm not planning to risk exposure just to save a few square feet. But, mark my words, three weeks from now I'll be complaining about how cramped our room is because of all the boxes."

D and me in the gondola over the Spokane River. Even early September, I'm wearing one of Ken's shirts because I'm SICK of the week's worth of tops I'd packed, as we ended up staying for three months.

October 11, 2002:
"Woo hoo! Motherlode of britches today. :) Amy's shipment of slacks (for which I grossly underpaid her to ship) arrived today. Nine pair of pants including jeans (blue, black, light blue, white, rainbow-colored... okay, maybe not), slacks, a dress, a sweater and shorts that won't see the light of day until next year are now lying across my bed, just so I can look at them. I need never wear the same pair of pants again! (Assuming I die toward the beginning of the week after next.) Anyhoo... thanks, Amy!"

Pretty cool story, right, bro?

Well, here's something you need to know about Amy: At the time, she lived in NYC, and we had never met. We had become acquainted online, more specifically in a Yahoo group dedicated to Rockapella. We had been chatting for more than two years, and when she read in my "online journal" (the word "blog" wasn't very widely used yet) that I needed some warmer duds, and since she had just lost weight and "ingrown" stuff that was just my size... She offered what she had! It was awesome!

Okay, so let's fast-forward to the present day, or just a little before; let's say to some time the week before last, maybe? Amy doesn't live in NYC, anymore, but is still over there on that coast. We have still not met in person. I was going to say, "I don't even know if that group still exists," but, dang it... If you click here and you used to be an active part of that group, you'll see a lot of familiar screen names!

Anyhoo, as fortune would have it, Amy has once again lost enough weight not to be able to fit into her (smaller than that time) pants! And guess what? SHE SENT THEM TO ME AGAIN! That's right, MORE PANTS. I did pay fair shipping this time, so that's better. But, goodness, it was a crapload of slacks, jeggings, two dresses (the colorful one is my fave!), a couple of athletic pants, some crops, etc. So. Excite.

See, you might not have noticed this, but I don't have an outside-of-the-house job. I haven't had an excuse to buy nice pants in years, and so even though my grey slacks had all three fasteners that had broken (yes, beyond repair), I had just permanently secured the waistband with a safety pin, because... why should I waste money on slacks when I can wear fleece shorts 24/7, really? Same with my black slacks, on which the hem had come out (YES, BEYOND my desire to REPAIR), but they were kind of short to begin with, so I just left the unfinished bottom the way that it was? (Oh, and have I mentioned that Amy is even taller than I am, and so the pants are all tall, and so they actually, you know, cover my ankles if they're supposed to?!) I have other pants with stories I could share, but it just makes me look bad and you can rest assured that those pants have gone to a much better (or worse) place now.

So, first, thanks again, Amy! You're still awesome, and yay pants!

If someone ever tries to tell you that "internet-only" relationships don't qualify as real relationships, then you can testify by singing them this little diddy...

Super Full Saturday

Yesterday, we got a *lot* done.

First up, I baked three types of cookies during the morning, having prepared everything else slowly over the week so I wouldn't be stressed out.

I had the idea to host a Valentine's cookie "open house"/porch, actually, The timing was perfect that just a few days earlier, a Turquoise Table had become available through ReWork Project. They delivered it Thursday, and it's a perfect splash of fun color on our front porch. Since we moved in, we have set up the outdoor couch, and that side of the porch, which I used to think was the most boring, is now the most fun...

See? Day or night, it's a party!

And did I mention I'd made a whole crapton of cookies?

Red velvet with cream cheese frosting!

Strawberry white chocolate Rice Krispie treats!

Brownie bites 4 ways!

Sugar cookies with icing and my brain-created apple cider chocolate ganache.

Snickerdoodles with some pink sugar and cinnamon.

Chocolate chip cookies

Gluten-free chocolate chip cookies

We got everything fixed up and plated. I didn't know how many people to expect, so I had a plan: I put half of each type of cookie on two different plates, and I'd put one plate out at 2, and if a cookie were really popular and went fast, I could still put a second plate out at 3 for latecomers. I knew that was pretty ambitious, but had no idea how many people to expect, so that's why our kitchen table looked like this:

Before we went out to lunch, I stuck a plate of cookies into the mailbox for our letter carrier. She'd left me a note last week reprimanding me for putting some fliers in mailboxes, so...

After lunch, Mal and I went on a little walk around the neighborhood, then I set up the table.

We did have several visitors, and it was great to get to speak with each of them: First was a retired art teacher from one street over, who brought us a hand-drawn welcome card. While she was here, the Saturday alternate letter carrier came, and stepped out of her car to let me know she'd make sure our regular carrier got the cookies. So we invited her over for some cookies, too, and she said she was glad she got the route that day. Next, we met a couple who lives several streets over. They have been here, or at least the wife has, since 1979. She told us about the "Slim" whose name we've seen on a concrete slab and a big rock in the back yard. "Slim's" was a pool hall that he had built onto the back of his house (which was here, but it was a different house) when the pool hall on 1431 closed down and he felt bad that the local teens didn't have anywhere to hang out.

We also met a lady who lives on our way to the library, and she keeps her 3-year-old grandson on Wednesdays, so she might bring him over to play with Mal one day soon. And toward the end, another lady who lives right on the lake came by, a whirlwind of energy and words.

It was a neat couple of hours. In between guests, we hung around outside, anyway... sometimes just me, sometimes James would come out, and sometimes Mal would, too. We saw a lot of butterflies in the back yard. We're getting a lawn mower this week, but as long as the butterflies are here, I don't want to mow down the "weeds" they're enjoying.

Not a butterfly, but pretty cute.

As hopefully "first annual"s go, this wasn't too shabby. I learned a lot, and here's what I'm going to implement next year:

1) Invest in a sturdy, large sandwich board sign (or make one) that I can reuse every year.
2) Send invitations via the USPS, like officially, with a stamp and stuff.
3) Advertise early, then with personal messages, on Nextdoor.com. (I only thought of this the night before!)
4) Talk to people I see out and about and invite them personally.

Most of the people who showed up were either people with whom I'd connected verbally or online, with only one lady seeing the sign and assuming she was welcomed.

I made cookie plates for several neighbors, and so we got to chat with more people, too. A few seemed to know we were having a thing, so either they were busy, just didn't want to come, or didn't feel comfortable. I'll think on that to try to figure out before next year; if you (especially introverts) have any ideas, let me know!

If we can get a pretty good turnout next year, and the next year, and it becomes a "thing," I might make it a "cookie potluck." I think I maxed out on the number of cookies. I can do it again next year, but I probably can't handle more, unless little dude decides he wants in on the action, or goes to see Nana and Pappy for a few days. I was fortunate that he "let me" get as much done as I did.

My husband wrote this blog post about what happened next, so I don't have to rehash it! Except I will say that I did *not* complain in the car the whole way, and that my husband is an ass. It happens to be a very nice ass, so I let him get away with it. But otherwise, his description is pretty accurate.

I only got a few "phone pictures" yesterday, so thus far, the best picture we have of Shelby is probably one of the couple I took this morning when she was hanging out with Mal in the master bedroom.

I'll try to get more pictures of her later. She does stuff, like stand up and walk around (a lot; she's a follower, AKA "Velcro dog"). And she seems to like walks.

This morning on the way to church, I was thinking, "This dog is seven years old and has been cared for very well. Her teeth are gorgeous; she doesn't have doggie breath; she's in perfect shape and with no scars or abrasions (other than the spay scar)... She's microchipped. What if she got away and the owners just hadn't updated their information? James seems to think that when she's outside, she's trying to find her way back home. What if it's our job to help her?"

So I scoured the internet for "lost Catahoula" in the Austin area(s)... for a long time. Then, we finally got through the paperwork we received at the adoption and were able to put this together:

Until last Tuesday, this dog had a home. She had someone to care for her. She had a name - that almost certainly was not Shelby. I tried random names all afternoon, and none of them caught her attention. Tuesday, for whatever reason, she was voluntarily surrendered by her owner to Austin Animal Center. On Wednesday, she was given her necessary shots, and tested (negative) for heartworm. On Thursday, she was microchipped. On Friday, she was transferred to the Austin Humane Society. Saturday, she had to endure what was likely the most busy day the Humane Society has ever had, as there were city-wide free pet adoptions.

James mentioned that she was "sleeping" when we saw her. I watched her. Her breath was shallow. She was so stressed. During our initial meeting with her, she seemed to want to connect with James, but she was clearly overwhelmed by the noise and the people and the barking... she was more bothered by it than Mal, and he didn't like it much.

But Saturday night, we brought her home. James thinks she's been around cats a lot and was more emotionally hurt than physically when Rudy flew at her. But the way she horned in behind me, shaking... she was scared. She knew, though, that the place to go was to a human... so she's been loved, protected.

It hasn't even been a week since her world changed, and so much has happened to her.

So she might think we're nice people, and so much better than the noisy places... but who knows how long it will take her to feel at home? We've gotten tail wags, and she's equally happy to see everyone over the age of 3 in our household (Mal just jumps everywhere, including up in her face, and I don't think she's used to that)... But it's just going to take some time.

The good stuff: She is such a kitten of a dog. More than 24 hours, and she hasn't barked once. She is NOISY, but only when she sleeps. She "growl/snores". Like every exhale sounds like a growl! She and James are the perfect bedfellows. She also has not been retaliatory to the cats, being very leery of them at times, and even trying to make friends with Carol at one point. Well, and Rudy earlier today. Rudy's not ready yet. None of them are. But they'll get there. Also, she and Aish had a disagreement over the cat food (both wanted it, and both at the same time) and though neither was too happy, there was also nothing more than some heated stare thrown by Aish.

Shelby is nervous about Mal, but just backs away from him, with no worrisome nervous behaviors like "tittering" or lip-curling or "play" snapping or anything. (And, yes, we are doing due diligence keeping them always supervised, and teaching Mal how to treat the dog who is almost twice as big but so skittish about this little energetic human.) She knows "sit." She seems to know how to SPELL "sit," because when I was telling D about it but didn't actually want her to sit, I spelled it instead, and she... sat. She's great on a lead, which is good because she's a tank. She likes to explore a bit on walks, but I found today that one can stop that simply by jogging and letting her go faster. I am not sure whether that's good or bad, because... ugh, jogging. Plus, when I was running down the middle of the street in my church clothes, singing a song about how Shelby loves jogging even though Mommy hates it, I'm pretty sure our sweet elderly neighbor thought I was nutso. But, truly, he has no idea.

This morning, when Mal and I were leaving for church, Shelby wanted to get outside for a while. James was going to walk her, but needed to do something in the house, so I got her leash and took her out. She REALLY wanted to go somewhere in the car, but I just put Mal in and shut the door. Then this dog straight-up jumped onto the hood of my car, put her paws on the roof, and was looking all around, like she was trying to get a lay of the land.

Our next obstacle is what to do Tuesday: we have an appointment in town and need to be gone for about 2 hours. A kennel for this dog would be hugely expensive, but we don't trust the family dynamic yet. So we can close her into our bedroom, with her food and water, and hope for the best... but we really love that bed. So we'll see what we can come up with between now and then.

Otherwise, after the fluff-up last night, it's been a relatively smooth transition so far. Hoping tomorrow eases inter-species' tensions even more, and soon this sweet Shelby girl can't imagine living anywhere else.

There are three pets in this picture. Click on it to blow it up. :D