Oh no; I just pulled a Mom move

Just now, Malcolm came in to tell me that the scene in Disney/Pixar's Cars where a group of cars comes up and messes with Mac (Lightning's tractor trailer who transports him to races) while he's nodding off has become a recent meme. Apparently when those cars come onscreen, people love it because it looks so cool. You might remember that Malcolm used to have die-cast cars of every major, minor, and incidental character in all of the movies and those cars were some of his favorite.

I asked, "What was the name of their gang?" Mal said, "I don't remember." I offered, "I think it was something like the Rowdy Ramblers." Malcolm was skeptical but didn't care too much and went about his business.

I did care, so I looked it up and they were the Delinquent Road Hazards (or just Road Hazards, for short). It cracked me up so much. What an old mom thing to do!

Rowdy Ramblers ride!!

Malcolm and Problem-Solving

Yesterday, after our Tuesday library group disbanded, I wanted to walk down to the lake to see the water level, which is full for the first time in years. The kids had elected to stay at the library both hours because of the heat (we usually go to the park after), and Malcolm was not interested in going with me on my little jaunt. 

I gave him the house keys, reminded him that our door is a little tricky to open, and gave him the secret move to make it work. I told him to text me when he got into the house (he only has an iPad so couldn't communicate with me until he was inside), and I walked down to the park.

Nice! A picnic at the lake... rather IN the lake.

After I looked around a bit, I contemplated walking to the far end of the park to check things out, but it had been long enough that Malcolm should have made it to the house. While it was possible that he'd forgotten to message me, I had a mental image of him lying on the day bed on the porch, being very hot and frustrated, so I decided to go on up the hill.

As I rounded the corner to our street, I saw our across-the-street neighbor walking from our driveway to her house. When I got home, I asked Malcolm if she'd unlocked the door, and he said yes. 

Apparently, "[i]t wasn’t working and it was scorching out so I got [her] to help."

We're going to practice unlocking the door (something I've done with D but hadn't gotten around to yet with Malcolm) so he can do it on his own, but I was pretty pleased to know that he didn't just shut down and flail. 

Today, he's supposed to go to a thing and has made sure several times that I will drop him off and not stay. I can't say I'm offended. I genuinely enjoy his growing independence. 

He's saving up for various LEGO sets he wants, and has been doing jobs around the house, like dusting and picking up sticks in the yard before I mow. I'm going to really encourage him to try to find a job as soon as he can.

Super proud of my big kid!

Why do I keep turning down work?!

As you know, we need moolah! 

Twice within the past month, I have been offered work. Paid work!

And twice I have turned it down.

WHY?

I literally applied for that job at the library. I'm not afraid of work. Believe it or not, I've worked before!

Technically, this wasn't a job; it was a volunteer thing. But I worked!

But I didn't take either of these opportunities because I realized that I really just don't have time for a steady gig right now.

The first one was something that I could have done from home, but it would have required many hours of intense concentration, and it's a challenge to get that in my house. D has a room, Mal has a room, James has an office. I do have a bedroom, but I share it with James and it's kind of open for business when anyone wants to hang out. I don't really have a space where I can put up a "do not disturb" sign and get things done. So I had to turn down the opportunity for a gig in the writing field. I just wasn't confident that I could give it my best.

Then the other one was something here in town, walkable like the library, but would require a couple of full days per week. It was flexible; I could pick what days worked for me. But we have things almost every day of the week and, ironically, I've lined up even more stuff over the summer when Mal's friends are often out of pocket, and when some things like open gym take a break until the fall. He's still young enough that I need to be around at least somewhat during the day. And James's schedule is so random that we can't plan for me to work when he's off; we never know what that will be until a couple of weeks in advance.

I guess this means we're not desperate yet? I do have three mystery shops tomorrow, which is the most I've had in one day in YEARS. We'll get three free meals, and then there are actually shopper fees on top of that. That used to be the norm, but I guess the market is such that companies can basically say, "You'll eat this free food and you'll be freaking grateful!" until they can't get jobs scheduled and are willing to throw more money at it. 

I am also doing gimmicky things like opening a new credit card to get a bunch of on-board cash for the cruise so we save $300 on gratuities. It's not income, but it prevents outgo, so that's kind of the same thing, right? And it's not taxable! Huzzah! My credit score is suffering a bit, but it will rebound.

ImPastaBle!

Mal wanted plain pasta or ramen (NOT MAC AND CHEESE) and we don't have any, so I decided to make pasta from scratch.

It's not difficult, per se, just it has to sit a while so it takes some time. AND I don't have my pasta roller anymore (when I moved into the trailer, I had to let some stuff go), so I had to roll them out by hand and it is DIFFICULT.

My noodles ended up being thicker than ideal, but whatever. It was fine and Mal said they were "okay" (meaning he's eating them).

When I explained that maybe I'll get a pasta roller again (I can get one to fit onto my Kitchenaid mixer) so the pasta will be easier to roll out, he said, "Now you know what it's like to be an Olive Garden worker."

So I guess he thinks Olive Garden is hand-making all of their noodles??

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.

Mal has to get used to this

Over the past couple of weeks, Mal has headed back into James's office or our room to tell James something... only to find that James isn't home.

Today, on the way home from meeting a friend, Mal said, "Since we didn't watch that program last night, we should watch it as soon as we get home, if Dad's awake. 

I had to remind him that his dad IS awake and is, in fact, at work.

It's an interesting situation. Mal is 11, and for the past six years of his life (minus about a month), James has either worked from home or not worked at all. 

That's more than half of Mal's life!

Another thing is that James is often absolutely exhausted when he gets here, and at night, like yesterday, he's ready to go to bed as soon as he's eaten dinner. 

One of the traditions that James and Mal have had over the past few years is that at around 10 PM, Mal will go into James's office to announce that he's "ready to talk." (I'm usually well into my night's sleep by then.)

James will go into Mal's room, and they'll catch up for 10 minutes or half an hour or whatever it takes. 

I think this is beautiful. It's something James is going to try to make sure happens whenever he can, even if it's less than when he didn't have anywhere to be.

On the way home from Temple yesterday, we stopped in at The Home Depot because I needed to pick something up (nope, we don't get an employee discount; they don't have one). 

While I ran in, Mal hung out in the garden center with James for a few minutes.

You might notice that James is standing upright without crutches! He was limping around, but able to work without crutches. He took them, and he used them to walk into the store, go to the break room, and just get around in general. But he could hobble out of the little garden center hut to scan stuff, so that's a good sign!

Checking in with Mal

Hi, friends!

I thought we could check in with Mal this morning (now night; all I got to this AM was adding the picture, then we had to go).

Mal recently turned 11! He would be in 5th grade (because his birthday is late in September).

Almost every day, he has video calls with a couple of homeschooling friends, Caleb and Kona, who have named their group The Cool Miners. They play Minecraft, "board" games (like Battleship and Azul) on buddyboardgames.com, share silly predictive text creations, look through each other's old files, and generally just have a fun time.

He is still meeting with his Sunday friend, Ryan, but since they're kind of outgrowing McDonald's (though Mal says he will NEVER outgrow McDonald's), they've started meeting every other week at a park. This weekend, Mal can try out his new-to-him scooter which a lovely neighbor gave us after the stand board split in two on his older scooter.

We have just started the FOURTH year of our weekly library/park homeschool meetup. We'd gone from 6 kids to 5 to 4 when one kind of aged out and another moved to the west coast (but he's in The Cool Miners, so he's still kind of around). But this summer, another kid joined us and he's fit right in! So we're back at 5, and these kids get along great. I love seeing how their friendships have grown and deepened over the past few years.

In fact, Mal wants to throw a Christmas party for the group at our house in a few weeks. He's been thinking of gifts to give, and will be selecting a menu soon. He also has ideas about what to do for his dad's birthday and Christmas, and it's so cool that he's thinking about ways to make other people happy.

Mal has decided that he's ready to take a break from the one-day-a-week school he's been going to for 2.5 years. I think there have been a lot more kids join, which is good for the school but stressful for Mal, who seems to like having a couple of close friends around rather than being in a big crowd.

I don't know whether I mentioned this or not, but the second time he tried to go to the kid's club on our last cruise, he had the counselor call us to get him because he was overwhelmed by the chaos. When James arrived, Mal dissolved into tears. Poor kid.

That said, I feel like early puberty is upon us. Mal has started having lots of big feelings about things, after having taken a break for a couple of years. I'm trying to talk to him about it; preparing him; telling him that big feelings are normal and that whatever he is thinking about, if he wants to talk to us, he can do that without worrying that we'll be angry or think he's a weird-o (I mean, he is a weird-o. We all are.)

Today (the morning after I started this) is school pictures, a mystery shop stop for lunch, then Urban Air. Good times!

An Open Letter

Hey, you. 

You randomly popped up in a dream last night (specifically, I was picking you up from jail after you'd completed your sentence??)... well, the you from more than 15 years ago. Would I recognize you now? Would you recognize me?

I can't even begin to detail how much I've changed in the years since I moved to Austin. 

When I first got here, everything was mostly the same. I tried to build a life that was familiar, like the lives we had in north Texas. But pretty quickly, that manner of living started to crumble and without knowing it, I was building a totally different way of life.

Superficially... I have wavy hair now. Can you believe it? All of that time and effort I spent trying to curl my hair. I know you liked it better straight; I guess we always want what we can't have. Anyway, my morning routine was never cumbersome, but it's so much faster now: spray hair to reset waves. Get out. It's pretty great.

Also, I'm not trying to be skinny anymore. You'd probably "still love [me] in spite of it," but, with all due respect, eff that noise, friend-o. I'm happy with myself, and my body has never been healthier. I've seen the future and know what I need to do to maintain maximum ambulation for as long as I can, as far as it is in my power to maintain. I move more and with more joy than I ever have before. And I also unapologetically enjoy the food I've always loved. No shame. No one watching me or my body change. It's amazing.

I have more tattoos (with another in the planning stages), and got my nose pierced a couple of years ago. I believe you would have hated this. It's probably good that things ended up the way that they did.

In fact, there are bigger things that make me grateful that we're not still in each other's lives. Much bigger.

You'd likely hate me now. I don't think the same way or believe the same things that I did back then. You'd think I had back-slidden or been influenced by something dark... but, man, when I read my blogs from 15-24 years ago, I do not like that person. I was a closed-off, judgy, occasionally humorous know-it-all.

I no longer vote the way I voted before. I remember when I first moved, and a mutual friend called me a loyalist to a particular political party as an insult. It worked. I was upset that she would say that. Now? Guilty as charged. What changed? A lot. So much.

You know what has pushed me to change the absolute most? My kids. They have been a blessing, and they have been challenging... and even that has ultimately made me a better person, and hopefully a better parent. If they ask me a question today, I probably have an opinion, but I don't feel like I have to give a pat answer with absolute certainty that it is and I am right. 

I will err every day on the side of throwing the doors wide open and embracing people, and life, and happiness. I wanted this before, but was so limited by unnecessarily strict boundaries that someone else convinced me needed to be in place.

I made so many mistakes, and I hurt so many people. Heck, I've even done that in the past 15 years, despite my best efforts not to. But at least when I do so now, it's because I'm messed up and not because I think I know the only right way and insist that other people do certain things because of what I believe.

All that time I spent trying everything I could think of to make us work, and you absolutely refused to budge. It was that realization -- that you cared more about your own self-preservation than you did trusting me enough to step out on a ledge and try to fly -- that made me leave. And now I see that you were correct. We were NOT right for each other. We would not have worked. We would have gotten to a point just a few years later where things would have come up that would have caused us to implode, anyway. 

So I guess I'm saying thank you for making me so miserable that I couldn't stay in the same place for another day. Thank you for pushing me away so hard that I ended up never seeing you again for the rest of my life. It was a protection to me, and to my kids (one for obvious reasons as he wouldn't exist). 

And try not to get arrested, because I can't come pick you up.

Laura

What can I say? Nothing much...

The "school year" is almost over, which affects us as homeschoolers more than I would have thought before I started doing it. 

Mal's one-day-a-week school and homeschool open gym both break for the summer. I'm looking into other things to keep him busy... but hopefully low-cost/free things because it's now been a whole freaking year since James got laid off, and he doesn't seem much closer to finding a job than he did a year ago. Difference now is we've obviously blown through the severance package, and his unemployment ran out quite some time ago.

I'm doing some mystery shopping again, and that's been kind of fun. This weekend, James got to go to this fancy barber shop and have a bunch of cool treatments. 

If you're wondering, "Hey, is that paraffin wax on his hands?" Yes. Yes, it is.

Mal and I did a trampoline shop a couple of weeks ago, I ate at a nostalgic restaurant with D last weekend, and I've done some visits to places like day cares and dog kennels that have paid pretty well. It's not a lot of money, but it's more than nothing.

Today is Mal's annual well checkup, so we're getting ready to go see if he's still on the growth arc he's consistently followed since his first checkup. Allegedly, he's on course to be 6 feet tall!

Speaking of Mal growing up... He posted his first animated video the other day! I'm not embedding it here (you have to click this link) because if you see it, we want it to "count" as a view, and it only does that on YouTube. I think it's pretty great!

When I tell you what I was doing as I received this message...

 ... you might not believe it.

There are so many options.

Was I watching my favorite television program?

Was I playing a video game? 

Was I lying in the hammock eating bon-bons?

Was I taking an overly-long break in the restroom and needed to be shaken out of my quiet reverie?

 

It might look like I'd been drinking, honestly.

But, no. 

I WAS PUTTING EVERYTHING AWAY FROM HAVING JUST MOWED THE LAWN.

This is why moms go crazy, you guys. 

This. Is. Why.

PS. My kid knows punctuation and usually uses it in texts, but in Among Us, you can't use apostrophes, so "he's" defaults to "hes" and that's what his iPad does now.

Morning Person in a House of Night Owls

Mal has been sleeping a little later than usual, which is great because we're about to head out of Daylight Saving Time.

Since his school starts at 10 AM, I actually had to wake him up at 9:00. He goes to be at 11 PM so probably got at least 9.5 hours of sleep. I think he's about to have a growth spurt because he's been sleeping more than usual, and has been very hungry.

By the time I woke Mal up, I'd walked 2.5 miles, cleaned up and gotten dressed, made myself breakfast, and even went to pick up a grocery order.

I am a morning person.

No one else in my family is (as you can tell, with Mal consistently going to sleep around 11). 

D used to be. Until we moved into the RV, D's bedtime was 7 PM, with a lights-out time of 8 PM. Was this a challenge during the summer? You bet. But D was mostly fine with it, and would wake up bright and early. D never got out of bed before 7 AM, but just like at night, could read or entertain themself until they could wake me up at 7.

Once D went through adolescence, though, they became nocturnal. Some of that was just a shift based on puberty. But also, that's about the time Mal was born, and some of it was wanting to be awake and doing things when it was peaceful.

James would totally live the 3 AM bedtime/noonish wake-up/afternoon nap life if it were possible while still taking care of a family. He sometimes forces himself to go to bed when I do, but it feels very weird to come home from my walk and have him awake and being productive. That's just not usually his scene.

One of the joys of early walks is various iterations of the sunrise.

Update: Daylight Saving just ended this morning, and I'm already in bed trying my best to stay awake until 9 PM so I don't wake up at 3:30 AM tomorrow!

What a difference a decade and a half makes!

This morning, Mal wanted me to come sit with him while he woke up. I love to do that, but I'd already been up, walked, and made breakfast and I was ready to sit somewhere comfortable, which his bed is not (it's under a window, so there's nowhere to rest my back without the window pane cutting into my upper spine).

I asked if he'd sit on the couch with me instead, and he said it was too cold. So I got him a blanket, he covered up, and we snuggled for a bit.

After he was up and around a bit, I started to fold up the blanket to put it away. 

"I still need that! I'm a little chilly."

I suggested that he turn off the ceiling fan, which he did.

Now I'm going to interrupt this story to go back in time to the late aughts, then we will return to this morning.

When we were living in Sherman ("we" being D and me), we'd had a fellow homeschool family over for dinner. Their three kids and my one were alternately playing in D's room and hanging out with us adults. As their departure drew near, the dad went back to get his youngest, Rebekah, from D's room. Rebekah was on D's top bunk, which was very big and only about 2 feet from the ceiling.

Rebekah was talking to her dad over the side of the bunk and said, "Watch this!" She then proceeded to manually turn the fan, whose blades overlapped D's bed by several inches (we never turned the fan on when it was bedtime!). The dad started to reprimand her, then said, "Oh! Dust doesn't fall off of your fan blades." 

I didn't say anything, but the reason it didn't was that I dusted the fan blades every single week.

I dusted everything every single week.

Bookcases, end tables, the fireplace mantle, door frames, air conditioning vents, computers... I dusted once a week, every week.

Coming back to the present time, I have to confess that when I turned the fan off this morning, I was appalled by how much dust was on the blades! I cleaned it, and dust definitely DID sheet off of the blades. It was too much for the wipe to hold, and it all fell to the floor like giant dust-bunny snow.

Things have changed. 

At some point, I stopped my old cleaning routine where Monday was bathrooms/kitchen, Tuesday was dusting, Wednesday was vacuuming, Thursday was sweeping/mopping, and Friday was laundry and catch-up on anything else that needed to be done. 

At some point, I stopped having families over for dinner. 

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I would *love* for my house to be super clean. I enjoy looking at old pictures and seeing how tidy and spotless everything looked. But I don't have the will or energy anymore.

I don't have a kid who wants to help Swiffer anymore, either!

Also, I remember from the time always feeling "behind" in house-cleaning, like I couldn't keep up. Once, I expressed this frustration to my ex-husband and he said, "The house is never clean, so why are you stressed about it right now?"

I guess maybe I decided to stop worrying about it so much and just sit down and play on the Switch sometimes. I still want my house to be very clean as much as I ever did. I just don't feel like it's possible so I don't strive as much. And consequently, my house gets dusty. If you're ever over and it bothers you, you are more than welcome to fix it!

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.

The Lucky One

Sometimes I think about what it must be like... just to walk away and have zero responsibility for a child you brought into the world.

All of the hard times and tears you've missed. All of the difficulties. You just live your life as if you never had a child. And maybe that hurts, but you're still protected. Protected from receiving the vitriol and anger. Protected from having to figure out what to try this time. Protected from hoping the next thing you try actually makes a difference.

You haven't invested thousands of dollars in care, in clothes, in food, in insurance, in medication. You haven't wrestled with how to love someone well who carries so much resentment toward you. You haven't had to watch your child struggle with needing and loving you when they so do not want to.

You live your life. You pursue what you will. You might have the occasional nagging thought of "what if..." but you never act on it. Not one time. You are your own world.

But I am the lucky one. I am the one who abides. All of the battles that child and I have fought, all of the words that have landed softly here and explosively there, the days of silence, the unexpected hugs... They're all mine.

You've missed so much, and I don't think you have the capability to care. I feel sorry for you.

Mal's Birthdays

For those of you keeping score, you'll know that Mal is turning 9 next month! I took this picture of him yesterday, wearing his 8th birthday shirt and we're going to have to retire the shirt soon!

A couple of weeks ago, Mal said that for his tenth birthday (yes, in 2024; he has had party themes lined up for almost a decade since he was 5), he wants to go to California. The things he specifically requested were: Super Nintendo World, Disneyland, and Hollywood.

I really had to think for a while about what he wants with "Hollywood," because I'm not sure what that means to him. When we lived in Las Vegas, we went to LA at least once a year, and during those times, we toured the NBC studios, where we saw sets from some of the shows we usually watched. We went to live tapings of "Home Improvement" twice (thanks, Dad!). We drove past the houses where they shot exteriors for Beverly Hills 90210 and Brady Bunch. We went to a small, quaint amusement park called Universal Studios Hollywood (which was only 30 years old at the time... and when we go with Mal, it will be 60 years old... which means that I AM OLD) where we got to see props and set pieces from familiar movies.

The thing is, Mal watches YouTube, cartoons, and a few live-action shows that James and I choose (oh, and every Star Wars show, which we all agree on). He doesn't have the "everyone has seen this" experience that I did when television was three channels plus PBS, and most of the movies we see now have sets courtesy of CGI rather than huge, sprawling creations like the Psycho hotel (which apparently is STILL there, even though we're probably two generations removed from being able to assume that anyone has viewed that particular pelicula).

However, after some time, I had worked out a perfectly-crafted trip incorporating things I felt Mal would consider iconic, as well as moving into some more of that nature that California is famous for so that James and I would feel equally catered to.

Then a couple of days ago, Mal decided that we HAVE to go to LEGOland. HAVE to. Before he turns 13. Because you can only drive the little cars where you get a LEGOland driver's license if you're under 13. 

We'd planned to hit LEGOland first thing for our planned (and paid for ) April 2020 trip. In case you don't remember what happened in that far-away time, I'll refresh your memory: Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome Coronavirus-2. Remember that thing? 

Mal would have been 5 for that trip, and even then, I thought we were reaching the end of the part of his childhood when he would find LEGOland interesting. One thing might be that he does NOT like thrill rides, so everything here will be his speed. But also, LEGOs. Or, more correctly, LEGO bricks. I know that's the proper way to say it, but it's so awkward. "Yay! Let's play with LEGO bricks!" Sorry, LEGO. It's just "LEGOs."

Anyhoo, I explained to him that I'd already planned a perfect trip that did not go that far south, and that trying to get that far south would mess everything else up. You might be thinking, as he did, "Why not just take one day and do it?" Well, if you're thinking that, then you're not the kind of trip planner that I am, and I'm not sure that I can make you understand.

But I'll try.

1) Have you ever heard of "crowd planner" websites? They're great. They let you know how busy theme parks will be on any given day, in general, your mileage may vary. I use them because I enjoy being able to have the most fun while avoiding the busiest days, thus making my big bucks that I spend on a trip go further. Because of those sites (my favorite is TouringPlans.com, and I'll join up just as soon as we're within a year of the trip so that I can get my personalized plan!), I know that in September, Disneyland has its Halloween party several times a week. On those days, if you don't have a ticket to the party, you have to leave the park at 5 PM. We did the Mickey's Not So Scary Halloween Party at Disney World in 2018 and it was fun, but I don't think we're interested in this one. SO that means that we need to hit either Magic Kingdom or California Adventure on either Monday or Wednesday. Those are the only two days of the week that we will want to be in a Disneyland park in September.

2) We don't want to go to ANY theme park on a weekend.

3) We don't want to take any flights on Friday-Monday.

4) We don't want to visit a state or national park on the weekend.

5) Some hotels in high-demand places have 2-night minimums during weekends or certain times of the year (like if it's a college town and you happen to want to stay there on parents' weekend, which I've only learned because I PLAN EARLY).

6) Since we're going to be bopping around so much, we will need to wash our clothes a couple of times on the trip (wash AND dry, because we'll have to pack them every or every other day), so I need to know that we'll have access to a guest laundry or nearby laundromat.

7. We're planning one night in a very popular national park that opens up reservations 366 days in advance, and they often sell out. Once I lock that reservation in, my ability to move things will be extremely restricted.

SO.

I happened to wake up at 4:30 Saturday morning, and my brain was telling me to get up and figure out how to squeeze LEGOland in. I worked out first, and then got to work. Two hours later, I had added, cut, and rearranged until I had another beautiful (if more road-heavy) trip worked out.

The night before, Mal had literally been sobbing about not being able to drive those cars before he turned 13. I try to treat my son as a fully-formed human with feelings that are worth of care, because he is and they are. But his crying about a still-pretty-hypothetical trip a year away (our last CA trip was canceled within 4 weeks of when we were supposed to go*) was a little much for me to absorb.

However, I felt he'd be so relieved to know that his good old mom made a way! So when I told him the next morning, he said, "Oh, okay." I was like, "WHAT? You were IN TEARS last night!" He said, "Huh? I don't remember that."

And that is why I'm not having any more kids.

Also, as aforementioned, I am old.

But also, he DID remember; he just thought I was saying that he cried in his sleep, and he didn't remember that.

But but also also, my early morning strategy session was greatly under-appreciated so I'm telling you in order to have my glorious accomplishment in writing forever, or at least as long as the internet lasts.

*Something interesting: James's brother's family had a trip to California, and LEGOland specifically, planned earlier this year. They got to the airport and soon after, Delta canceled their flight. They were able to find a flight 2 days later, but then Delta was unwilling to change their return flight without charging them, so they just got full refunds and bummed around their home state for a week. We decided that this might mean that California doesn't want anyone in our family there -- and specifically LEGOland, which wouldn't be in play if my original plan still stood. Are we cursed? Will we actually get to California? Set your reminders to check back in 15 months and we'll see!

Yet another installment of Things Mal Said

My sister texted me yesterday as she was watching "Shiny Happy People," a docuseries about the Duggars  specifically and the IBLP more broadly. Although we didn't choose to homeschool because of the reason a lot of super conservative Christians did, I was certainly adjacent to the Quiverfull movement and swam in the waters of top-down authority (like God, Father, Mother, kids; or God, male church leadership, female church leadership, members, etc.). And although I might have paid lip service to authoritarianism both as a parent and within the patriarchy, I always chafed against it and was pretty bad at submitting myself to basically anyone.

In honor of this most recent exposure of Bill Gothard and this whole establishment (I'm not linking because, honestly, let's not give them any more eyeballs), I wanted to share two things that Mal said this weekend that these people would consider a failure due to my parenting. Have I ever been more proud? It's hard to say.

Friday, we were at Urban Air with some friends. The kids pick a table where they can enjoy snacks and hanging out when they're taking a break, and the parents sit together at a different table. Mal had been jumping and come back with one of his friends for a drink. An 11-year-old girl was sitting where Mal had been sitting earlier, and he asked her if she could get up so he could sit down. She moved to a different table alone, and he just plopped down at the edge of the booth. 

I said, "Mal, will you scoot over so that Abby can sit back down?" He just looked at me like I'd asked him to stab himself, and turned back around. I said, "Malcolm, you need to move over so Abby can have her seat back." Mal announced, "Mom, I'm not listening to you." I said, "Hopefully you'll start listening to me soon or you're not going to have any friends because you're being a jerk." He said, "Mom, I've listened to you my whole life, and today I'm just not going to do it."

After he left, the mom of the girl he had asked to move said, "I know it's not funny, but it's also so funny."

The next day, we went to see Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse (so good!) and at one point, I thought I saw something fly in the air in front of the screen. A couple of minutes later, I noticed it again and it was just a moment after Mal had gotten a piece of popcorn. I realized he was eating around the kernel then just tossing the kernel into the row in front of us (where someone was sitting!) I said, “Mal, you can’t throw stuff like that.” He looked at me pointedly and said, “You’re not supposed to talk during a movie.” I said, “DO NOT THROW ANYTHING over there. If you have a kernel, just drop it in the floor and they’ll sweep it up after. Okay?” He just blinked and said, “You. Are. Not. Supposed to talk during the movie.”

I'm almost certain that I would have gotten a spanking for responding either way to my parents when I was Mal's age. It just never would have occurred to me. And I guess some people might say he's being disrespectful and shouldn't talk to me like that. But for me, the problem behaviors were the ones I was addressing, and I don't want to take focus from those by insisting on a perfect response to me, at the expense of having him think about what I was actually telling him. In the case of the movie, anyway, he didn't throw any more popcorn. 

Plus, I don't always respond to people in a completely measured way, and I don't actually have a problem with his being frustrated with me and expressing it. So I guess I'm failing as a mom, but it feels right. I'm going to keep doing it.

Real Talk About Parenting

Maybe I should never have had kids.

I have thought this over the years, but recently especially because as of last month, both of my children have expressed to me that they doubt that I love them. I know, kids can be dramatic. I know. But I also know that the world is chaotic, and the one thing that a child should have as an absolute is that their parents love them.

I was a wreck when both of my kids were newborns. I chalk this up to being a control freak. Neither of them was the "sleep right through the night" happy-go-lucky infant that some people seem to have. D was hard, but then I had Mal and realized that D was actually easy. Both of my kids' dads got low-key (and maybe high-key) frustrated (or angry) with me about my emotional deficiencies when our kids were fresh.

Ken's breaking point was when he walked into the living room when D was a few weeks old and saw me just sobbing as the baby's body jolted with hiccups. His helpful advice: "You have to pull yourself together."

With James, it was that one day, when Malcolm was very tiny, James was at work (for reference: Mal was born on a Thursday afternoon, and James's bosses contacted him Friday and said, "No rush, but just so we can know what to expect: When do you plan to come back to work?" He went back on Monday.) and Mal just would not stop crying, as per usual. I was sleep-deprived and near the end of my rope. There was nothing to do, and nothing makes me feel crazier when there's nothing to do. I was scared of myself. Not scared that I'd just run away or even hurt the baby or anything. Just overwhelmed by the weight of the responsibility that it felt I was expected to bear on my own. 

I called James in tears and said, "He won't stop crying, and I don't know what to do. I need you to come home." By the time James got there, maybe 25 minutes later, Mal and I were on the porch and he'd calmed down. James sat with us a while, then went back to work.

Later, he admitted that this was the one time in our whole relationship that he'd been frustrated with me. He thought that the baby was hurt or that something was out-of-the-ordinary wrong, when it was just the normal stuff, but waves upon waves of it. Apparently, there was a meeting at work that had to be rescheduled because of my neediness. I was honestly shocked there weren't other times he'd been mad. I'd been a selfish jerk quite often and wouldn't have resented that. This baffled me. I needed... something.

Everyone needs something.

And something no-one tells you when you try to blend a family, especially if only one of you has kids, is that it feels like you're the single one who has to make sure that everyone's needs are met. It's your responsibility to make sure that no one feels inconvenienced or hurt by the decisions you made, because if they do, then it means that it's your fault and that you brought this on them.

So if you're a perfectionist like me, you try to manage. You try to manage resources and environment and activities. You try to anticipate needs and meet them in advance so no one feels left out or overlooked.

Then when you make a decision for your own life or even for the family unit as a whole, if one person doesn't agree with it, it feels even more fraught than if you'd started off all on the same page for the kids' whole lives. 

When I was married to Ken, I exercised my empathy until it was flawless. It was codependent and unhealthy, but I tried to operate in ways I knew wouldn't stir the pot. I assumed that when I got out of that relationship, things would get easier.

I was right, in terms of having an unconditionally loving partner. But what I didn't realize is that I took my empathy with me, and when D started having issues with the trajectory our lives were taking (unfortunate side effect of being a kid is that you get dragged wherever your parents' choices take you), I would start to pour all of that energy into maintaining normalcy as much as possible for my kid.

Once, when D was in therapy when I was expecting Mal, I met with D's therapist to discuss some things, and the therapist told me, "You're addressing this practically, but you're not addressing D's feelings about it." And recently, D has told me the same thing: I meet their physical needs, but not the emotional ones.

But, damn it, I don't know what else to do. I have two kids who have various sensory/sensitivity things that James and I both deal with, but I'm the day-to-day person who tries to manage things like sounds, fears, hygiene, food preferences, appointments, pet interactions... and maybe I'm just the kind of person who doesn't have a lot of emotional energy left over after all of that.

So maybe I shouldn't have had kids.

It doesn't seem to be something I can handle.

My kids deserve better than that, and I'm tired.

So... where do we go from here?

"Not a Normal Mom"

Mal came to me last week and said, "I'm glad you're not a normal mom."

Since I'm sure this is true on many levels, I wanted some specification. "What do you mean 'normal'?"

He said, "Like most moms are mean to their kids."

Okay, I got it. It's taken him six and a half years, but he realizes that we don't punish him.

I said, "Most moms aren't being mean to their kids; moms might punish their kids because they think it will help them be better people. Like, if they feel like their kid is using the computer too much, or used it without permission, they might take it away for a while so their kid will think about it more next time."

He said, "Yeah. I'm glad you're not like that."

Now TOTALLY changing the subject... on the Hidden Brain podcast this week, a guess was talking about the "comedy cliff," wherein at about the age of 23, people stop engaging in humor as frequently as they did when they were kids. One way this was determined was by asking survey respondents: "Did you laugh yesterday?" Almost all children answer yes (and most young kids laugh something like 400 times a day, and adults less than 20). Many adults answer no, until the age of 70, when I guess we start loosening up again.

I told James that those adults must not have kids like Mal.

He makes us laugh literally every single day, many times over.

One of the things I miss about our house in Sherman was the giant dining room we didn't use because there was just plenty of room at the bar in the kitchen... I mean, we have room at our bar here, too, but in Sherman, the seats faced each other because of how the bar was shaped. Here, we'd just be awkwardly facing the kitchen, like we did in the apartment.

Anyway, since we don't have a dedicated "homeschool desk," one of our repeated challenges is that Mal likes to get out his blocks and LEGO bricks and play sets on the kitchen table, and he wants to leave them out to play with "tomorrow." And the next day. And the next. And after a while, I just want to sit down to eat without having to shuffle small bits of plastic.

Yesterday was Day Three of Minecraft LEGOs on the table, and I'd told Mal I wanted to move the sets over to the coffee table. When I started, Mal followed me around, bringing the sets back to the table.

Later in the day, James was eating lunch while Mal was in our bedroom closet watching videos. As James and I chatted, I quietly moved things over to the coffee table. I figured that if I could get everything moved over, then Mal would be too overwhelmed to move it back. I was successful, and James and I continued our conversation. About five minutes later, Mal came into the room to show us something, and just said in a dead pan, "You monster."

He cracks me up every day. That's good, because he is also by turns demanding and emotionally exhausting. And his humor and mostly good nature goes a long way in injecting much-needed energy into the environment. 

Unambitious

Every once in a while, I jump onto LinkedIn to see if a person I no longer have access to through other social media has an account there so that I can check in with them. Today, I happened to notice that an old friend of mine had founded a new business, called Beyond Motherhood. Amy's a very neat person, and it's super cool that she's helping women figure out what they want to do with their lives. But a lot of things I have realized about myself recently have helped me know that this site isn't for me. 

For one, there's this quote: "Motherhood is holy work, but the hands-on, active phase only lasts 20-25 years for most women. If you still have half your life left when the kids leave home, doesn’t that make you think you have a purpose beyond motherhood?" When Mal is 25, I will be 67. I will not have half of my life left, unless medicine progresses ridiculously rapidly over the next couple of decades. (I know this is one reason she said "most" and not "all." Then there's the moms of special needs kids. And the ones who become grandmas raising grandkids. Etc.)

Beyond that, though... I have this pattern of basically not caring about jobs. I mean, I'm an over-achiever and if I have a job, I'll do what I need to do, and I will try to do it very well. I will probably even do more than is strictly necessary. But I've never had ambitions, or fantasies about a dream career.

Well, I wanted to be an astronaut until I realized that you had to have uncorrected 20/20 vision (at the time; this has changed) and it broke my heart. Then I wanted to be an actor until I was in college and saw what some people had to do to get jobs. Then I realized, "Oh, I don't want it *that* bad." And I'm not talking about anything super shady, just the networking and knowing who to know and interrupting someone's dinner plans to insist on an audition.

My first job, at age 16, was at a Kentucky Fried Chicken, or KFC for you young 'uns. I was very bad at being able to tell the chicken breasts from the chicken thighs, and I got so stressed working the drive-through. I could not focus on a conversation with the person in front of me while also taking an order over the headphones. And I could NOT upsell. "Would you like a hot buttered corn-on-the-cob with that?" If they wanted it, I'm sure they would have ordered it. Fortunately, I got strep and my doctor told my mom it was probably from the filthy environment there, so I got to quit after six weeks.

Next, I worked at a grocery store. I did bagging at first, then went to (I kid you not) checker's school. I learned the codes for 200 different produce items, how to count up change in case something went wrong with the register's calculations, and also that I had to call someone to help me when someone bought alcohol, because I was too young to sell it. I worked with a good friend, and that was fun. 

Then I got what I felt was an upgrade and worked at TCBY for the remainder of my high school years. I adored that job. People who are going out for frozen yogurt are rarely in a bad mood. And we got to eat as much yogurt as we wanted, for free.

When I was in college, I worked at a baby and pregnancy clothing boutique, then a day care, and finally at Sonic. I LOVED working at Sonic. I was a carhop, so I got to be outside. I learned that if you're really nice and they're having a good day, sometimes people will tip you a generous amount. Man, what a wake-up call that was, and I apologize to every carhop I had as a teen because I genuinely had no idea.

After I graduated college (with a BA in theater, so that was a lucrative choice), people seemed shocked that I didn't immediately quit Sonic. I got tired of being asked, "When are you going to get a 'real' job?" so I applied for a starter position with the local newspaper, which was owned by the media group for which my dad worked as their HR director. In my interview, my boss told me, "I'm going to be honest with you: you're getting this job because of your maiden name."

So I was working in an office... but because of the Sonic tips, I was making LESS money. I felt like I'd been duped by the idea that somehow office work was more mature or honorable than running food.

The next job I had was because we moved, and I quit the newspaper. I signed up as a substitute teacher in the then-small town of Siloam Springs. It was irregular and stressful, and after one day subbing at a junior high, I called the office and told them I'd do elementary or high school but NEVER jr. high ever again.

Then we moved to Las Vegas, and I got a job working at Sam's Club. I was at the registers first, then worked freezer/cooler for couple of years. When the company decided that I was too much trouble and wanted me out (I had a problematic coworker and kept reporting him for creating a hostile work environment with his incessant sex talk), they moved me to electronics with no training, and let me flounder answering questions about computers about which I had no specialized experience. Then they wrote me up when I wasn't "the same employee" I'd been when I was helping customers locate the frozen chicken I'd just stocked an hour beforehand.

The job I got after this was the one I had the longest: I started in a temp-to-hire position as a receptionist for Terra West Property Management. I got fully hired, served as the receptionist for a few years, took a blip of time off to work as an "expediter" for one of our tech vendors (I had to call the lead tech up every morning and make sure he was awake and out of bed to be on time for his appointments). Then I returned to Terra West as a property manager. I got my real estate license, and enjoyed the work enough... but I didn't take it nearly seriously enough for one of our biggest clients. He insisted at one point that the company fire me, which they did not. But they did bury me far away from him in a completely different department. I worked as the main internal tech person at the company for almost a year, before I had D and quit work entirely.

Kind of.

The idea was that I would stay home and D's dad would find a job to make up for our shortfall, as I was the primary bread-winner at the time. That didn't really pan out, so we got a job together working as house parents for Girls and Boys Town of Nevada. Staring a job like that with a 2-month-old was stupid. We lasted half a year.

I was mostly home for 9 years. When we moved to Texas, I signed up to do some mystery shopping. Over time, I signed with more companies and typically had at least 6 jobs a week. I loved it because D could come with me, and I could accept jobs as I willed. I often didn't do the jobs that didn't seem worth it, and I relished the jobs that included things like spending a night at Great Wolf Lodge; or having dinner at Rainforest Cafe, then doing their internal Build-a-Bear. We got to go to Ripley's Believe It or Not! and Mme. Toussaud's Wax Museum. I did a battery of mystery shops at Six Flags once. I'd pack a bunch of fast food jobs in a big old circle around north Texas, and D and I would get food and listen to the Harry Potter audiobooks.

And then something kind of unbelievable happened. I'd been writing skits and things for church for years, and from that ended up with the opportunity to write for commercials and even a television trailer for a reality show called "The Shot" that was to feature former athletes who'd almost made it, and were competing for a second chance. 

But something interesting happened during that time: 1) I didn't really enjoy the writing when I was getting paid. It wasn't as fun as, say, writing this blog. 2) When the paid gigs came, that was cool... but when they didn't I wasn't upset. I'd written some for "Travel Weekly" when I lived in Las Vegas. That was very lucrative. It was infrequent, and I just never thought, "This writing thing is great. I could totally freelance for a living."

When I got divorced, I needed to work. I didn't want D to have to go to school amidst all of the other upheaval, so first I just had friends hire me to do cleaning and organizing. That was going pretty well, and then I got the call from the insurance agency offering me a job as... a receptionist (again!), and with an empty adjoining office for my kiddo. It was perfect.

After I'd been there a while, my boss started encouraging me to get my insurance license. I couldn't legally sign people up for policies unless I had my license, even though I was doing most of the practical work up to actually starting the policy for auto insurance at the time. Eventually, I dragged my feet enough that he gave me a deadline. I studied, and I passed the test on my first try. Minimum score to pass: 70. My score: 70.

They were kind enough to retain me when I moved to Austin, which, as you might imagine, put a dent in my "reception" abilities. I did customer service, virtual filing, and some newsletter and website stuff remotely. My boss again encouraged me to try to sell here in Austin, and he'd move me to commission, and I had the potential to make a lot more money. But I was satisfied with my reliable pay and familiar work.

Once again, I just didn't have higher aspirations. I was content.

I quit that job shortly before I had Mal, and have been full-time mumming ever since.

Then over the past few months, a friend of mine who is a copyeditor has been dropping hints about throwing some work my way. Finally, she told me that she had a book she thought I could help a guy with. I thought about it and talked it over with James, and realized that I had some editing baggage left over from another situation. But when I talked about this with my friend, she took it upon herself to decide that she'd pressured me too much (she hadn't) and that she wasn't going to mention it again.

I was *so* relieved. I wanted to want to do it. I thought the extra money might be nice. I wasn't confident I could commit any more than about 2 hours per day to it, and even then I wasn't sure where I was going to find those 2 hours. 

But I am just pretty satisfied with the pace of my life, and my responsibilities, and don't have any kind of drive to add anything new.

I have another friend who was very frustrated about having been put on light duty with a fire department where she worked after she'd had a baby. She could have stayed home on leave, but she wanted to get back into the action. She told me, "I am not the kind of person who can be satisfied with having gotten a load of dishes done during the day. I need something more." She ended up moving to another fire department so she could do actual fire stuff instead of just dispatch. And I'm glad she's getting the workouts and professional socializing that are so important to her.

I don't have that. I don't have the drive, or the need, or whatever it is that makes people antsy about being home.

When (if) my kids are up and out, I'm not particularly worried about what I'll do. I won't feel "aimless." I can think of MONTHS worth of stuff I could do if my time were strictly my own. I don't feel overwhelmed by the possibilities, or the unknown, and I am not worried that I need to be "more" than I am. I'd say that maybe I'm just lazy, except I'm not. I work hard every day. I guess I'm just not entrepreneurial or ambitious. I don't care what job I have, much, as long as it's not soul-sucking. If we need money, I'll go out and do something where I can work for a day, and come home and do whatever I want. If not, I can volunteer, and to out and take pictures, and maybe live in an RV again. 

I don't think that all people are called to be parents. I am glad that some people have work that they absolutely love so much that it's a big part of who they are. I definitely want my services and food and healthcare and everything else delivered by people who can't imagine what they'd do without their jobs. I appreciate that in the folks who have it. I'm just not one of them.

Speaking of taking photographs, I wanted to share this one because I love it so much. These are a trio of young ladies at a homeschool hangout. I love how "Texan" it looks. And I love how it shows that you can do mostly nothing and have a great time doing it. 

Shopping With Mal

I'm building a thing called a Moxon vise.

It's basically a really big and powerful extra hand you can use to hold your wood while you're shaping it.

I was stupid enough to decide to build it out of hickory. Or maybe it's pecan...lumber yards treat them interchangeably.

They make baseball bats out of the same stuff. This wood is ridiculously hard and difficult to work which is probably why it's so beautiful if it's worked well.

I know it's good exercise, but my back really regrets the decision to tackle it.

I have the basic shape in place. I'm in the process of shaving the main parts from 1.75 inches thick to a measly 1.5 inches.

I looked it up. The power tools to do this sort of thing start at $3000. They're really heavy, and they take up a lot more room than a little hand-plane cabinet would.

I'm not sure the few hundred dollars I've spent in this direction, along with all the blood and sweat (no tears yet) that I've poured into this really tiny piece of the puzzle, were a better choice.

They feel better to me. I'm getting exercise and activating creative parts of my brain. And I've learned more about wood than I ever imagined there was to know when I was mangling it using power tools. I could wax poetic.

Laura assures me that the hand tools are basically silent, even though she's rightfully concerned about how much it's costing us for me to get started on this new project.

And none of that matters for the point at hand.

I wanted to buy a couple of things on Saturday. I wanted a little can for dispensing oil. And I wanted a couple of carriage bolts so I can screw in some tabs to make that vise sit flush with my work table.

I invited Mal to come along. His first reaction was some nonsense from a video. I was shocked to discover that he meant "Yes."

Home Depot didn't have oil cans that I could find.

I did ask.

Mal really hated their Halloween display. He doesn't understand why people enjoy anything that's scary.

He fixated on 

1. a Mickey/Minnie Mouse display, where there's a witch running from Ooogie-Boogie from Nightmare Before Christmas and 
2. a really creepy clown in a giant jack-in-the-box display.
   

We walked past them a couple of times before he decided that was enough. 

I tried to explain that it helps to laugh at things that seem scary when you know they can't really hurt you. He doesn't seem get the distinction.

Just before we left, Mal decided that he was tired and that his mask hurt.

Hey, I found the carriage screws and matching wing nuts.

We moved on to Harbor Freight.

I know their products are not exactly top-notch. But their website claimed they have something that resembles an oil can for $4, if you go to the physical store. I also thought about buying another set of files plus a light while I was picking up that oil can.

The one employee I could find thought they might be in the automotive aisle, assuming they sell such a ridiculous item.

While I hunted, Mal decided that it would be fun to run around in different aisles.

Until it wasn't. He tried to tell me that he couldn't find me, but I didn't hear him. He got pretty upset by that.

They didn't have an oil can either. I wound up buying a vintage one from ebay for $5.

 Later, I thanked Mal for going with me. His company had made it much more enjoyable.

He told me not so much.

Laura explained that his love language is disdain.