Sickly Sweety and the Mrs. Jet Legs

It's been almost 3 months since we last had puke, so....

It's puke day again!!! Whoooooo!!!

Chaya woke up covered in vomit this morning, which raises all kinds of questions. Mostly "when did you vomit and shouldn't my mom instincts have immediately kicked in so you didn't just marinate in your own bile for however long" with a side of "why and how did you fall back asleep whilst caked in vomit??" But there you go. I don't regret that nice morning block of ignorance.

So... Carebears all day all the time!!

Chaya seems to be on the mend fairly rapidly, but who am I to deny her the promised "all day of television." I have a pretty strong 24 hour rule about puking and doing much of anything else.

I'm amazed we lasted this long, though of course everyone's been some version of "sick" all winter. There was a flu like thing around MLK Day. Even Andrew got it, which is big time stuff. Fevers were involved. Coughing never really stopped. Asthma inhalers were located and put to use. I can't say that officially was vanquished before our trip. But no doubt it was time to catch something else. If you don't, then did you really travel?

We traveled oh absolutely.

Up up up into the mountains!

Family ski-trip in the Gelfand-Wright family Tahoe cabin! Of course Sugarbowl Ski Resort beckoning to daddy and daughter alike.

Chaya would have you know (even before this trip) that she is a GREAT skiier. And she loves skiing. And she and her Zooey are Easter Snow Bunnies. And her snake skis on its stomach. Incidentally it also has a magic xylophone that it played in her dreams to make the "snow thunder" less scary. So, kudos snake.

Daddy is also a GREAT skier and... his back... survived. He's strong. One time Chaya fell down and was having a tough time getting back up and he just one-armed her over his hip and climbed half the embankment with her dangling like a sack of wriggly potatoes.


She enjoyed skiing and will probably take to it, but there are limits to her patience and chill at this age. Going up the Magic Carpet, being one of those. Chaya screamed bloody murder every time she got on it, her shrieks echoing down the corrdor. By the time she reached the top, every time, she was fine and in good spirits. And very ready for Daddy to hold her hands and ski her down... not too quickly. With stops. It was sweet.

After her last fall she was pretty histrionic, so we all had a variety of pep talks involving doing one last run or not doing one last run. I brought Zooey into the equation and that seemed to cue the epic montage victory music for Chaya, but the heavy lifting remained all on hubby's back. And that day ended on a high note with Daddy, Gramma Lisa, Zooey,

Before that Chaya did also have a lesson with a pro and picked up some stuff. He said she did GREAT. So there we go. GREAT skier!

On average, she probably found more fun in tromping around in the snow, but give it time. Andrew will have his "partner in crime" and I'll have plenty of time wondering where the heck my snowbirds have gone and where did that odd thousand dollars end up.

I swear, skiing is fun. Or was fun to me when my body allowed me to do it without searing pain. But the cost just totally blows my mind. It's fun, but not like five times the price of anything else fun-fun. Tiny boxes of cereal at the lodge cost $6 a pop. A garden salad of light greens and a few carrot shreds cost $14. And then add back in the getting there and equipment and lift tickets and lessons.... But, well, with a season pass and a good home mountain it's almost economical... ish... better than sky diving and maybe track racing fancy cars?

I had fun bumming around the cabin and the lodge, and watching Chaya ski. I also was pretty totalled so I didn't mind playing it mellow.

I don't remember getting so hit by altitude before, but it probably didn't help that I was harboring the ick-bug's mucus in my lungs or that we were staying in a wood-stove cabin. Wood fire seems to be a particular Kryptonite of mine, because why wouldn't something comforting, beautiful, and beloved make me get crushing headaches, burning feelings everywhere, and lungs full of wheeze?  At least, say, going to the ballet doesn't appear to make me gasp and feel faint.

Regardless, it was beautiful.

And full of very playable snow.

I stayed for half of the trip in Tahoe, which was about right. I really loved seeing everyone else and hanging out and watching Chaya get her snow legs. I also have been itching to see more of my buddies, and that has been hard with Andrew's limited vacation and our usual family vacation commitments. Since Chaya needs somebody to watch her, it means if I take a vacation, Andrew has to as well most of the time. Childcare is a tough one, though it gets easier as Chaya gets older. Anyways, to take advantage of "Andrew's already using vacation time," I scheduled the second part of our Tahoe trip with an escape to Arizona to visit one of my longest dearest friends, Stephanie, in Prescott.

Stephanie! Whom I've known since I was 17. First classmate at SJC to befriend me. A roommate in my late teens. A partner in all kinds of early twenties "learning-opportunities." And a person I still feel like I can share all the deep darks and funny swirly lights with.


And she has a new cat. Which was weird, because Blanche lived for about 19 years and had more or less become a part of my idea of Stephanie. But Gracie was a rad new thing. An older cat who owned the bedroom, she was soft and fluffy and cordial if not fervently friendly. And fairly hypoallergenic, because apparently that varies a lot by cat.

Arizona isn't exactly my land but it is also gorgeous in a less snowy and more red-dusty way than Tahoe. But while the California landscape looks mostly like a browner Washinton, Arizona's geology is a whole new gorgeous series of shapes and formations. And cacti, a bit.

Prescott (press-cutt, by the way) is a cool town full of hippies and gun nuts, I'm told. It has a sweet downtown that once apparently burned down leaving only one whiskey bar to be saved.

We went from there to Jerome, a haunted tourist-lure in the mountains to Sedona, beautiful and starnge place full of vortexes, UFO tours, and magic crystals. But also exquisite rocks.

And tourist shops. And pink themed everything (because the rocks are reddish pink I assume. The pink coffee isn't actually pink, I'm sad to say). And outdoor music for the people

And helicopters. SO, I got to ride in one of those.

Our helicoptermates were mostly "kids these days," teenie boppers who were NOT going to tell their moms about this until it was over. I'm told they spent the entire flight taking pictures of themselves and others. But i didn't see it, because I got to be the copilot!

A serious honor largely gleaned by being exactly the middle weight between the various passengers. I was strapped in a harness and told not to touch the foot pedals. I did great. Didn't crash the helicopter once!

 Sure I can't touch them?? Sure???

After all the good reunions wound down,  Igot back on a plane, flew to Seatac. Waited roughly an hour for a pick up to my car at the parking lot. Rushed home. Grabbed Chaya's fairy wings and rushed back to Seatac to meet Andrew and Chaya

She had been very upset to realize we had failed to pack them. I was only allowed to go to Arizona on the promise I'd meet her at the airport with them. So ... phew.

One good week of normalcy before the plague.

Not bad.

Andrew and I even got a date night in.

We painted.Andrew, me and 3 other women of a certain age. Why not.

I call it Rhythm and Browns and will be
selling it at a local cafe for $1,204.98

We worked entirely on mixing colors and learning brush strokes.

I was high on the fumes of color creation. Giggling and smiling and laughing and talking to nobody in particular. Painting is cool. Though I gotta admit my wrist is still sore three days late so I'm either gonna need a brace or a bionic arm to do more with it.

I still got years to live up to Chaya's standard for sure. But the spirit is there.

And here we are.

Maybe not actually house hunting this weekend after all. Maybe not going to Chinese New Year tomorrow. But who knows. Maybe we'll do everything! Or maybe I'll start throwing up. The mystery and spontaneity of life. So fun!

And then hopefully we'll all be better for Valentine's Day. Because Chaya gets two preschool parties and holy crap she's been waiting for Chocolate Heart Day since shortly before Christmas. Don't tell her that candy is banned from school parties.

And then, bracing for the week that preschool has its mid-winter break.Which as always is also the week my mom won't be here for her date with Chaya. So Chaya is gonna get real bored with mommy real fast. Maybe she'll be sick then too! Then  I can leave her in front of the tv all day and not feel terrible. It's so quiet with the tv on. So so quiet. Nothing's been broken or thrown in hours! Though Mommy's getting pretty restless here. If anyone's seen a small kindle recently, I could really use it back!

Happy February!

Cha-Cha-Chanukah and the Happy Holidaze

Well it's officially CHRISTMAS (ETC) BREAK!!!

Pretty much how I feel already!

For Chaya.

Pretty much for Chaya.

Meaning Preschool's closed for the next two weeks.

Andrew, by contrast, has a surgically precise smattering of days off to make his work-week ever so fragmented. But those holiday mini-weeks have a cool quiet vibe if I recall, so I almost envy him. This coming from the mom who just lost her preschool break anyways.

Nope we are not flying anywhere! As probably implied by Andrew's working schedule. But g'dang we're gonna live it up semi-local style, I promise.

So far so good.

We've hit the holiday check boxes.

Office Christmas Party CHECK

Chaya went up north to Pam's house while Andrew and I attended the Blue Origin End of Year Holiday Fete. It was staggeringly huge with people representing every style and demographic that "Seattleish Generally White People" can offer. There were catered tables with different themes. And an acrobat. Jeff Bezos giving an award ceremony speech that nobody could hear because his mike was too low. And a very very cat-herding-chaotic moment attempting to get a group photo from Andrew's team

This is gonna be November on the new Blue Origin "NERDS! HOT NERDS!" Calendar

Before this occurred, we had to go to Men's Warehouse to get new suit pants for Andrew. Holy crap what happened to men's fashion? I'm really excited to see it become more acceptable for guys to play with colors and cuts and patterns and be really individual, but man there was some epic ugly in that store. All the boldness of a fabulous gay man with none of the savvy. Oh you kids these days with your checks and plaid paisleys and orange and green bowties.

Anyways, this is what happens when you leave your Millennial wife unattended in a store. First I managed to stumble into an over-the-shoulder text battle between another customer and some significant other whose college friends he F-ING had put up with S-T well enough. He was very pleasant while talking to other people then would return to epic vitriol. I had to move away before I started correcting his spelling. Then there was a mirror:

I keep myself occupied.


Weird Holiday Adjacent Storm Messing up all Driving: CHECK!

Except this year it was Biblical and very old testament flooding.

I tried and miserably failed to reunite with my oldest friend on his wedding day up in Bellingham. I shockingly managed to arrange childcare - by which I mean my totally awesome husband secured a half day off to watch the kiddo. I thought we were golden. But then I-405 kicked it up several notches. Truly, shockingly epic. I knew the drive on a Thursday afternoon wasn't gonna be great, but nobody prepared me for "the most rain this area's had in a decade" or something like that. It took - I kid you not - an hour and a half to make it most of the way through Bellevue. Driving rain. Accidents everywhere. Me thanking GOD Andrew had lent me his comfy car with the good stereo all the way up until my spotify glitched out and stopped playing anyways and then Google Maps went silent... but we figured it out. Somewhere on the defeated and crumple and very soggy "way back" driving through streets that were basically Venetian at that point, I at least got maps to talk to me again. Three hours and change later, I returned home crumpled and defeated but so SO glad to be out of the car. So glad.

Latkes, Candle Lighting, Donuts: CHECK AND CHECK WITH A SIDE OF SINGING AND DANCING

Despite the insane amount of rain the last few days having turned much of Bellevue into Venice, we made it to Temple De Hirsch Sinai, celebrating Chanukah (a teeny bit prematurely) at their Shabbat Junior (DANCE PARTY!!!!)

Chaya had had a party at her preschool earlier AND had refused to sleep  So once we hit the bustling party hall, she was sheer lunatic. Punching me, smearing ink on daddy, randomly screaming during the songs.

It was a friggin' kiddo-rave.

Kiddo Burning Man

She almost even settled for the Shabbat part

And through the lakes and oceans that make our roads, we returned in acceptable not-terrible time. Hope springs eternal.

And carrying on.While all the glitz and glitter of holidaze shuffles on around us, there are some very day to day things going on as well.

After a brief post-moving hiatus (total meltdown), we're back with the potty patrol. To be a little clever in a 4 year old appropriate way, we're on the the PAWTY PATROL.

Explanation to non-rents: Chaya's obsessed - this is the level most little girls are into Frozen or whatever Disney tripe is currently on tap) with a show about a pre-adolescent boy and his magical dogs who go around "saving the day" in very non-specific and random ways. Chaya connected with "Sky" the Paw Patrol Smurfette who happens to ride around in a helicopter and who - naturally - has extra long lashes and a penchant for pink. We've come a long way, baby. Paw Patrol, probably has not. But hey one of the Mayors of one of the towns is a woman of color. She's pretty stupid but morally good, unlike the villain who's definitely a white dude with cats. I digress.

Toilet! We threw out Chaya's old potty a while ago and just got a kid seat. This was a glorious and freeing event. And almost interested Chaya in trying again a few months back. We gave a bit more of a nudge this time.

After a day where Chaya managed to both (1) get diaper contents all over Daddy's pants for not the first goddamned time aaaaa, (2) and require an emergency preschool intervention due to her poop load exceeding her diaper capacity, we decided to start pushing HARD.

It started well. Many victories. Stickers. Chaya started playing "tic tac toe" on our little white board and revealed she actually knows several letters!

... But we started reaching where we fizzed out before rapidly. Crying she can't pee and holding it like crazy. Tantrums every time it was time to sit on the toilet. Incensed at the bribery/blackmail approach to refusing to let her do her treats and leisure activities until she'd sad on the toilet for a predetermined time.

....

And then just when I'd given up hope, tinkle tinkle and YAY. After a half hour tantrum refusing to use the toilet despite needing to pee in the morning, Chaya then announced "I need to pee! It wouldn't be good to pee on the chair! I should use the toilet!" and just marched over to the bathroom like she did this several times a day.

 It's a veritable roller coaster of a ride.

Things seem be be gelling faster and more clearly on Chaya's terms this time anyways. It's really cha-chas forward and backward because Chaya is damned well her own person and she'll cut the shit out of everyone's noses to spite her face.She's gonzo and we know it.

I've occasionally wondered if she'll be able to go to Kindergarten next year if there's another about face on potty training.

A lot of Chaya's peers have parents considering whether they'll hold their kids back a year. It was something we are going to wait-and-see on, but it seems like she has been pretty on track academically. She seems to be engaged, know her letters, and to be ready for longer days (diaper/potty issues aside).I feel like she'd go a little crazy repeating pre-K from that angle.

Socially, well, I don't think it's developmental per se that she's not 100% in sync with her peers or particularly responsive to her teacher. I think we have a cute little weirdo.

Chaya isn't like a lot of the other kids. I mean other than the fact that she's a butterly-fairy-mermaid-cat who always ALWAYS wears wings, creates art* that could pretty immediately become a popular webcomic with a little captioning, and speaks in poetry*

 *

**"My heart is not thunder/it does not sound like that!/my heart is a butterfly: It dances where light is the music

I mean she's shaping up to be the drama/dance geek both of her parents were in their drastically different ways. With hints of non-conformism. Hints of social awkwardness. Hints of good old fashioned introversion. Real wafts of serious stage-presence. A girl who will march to the beat of her own personal jungle track waving glow sticks and her imaginary snake over her head..

I see other little girls approaching each other like little mini Heathers/Karens/Lindas/Whatevers. "Hello, friend friend! Did you see my shirt!?! Representing that widely popular movie series about princesses and horses? Is it not fabulous? Do you have a similar popular movie themed shirt? Who is your favorite character? How are you?" Kiss kiss cheek cheek.

Ok seriously, her friend crush is a girl named "Paiselee," and now I feel bad about having written this 15 years ago in a depressing story I wrote:

Feeling discouraged, she returned her cheek to the couch. They were slowly becoming one, she and the couch. It was absorbing her until she, too, would be a cozy, paisley couch in the back of some hellhole dance club in the city. Well, actually it was a plaid couch, but paisley came to mind first and the word appealed to her more. "Paisely," she purred with delight. "Paisley" – it sounded like something you’d name a well-to-do, androgynous blond child after smothering it in khakis and a polo shirt and teaching it piano. Or something you would call a small, fluffy dog. “Here Paisley, Paisley, Paisley,” she muttered and giggled again.

This Paislee is blond. Very blond. Though she's pretty clearly cisgender girl at this point.She has pigtails and unicorn shirts and she likes to talk about her little sister.

Paisley likes Chaya I think, but she's a little unsure about her.. Paisley's other BFF, who maybe  actually is her BFF is a girl named Scarlet. Or is it Autumn. I get the two mixed up. One of them definitely has regular playdates with Miss P. They are all beautifully coordinated, painfully normal little alpha girls. Who do talk as above. Chaya's not very keen on Scarlett/Autumn.

Chaya also seems to jive with the boys, but isn't quite like them either. The other little boys running up to each other announcing "hey I have a dinosaur. AWESOME! Did you see this book about trains? Let's play. WHOOOO"

Meanwhile Chaya is climbing my leg giggling and screaming "I'm FLYYYYYYING." And laughing hysterically or shrieking then going dead quiet when another kid comes up to say something. OR making strange gutteral laughing noises only Chaya can make, while running towards an adorable little boy named Finn, who is most definitely simultaneously terrified and fascinated by her. Whom she chases around the room making battle noises and threatening to hit sometimes. Who kind of runs away from her and then turns back to see what she's doing.

Her teacher - as before - was surprised she talked as much as she does, because she is typically more mute in school and when she gets upset she does NOT let on as to why. Until we talked, an evaluation was going to be suggested for fear she was behind on verbal development... ha... ha ha... hahahahaha.... Mommy's chafed ears say otherwise.

So many flashes of familiarity. Me, sitting quietly in a classroom looking extra concerned and  thoughtful, channeling an invisible mouse. Then suddenly bursting out with emotive laughter at an overheard joke or riveted fascination at some tidbit of new learning, nodding so hard I'm falling off my seat once the lecture begins. Startling the shit out of people when I become animate. The studied low profile that goes total diva in 0 to 60. Yeah... I see it.

And it is what it is. It will mean challenges and misunderstandings for her, I'm sure. Everything does! There are people who are not going to get her. And sometimes that's gonna really hurt. And she'll have to look harder to find her niche and her tribe and her people. But I think she's got such vibrance and creativity. I think she's got such potential to dazzle and the depth of feeling to bond like crazy when she does. I think ... we'll see. It's really up to her what she does now.

I don't want to read myself into my daughter so much that I miss all the other amazing things she is.She is her own person in spades. Even if we were genetically identical (which we most definitely are not), we are growing up in different environments. Facing different challenges. Discovering different passions. Finding different friends. These things are their own kind of formative. I actually don't feel like I have any kind of leg up - or inkling - on guiding my kiddo forward. But anyone opinionated enough to think they do: I definitely know they have a leg-down. Kids are unique. Parents adapt as much to their children and children adapt to parenting

There are things I care about imparting - destigmatizing mental health, being comfortable with negative emotions, questioning the preconceptions of privilege, avoiding the pressures that lead to body issue, affirmative friggin consent... I'd do that with any kid. And it might not be effective. And it might backfire. And we'll figure it out. Kids are a big f-ing mystery. The tangible stuff - like oh my god, make this child pee in the friggin' potty!! and oh boy it's tooth brushing time yet again- is still begging for micromanagement. But the big stuff like personality and friends and passion. Wow. Big open "we'll find out!"

It's funny to see little bits of yourself in the people you love, though. You'd better damn well learn how to love yourself, and fast! Though honestly. It's easier with your kid. Easier to love your own traits. Easier to be emotionally vulnerable and accepting of the traits that drive you nuts in others. Hopefully more patient. Hopefully.

It's hard, even on the hardest day, not to find a moment to simply stop, and stew in awe at just how amazing the monster is. It's hard not to feel every fiber bursting to hug her just one more time and showever her with kisses while telling her how cool she is. I'm a lucky ma.

So we'll see. 2020 is gonna be another banner year for the fairy-butterfly (who now knows several letters and has started renaming and lavishly personifying all of her stuffies)

And oh yeah, medical mysteries continue. My biopsy showed some funky stuff that was...
... not malignant.

Which is kind of the operative thing to relieve a nice uncomfortable 12 hours of waiting to hear just what exactly was going on with the biopsy with results that needed prompt follow up.

Turns out I have an incredibly rare things that's even less commonly in that specific location. Hidrocystoma something something. Cysts on sweat glands. There's no particular standard protocol, but the most common involves strong acids or lasers. Trying something else first. Fingers crossed!

In other words: Life carries on.

But look: New Hat!

Happy Everything

It's Beginning to Smell a Lot Like Pie Season...

Pie Season is upon us! The tree has gone up (kind of a threadbare plastic patchy way so far, but it'll fluff up with some lights and merriment). The family warmth is toasty enough to roast chestnuts and mull cider. THE SEASON IS HERE.

With a side of jet lag and a bit more whiskey, whimsy, and cookies than mommy anticipated indulging in "last night" (every night for the next week or so)

Gateway passed: Thanksgiving! Per tradition, our little family unit merged with the greater Wright/Gelfand unit in San Francisco to fete family, friends, food and... crumble. There was pie too, but crumble was the crowning jewel on that particular night. Close enough.

What can I say. The food was good. The company was fantastic. The Chaya beast was WILD but way easier than the year before when she was easier than the year before when she was... Four is not easier on the grand scale. Four is sassy staking of independence and even bigger more complicated emotions 90% of the time. But for travelling: four is amazing. Four is "able to follow and understand instructions." Four is "not NEEDING that nap we just shredded through." Four is "mostly no longer needing specialty everything packed in a giant suitcase to add to the chaos of air travel." Four is "carry on"

Four is "tantrums and mischief instead of nonstop agony and bellyaching" Four is "sleeps in a normal bed all by herself, but definitely won't be napping this trip." Chaya continues to exhibit some sophisticated executive functioning understanding in removing herself (and a parent or two) from the hubbub when she's getting overstimulated, which is an added bonus.

Four is "actually really chill about the three hour delay on the way home, even though she's sick and there's a baby on the actual plane crying just enough to wake her up when she nods off."

Four is also, endearingly, "happy enough to be home that she willingly demands her bedtime ritual a half hour early upon finally returning home."

But also enjoying being away.


We've spent a goodly bit of the vacation in Golden Gate Park

Chaya and Gramma Lisa made cookies. Chaya gets cookies. She can mix and pour like a pro, but she knows the real trick is when you go to lay them on the sheet... just take that serving spoon and start shoveling into your mouth. Efficiency!!

Four is also "totally ok to leave home with Grandpa Tom for the afternoon/evening while the adult folks gallivant off to Cirque du Soleil"

It was, basically, mad lit. Like literally well lit and also incredible.

All in all a cool trip. A long Odyssey on the way home involving some pigs and a few typhoons and a cyclops or two. And now we're home. And it's Advent and there's waiting.

Always waiting...

... like on test results and proposed treatments. This is me after all.

My affliction-of-the-month seems to be still annoying me. So far the biggest respite has been "not using the original prescription for the thing I don't have." But some positive treatment would be nice too. The current medical theory is... wait for it... wait for it...

... you'll never guess...


... wait a sec longer....

... ok the script's already on Ebay, fine...

And the current theory is:

wonk hormones!

Ahhh a classic. I like keeping some consistent motifs going through my entire adult life so that's appealing.

Wonk hormones or... cancer (buzzzzzzkill, much?), but it's always "or cancer" isn't it? Well, you have the flu or cancer. You probably have a cold sore... or cancer. Looks like a bear ate your leg, or maybe it's cancer. Given how many people in my life have had cancer and how multifaceted its symptoms can be, I can see why it's always or-cancer, but still.

 Anyways the doctors were all like "no no it's a crazy loooooooooooong shot, but just in case... can we remove a part of your delicate area and then poke it a lot more for a few weeks before telling you anything?" So that was fun last week  (it actually had its high points because awesome people in my life, but that specific moment in itself... not gonna hit the regular leisure activity rotation).

I've had, of course, the usual paranoia frets turned logistical fantasies about how we'd manage chemo visits and and various things like that with Chaya and Andrew's work and whatnot. Thinking if I have to lose my hair, I'm gonna have it braided into little voodoo dolls of me for far away friends to hug when they wanna send their support. And - just in case - how I'm going to change the rules of metaphysics and theology to make sure haunt my atheist friends who are not getting off the hook that easily. In reality, I'm banking on the hormone thing even though I have yet to see positive results from that line of attack, and remembering with every freaky odd little "symptom" I am suddenly more attentive of that actually no I've had that wonky of a body for longer than Chaya's been alive.

Glad for the distractions of holiday, family/friends, general creation.

Creation!

Of late I've had a bit of a "so what" creative movement recently.  In a freeing way.

So what as in  So what that I don't have an audience for what my creative writing. I sometimes miss the Google Plus days of long comments and creative feedback and exchanging energies. The interplay of sharing our creations. I miss being the secretary of a large group who gave me free rein to basically Infinite Jest meeting minutes and having that captive audience. I miss having my legal writing make impacts on people's lies. And I'd like to find a way to use my talents of course. I'd like to connect.

But in terms of whether it's ok to carve out writing time to write what isn't necessarily going to be read and definitely isn't going to be published? In terms of whether there has to be some reception or publication to justify the act of writing itself...

Who cares? It's a hobby not a vocation. If Andrew doesn't make it to Nationals, does it mean he should quit biking? Seems like no. SO why not demand a Sunday morning to hone a short story my mom will read?

I'm glad people enjoy hearing about Chaya, but that doesn't mean it's all I have to work on. And while I've outlined the dicier aspects of creative writing (how we borrow the stories of others and our impressions of them in ways that border on ethical consideration, mainly), well... it's satisfying like nothing else. It's creation. Harnessing words and feelings and images. So, bad poetry, stories that inevitably don't end, fragments. On they will come and lurk here and there between the kid photos!

Same but even more so with drawing. We draw a lot in our household, of course - and I've learned to fast-sketch on command. I'm in complete awe of Chaya's determined artistry and what she draws just gives me chills. She's so expressive. So determined. So fully enraptured. It's inspiring beyond belief.

Through my childhood and young adulthood, I've always been a doodler. And when I was younger I really enjoyed sketching clothing designs I would never learn the skills to design. I also know that I lack the 3D spacial skills to create accurate perspective and the attention to detail to execute anything faithfully. Without the ability to execute faitherfully or to intentionally and creatively diverge from those rules.

Unlike with many of my hobbies (writing, singing, dancing) I know I'll never be particularly satisfied with anything I do in that medium. Unsatisfied in a different way than the dissatisfaction garnered from areas in which I know I have talent. So I've doodled whimsically and avoided any hint of intention or craft. Of late I've thought, again, who cares? Watching Chaya sketch over and over again, erase and draw more. It brings me appreciation for the process over the results. And that does have meaning for me.

 I've been saving room in my journal for a sketch a day and practicing little challenges like hands. And it does bring me pleasure, perhaps all the more for it being purely for pleasure and never for craft.
The process! There's magic in the process of drawing. Something about drawing a person's face, in particular. The intimacy of tracing your eyes down every line and contour of a face. Reveling in how the forehead slope into the plateau of the eye. The hook of the nose and the tilt of the lip. The breadth of the jaw. The tilt of the chin. The lushness of the eyebrow or lash. The idiosyncratic wrinkles of a face that capture a million moments of expression and habit and movement..

Looking at a face from a writer's perspective is different. Immediately dissolving these basic geometrical patterns into metaphor and pebble word monuments. It's slooshier. More poetical. More granular and rational. To describe what you see when looking at a face to draw it would risk technical monotony. But the breeziness of simply absorbing angles and textures and colors and shadows has a deeply intimate connecting feel.

I'd been hesitant to draw my loved ones a bit because the execution is so sloppy and condensed and so misses what I feel and see, though Chaya makes me draw her a ton. But that moment of tracing with the eye becomes an ocular caress. It's so deeply sensual, it almost feels scandalous.

And so I carry on! Doing my thing(s), fun and otherwise. Fretting from time to time. Grateful always.

With creativity, with holidays, with Advent, with medical mysteries unfolding into oblivion... with it all comes rest and play and wonderful times with wonderful friends and family and

and of course




Pie. Or crumble. Or both! Why not both??

Brave New Year that Has Such NINES in it

"I want to go to the holidays," she said in her most insistent caterwaul. "They will come," I assured her. "We  merely need to wait, and they will come whether we ask them to or not."

And so they did.

And here we are - 2019! But how on earth did we get all the way from partying 1999 style to 20 years later and chomping down the very last of our wedding-doll-cake in order to unplug the standaone freezer once and for all?

... doll cake...

long story...

2013 style. 

If I partied like it was 2013 in my current condition, I'd probably pull every muscle in my body and a few spares to boot. So let's get back to 2019.


Where we've been

After some uncertainty, we've resettled our expectations for remaining in Mt Vernon for at lest another 5 or 6 months. So we've been here. Preschool continues to rock and we finished off Chaya's 2018 with a concert that included Jingle Bells, Baby Shark and barely contained anomie.

I finally got my long awaited endoscopy (that would be the one i had to wait 4 months for, then another several for scheduling and which then was rescheduled not once but twice...). Andrew stayed home with Chaya and the whole thing was actually quite tidy and quick. Other than not being allowed to eat all morning, I found the experience nearly pleasant.

Ultimately it revealed.... DRUM ROLL PLEASE... absolutely nothing. That's the normal positive and negative of course. I do now actually have a GI who seems to feel proactive about figuring things out At least I like that she was coordinating her notes with my neurologist's notes. Coordinated care is a rarity. We tested for celiac yet again (I was confused when she asked if I'd been tested for gluten allergy and said no) and I'm under orders to avoid any variety of foods I'd mostly stopped eating anyways. Soon I get to fast again for an abdominal ultrasound to rule out gallbladder issues that she really doesn't think can be the problem but have to be checked We carry on.

Chaya celebrated Christmas at a slow burn. Disgorging her Mamma Dog (her name) stocking gradually over the morning and then repacking all of the contents into the puppy. Occasionally pawing at a gift. Sometimes hiding them, still wrapped, in a various corners and drawers. Eventually opening or or two at a time.

We celebrated Christmas Eve Eve with Gooble goodies with my dad. Christmas Eve with Chinese takeout. And Christmas day with heart-shaped cookie cutter pancakes and latkes (I'm too proud of these). I also tried a flower cookie cutter and a dinosaur cookie cutter. The flowers worked pretty well. The dinosaur was a touch complicated.

And we had some shenanigans with home repair nonsense on the 26th. Both of the heaters in the mainroom work now, we're stil married, AND we have a functioning microwave, so despite any bumps along the way, I'd call it a win.


Where we went

San Francisco. Holiday redux!

Both ways our plane had some kind of issue that delayed takeoff by a hefty chunk. The second time we actually had to get off the plane and reboard later.

Andrew claims this wasn't stressful to him. May be true. He did get a nap, and honestly Chaya was a super traveler most of the way. However, I'm pretty sure that some of the prolonged grimaces and loudly muttering "OH FOR F*** SAKE" as Chaya started running away when he was attempting to read the departures and arrivals board was not actually his most mellow moment ever.

Chaya was a champ except when she couldn't get on the plane when she wanted. Or when she really really wanted some part of Andrew's lunch but we could NOT figure out what and it got kind of ugly as we proffered any variety of evermore infuriating alternatives that needed to remain in her bag, until eventually she was distracted by cars and continued the flight without eating a darned thing. Or when she sat in the seats ahead of our ticketed seats and did not want to move seats. Or when she decided that she wanted to lay down on the airport floor and/or run away from our hands during a busy off-boarding and maybe tried repeatedly to run away while we were waiting for daddy to get out of the bathroom until finally she finally agreed to the stroller.

Ultimately this may have been one of our most successful trips over all.Family. Food. Andrew's oldest friend and his cute kiddo were also in town. Chaya got a visit to the carousel and went down the slides in Golden Gate Park roughly a million times. Plenty of walking (which DIDN'T trigger the arch or knee injury I've been nursing the last month, phew!)

Chaya had an amazing time with her grandfather on Saturday evening, while Andrew and I actually got to go out (at the same time!) and be grown-ups with the rest of the family. We went to the Nutcracker and then to an obscenely nice restaurant. The kind where you have to put down a deposit with your reservation. That kind. The kind that serves tapas-sized entrees over several courses and which is inhabited by thoughtful wait staff who actually may hide under the table to pop out unobsequiously in order to answer a stray question before withdrawing into the ether, having replaced your silver setting for the fifteenth time that evening. The food was just shy of heaven.

Kiddo extended her love-fear relationship with Betty the dog (who is very excitable and somewhat large and who thus both excites and terrifies Chaya with her love).

It was good. So glad it all worked out so beautifully.

Where we are

Back in Mt Vernon in 2019. Chaya's almost three and a half. She draws like a dervish. She sings. She dances. She kicks mommy in the face and finds it hilarious.

Andrew's still working. I'm still not officially employed. We're still expecting to move within the year, but there are some things Andrew really wants to wrap up before we take on that behemoth of a life decision.

In the meantime, I've settled back down into a little bit of a holding pattern. I'll be renewing my WSBA license to practice law. And then I'll be waiting to do so in favor of some Guardian ad Litem trainings later on in 2019. In the meantime, I've decided to try to acquire some small smattering of Spanish.

I mean I can barely speak in English, so why not try another language? But it does seem like it would be helpful in a number of potential career trajectories.

I'm not setting huge goals. Mostly doing Duolingo through the day, plus a few other programs. And gaming my compulsive internet habit by turning all my settings to spanish language.

For the most part I've stopped listening to the news, once an engrained morning ritual. Andrew and I no longer watch Late Night as part of our evening unwind (because, She-ra, duh! And someday our next chunk of The Good Place, Kimmy Schmidt, Disenchanted and Arrested Development will come to Netflix). That's surprisingly pleasant despite my deep enjoyment of their humor. Hearing about current events is just well... not great bedtime exposure. I'm even wearying of the SNL bits. I am not bubbling myself out of being informed. Facebook and Google News are far too compelling.The effort involved in understanding the Spanish reports of said news tend to mellow out any emotional reactions quite handily.

I hope all is well in the internet ether. Here's hoping for a fabulous new year. Or at least one with lots of gentle lessons and gradual growth. Let's not pull anything here!

Paschal Pesach Party Weekend.

Happy Easter/Passover/April Fool's Day/Wright Engagaversary!

Big day to fill some big horsie rainboots over here.

What a weekend. It's been a mix of fast action and something a little different. In many ways, the time I spent with infant Chaya, and when I was pregnant, I felt intimately connected with the divine and selfless. 

It's only now that we emerge as separate individuals that I turn back to my own connection to _____ (insert something that doesn't sound prosaic and banal in attempting to capture something spiritua)l. Oh boy are we separate entitiies, as Miss Healthy-Attachment's new favorite game of "No MOMMA!!!" explodes into inconvenient timing galore.

For Lent, I decided to mix in a little mindfulness with my phone use (as usual). I also began engaging in something akin to contemplative prayer. I read a small passage from the Episcopal Services reader, then sat for about ten minutes listening to Palestrina's Sicut Cervus and a few others. I know silence is more apropos, but the music has always had a certain way of guiding me into and beyond myself. It's been sometimes challenging even to slice out that time, but valuable. And it's continued a path home that perhaps I'd begun some time ago. This simmered well into the culmination of Lent and all the depth of thought and passion involved.

This weekend was certainly a melee of colliding (and complementing) holidays colliding. As seems to be the case for several years before and to come Easter and Passover coincide. I love this in some aspects. It is also exhausting!

Chaya's Gramma Lisa and Tom came out for the weekend to celebrate Passover. And so forget Chrismahaunnakwanza. This was our Peachy Pascal Pesach Party Weekend.

The Pesach was rather appropriate for a holiday celebrating leaving in flight. If we don't have time to leaven the bread, then are we really going to actually come up with candles and matches and anything anyone needs at all?? There were some missed communications. I swear, I started with the best organization. I really did start making an inventory of our kitchen to supplement appropriately, but wires crossed. Not thinking the kitchen was going to be used, and then everyone thinking everyone else was making food and... naturally we ended up with the entire Seder meal being cooked in a kitchen that was particularly filthy, chaotic (especially since the whirlwind cleaning may have involved shoving several things into several drawers to free up space for impending ingredients). Naturally we had very little that was needed.

And in the perfect messiness of said improvisation we managed to pull something together quite perfect for toddling Chaya and her friends Sebastian and Cedrick.

Chaya guzzled enough grapejuice to give herself GI distress for a couple of days, but made up for that by eating almost entirely matzo bread. Cedrick proved to be the most adventurous eater of the kiddos, tasting a bit of everying. We sang and stumbled our way through Sammy the Spider's First Passover, the Haggadah that I thought perhaps was not going to be adult-approved after we reviewed several addition grown-up Haggadah the day before. Bitter herb and horseradish were consumed. And Affikomen was discovered with only a little - a lot - of adult help.

The weekend continued as full clip with a few meals out at glacially cuncatory restaurants (picked by the Wrights of course, but at least COA was delicious) and some excited tours of all the Non-Fred-Meyer places one might purchase foods, as some people apparently are nonplussed at shopping in a grocery store that also sells clothes, autoparts and hunting gear.

We made it out of the weekend with a new cast iron dutch oven and a grill. And the salmon from a local fish market made it into everyone's bellies. Chaya also led several excursions through the grass and otherwise delighted her doting grandparents (who likewise delighted her).

On Saturday, we also attended Chaya's third egg hunt of the season at Claudia's house. This time things clicked with the imp and she rounded up bags full of eggs. Claudia, being a very good witch, conjured up some beautiful weather, so all the children and families lolled on the grass in their yard afterwards.

Things capped off with a christening of the new grill and a slightly late and only moderately manic evening with the toddler.

Kiddo was scurried to bed in between some manic meltdowns, as she said goodbye t    o her visitors and mommy and daddy cleaned and appropriately recluttered the kitchen.

Of course, we began the morning an Easter morning with a "basket" (ok, a strainer because it was the right size) to share with Daddy.

Needless to say breakfast was chocolate (other food thrown on the floor in disdain as Chaya demanded more CHICKEN EGG, which apparently meant easter eggs). I didn't even put that much candy in her bag, but that was all she'd eat regardless

She did enjoy her Easter bonnet though!

We perhaps were all feeling a little holiday burnout by this morning, but I'm happy that I decided to go ahead and try out the church service at the St. Paul's down the road. In all the hubub, I was struggling to have the contemplative time that usually attends Easter weekend.

The "Holy Week" (the stretch between Palm Sunday and Easter) is a complex cornucopia of mystical and familiar for children. I remember it well. The smooth texture of the palms across my lips, the tenderness and intimacy of foot washing, the solemnity of last communion,  the pain of the cross mixed with a dizzying understanding of the Agape of self-sacrifice, the gravid state of loss and hope, and the eerie joy of rebirth. Tied to Christian theology, it is powerful. Even from a purely secular state, the messages are powerful, but I am not purely secular.

It's the music, ritual, and community I've experienced since before I had the words to philosophize. It's hard to walk into a service and find myself unmoved. Each subsequent manifestation connects me through the ages to those times past. Yes, I can find myself a blubbery teary mess in any opera, ballet, or symphony because of a beauty of human experience too expansive to be described, and because of the childhood familiarity that draws me through time to my earliest memories. Church has a similar blend of spiritual transcendence with earthly roots for me.

 I needed the familiar service today. Church here is quite different than the St. Paul's my dad attends. Church was quite small and the congregation only hinted at filling it halfway. There is no children's program. Instead, there's a place in the back for children to play. There is no choir. There is a beautiful organ and a few talented pianists and organists.

But the vibe is all so familiar.

As I come  back to my own sense of the divine. I'm beginning to grasp the complexity of being an "interfaith couple." For quite some time I've considered myself spiritually fluid, believing that all religions are merely slivered glimpses of the divine. Before Chaya was born, I pretty well said that what mattered to me was finding a spiritual community. Jewish, Muslm, Buddhist, Unitarian... all would fill me with different expressions of that epiphanic spiritual joy. Granted, I still snuck out and attended services on my own time with my dad or alone... I see now how powerful that familiarity of the experienced rites are for me.

I don't want to force my faith on anyone, but (1) I want to find a way to share it, and (2) it is lonely not sharing it. Andrew's faith is his own to figure out, but his very strong roots and identity are based on Judaism. That is beautiful, and there is a lot of commonality between our upbringings in those regards. But for him it is very specific to the story of his family and their ancestor's experience. And, as perhaps is expected, there's an almost implicit hesitancy at expressions of a religion that has largely been used to oppress his own. I realize I've emphasized the secular aspects of the Christian traditions for some time because these feel less threatening. And that I want to find ways to celebrate my traditions in an open and non-doctrinal way with my kiddo. As much as I want him to continue to tell her the story of her Jewish family and their roots.

It can be especially challenging when religions and their holidays won't take turns!! I'm sure there are many more years to sort it out, but I'm glad to find a place that may be my spiritual roost for a while.

And, now that we've been gifted matches, we won't have to attempt to burn the house down trying to light candles on the electric stove burner... so perhaps a little Advent reading and wreath may be in order next year.

The end of the service heralded something our whole family can get behind though: brunch potluck with Easter ham for the big meat eater. Andrew and Chaya met us at the service and we brunched with another few families who were first time attendees, including one of Chaya's preschoolmates.

It was grounding, but definitely the easter grass that broke the bunnie's back for my little toddler, judging by the fifty meltdowns she's had leading into naptime today.

It's been an amazing weekend, but we may be about ready for a spell of perfunctory days. Or outright boring, since Preschool is on break this week. Ah well, at least mommy has to head out for a barium swallow tomorrow during naptime. I'm sure that will be exciting!

Until then, enjoy the smears of chocolate bunnies and extra hugs to you and your families.