As Auntie Adella Collides with Very (W)right DINKdom: Coffee will flow, glass shall explode, and sacred objects shall be passed between family members with the solemnest of oaths and duties. Battles of epic proportion waged in all corners of the land: Evil Associate Thompson launching attack from voicemail crevices! Falconer plague routing (W)right immune systems! Auntie twixt Associate twixt Amanuensis all ailing in their competitions. And a slow boil to summer as home - and DINKdom is regained.
No Rest for the Weirdy Auntie A Returns to the Land of DINK
Well, I am one-up on my mom: unlike her ten, I only lost five pounds during my visit to the Falconers! And I'm pretty sure that at least half of that is dehydration from the air travel/massive Falconer cold. That my body fat percentage has theoretically dropped from a healthy 23 back to 19 raises more eyebrows over the accuracy of the consistently dubious measurement device than the weight loss benefits of raising children (babyrobics! babylates! baby cross fit! baby kettle ball! Yes, I know all of these exist without having to do the google search to verify, but there are some random links anyways).
And I'm back, baby. Sort of. Back with a cold and a fair head of grog. It wouldn't be true travel without the transitional phlegm fog. But while this befuddlement theoretically marshals for "taking it easy" today, my body and brain demand otherwise. After initially waking around 3:00 a.m. (6:00 a.m. on East Coast time, so actually "sleeping in" if I had any sense of internal clock at the moment), I forced myself to stay in bed until 4:45. This is my cut off time between "wee hours of night" and "early in the friggin' morning" and an acceptable compromise for leaping from bed and commencing with laundry.
Foisting my laundry into the appropriate machine (knock on wood... I don't think it was the oven...), I began my day by brewing bevies of coffee, starting beans for hummus, composing a masterwork of a shopping list, doing some prep on lunch, and putting away most of the rest of my luggage in between hurried sink ablutions. There was a lot to do! I was pretty tired the prior night and could barely achieve more than getting into pajamas and popping my evening pills at a quantity I can't verify because I may have started repeating myself.
My journey home was a leisurely one (as well as comfort can ever be ascribed to air-travel, that epitomal state of fidget and frenzy), with room-to-grow layovers and plenty of gate waiting time. With the aid of some cold medicine, I managed to zonk for at least part of the flight to San Francisco. An aside that will no doubt dominate the remainder of this paltry paragraph: it seems so counter-intuitive flying from Jersey to San Fran and up to Bellingham. I consider "New Jersey" to be to the "North" and "San Franscisco" to be quintessentially to the "South". But looking at a map, San Francisco is actually pretty close to the same degree of Northish as Jersey. I forget that Bellingham is actually parallel with Canada on both sides of this great land of ours.Of course, I am also aware that the five to six hours it takes to get to San Francisco is roughly the same time span a direct flight would require to get to Seattle. Such are the vagaries of plane travel.
While a direct flight would still have shaved off several hours of transit, the forced simplicity of traveling's transitions was probably good for me after some pretty heavy programming the last few days. Given my manic head-first leap into a Go-Go-Gadget Chore-bot, it seems that some forced uneasy-chair-rest was the closest thing to the bed rest I ought to be taking.
Ohhhhh... bed... it's funny the things you really miss when you're away. There are the obvious ones, of course: loved ones, etc. etc. But often those take a while to kick in when you're travelling.
When I'm away, my sense self is contextualized into compartments. "I" imagine that the world I left behind remains in stasis pending return to both place and to that-self. The newness of everyday routines require enhanced and constant attention, the energy for which is provided by minimizing extraneous parts of personality. Maybe it's just that for the first little bit of a new trip I'm way too distracted by accomplishing basic tasks like eating, sleeping, navigating space, to remember how much I miss home.
I was telling my sister that I knew my days of crazy epic travel marathons were happily nestled in my past. As I age, I travel less to get away and more for the pleasure of coming home at the end. There are so many little things about being abroad that make me think of home and which draw me back, now, like a magnet. For instance, during my last trip to Buenos Aires I missed peanut butter to mad distraction.
So, while I was inundated in enough love and insanity not to explicitly miss "home" in a sickly sort of way during my brief spell away, there are definitely some "little things" that really added up and provide evolving delight upon rediscovery:
1. My bed and falling asleep on my hubby's shoulder. Braden's little twin bed was actually far more comfortable than I'd have expected, but my tempurpedic is the uber-bed. And Andrew may snort and thrash from time to time, but he's so cozy; having his scent and skin be the last sensations of an evening nods me straight off into a luscious lull of security.
2. My bathroom night light. The boys needed the hall light on, so when I left my room to use the bathroom, it meant walking from dark into glare. Since I'm a light sleeper, I get up more than once and am easily stirred back to consciousness. I love our home night light, which is just faint enough to provide visibility without waking me up.
3. Pacific Northwest Tap Water - I swear, there is nothing better. East Coast water simply cannot compare.
4. Our coffee maker. I'm the sorta gal who makes coffee in bulk and saves whatever I don't drink. When I lived alone, I used to make one pot every few days and reheat the rest (gets stronger incidentally, if you do this, which is a plus for my bitter proclivities). With Andrew (the java monster) on board, I usually need at least a pot a day. On weekend mornings, I might even make two before he gets up and store one in our magical Swedish thermos. The number of little cups I went through via the keurig was a little disturbing and inspired me to pace myself a bit.
5. NUTS! The edible kind. I was well-enough inundated in the figurative kind. Sam's deathly allergic to cashews and pretty darned allergic to almost every other kind of nut that's actually a tree nut (peanuts, being legumes, and pine nuts, being seeds, are totally fine). There were still almonds and pecans stashed in aerie alcoves of Falconer pantries for me greedy guzzling, but I haven't had walnuts of cashews (both a staple of my diet) in several days.
6. Functioning internet. The wireless was spottier than my sparkly leopard print socks. Had it been just a tick more ornery, I would have given up entirely and relied exclusively on my phone's 4G. But typing is just that much more convenient than the oh-so-heinous swyping (and its multitude of surreal swypos), and the connection was just functional enough to prompt me to continue trying to use it. A single chat conversation involved disconnecting and reconnecting to the wireless once every two sentences. I think this harkened back before the days of 1990's modem connections and barely counted as "online." Eventually the entire thing became a game - in the pointless and inevitably losing genre- involving about 75% of any "internet" time re-establishing the wireless to see if I could complete a single functional step on the internet. I was so taken aback when I loaded up my laptop at the SFO gate and things... just worked. I didn't know what to do!
7. My balance disc. As is my wont, I stood at the computer a lot while I was in New Jersey. I also stand at home (when I'm not walking - and I did miss my treadmill as well), but I often do so flamingo-style on a balance disc. This was initially part of my PT, but it actually makes standing for any duration more comfortable on my feet. Since there's constant adjustment happening (especially one-legged), there's none of that leg-lock that happens from straight standing.
8. My kitchen. Actually, the Falconer's kitchen is awesome... when you can use it. And I did make great use of it, but my kitchen is MINE. Andrew knows to stay clear of it when I'm in there. Fortunately that's pretty easy, since it attaches conveniently to his preferred perching roosts. Since I typically eat several times a day and get some kind of zen experience from chopping and dicing and so on, I like to be in the kitchen. It's a little harder to share it with three children on roller blades, a dad who is anxious to get in and out with his beer, and a mom who is simultaneously playing ice pack tag, cooking three to six separate meals, cleaning out exploded lunch boxes and triaging whatever other fires might have been lit (literally or otherwise) in that arena. Since their kitchen consists of two long and narrow aisles divided by an island, it can be especially perilous to navigate if you don't instinctively know where everything goes. Just making it to the trash can be a death trap.
9. Our netflix. Not that Rolie Polie Olie isn't sufficiently fascinating to keep me dazed and drooling, but Andrew and I have a long standing ritual of winding down together on the couch with "our show" (currently House). Like falling asleep on his shoulder, it's a marker that brings the day home for me. No day seems complete without it.
10. Of course, comfortable silence. With several children about, silence generally has a menacing eerie quality, auguring something horrific to come. At home, silence is platinum. Perhaps it's boring even. But it's actually a reassuring friend.
Glad to be back and just starting to rediscover all those little things I really missed. Speaking of which, it's time to cart the coffee up and have my weekend morning with the loris!
Ailing Auntie Adella Versus Evil Associate Twin Thompson The Homecoming Heats Up
I'm back... mostly. Sorta. Halfway. My brain is a bit of a snot-stained mucusy muddle. My throat is writhing and rearing with endless tickle. My reflexes are not what they might be. My coffee skills might have taken a hacking hit, judging by the crunchy java fountain that flowed freely from Mr. Coffee this morning (let's not speak of the exploding jars placed in the freezer during an obvious lick of lethe). But the surviving coffee was consumable (if thick) and no breakfast were served a flambe, so I'd call it a win.
After having a blessed Sunday to acclimate to childless DINKdom, I'm back in the office. Acclimating to associate attorneydom may take some more time. I spy evil associate twin Thompson lurking in corners and snickering at my befuddlement as I glare at a roiled office full of surprises and unfamiliar work.
My childless DINKdom day was a pleasant transition, though not without plangent pangs of what I can only attribute to Stockholm Syndrome. Why this internal threnody at the absence of screaming tantrums? Why does this peaceful silence feel at times like a vortex? Why does my heart ache just a touch over the thought that these brutal little beasties of common blood will forget their dear old(ish) Auntie in the mudslide of playdates and beach excursions?
Slight nonsensical nostalgia aside, I thoroughly enjoyed indulging in several "THINGS I HAVEN'T DONE IN A WHOLE WEEK AND A HALF" on my recovery day. Aside from the culinary delights of cashew, cayenne, and walnut, most of my delights were oh so (W)right in the most DINKy-doo of ways. Of course, reclaiming the weekend morning with my snuggly-loris was first on the agenda. This checked off quite nicely over several cups of coffee and the inevitable speculation of what on earth we might do to address the several paradoxes of child rearing should it ever come to that.
Aside from "Andrew won't be a stay-at-home-dad at all ever" and "no way we're having enough children to outnumber the adults... one would do, or maybe like we can get one on a timeshare with some other parents??" I'm not sure we had any major revelations to share with the veteran parents. But being a DINK couple, it's important that we engage in the charade of knowing anything about child rearing just to tempt the fates with some incoming demon progeny waiting in the wings to punish our contumely. Yes, in my heart of hearts I know better than to judge any parent (or person) for their individual and unknowable circumstances, but outwardly I'm thinking that vocally tempting the fates with proclamations of "it can't be that hard!!" may be more effective than all the orange barracudas and looby-lady pills combined.
Having a hack of liquid lungs, I opted for a "gentler" walk in lieu of our planned return-run. Of course, since Mr. (W)right was involved, this "gentle walk" evolved into a foray up the side of a dusty mountain. Said trek may have been less gentle than my inner caregiver had prescribed, but it was quite beautiful and I survived with both lungs mostly functioning.
After a dazed excursion to the grocery store and subsequent food prep bacchanal, I ventured out once more for another walk with "Gramma Pam" (a/k/a "mom-boss") to complete my final Auntie mission. When GP was visiting the International House of Crazy Children, she left her Seahawks cap behind. Apparently Sam was quite concerned about this, so I was entrusted with this chapeau and given explicit urgent instructions to return it home. Instead, I mostly wore it during the visit and almost didn't pack it. Somehow vigilance from all Falconer adults ensured that the fated hat returned to Bellingham.
Of course, many things belonging to Miss Mom-boss end up in my house and not-quite-back to her, so we proactively met at a predetermined exchange location ASAP, where we engaged in some highly tense negotiations and exchanged the hat for a ransom of "some sunscreen and a few crossword puzzles."
In my absence, Andrew has gone and developed new habits, those augered in recent weeks but only fully manifest now. Instead of waking up at 5:28 (not sure why the alarm was there, but there we go), he now would like to rise at 5:15. Today, he made good on this ambition and was downstairs and together before I'd even finished breakfast. Of course, this is a change I'd initially rallied for, back when I was closer to my crazy-single-lady schedule of "going straight into work at 5:30 a.m. every day." I'm pleased that I've insidiously infected the bike-and-chain, but it certainly took me a bit aback in terms of my carefully reconstructed morning time-table (previously down to the minute in parts). Especially after the coffee mulch explosion. Should be interesting to see how things pan out.
In other husbandy news: track is back on. It's on Mondays now, which apparently isn't as bad as he'd thought. And I'm a fan, because I'm out later on Mondays anyways. Plus, when he goes out on Friday, it pretty much nukes our Saturday and possibly any Sunday turtle-doving. If he goes out on Monday, then EI(EIOOOOOO) can deal with the daze and drool! And he'll likely be recovered by date night. So we've agreed that this theoretical recommitment to track as - at least - a B discipline, is A-(A is for Andrew and Adella)-OK with us.
But back to the office. I'm feeling that sinking feeling of uncertainty as I stare at my phone and wonder if messages lurk on the old chasms of voicemail There may be more coffee in the forecast today.
Collaborative Law Meeting Minutes Adella Transitions from Auntie to Absent and Ailing Amanuensis
(The head cold remains virulent in my addled head, so much so that Mom-boss graciously filled in as scribe for my monthly Collaborative Law Secretarial duties). But not actually being at the meeting certainly shouldn't disqualify me from summarizing it in official meeting minute form.
Whatcom Collaborativebury Professionals Tales (Meeting Minutes for June 10, 2014)
Prologue
WHAN that June with his shoures soote
The droghte of May hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
In Whatcom County Courthouse as she lay
Redy to wenden on her pilgrimage
To Collaboration with ful devout corage,
At noon was come in-to that hostelrye
Wel six and tenty in a compaignye,
Of sondry folk, by aventure y-falle
Here biginneth the Nonne Pamela's Tale of the Ailing Amanuensis Adella
As Collaborators gathered round in search of viands and camaraderie, Pamela conveyed the events that deterred plucky Adella from her steadfast post at computer's edge.
Having travelled far and wide on familial pilgrimages to the land of Joisey, Adella had there formed bonds strong and sustaining with wee boys of blood relation. Through play dates, pizza nights, and pillow forts, these boys and their beleaguered parents became so much a part of her that peradventure she brought a bit too much of them back again on her homecoming.
Her return to work was scheduled with much fanfare on Monday morning, but swiftly was it shown that something was awry. Adella arrived speckled in coffee grounds and kleenex ash, murmuring something about java fountains and bulbasaurses. Her maundering moans crooned a bluesy rasp with sing-song delirium, but little sense could be discerned by saner ears. Something muttered about school, reflection essays, and stomach aches...
Knowing her to have studied intensely with Master Ian, perfecter of the Tiger Crane school of Illusory School day Ailments, Pam suspected feint. "No school, then no playdate with the Whatcom Collaborative Professionals, missy!" She sternly proclaimed
Mordant moue affixed, Adella offered a faint screech punctuated by hacks and gurgles of protest or congestion. Remembering that Adella did not, in fact, attend school, Pam reconsidered her initial suspicions. This reconsideration promptly verified when Adella ran from the office screaming something about "hot showaaaaah" before lathering under a telephone shower head with a post-it note bar of soap. Asked if perhaps she should go home and rest, Adella - who had, after all, studied with the best - commenced croaking curses and made faint efforts at a tantrum before growing tired and crawling under the table-fort in the outside office.
Making the executive decision to declare her associate "on sick leave" for the day, Pamela agreed to stand post at the upcoming Collaborative Law Meeting, which (in Adella's land) appeared to have already commenced in the Englettlaw lobby area and which was populated by several Pokemon cards collaborators and a roll of toilet paper dubbed Princess Sophia. Pamela found the whilom worker napping upside down on chair covered in a mixture of Strawberry Quick dust and whiteboard markers. Taking her chance, Pamela dimmed the lights and retrieved the secretary's sacred stash of notes and agendas.
Brandishing Adella's holy laptop, Pamela faithfully pledged to record the meeting most accurately so that all records could subsequently be twisted back into reckless speculation and fantasy by an amanuensis on the mend.
And so ends the tale.
**
Tears were shed, applause resounded through the land and all agreed it was an heroic tale of strife and sugar-toast.
The drama having filled those lulls of early meeting minutes, thus allowing most of the remaining membership and even a healthily tardy showing of the majority of the board to shuffle in... the meeting's business commenced at full throttle.
...[redacted meeting business]
After some involved discussion, pie charts, google calendars, and power points, it appears the group agreed that it may serve us to attend the IACP Forum in force. The additional training or retreat remains in the mix as possibly but not definitely adjunct activities.
Stay Tuned for More Information and Final Recommendations, but in the meantime, get your passport polished up and satisfy all remaining parole conditions that might hinder your passage into Canada!
"Because," Roy proclaimed as he leapt upon the table with a foiled fireman's cap, "we look to be going to the I-A-C-P"
(everyone rose and mimed along!)
Members, there's no need to feel down
Members, pick yourselves from the ground
I said, Members, 'cause we're heading to V-town
It's fun to go to the I-A-C-P
It's fun to go to the I-A-C-P
They have everything collaborators enjoy
You can collaborate with gals and boys
I-A-C-P ... just go to the I-A-C-P
As the collaborators took a water break, daubed the sweat and glitter into towels and shammies, and put their feathered head dresses back under the table, Sandy Voit handed out some fliers about the financial advantages of being certain ages (having reviewed them from inside her file-fort, Ailing Amanuensis Adella doffed her tape-roll "binkie" and proclaimed herself 59 1/2 so that she could raid her embryonic IRA and buy a room full of donuts and a new scooter) and information on home sales. Pamela apparently found them so vital that she took four or five copies back to the office. Hopefully not at the expense of other members, but copies will be scanned and available in the near future for those who wish to have them.
[redacted meeting business]
...Last Call for Meeting Business: The group lamented Ailing Amanuensis Adella's ague, and fretted for her health and safety. Apparently (editor's note: veracity of these events cannot be confirmed outside of a rosy eyed mom-boss' "faithful" scribing) the energy and life that she brings to the group has been more scintillating than Pollyana's Kumbayas. Her genteel poise, eternal grace, and coruscant smile brings joy to hearts far and wide, and it can only be assumed that such a treasure must have had an exceptionally fine and wonderful upbringing from a truly inspired mother, one whose maternal instincts fall short only of our fair Mother Earth (minus the hurricanes and typhoons and other repeated attempts to kill her devoted denizens). Truly, Adella must be given not only encomiums but tributes of gold, silver, and plane tickets to Barbados (where her convalescence would likely improve)! And surely Pamela (editor's note: see above parenthetical) should join her on her trip to ensure that no harm befall our ailing companion.
[redacted meeting business]
...
Further discussions came to the final conclusion that there is no black and white approach as yet. We proclaim the use of coaches to be mauve and taupe plaid, while the use of financial professionals is an iridescent sparkly silvery color.
As the clock ticked on and the phlegmy wails of an overtired sick-amanuensis bellowed over the town of 'ham, fair Pamela acknowledged an end was nigh and packed up the sacred secretarial ultrabook and took herself off to other legal meetings. Members far and wide declared by their troth that 'twas a fine meeting with much discussed and much still to come.
And with any luck, perhaps, all of it to be forgotten after there being no meeting in July either of board or general sort.
Wishes upon all collaborators for a lovely summer and many happy returns in August.
DINK With a Side of Sinus-Drainage The transformation is almost complete
While the lurgy lulls in a doldrum of oh-so-gradual recovery, my minor plague is apparently abating; with it, so too recedes my post-Auntie ataxia and general fog. Not to say I'm not viewing the earth from a distant solar system still. But we're a few light years closer to this fair planet and I've got my hubble out and functioning. I may even be accomplishing a spot of grown up work in between long-island-iced-tea-stares into the Milky Way.
After a spot of cloudy weather, our summer seems to be heating up again today. If not heating, certainly illuminating. I'm not sure it's possible to sleep semi-regular hours and see the moon this close to solstice.
There's a gradual dimming by the time we set to sleep, but oh so very gradual as to resemble an overcast moment more than sincere sunset. I've found myself accidentally turning our bedside lamp on when Andrew gets into bed, due to misplaced muscle memory and the expectation that such action (as typically it does) will darken the room. By 4:00 a.m. the birds have caught their early worms and are having some sort of heavy metal concert outside our window. And trust me when birds mosh, it gets intense! I'm still insistent on staying in bed until at least 4:45, but I recognize that is still patly in the "insane hour of the morning" category to normal people.
On the bright (har har, bright ahahahahahaha) side, it has ameliorated the sleepy lorises allergy to morning hours and sleep lag. While I was gone, he reset the alarm for 5:15 to give himself more time to make breakfast, etc. We've kept it that way. After the first day of coming up with coffee on the 5:15 dot (and/or semi-colon), I've come to let the first five minutes of alarm chirp along with the real birds. Given the symphony outside, one can barely hear the artificial avians anyways. That gives the loris enough time to stir and receive his morning kiss, terrifying token of frolic for the day , and a big cup of coffee.
The 15 minutes adjustment does seem to allow for us to eat breakfast just slightly earlier, which in turn increases the "Andrew is fully awake and communicative" window by a substantial portion. So, as long as it lasts, I'm digging the solstice coercion. And as long as I have this cold, I have no problem zonking in the middle of a solar flare.
Working in one, though, maybe not so much. Quite glad to have air conditioning today.
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