No Polar Vortex Here

Our windows are open. While there are record cold and windchill temperatures in the north and northeast, it's 70 degrees here.

I keep looking across the street.

The house doesn't look any different, but it "feels" different.

Last Thursday, our 26-year-old neighbor, the one who brought us a bunch of goodies for the dog right after we adopted Shelby, and who had such an incredible story about her childhood adoption and reconnection with her birth mom as an adult, took her own life.

I saw her every day. She and her husband have several dogs, not all of whom can be walked together, so she usually made a couple of trips every morning and a couple in the afternoon.

I know she struggled with mental health. She wanted to have a positive outlook, but had also been through so much. I didn't know her very well, and we only spoke a few times in person and several times when I was still on Facebook, but I know two things about her: She loved her husband, and she loved animals.

I dated a guy once who had a lot of grief and anger about his own childhood. He was also disillusioned about how his adult life had turned out. Once, he told me, "I wish you were enough to combat all of that. But you're not enough. No one is enough."

And, of course, he didn't mean me. He meant his feelings for me, and the kind of hope caring about me gave him for the future.

Regardless, I feel for my neighbor, and hope he's not suffering from self-doubt, wondering too much why he couldn't be "enough." I wish I knew him well enough to extend that thought. Maybe someday.

Here's another thing: Panther Cat.

Panther Cat is what Mal calls the black cat who has been around since before we moved in.

Apparently, Panther Cat's mom was a stray around here. She had babies, and all of them died/disappeared except for this one. My neighbor said she wanted to keep the cat, but couldn't.

Still, Panther Cat was part of the family. As much time as he spent in our yard and fighting over our porch with Carol, when the dogs would go out for a walk, Panther Cat always followed them. You'd have thought he was on a lead.

Once, I saw him slow down in front of the biggest dog, who tripped over him, and neither snapped at the other. It was incredible.

I haven't seen Panther Cat since our neighbor passed. Maybe he was scared off by all of the activity. James said there were 4 sheriff's cars, a ladder truck, 2 EMTs, and some other vehicle with lights and sirens.

I can't think about any other possibility. But I hope he comes back soon.

Cavities

Hey, so remember last year when Mal had a bunch of cavities and I freaked out and we didn't really do anything about them but up our cleaning game?

Yeah, they've progressed.

I went to a different dentist and while they were able to get x-rays (and only 1 was blurry!), they recommended the same thing: general anesthesia.

I don't like it any more now than I did in September, but: 1) I see how quickly that one tooth is deteriorating, and now one of the surface caries is an actual cavity (there's a difference; feel free to Google); 2) I feel zero anxiety about this office like I did the other one.

I'll be much happier at about 6:30 Monday morning when Mal's securely out and getting fixed up, but my normal parent nervousness about helping him transition to sleep with a scary, weird-smelling mask on his face is not the overwhelming panic and intuition to "STOP!" like it was at the other place.

Also: James made a decision in November to leave a job he'd only had 3 weeks for the job he has now, and I'm SO grateful. He was a contractor at the first job, and the insurance was prohibitively expensive through the tech recruiter.

We are so fortunate to have really good insurance with a low deductible. We are able to process the anesthesiologist through our health insurance, and even with a low $250 deductible after which we pay 10%, we've paid them $900!

The rest *should* be covered by dental, but I think there's a $1500 limit on that, and we might just exhaust our benefits for the year on this one thing. I guess the good news is we've hit Mal's deductible and half of our family deductible, and January's not even over yer.

So wish us luck on Monday! And NO MORE CAVITIES.

Just One Thing.

It's hard to believe this month is only half way over. There has been a lot so far in 2019!

The check engine light came on in the SUV, and after having put more into repairing it last year than we did in purchasing it, we decided not to have it fixed. Or even checked. Because $150 for a diagnostic check (to be more specific than just having the codes read) is still more good money than we wanted to throw after bad.

We sold the SUV dirt cheap and bought a new vehicle. That we still don't have. The dealership managed not to tell us it needed a special-order taillight and a pair of tires before it could pass inspection; that is, until we were already at the dealership. I was unimpressed but we like the car, the price was right, and we needed something.

We could have brought it home, but I didn't relish the idea of taking Mal back down there to wait in the service center for two hours while they did the necessary repairs. Still, they'd told us it would be Tuesday. Tuesday, they told us it would be Friday. When I balked at that and pointed out that it would have been courteous to have informed us that it wasn't inspection-ready any of the many times we communicated before going in to test drive it, the salesman said he'd push them to have it ready today.

The taillight didn't even come in today. Now he's promising it by 1 PM tomorrow. Or a loaner. Just something. But it's WAY DOWN THERE in Austin, and I am not driving down two MORE times.

Just a note, people in the automotive business: THIS IS WHY PEOPLE HATE BUYING CARS.

When I was picking out the car, I selected a couple through Chase, and then the dealerships reached out to me. On Friday night, I told one guy we were looking at the car we ended up buying the next day. He asked what kind of car it was, and proceeded to tell me how terrible those cars were because they're so expensive to repair and that the least failure will total it out. I informed him we already have one and like it very much.

Then today, someone else called. I informed him that I'd already purchased a vehicle. And since we've already been through this, when he said, "Do you mind if I ask what model?" I said, "As a matter of fact, I do. Goodbye," and hung up on him.

***Two days later***

Re: The Loaner.

Yeah, the second taillight still did not come in, and ya girl lost it via text. I told him to cancel the contract, which he informed me had already funded so they couldn't. In hindsight, they probably knew it'd be a week before the parts came in, and only said "Tuesday" because that was the second business day after we applied for the loan, at which time the loan would go through and we wouldn't be able to reverse it without penalties. SLEAZY.

Due to my going off, he offered to send a porter to pick me up so I wouldn't have to pay a Lyft $30, which I was more than willing to do to pick up my very own permanent car. I ignored him while he sent multiple texts telling me to give him the "okay" because the porter was standing by. After I'd done some research, I asked him a couple of questions and said, "Please just answer those and don't send anyone."

After THAT, he offered to follow the porter over to our house and bring the car to me.

Well, why didn't you offer that in the first place, big guy?

Squeaky wheel and all, we have a Nissan Altima in the driveway that we might not need or use at all, but at least it's available and I won't have to pay $30 to drive down there whenever the car is finally ready.

OH! A kicker here: When he dropped off the car, the salesman said to me, "You know, between two tires and two taillights, they've spent almost $1000. They are barely making any profit off of this car."

SURPRISE! I DO NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR PROFIT MARGINS!

All right. This was going to be a post about many things, but it's really long, so that's it for now. More stuff soon.

More conversations with Mal

Me: You need to poop.
Mal: I just did.
Me: Did you? I'll see it when you get up.
Mal: (sitting on the toiled, closing his legs so I can't see inside the pot) It's invisible poop.
Me: What?! I didn't hear it, either!
Mal: Because invisible poop is very quiet. It goes like this: (silently mouths a "bloop")

++++++

Mal: My uncles have inchy pliers. They're awful, so no one wants them.
Me: Then why do your uncles have them?
Mal: Because they have gloves.
Me: What exactly is an "inchy plier"?
Mal: It hurts unless you have gloves.
Me: Okay, what do they look like?
(Lots of discussion I didn't understand.)
Mal: It's like a bear trap.

++++++

Me: Where did Pappy and Nana's Christmas present go?
Mal: I don't know. Someone must have stolen it.
Me: Does it happen to be under the blanket on your bed?
Mal: No. I didn't steal it.
Me: Really? Then who did?
Mal: A raccoon.

++++++

Me: I love you.
Mal: I stopped loving you two weeks ago.

++++++

Mal: You took a piece off my creation!
Me: I'm sorry; you wanted me to build you a monkey and I need it.
Mal: (punching his fist into the box of Legos) Dammit!

++++++

Mal was in full meltdown mode as I was trying to get him dressed to go on a fun Christmas outing one night. I had asked him to come to me so I could put on his shoes, but was in his room, refusing. I walked in to pick him up and make him get ready, but as soon as I bore him aloft, he put his head on my shoulder and cooed, "Oh, this is nice."

++++++

Me: Daddy will be home soon!
Mal: I don't love Daddy anymore.
Me: That's too bad. Daddy loves you.
Mal: No, he doesn't. He doesn't want me.
Me: He absolutely wants you!
Mal: No, he doesn't. He wants Harrison.

++++++

Mal: (in a fast food play place) Mommy, come up here with me!
Me: I can't. There are too many kids here.
Mal: (sing-songy) If you come up here, I'll buy you a pony!

++++++

Mal: I want to go to Walmart and get a flip toy!

Me: We're not buying any more toys. You just got a bunch of toys for Christmas and it's too much.

Mal: Mommy, I just need ONE more toy. That's it. Then I'll be happy.

++++++

If James or I says something to Mal in the car and he's not into it: Please! I just need a little piece of quiet!

If we are wanting to go somewhere and Mal is not interested: I just wanted to have a quiet day!

Resolve isn't all it's cracked up to be

At about this time in 1992, I had resolved to drop some significant weight. I did this because, after a Christmas weekend with my maternal family, my husband at the time seemed to have an issue with how the women in my family aged, in terms of body size, and even though he swore he never would have said anything to me about it, he finally did after I pressed him and wouldn't let him keep shrugging off the disdain that he was unsuccessfully trying to hide.

Side note: When I asked him why he never mentioned his problem with my weight/shape earlier, he said, "Because I was afraid you wouldn't marry me." At some point during this whole discussion, he pulled the car over and, crying, begged me not to leave him. I told him I wouldn't. And I didn't. For more than 5 years. But, honestly, now I see that it's really difficult to come back from the knowledge that your partner has a fundamental problem with something about you that is ingrained in your DNA.

I specifically wanted to share an incident I've been remembering lately.

For Christmas, one of the things James got me was a one pound Reese's Peanut Butter Cup package. Each cup weighs 8 ounces and is multiple servings. It's lasted me a week and I just ate the final bite. I've had it for dessert for most meals since Christmas, and I'm not tired of it yet. Perfect gift.

26 years ago, I swore off of most of the food that I loved. I limited myself to 1500 calories and 7 grams of fat per day. I also committed to exercising every other day no matter what. If you think about it, this is how many people's New Year's Resolutions shape up. I wasn't doing it for the calendar; I was doing it to "save my marriage." Actually, I was doing it to keep my partner from being disgusted by me, which, again, in hindsight, was his shallow problem and not mine. He expressed displeasure, and I had to do all of the "work" to assuage it. How effed up is that? Plus the fact that it lead to years of my feeling like crap about myself. And it probably barely registered on his radar. In fact, he probably felt like he'd done something constructive.

We'd gone to visit my parents one weekend, and I remembered a really good chocolate shop near where I'd worked at a daycare when I lived in town. We all visited, and everyone got chocolates except me. It wasn't my "cheat day." I distinctly remember asking to see my then-husband's white bag, with three perfect candies nestled into paper cups at the bottom. I stuck my nose into the bag and inhaled. I can still smell the rich chocolate smell of those bonbons.

My mom asked me if I was going to eat one, and I said no, that smelling them like that was just as satisfying.

Which, of course, it wasn't. But that's where my brain was at the time.

Now, I did lose a bunch of weight. I got a lot of kudos for my efforts. I was praised for having discipline and self-control, for being "healthy" and for approaching the culture's version of attractiveness.

It was all bull, of course, because I was not healthy. I was obsessed with food, obsessed with maintaining a lifestyle within a hamster wheel, running to retain the supposed love I'd earned with my efforts.

Worst of all was this: Anyone who knows me knows I adore chocolate. It and pizza are the foods I could eat for the rest of my life and not get sick of them for at least a couple of years. You guys know that. James knows it. I'm certain my ex-husband knew it. But he was okay indulging in something I would have very much enjoyed while I abstained out of loyalty to his desire for how I should look.

Do you see how messed up that is?

Every time we went out to a restaurant when he got off of work and he ordered steak and potatoes while I ordered nothing because it was after 6 PM, and the waitress asked repeatedly if I was sure I didn't want anything at all... he never encouraged me to eat if I were hungry. He knew my rules and enforced them with his quiet approval.

He was allowed access to things that would have brought me joy because his body was naturally smaller than mine. And he never once advocated for my pleasure as a whole person. He was more invested in his own social currency, having a trim wife.

MESSED UP.

As we launch this new year, if you feel the motivation to make life changes based on the very arbitrary changing of the calendar, then I urge you to examine your motivation for doing so. Trying to become the best version of yourself possible is admirable, and it's hard work. I'll never believe that shrinking is tantamount to "better" nor will I ever again buy into the notion that making fundamental changes to oneself in order to obtain or hold on to the affections of another person is a productive goal.

In 2019, be kind to each other and be kind to yourself. And if you encounter someone who is not extending you the same respect, it might be a good exercise to look into that, to have difficult conversations, and to set boundaries. Best wishes to all.

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

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.