Had to tell her.

I had to tell my daughters doctor about her scare. It was rough reliving it. In person, especially. 

I wrote the blog entry about it and have just been dealing with my anxiety, quietly and waiting for myself to get over it. 

Today, as I retold the horrifying story, I realized (even though I said I would never get over it) that I really will NEVER get over it. 

Never. 

Damn.

Switch hitter.

My husband is going to love that I made a sports reference.
Even though we all know I am not going to write about sports, I think of this term a lot.
To be a switch hitter is, correct me if I'm wrong, to be able to hit from both sides.
I feel like this point in my life I am batting from the other side. At the very least, learning that this is something that I am going to have to grow accustom to, and be good at doing.

I have taken to the last 14 years of my life in such a natural way, one would (and I might have) easily forget that I might have a single purpose. Single as in, my own, not as in solo.

I might have a "thing" a "calling" or a passion for something that that has nothing to do with what I am actually doing. Or have been doing... and continue to do.
Oh I will continue to do this, but I am going to see about switching sides (see what I did there), so that I too can flex this muscle I have most likely always had.

But how?

That seems to be the million dollar question.

I guess I need to have the approach of someone starting college.
Someone with an idea but no faint concept of how it is all going to go down.
I have the clothing designs spewing out of my fingers and the trailer blowing up my head. I have my children so excited about the prospect of waking up to their Dad every morning, homeschooling and traveling for a year... I am either going to need a wall sized organizer or a psychologist really soon or I will explode.
It's all very exciting though. I am up way too late at night and I know it is because I dig a good mystery. There is so much to be excited about and I love that about this stage of my life.

Game on.

Dreamin'.

Last night I had a dream but unlike most mornings, today I remembered it.

I was backstage somewhere, it was confusing (and I will not bore you with the details of a dream)
and then I walked out onto this runway.
I was with Quattro, Elvis and Zeke and I was holding a baby (this is not the crazy part but I will come back to it).
I was at my fashion show, at Bryant Park.

There's something about the dreams that I remember.
When I was newly pregnant the second time, I dreamed she was a girl.
We were walking, holding hands with Quattro and she had long, crazy blonde hair.
I dreamed that. And it happened.

So this is me telling me that I may be headed in the direction of something amazing.

Oh, and the baby thing. That is weird and very cool at the same time.

12 things about myself

I'll play along.

1. It is really hard to talk about myself. My real self. The one that I apparently only let some people know. I'm friendly but complex. My life doesn't always make sense to the average bear.

2. I can't stand when people talk about themselves all of the time. If we leave the restaurant or hang up the phone and you didn't ask about me, my family or my life- you are out of the deal. See above.

3. I am a really, really good Mother. I believe that to my core. I have never felt so natural in all my life, in 37 years of living in this world, doing anything but this. I was meant to do this.

4. I feel like I gave up a big part of who I might have been, to have a child. I had hopes and dreams that had nothing to do with a baby. I am so glad I did this.

5. I now have a fear of water. Even seeing pictures of people swimming, or swimming on TV. It didn't happen right away, a couple weeks after the accident. It's palpable. I hate it and have to see someone about it.

6. A few years ago I was desperate for a real friend. Someone that I could count on and be there for. Someone like I never had, well since having kids. I wrote about it. I put it out in the universe and I got her.

7. At 7 years of being married, we almost got divorced. Like, really really. Best thing I never did.

8. When I married my husband, I thought it wouldn't last. I believed everyone who told us we were crazy, I was completely content with crazy and thought it sounded fun.

9. I'm 99% sure I am done having babies.

10. I went to rehab when I was 16.

11. I had "Daddy issues" when I was growing up. It wasn't until my husband showed me what a Dad really was, that I realized he was the only Dad I needed in my life. The kind of Father he is to our kids is beyond what anyone could have been for me (if they had ever actually tried).

12. Next year we are going to do something completely crazy, life changing and toe curling-ly fun. And all I can think is that I hope it doesn't mean I will die at age 76. #midlifecrisis

hot, sticky, sucks

Today is hot.
It's damn hot.
It's muggy and hot and sunny and hot.
I fear I have added myself to the list of people who complain about the weather and that is okay.
It is not the first (or last) unsavory list I have been on.

Right now I am laying on my bed, trying to figure out why the sound of my daughters laugh, is the purest, most amazing sound I have ever heard.
I have three kids and I swear, I love them all (and their laughs) but her... it takes me somewhere.
And I am still hot.

We went to the Commons today and played in the water, had lunch and I blazed the homeless drunks with my mind bullets. I wish I had a good idea of what to do with them... I guess we will all live in non-harmony until my kids are too big for the park, or they all die of alcohol poisoning.
It is sad and I know I sound cold, but I'm so tired of it. All of it.

The trash, the cussing, the smoke, the filthy shopping carts full of E. Coli. The piss smell, the way they all take up the benches with backs on them. The one's I would like to use for nursing.
Much of the grass is full of bodies. On a hot day like today, I am quite sure one of them had perished.
No one would know, it looks the same as yesterday.

I hate that yet another blog entry is devoted to this, or at least the beginning of it.
With the sound of my kids in the other room, giggling and laughing themselves silly. It is a shame I am not writing about them and Elvis' 4th birthday party we had last week.
I am sad that I am not sharing the fact that she had a great time and cried like I haven't seen her cry in a long time- when the pinata rules were laid out. She had no idea there would be a line of kids waiting to hit the thing. I guess while making the cake (I cheated, recipe below) and decorations- making delicious tea sandwiches that go better with a beer and gathering all of our friends to celebrate with us. Four glorious years with the one and only Elvis Glo Danger Daly... I forgot to mention the pinata is something everyone gets to hit. Everyone, ideally, gets a smack at it and this didn't sit well with the lady.
She cried hard. She was in no way prepared or wanting to let anyone at that thing. I think the bottom line for her was that she wanted to bust the shit open and she knew, as well as everyone else, there were about 6 boys 9 and up waiting for that thing...
anyway, it made for a great picture and of course a good story, she will most likely hear for the rest of her life. I will try to be one less person reminding her of that, right after this post.

3 days was better than no days

but I am still left with this stupid feeling of "you are doing it wrong!".
Since about May I have been compiling thoughts of a different life.
Not that I have a bad life, shit, I don't even have a less than stellar life. My life rules.
Truly.
But I am finding that the days and weeks, that turn into months and many months, are just not okay anymore. I am finding that I miss my life, pre-kids.
Don't get crazy. I am not saying I wish I didn't have kids. I would be nothing without them, but I am missing the travel. The journey.
I fucking miss my husband.
When we picked him up on Monday night, I knew it was going to be brief. I knew he would sleep no more than 4 nights in our bed. I knew I would wake up to him bringing me coffee only a few times.
I am good at this, usually. I am good at setting myself up for the time we get to be with him. There's usually nothing or everything going on in the days he's home. This time it was a little bit of both.
We celebrated our daughters 4th birthday party a bit early, so he could be a part of it. The plan was perfect but it left us all more sad than we were- and that is the problem.
It is getting old. It is getting to be too much.
It is getting to the girl, the boy and the baby.
This past May I was spending an afternoon on the phone with my husband. The kids were asleep and I was talking wildly about how lame it is that he is missing everything. How him missing 2 out of 3 kids first steps has finally taken it's toll on us and how we needed to do something.
I am not sure how it came up but I know it was me who blurted out "we should get an RV or something!".
To know my husband at all, is to know that he is always, always, always supportive. Even if he thinks it is the worst idea ever, he will support you.
But this time I think he really liked the idea, although I know he thought I was kidding.
I'm not.
I wasn't.
And I'm still not.
Everyday I have these conversations with myself about how life would be.
When I wake up in the morning and get the baby (first up), I picture how it would be in an RV... like would he have a bed or would he be sleeping next to me? Then what? Like would I take him for a walk? Make coffee while the others slept?
What would it look like? Would there be wood paneling everywhere? I don't know the last time I was inside an RV. Can we afford an RV? What does one cost? Can people actually live in them?

Okay, so let me back up a little.
My idea is to pack up our entire home and put nearly everything we own in storage. I would like to sell our car and buy an RV, pack our asses up and just go.
I want to wake up in the morning in a new place. I want to see my friends in NY, instead of seeing pictures my husband takes of them while he's there.
I want to park it in front of my Mom's house in AZ and spend some time down there, when the weather is nice and I have no time frame.
I want to spend time with my Grandmother.
I want to be with my husband. I want my kids to be with their father.
I need us all to be together, having the same goal again.

I am not sure what happened to the goal. I am not sure what happened to our Daly mantra, our reason for doing "this".

What is this?
Better yet, what are we doing?
Gah... I have no fucking clue. And I am not okay with that.

Elvis asked me this morning, "why can't I go with Daddy?"...
I had no good reason and that pretty much solidifies the thing. We have to do something different, otherwise we are no different than the families who work themselves to the bone and miss everything.
It's not worth it.

He's missing us and we are missing him. But what is keeping us apart? Why are we staying here in Seattle, while he is seeing the world? So we can all enjoy the Pacific Northwest with him 3 months out of the year? Eh. I think there has to be a better way.
Unconventional? Yeah. But so is what we are doing.
I am the only single Mom who is married that I know. It's weird.
Who knows, maybe we will become vagabonds forever. Maybe we do it for a year and get our fill.
I just know no one is happy being apart, so we have to do something about it.

Stay tuned.

Microwave mac & cheese.

We are tired of eating at restaurants. So tired, in fact, that we opted to eat mac & cheese in a bowl that you can microwave.

I know this is no new concept, so I don't want to talk about it like it is freeze dried sushi or something, but it was weird as shit.
And not good.

But we did it. The baby liked it best, I'm assuming because the texture resembled jarred baby food- which, incidentally, he doesn't like.
It was nice not to sit down at a restaurant. It was nice to not pay $50 for food that could feed 5 families in a 3rd world country. I hate the amount of food restaurants give. It is disgusting. I usually make the three kids share one meal and I order and we all share and still we throw away about 3 pounds of food.
No wonder America is so fat. If they are eating out like we have been the last 5 weeks and cleaning their plates (remember that philosophy?), they are eating no less that 50,000,000 calories a day.

We made it to Fortuna, CA last night. I was happy we found something so fast. It was getting dark and even though I could have driven 4 more hours and the kids were asleep- this trip has suddenly turned me into a super cautious gal.

Winding through the mountains yesterday, I was reminded of traveling to Oregon with my Grandparents. I was probably 9 or 10. I spent a lot of summers with them. They were always doing something adventuous sounding. They were traveling or moving or selling or buying. My Grandpa was the sort of man that would own 3 homes and travel to them throughout the year, buying weird stuff (cars, etc) and then fix them and sell them, even sometimes giving them away.

One summer they were going to their place in Oregon. On the trip I told him that if it was getting dark and we weren't there yet, we should spend the night somewhere. I am not sure why I was suddenly giving out orders but I remember having this feeling. So much so that I think I said it many times, not just suggesting it.
I remember we were driving up a mountain and it was dark. I felt the car (which was pulling a trailer with a car on it;) jerked to one side and I heard my Grandmother scream.
I think I was laying down in the back. It was a suburban.
When I felt the car jerk to the side, I knew what was happening. I knew exactly what was happening, almost like I had done it before.
After I heard her scream, I heard my Grandpa say "I'm sorry!". Loud and direct.

I don't know what happened exactly. I know the next day we were at the scene picking up the trailer that had rolled down a hill. My Grandma and I were picking blueberries from a wild bush. My Grandpa was stoic and graceful.
That night I remember being on a pay phone and talking to my Mom. I am sure all I wanted to do was be with her. To be home.
But I stayed. We got to their house and I had one of my most memorable summers.
We picked rhubarb and made pies with "what's her name", my Grandfathers sister who's name I could never remember. She was beautiful and kind. We all made pies.
There was a crab apple tree behind their house. It was huge and full. I climbed it every day.

The reason I was remembering this whole story last night is because the me that wants to be home was saying "I could drive 4 more hours", which I could.
Easy.
I love to drive. I love to drive at night, during the day. In rain, snow- I enjoy it.
But the memory of this accident stopped me in my tracks. Especially after my son said, "we should definitely stop before dark".