Feline Love Languages

For the last few months, our cat, Max, has had a tooth that was slowly coming out of his mouth. It was on his right side and each week it seemed to fall out of his gums ever so slightly, causing him to have this amazing fang. It was also beginning to turn black and his breath was beginning to smell rancid. Now, before you think we need to be hauled off by KPS (ahem, kitty protective services), I should tell you that we realized that spending a large amount of money on Max was unavoidable, so we made an appointment with the vet to get it checked out, knowing that dental surgery was inevitable.

Apparently, it was more inevitable than we had imagined. About a week before the appointment, this last Wednesday morning, as I was letting some buttered toast nourish me and the fetus into finally getting ready for the day, I noticed that Max’s tooth was lodged sideways in his mouth. He couldn’t close his mouth, and his paws were red with bloody puss. I called Ed into our room with a panicky voice that made him think that there was something wrong with the baby.

We called the vet and brought him in that morning, where he stayed all day. Two teeth were removed; his teeth were cleaned. We brought him home Wednesday night, drunk from an anesthesia hangover.

One of the reasons that we put off making the appointment is because we’re cheap bastards. About a year ago, at Max’s appointment, the vet let us know that the tooth issue was going to come to a head. She gave an estimate, saying that the cleaning and possible extraction would cost between $250 and $500. Who has that much? We don’t (we are planning on living in a 2 bedroom, 900 square foot apartment even after the baby is born to save money, despite the close living quarters). We haven’t used a credit card since moving to Boston unless we could pay it off in one or two months. $500 is not a pay-off amount.

When we got to the vet, I told Ed I would go into the room, even with my low threshold for adrenaline release because of the pregnancy (in other words, it only takes the hint of tragedy to make me hurl). I was afraid that he would get the estimate, ask what euthanizing would cost, and in the event that putting Max down was even $50 cheaper, would choose that option. You can only imagine his response to the estimate that ranged between $550 and $975. I didn’t care (that much). Max has been with us for over 10 years, gone through all our moves and life changes, and still has the softest fur.

Now, Ed may seem like he’s both cheap and cold hearted. But, I realized in this whole ordeal that we just have different feline love languages. You see, I am more than willing to be in the vet room with Max, talk with the doctor, sit with Max on my lap for an hour or two at night, get up to feed him and love him despite his annoying early morning meowing. Most of that drives Ed crazy. BUT, I cannot give Max medicine, I cannot force him into his cat cage, I cannot chase him across a busy Chicago street during rush hour in the middle of a driving trip across the country. Ed, on the other hand, can do all of these things in a way that doesn’t cause him to end up shaking with PDST afterwards. In fact, Ed goes to a mental place that allows him to see the need for what to do, what’s the best situation, no matter what the short-term inconvenience or pain it might cause him or the cat. AND, he does it without prompting- last night, he held Max down, inserted the syringe of painkillers and squeeze the whole amount in as if he was cleaning up the dishes after dinner. I tend to leave the room and imagine that it’s not happening, or, if I’m in the room, close my eyes, look away, and go to a happy place until it’s all over.

So now, I'm enjoying that we only have two days left of painkillers and antibiotics for Max, but more than that, loving how much I can see all the ways Max is loved. I'm sure he feels it, too.

(Nearly) A Year in Pictures

This weekend, I decided to download the pictures from our camera--only because our memory card was full. We had 327 pictures from the last year (spanning summer 2008 to february 2009). While I won't load them all here, I did realize that the blogs I tend to revisit the most have photos. Here's a highlight of our last year (I'll keep it down to 7 or so photos).

More soon on the coming baby, the current kid, and how realizing that I took on too much at work has impacted my ability to have coherent conversations after 7 PM.

When I talked about change, this isn't QUITE what I thought...

So, yes, it's been more than six months since we've posted. And, my last post was focused on wrestling with how to make genuine change. I won't go into a self-centered existential crisis diatribe, but the last seven months became more about letting go and letting change happen-- in other words, just rolling with all the balls we've put in motion since moving to and from the east coast and starting careers that are meaningful and enjoyable.

And, loving raising and hanging out with Jack - who is now 4 1/2 and makes me think that 4 is one of the best ages yet. So much so, that I really hope our next child pops out at least 2 1/2 years old.

I'll let you know. S/He comes toward the beginning of August. We went to our first ultrasound today; the baby (size of what, a grape??! and now no longer technically an embryo) was movin' and punchin' my utrine walls. Jack came with us and was a bit confused; he thought we were going to the doctor to get the baby out (!). So, he was a little disappointed, but did reiterate his desire for a sister.

Changes, here we come!

Defining Change

I suppose I should clarify what it "positive change" actually means before ranting and raving about how to go about and actually do it.

My current working definintion is akin to habit. Like biting nails or adding pepper to eggs, real change happens when I am not thinking about it anymore. It's as if the new action or attitude has become part of my DNA. And, because I'm nearly 35, having spent about 34 of those years establishing certain, perhaps more negative habits (like biting nails or eating after 8:00 PM), it feels like I'm swimming against the tide if I want to make changes for the better.

And, at the core is the desire to choose changes that bring the most pleasure to life. But, as I'm learning again and again, true, lasting pleasure requires hard work. And, strangely enough, that hard work becomes a constant thread in the weave of change--in other words, the work itself is part of the pleasure which allows change. Case in point: eight years ago I began work on my master's degree in English. I worked very hard in college, staying up late nearly every night and most weekends to write the best papers and create the best lesson plans for my English 101 classes. I worked so hard it nearly drained me completely. But, it did establish high standards that I am always working towards (if not always meeting). I worked for three years as a part-time instructor, making less than $30K a year, but working all the time. Now, I'm in a tenure track position--the greatest benefit is that I am teaching at one school where I can fully develop my teaching self. The hard work continues, but it is more like a drive, or ambition now; still a lot of work, but the work and focus is habitual. The ongoing implications-professionally and personal--of my habits as an instructor are only just starting to come to light.

The quote in the margin likens change, which is uncertain, to adventure. Obviously, then, change is an ongoing journey.

Tonight, when Jack was pulling books off the shelf to pretend and read them to the imaginary preschool we were attending to as two preschool teachers, I grabbed John Steinbeck's Travels With Charley and, as directed by Jack, began to read aloud. I read the third paragraph and, mostly because of my current obsession with what change is and how to make it happen for real, I read it as a metaphor of change:

Once a journey is designed, equipped, and put in process, a new factor enters and takes over. A trip, a safari, an exploration, is an entity, different from all other journeys. It has personality, temperament, individuality, uniqueness. A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us...The certain way to be wrong is to think you can control it. I fell better now, having said this, although only those who have experienced it will understand it (Steinbeck's Travels With Charley, page 4).

Somehow, the balance of allowing change to occur while still attempting to plan it seems to be the intersection where real change occurs. That's my hunch. I'm still working out the details.

Almost started a new blog, but starting over can be a bitch.

At some point in my life (grad school? moving to Boston? new job?) I was in a constant frantic state of unease. It wasn't pleasant. In the midst of the unease I must have said or done something which made Ed turn to me with the kind of distant compassion you only see in movies that are meant to inspire Buddha and said, "Laura, you have to be comfortable with being uncomfortable."

It was an ephiphany. The ephiphany pissed me off. I hated that it made sense. Being comfortable with being uncomfortable seemed to have a kind of permance to it--that somehow, if I just accepted my insecurity and incertainty that I would simultaneously find some security and certainty. Ugh.

Lately, I've been working hard at trying to figure out how to make permanent, positive changes in my life. Ed & I have created a few goals for ourselves (the biggest include paying off debts and saving for a downpayment on a house) and I have attempted--in short stints--to make other changes.

CHANGE IS F****ING HARD.

For a while, at least, the posts on this blog will attempt to articulate what it means to change, how change does (and doesn't happen) and even work through why we feel the need for change. I guess I'm hoping to record as much of the process as possible so it gets easier.

Our Hair Still Smells Like Campfire

Last weekend Ed & I picked up a tradition we left in the Northwest: camping with our good friends, Alicia & Brian. The last time we camped was at Lopez Island in 2003. There was a burn ban and we had to roast our marshmellows over charcoal briquettes. On the bright side (literally), we were "forced" to find something else to stare at and spent a few hours star gazing, counting shooting stars & satellites in the sky and marveling at the milky way. It was glorious.

This year we headed to Larrabee State Park in Bellingham, a favorite spot. This year we also had children in tow. Jack, 3. Noah, 2. Balin, 3 months. Like Lopez, adjustments had to be made. Jack slept in between two very sober parents and Noah and Balin actually split his parents into two tents. But, the boys played hard together. Balin, all of a few months old, barely made a peep and the joke around the campfire was that he actually wasn't there. Jack, who stayed up with all of us until we went to bed, and Noah, whose energy and knack for getting into pretty much everything made Jack look somewhat LAZY, kept all of us acutely aware of his proximity to the campfire.

I realized about mid-way through Saturday that the most wonderful thing about the trip, other than getting to know our friends' children and having the time to just hang out, was that this was a tradition that we can keep up for years. YEARS. Because we're not moving across the country anytime soon, or ever. Can you imagine? Staying in the same place? This is a reality I'm starting to get used to.

Just Skim. This is Mostly about Pictures

Transitions have perks. When you’re living out of suitcases, leaving one life behind in anticipation of starting another, there are benefits. For one, you tend not to think about all the class planning you have yet do to because your books are packed away in a container heading somewhere through South Dakota. You also don’t have to worry about whether your outfit will work for the day because you only packed a very small amount that would fit in a suitcase already more than half full of toys and diapers. Oh, and did I mention the fact that you get to live RENT FREE in a large home with a big yard where most meals are free. My mom and dad were amazingly gracious and generous the three weeks we stayed with them, having put us up with a perfect shower head and a television in the bedroom (we go so used to it that last Saturday while Ed was watching Notre Dame, Jack walked into the bedroom where I was unpacking to tell me that we needed another T.V. so he could watch Sponge Bob. I’m beginning to consider it.). Jack loved the visit so much he tells me at least once a day that he misses Nana.

We are practically settled into our new apartment in West Seattle and it’s nice. The library is across the street and the grocery store only 50 feet further than that. Jack’s been at Alki all but two days since we’ve moved in and I’m loving his ability to form the “ch” sound when he asks, very clearly, “Can we go to the beacchh today mommy?”

All the same, I’m also having to face our new life reality – and all reality, good or otherwise, has a kind of permanence to it that contrasts with romantic transitions. Things like realizing that I’m not getting my first paycheck from my perfect job until the end of October. And, partly because of it, we won’t have any kitchen chairs for at least another month, forcing us to eat on the floor and/or couch for just a bit longer. And, planning? Ha. I just picked out books for my classes. Ed’s been good; he’s been organized and diligent. Me, I’m starting to see how the joy of transitions is just a fancy way of defining procrastination.

So, in the spirit of hanging on JUST ONE MORE MINUTE to the last three weeks in the middle of our fifth life as a married couple, here’s a handful of pictures from Ed’s drive from Boston to Seattle with his brother Steve (the first picture, driving somewhere in the middle of the country) and nephew, Elijah (the second picture, fighting car sickness in the back seat).

WWDD?

Yesterday we went to a family BBQ. Jack left my sight after about 2 minutes; he found my cousin's three girls, all older than him, and was happy as he could be. I didn't see him for nearly three hours. It was glorious - and now, I feel a bit better about daycare (though will talk more in a few weeks).

I had a lenghty talk with the mother of the three brilliant girls who entertained my child. Laurie mentioned that Ed & I seem so laid back, she wondered if we ever got stressed.

HA. The great secret about Ed, and probably me, is that we appear calm and laid back most of the time. But, left to our own space with one another(and, sadly, Jack) we can be two of the most up-tight, stressed-out, tense people we know. Snappy? Definitely. Heavy sighs? More than a few. Yelling over little things like not completely cleaning the ceiling fan to let off steam for not being able to figure out how we're both going to get ready in class on time? Happens on a regular basis.

Perhaps that is why one of our new favorite shows is Ace of Cakes. The premise is that there's a guy, Duff, who opened his own cake store, and he, plus a handful of artsy, yet anal, chillin friends/employees produce specialty cakes by a deadline. Charm City Cakes is established in Baltimore, and don't think I haven't thought about visiting. Just for the cakes and the people who make them.

On Thursday nights, we watch 30 minutes of carefully edited cake making. And, let me tell you, the cakes are AMAZING. Entire baseball parks, animals, planes, WHATEVER. We love the show in part because Duff reminds us of a friend, Jake, and the office manager, Mary Alice, reminds us of another dear friend, Elizabeth. Both are in Boston. Maybe that's why we are hooked.

But, then, I realized last week that another reason we like this show because everyone on it seems to handle the stress of deadline so well. Duff, the owner, this bald, bearded thirty-something with a goofy laugh, ROLLS with stress. Last week's episode showcased the creation of some yak-sheep animal for a scottish wedding. At one point Duff had his office manager pick him up a Kilt to wear and then hired someone to come play the bagpipes. All this while they were hours away from a deadline and right before all the "hair" fell off and had to be reapplied before the cake left for the wedding.

Any tension felt at Charm City Cakes is kind silence. Which, is exactly the opposite type of silence you would feel around me and Ed. Our stress silence is more like the stress you might feel if you walked in front of store owners on some beach front walk in Florida, nailing up plywood to prepare for the next day's category 4 hurricane.

So, now, our renewed goal is to be better about "rolling" with the stress which inevitably comes with life. And, our life, in particular lately with all the moving and new jobs. We are using Duff and his employees as our roll model. We'll let you know how it goes. . .

On [Having Left Boston] - part 2

Jack is adjusting to the move better than either of us. He loves my mom’s big house and big yard and the extra attention from nana and papa. Ed and I are doing our best to get our classes planned and deal with all those boring details that come with moving across the country- like opening new bank accounts and finding a place to live. Done and Done. Now we just have to wait until the 6th of September for Door-to-Door storage to put our pods in front of our apartment building. Better the 6th than the 16th. And better Door-to-Door than A&G Vanlines, better known as fuck-you-up-so-much-you can’t breathe-because you have to choose between buying something to sit on or eat- movers.

One of the ways we know that Jack is adjusting so well is that his imagination is alive and well. He is constantly having conversations with any object – from the more obvious fisher price toys to the less obvious cell phone holders that have hands and feet (yes, they look like you imagine). He also loves playing with our cell phones, like any preschooler must these days. Jack’s favorite cell phone discussion mimics one he’s heard again and again.

“Hewo. Yah. I’m lost.”

Or, he plays the person on the other end.

(Hands pretending to type on a computer) “Okay, you turn right, then right then go stwait.”

You see, he’s acting out the majority of the phone conversations between Ed & me in Boston, which involved me, calling Ed from left-of-what-feels like-nowhere outside of Quincy, ready to personally embalm the lazy craps who decided that cow paths ARE a good way to plan city streets. When the phone rings, and Ed knows I’m somewhere new in the Boston area, he sits down at the computer, gets google maps up and ready, and answers, bracing for my Medusa tone. Jack has witnessed both ends of these conversations many, many times. Plus the ones where we are ALL in the car, when suddenly the tone shifts from chatty to silent and “what street was that?” mumblings. If the car ever gets too quietly tense, Jack immediately asks, “are we lost?”

I blame Boston. I’ve blamed Boston for the lost feeling ever since the day we moved. Driving in Boston and the greater Boston area is the most frustrating experience I’ve ever had. I cannot think of anything else that causes my blood pressure to rise faster – I lose all patience and turn into my evil twin. I wish I could show you what its like to drive there (though not with me), but the best way to explain it is to wake up early tomorrow morning, walk outside and look for a spider web. No, not the new, clean crisp one spun between your front porch post and roof, basking in the suns rays which reflect the glistening dew on the perfectly straight web lines. Turn your head to the one hanging off the side of the bush, half broken, hidden from the sun, where very few of the strands are touching and one or two three-day old flies are pulling on the few stands holding the web to the dark bush. Now, imagine that web on a map, that it’s the roads to a major U.S. city. That’s Boston.

It took me 18 of the 24 months that we lived in the Hub to realize why it’s called the Hub. All the roads circle around the center of the city. It’s why you can be driving on highway 95 and you will see two signs telling you which way you are headed: 95 South AND 93 North. (WHAT?!) Because 95/93 circles around the city, if you are headed north, eventually, you will also be heading south.

Before we moved back, all I could think about was how wonderful it would be to get on a road and know which way I was heading. Straight north or south. And, the ocean West, mountains East.

But, about two months ago, I realized that I was a big fat wuss. If I had just a bit more patience, I would have seen that the road system in Boston was, in fact, interesting. This came me after talking with a colleague about how writing is like walking through a labyrinth- where you walk a long distance in order to get to the center, but unlike a maze, the center is only part of the journey – you can be far away from your destination, or next to it, but all aspects of the labyrinth walk are just as crucial as the destination. All this time I’d treated driving in Boston like a maze, as if the roads were working to keep me from my destination. When, in fact, they were beckoning me to understand something more complex.

When I flew back for my second interview and was driving along I5 North, I realized that the difference between driving in Seattle and Boston is the difference between reading Dr. Seuss and Samuel Beckett. One is simple, easy to memorize, comfortable and, somewhat repetitive. The other is complex, hard to follow, and, for quite a while, frustrating, yet compelling. And, Beckett, like Boston roads, when you only start to think you might just get where you’re going with it, you get an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and feel, well, smart. I could extend the reading metaphor into how all the roads that don’t connect are like stilted prose that is woven throughout a deceptively focused play, but then I would sound like a reading and writing teacher, and I’m not paid to do that until September 17.

Tacoma Transistions

I'm sitting at my mom's computer in Tacoma while Jack's reaching into the candy bowl tellng me he's too full for lunch (at 9:05 AM) - which makes sense only because I just told him we'll share my dark chocolate candy bar after lunch. To be clear, "full" means healthy food "full." His chocolate stomach, much like my day today, is wide open.

Jack & I landed in SeaTac last Tuesday night after a perfect flight. The last week has been mostly about trying to finish up my online class - which consisted of choosing between work and sleep. Sleep usually won out. But, now, my class is over and I feel fully planted in the Pacific Northwest.

Last week was also about looking for places to live in West Seattle. It boils down to paying a bit less for a smaller apartment or quite a bit more for a decent home in a decent neighborhood. I'm waiting for Ed to help make the decisions.

Ed gets in town tonight- he's been driving across the country with his brother and 11 year old nephew. The last two days he's talked, his voice had the slightest hint of tension- kind of like we were talking right before the Titanic went under. I can't imagine spending the entire day in the car, let alone three days in a row (the second and third days they stopped early to visit friends and family).

So far the move back has been the complete opposite of the move to Boston. No major surprises (like crazy devil movers). Things seem a little smaller here, even West Seattle. Maybe that's the comfortability factor.

Jack found a cookie. Probably should deal with that....

Nah. It's Nana's house.

On Leaving Boston - Part 1

I don’t recommend moving across the country. I don’t recommend doing it twice. And I definitely don’t recommend doing it twice in two years.

It’s hard to be reflective when faced with the overwhelming moving task list. But, I’d like to get something down about Boston before we leave Boston. I’m sure I’ll get back to Seattle and have all sorts of romantic feelings about the Hub, but it’s hard to channel those when I’m sitting literally in the middle of a two stacks of boxes- packed and unpacked. And, let me tell you, the unpacked boxes have a menacing look about them.

Ed’s better at lists, so I’ll let him brainstorm all the good things about living in Boston. For me, there are three distinct reasons I will have a hard time leaving. The first is Halloween, the second is (surprisingly) the roads, and the third is harder to explain, but it is intimately connected with some ancestor who braved the trek out of the familiar. I’ll try and explain Halloween; bear with me.

Meet Me in St. Louis is one of those comfort movies that I could watch and know I’ll feel better. It’s a musical with Judy Garland, so Ed –despite his best efforts—can’t quite get into it, so I haven’t seen it in a few years. It takes place at the turn of the century and captures the nostalgic romance of rich white folk in a way that only MGM could produce. The houses are huge, all classes of folk seem to intermingle well enough, and the food is always homemade, setting the background to lovely unselfconscious family gatherings. While I’m smart enough to know that such an atmosphere is contrived, I was impressionable enough when I watched it for the first time that the mood of the film somehow found its way into my “home” ideals- you know those semi-conscious images and moods we associate with “home.”

Halloween is part of the film’s atmosphere. It’s the best kind of Halloween; everyone dresses up and the children—those under 10—are out about on their own AT NIGHT (because it’s safe and because they don’t have the burden of being raise in today’s world where every moment must be either supervised or planned) making bonfires and figuring out ways to really get scared. Like knocking on the door of some dark house owned by the neighborhood curmudgeon. And the weather is clearly Autumn. The kind of Autumn we know it should be. Crisp without being cold, and colorful.

Boston Halloweens feel like the Meet Me in St. Louis Halloween. For the last two years, we’ve dressed Jack up and walked all of the three blocks around our neighborhood to trick or treat. This takes nearly two hours. Nearly every house is decorated to the nines with jack-o-lanterns, skulls, tombstones, etc. And, all the kids come out. It was not unusual for Jack and me to wait for 10 other kids before getting to the door. Many of the homeowners have been in the neighborhood as long as our landlord—who was born and raised in the same house he owns today (where we live on the first floor). So, there’s this familiarity about the neighborhood, even if it’s your first walk for treats. We’d run into kids and parents we hadn’t seen since the last hot, humid day in August when everyone is outside looking to cool off and talk about how nice the weather is-how crazy it is that it is still 70 degrees so late in the year. Did I mention the colors? Before the sun goes down, 95% of the trees are still holding onto their rich ruby, terra cotta, and yellow leaves, giving the entire city a deep glow of warmth which follows every toddler home to sort out their candy.

Like the family in Meet Me in St. Louis, Boston is unselfconscious yet proud. Most homes decorate every holiday. Lights are up at Christmas, jack-o-lanterns are lit at Halloween, and flags come out on the 4th of July, no matter what your political point of view. I don’t know if it’s because the neighborhoods distinct with class or race or culture are right around the corner from another that causes a general comfort for anyone (despite a subtle if present racism), or if it’s the fact that tradition has had a lot longer to establish itself, but I wonder if future Halloweens can ever live up to the ideal realized here in Boston.

When it rains, it pours

One thing I will not miss about the East Coast is getting caught outside in a downpour - which happened eariler today. Yes, yes, my fault, should've paid more attention to those weather forecasts that said it would rain later in the day. But the rain is different here - Boston gets more inches of rain per year than Seattle (I know, I wouldn't have guessed it either). But the rain is compressed into fewer days, so when it rains....it pours. (We have a blog-entry-title!)

Still, isn't running-in-the-rain one of those things you see on those "things-I-want-to-do-before-I-die" kind of things....yes?

Maybe not. I'm soaked.

Had my end the term meeting with Dr. T. this morning to discuss my students grades and participation in ED 500. Dr. T. is a true southerner (he's from North Carolina) and likes to tell stories more than discuss if Emily W. deserves an A for participation in the course. He's a geniunely nice person and all, but there were times this morning I honestly thought, as Dr. T. continued on about another story, "wait a minute, how'd we get on this?" Still, most TA's put up with his stories because he's very good at what he does (teaches undergraduates and grad students how to be teachers). I wish I had taken his class back in my teacher-training days at Western.

Our meeting wrapped up and he asked for my key to the TA office - hard to believe I was just starting this Teaching Fellowship and now it's over.

So our biggest dilemma at the moment is - how do we transport the cats? And in the Grand Scheme of Things, "transporting the cats" is fairly small. I drove out the airport to try and buy a cat carrier from JetBlue. This airline had some pretty specific criteria for its cat carriers, their website said you can buy them at a Jetblue ticket counter, so off I went to Logan. I got to the counter and asked "Dave" if he had cat carriers. I think he misunderstood me because he gave me a look like I had asked, "do you have a banana sandwich?" He said he'd go check in the back and disappeared in the back (where does that go to by the way?) He came back - nothing. I asked if there was someone he could call, I mean, I mentioned politely, are there no cat carriers in the entire airport? Dave mentioned he'd go check by the gates and off he went. I waited. Of course, ten minutes later, he reappeared - still nothing.

"Sorry. We don't have any." said Dave, in a matter-of-fact, that-was-it-sort-of-a-way.

"Ok." I said. "You're website said I could purchase these carriers....here. Today. My wife and 3-year old are flying out Tuesday....with the cat. Any chance we can get a carrier here?"

Dave said he could talk to a manager and order a carrier - hopefully to arrive sometime later in the week. Now we're brainstorming! - I thought.

So I'll be driving back to Logan later in the week. Hopefully Dave will have ordered a carrier.

Alaska Airlines has an "Animal Express" that I just looked up and found. I'll call on that tomorrow. If both cats could fly on that - well, that would be just too perfect, now, wouldn't it?

First Synonym

Last night, over dinner, Jack casually asked:

"Will that man be pissed?"

He was referring to the guy that I called back to let know that we had already sold our air contidtioners to someone else.

Ed & I looked at each other and weren't sure if we'd heard correctly.

"What did you say?" I asked as if I didn't hear.

"Will that man be pissed?"

"Sorry, Jack, what did you say?"

Jack rolled his eyes and asked, "Will that man be MAD?" as if I was an idiot for not knowing what "pissed" meant.

And Baby Makes Crazy

This morning I had a blog topic all ready to go, AND I even figured out a way to seemlessly transition into the fact that Jack can carry around an extra four pounds of urine in his diaper every morning without caring, thus leading me to the conclusion that there just might be the chance that he'll be the first kindergartener ever who isn't potty trained.

But, after dealing with cat carriers approved for the flight, city hall phone trees to find out about permits for our moving containers, not to mention the ongoing flaky folks emailing about how they actually aren't going to come by this morning to pick up that piece of furniture we're selling despite the fact that I neglected my weighted-down-with-urine preschooler to clean our kitchen, I have *surprisingly* forgotten what was no doubt a BRILLIANT post.

Last night Ed mentioned that we should have a second kid. To be clear, the mere suggestion of getting pregnant for me is akin to a heroine addict being told there's a secret stash of dope in the back room. Don't tell me unless you mean it. My darwinian forces are stronger than logic. Maybe it's habit; seems we can't just do ONE stressful thing in our lives; we always need to mix it up a bit. New job? Bah- been doing that for the last four years. New home in a new city? PA-Lease. Ed will be writing his dissertation this next year, so that's new. But, just for fun, why NOT get pregnant? And Ed was thinking all this despite the fact that he'd just talked with our friends last night who admited to being a bit "jaded" with the two-kid parent life.

My sister is also feeling the urge to produce another offspring. And while both her an my mom would no doubt pray for my very soul at the thought that the urges are anyway related to the biological need to evolve the species forward, something is in the air. I need to remember the 6-month long nausea, the exhaustion (that didn't go away), and the fact that we're rocking Jack's world quite enough as it is.

It will be interesting to see what we decide. In the meantime, thinking about bringing another life into the world is a relatively less stressful way to pass the time than all the ENDLESS stuff associated with moving across the country.

Really Bad Punning for Good Reason

Anthony Bourdain's show is on. Bourdain is one of our favorite authors. (He started as a chef, but we've never ate at his restaurant, only read his books on food.) No Reservations is his series about visiting various cities all over the world in search of the perfect, authentic meal. He's one of the reasons I'm going to incorporate an entire unit on food in my classroom.

Tonight's show is a repeat; he's in Seattle.

Which is where we'll be in less than a month. And, hopefully before August is over, sitting in Safeco field introducing Jack to the Mariners.

South Seattle CC offered me the job. I took it of course, with no reservations (ha).

Now the moving fun begins. I don't mind.

Future Orientated

Okay, we've spent the better part of the last two years honing our mental skills to live in the moment. This week we are giving that up. There's too much about to happen (or not) in the near future. Harry Potter may or may not die and I may or may not get a job in Seattle. Flew back last night from a good interview. Picked up "HP and the Deathly Hallows" today. Can't do much else except hurry up and read the book to NOT think about whether or not I get the job, and can't do much (needed) work for my online course until I know the outcome of both plots- fantasy and "real."

Though I must admit, three years ago it felt like a fantasy to imagine that Ed & I would land faculty jobs IN the Northwest, let alone Seattle.

Here's hoping for a little magic...

Years from now, when I stumble upon these pictures, they will take me right back to summer 2007 in Boston

That's Jack, with Colleen in the middle and Shannon on the right. They're two of the three girls from upstairs.

3 Years Old

July is like a day at full day at a spa: indulgent and luxurious. We get everything all at once: sun, beaches, 4th of July, Jack's birthday, plus we're right smack in the middle of summer break so the regular school year is far, far away. Seems unfair that July has so much goodness stacked in it, but it's kind of like having the absolute best 5 course meal after a day of not eating: that much sweeter.

Jack turned 3 today. The day started and ended in what I'm beginning to think is typical 3-year old behavior. Jack started by telling us he didn't want to do something because, by the way, he was still 2, not 3. At bedtime, he got off his bed, walked over to me in the doorway and sat down, looking at me like he wasn't budging. BUT, in between all that, it was a great day. We had breakfast at Zaftigs delicatessen in Brookline (which was really all about me since I haven't had any good coffee in four days since breaking my THIRD french press), then three playgrounds in one where even the promise of a new tricyle from Toys R Us couldn't get Jack away. Jack opened up presents throughout the day, the girls from upstairs came down to play (to engage in the age-old battle of sharing new toys), and Ed drove across town for some good pizza. Jack avoided a nap for the seventh day in a row (he got up after 40 minutes, looked at me and plainly declared that he wasn't sleepy; okay-I get it).

We also had cake. Jack requested Ice Cream cake, which Ed & I tried to make last night, but which didn't freeze fast enough, so we woke up this morning to a blob of yellow cake and chocolate chip ice cream that looked a bit like the before pictures form one of TLC's stomach stapling shows. So, Ed went to the store and dropped $30 on an icecream cake that looked normal. See for yourself. While both taste great, I couldn't print out pictures of the blobby one.

I did coax Jack back to bed by bringing in the last present I forgot to have him open. It had Fantasia DVD as well as the book version of his favorite Backyardigan's episode: Race to The Tower of Power. Uncle Steve got him the DVD at Christmas and that is the episode Jack ALWAYS wants to watch. It's your basic superhereos versus supervillans, but the song and dance is this hilarious latin, shake your hips, move your booty genre. I read it to Jack, who was so enthralled, he barely moved (which never happens). He was exhausted, but after I left, I looked back where he had turned on his flashlight to pour over his book.

I love 3.

New Camera & Fireworks

We're on our third digital camera. Third. My mom got us one a few years back that we think Jack dropped; my dad got us one last year that stopped working over Christmas. So, I broke down and instead of spending money we don't have on a massage, I spend that money on a yet another camera. It's nice- a simpler version of the Canon PowerShots we've had, but it does the job (record memories).

The camera came Tuesday, July 3. Which is great because that's the night we went and saw July 4th fireworks. Because Boston has one of the biggest firework shows in the nation where literally 1/2 million people attend (where I can imagine much personal space is violated), surrounding towns have their own separate celebrations on days other than the 4th so as not to compete and give the agoraphobes a chance to enjoy the holiday. So, pretty much all this week you can catch some pyro-tech show in the Boston area. And while I would have liked to see the "BIG" show, I was quite happy to see the one we did. As was Ed. And, Jack enjoyed the show, too, although about half way through (fifteen minutes in), he turned to me and said, "Do the fireworks ever stop?"

The pictures above are from Tuesday and Wednesday. On July 3rd we hung out at Memorial Park in Needham, ate snowcones and waited for fireworks. The first one is from the 4th, which was dedicated to slow-cooked pork butt and resting. And, realizing that somehow the Northeast and Northwest weather patterns got mixed up (Seattle was a sunny, 85 degree day while we hit mid-60s and rain). All in all, a very pleasant holiday.

I hate jet-leg. I'm normally immune to its effects. I flew a red-eye flight back from Seattle and so I spent all day yesterday in a jet-lagged induced fog - two days kind of swirled together into one big mix of semi-consciousness.

The weekend was fun. Got in Thursday night and Steve picked me up from the airport. We had coordinated the pick up time so Steve was able to just drive up and pick me up. Last time Steve picked me up from the airport we had got our wires crossed - Arrivals and departures are on two different levels at Sea-Tac. I got confused - I was "departing" the airport, so I waited at the Departures terminal for Steve to pick me up. Twenty minutes I got a call from Steve, "dude," he said, "you've arrived. You're not departing..."

Sometimes I'm not bright.

Friday - played nine holes of golf with Steve and Elijah. Good times. Elijah is only 11, but made it through 9 holes of golf. Truth is, at 11, I would not have the patience to play nine holes of golf. Picked up the tuxedos for the wedding - Steve and Leslie went with brown and green for wedding colors, which, I admit, I thought was suspect. But really, the colors worked.

Yes, I really did just type, "the colors worked."

Wow....

Rehearsal dinner time - must have been like "Worlds Collide" for Steve. Went off pretty good. I normally hate these kind of functions which require small-talk and polite smiles, but everyone was nice and down to Earth.

Saturday - W-day for Steve. Had breakfast at the Spar - which was good, good. Breakfast came with real hashbrowns - you know, the grated, fried potatoes. We can't find hashbrowns out East to save our lives (what is the idea behind home fries for breakfast anyway?)

Drove out to the wedding site by 1pm. Watching Steve get nervous reminded me of my wedding day 10 years before and how nervous I felt. What are we nervous about really? Everything's pretty much on autopilot by that time. Ah well. Nice ceremony. Leslie and Steve looked great. The reception was fun.

And I didn't screw up my toast (my duty as best-man). But I was nervous - yes, this coming from the guy that teaches and talks in front of people a lot - I was nervous. I wanted to do a good job for my brother. I felt better when the Maid of Honor told me she hadn't prepared anything - not that the toasts are a contest or anything. Still, when you're up there, in front of everyone, you realize there's no way to screw this up as long as what you say is honest. A few people came up to me afterwards and said they liked what I had say - always good for the ego.

I missed Laura and Jack. They would've loved seeing everyone.

Sunday - Went back to the Spar for breakfast (c'mon, they got hashbrowns!) I bought Lisa breakfast as a thank-you for letting me crash at her place. Lisa is a creature of habit and routine, so I know having others crash her place, use her computer, lay around and watch the TV, wasn't easy. She's a trooper.

I got to catch up with my friend Jay during the afternoon. Always good times with Jay. He drove out to Boston with me in 2005 and we had a few laughs at our (mis)adventure that summer road-trip.

Had dinner with the family back at Steve and Leslie's place before Steve took me to the airport. The weekend had been a flash.