We’re on “bacation!”

We’ve gone to the great big bay in the west.  Updates maybe, if not, see you in a week!

Now all I have to do is grow my hair just a titch longer…

for the librarian bun, of course!

 

I just got my acceptance to the Master of Library Sciences program I applied for!!  A whole week earlier than expected!  I’m thinking that they were so excited to have me in the program that they just couldn’t wait.  AND it means that I’m a FIRST CHOICE!  Not a wait-list better-than-nothing (I think I have a bit of a complex from the way I felt in my last graduate program, what do you think?)

and…

They gave me a fellowship!!!!

It’s not enough to cover the whole thing, but still, it’s a chunk of change and it was merit based, which is more than I got from my last graduate program.  They actually, really, truly do want me!  I’m a Fellow!  

Let me introduce you to Chicory, mynewschool’s Suchandsuch Fellow this year.  

That’s got a great ring to it.

 

Quid Pro Quo

first off, I just have to say that I am not making this shit up

clear?

Ok, then.  This morning I was sitting on the couch and Sassa was lounging across my lap, belly down.  Absentmindedly I was rubbing her back, and then I scratched it, just a little.  

That was it, I had an itchy back monster.  A little wiggle monster that wanted me to scratch her back constantly.  As in I could not stop without her insistently wiggling and adamantly insisting, “keep scratching my back, please!”  I should point out that though she said please, her manner was more like that of a queen than a beggar.

After about 10 minutes or so I was through scratching her back.  I had other things to do.  Like stretch, and cough, and… stuff.  So I informed Miss Sassafras that I was through with the back scratching for the morning.

She hopped off my back, looked me in the eye for a solid moment, gauging my will, I suppose.  And then she made a proposal.

“How about I scratch your back for a little while first, and then you scratch my back some more?”

Although she joined me in my fit of laughter, I could tell that she wasn’t sure what we were laughing at.

Real Motherhood

Some of you have met my friend, Ruth.  She’s only been blogging like, 3 weeks, but already she’s winning people over with her wit and realism.  Well, she entered a fantastic picture in a contest and it turns out that she’s a FINALIST!  

So, here’s the picture that she entered.

And here’s where you can go vote for her.

So, please, go vote for her.  Give her a big IVP welcome!

There’s a reason

There’s a reason that even though Sassa’s beautiful and charismatic, we’re not living the high life off of her modeling and acting contracts…

it’s because the darned kid doesn’t perform on command.  

Don’t get me wrong.  The feminist within me is proud that my child doesn’t let herself be manipulated into performing simply for the  benefit of others.  But the stage mother within can get so frustrated that my little ham is only hammy at her convenience.

We were asked if Equality Utah could film Sassa saying either “I love my two mommies” or “I have the POWER!” for a promotional video to be shown during a big fundraising dinner.  ”Can Sassa do that?” they asked.  ”No problem.” I said.  I was so wrong.

It was right after nap.  She was sleepy.  She was shy.  She flat out wouldn’t say either of those two things.  In fact, she wouldn’t say anything at all.  At least in front of the camera she wouldn’t.  She did whisper “I love my two mommies” but it was too faint to use, I think.  She talked about her dogs for a few minutes off camera.  Finally they asked me to hold her.  So I did, and she tucked her face into my neck.

A star she was not.  Cute as all heck, but…

Anyway.  Alas. 

She was a bit more talkative by the time we got home.  So I whipped out the camera for this week’s video dose of Sassafras.  And, of course, she stopped talking.  But she did sing some.  And yes, she’s still obsessed with octopi.  So here you go.

birdsong

We bought our house because of the yard.  The backyard looked like a mountain meadow.  Complete with rocky spring and tiny pond.  It was beautiful.  After we moved in it was apparent that the yard was designed as a bed and breakfast for birds.  Hundreds of birds.  So many birds that even when we brought in the two monster dogs and the clawless killer cat (how the HELL does she catch small creatures with no front claws?) the birds contend that possession is 9/10ths of the law and refuse to vacate their summer residence.  The bushes are full of berries for them to eat.  The woodsy area in the corner is full of nesting sites.  The animals, domestic and wild, are resigned to each other’s company.  There are even some cheeky jays and robins and magpies that tease the dogs and cats.  

Our yard is resonant with birdsong from spring through fall.  And for a few precious weeks in late April and early May, and again in September, the outdoor temperature is mild enough that we can leave our windows open to catch the sonic play.  

Klove had her miscarriage follow-up appointment today.  Her uterus has returned to normal size, the cervix also looks normal.  She is definitely not pregnant.  She’s nearly finished bleeding.  Dr. Blue Eyes says that the common advice to wait 3 months before trying again is old fashioned and pointless.  She says to wait until Klove has a period and then go ahead and try again right away.  We’re thinking of inseminating me later this week just to feel like we’re doing something.  I’m lying on the bed listening to trills and interrupting the songs with my coughs.  The birds don’t mind. In a half hour I’ll get up and go to work.  Maybe I’ll take the laptop out into the church’s backyard and sit in the center of the labyrinth to write my reports.  Sometimes sunshine is as healing as sleeping.  

Our house is reverberant today.    I think I can smell the forsythia and lilacs.

And did I mention that I’m sick again?

It’s 1 am and I’ve been up for 2 hours looking at vacation rentals for our little trip to the big bay in the west coming up next freaking week.  Yup.  We decided to go and we still have no idea where we’re going to stay.  I want a suite so that little Sassa can sleep somewhere not in the same room as we.  I’d like to a little kicking in the ass of the ole’ LBD (not that we HAVE LBD, oh no, but, you know, sometimes life and shit like miscarriages and The Unbloggable get in the way).  But our budget, it is tight.  I mean, we can’t afford daycare, how can we go on a trip?  Good old Bushie boy.  We could do the responsible thing with our money — pay off bills, stash it in savings, you  know the drill.  But nope.  Our pal George is funding our little family get away, and if I can find someplace to stay that includes the illusion of privacy from our toddler, he’ll be paying us to have lesbian ess ee ecks.  Maybe even more than once (oooh, the sheer decadence!)

I should delete this post before Klove gets up and reads it.

So, why are you up so late, Chicory dear?

That would be because I am sick.  Sick.  Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick.  And when you read over that last “sick”, I want you to hear in your head a whiney, sore-throaty, interrupted-by-coughing Nyquil-ad voice.  Go on, re-read it with the right voice.  That way you can truly know my pain.  Or, rather, the pain of those around me.  

My throat is sore.  I’m coughing.  My ears are painful and clicking.  I can breathe through my nose, though.  Which is a good thing.  Until a big wad of something falls from the part of my sinuses somewhere near my ears and lands right in the breathing passages and chokes me.  That’s not such a good thing.  I even pulled out my neti pot.  You know how the water is supposed to run from one nasal passage to the other (what, you didn’t know this?  well, it is.  it’s supposed to wash your sinuses clean) well, mine doesn’t.  I don’t understand how I can breathe through my nose, and STILL be so congested that the neti pot doesn’t work.  The saline goes in one nostril, makes my ear hurt worse, and then starts trickling UPHILL out the eye on that side of my head AND my throat/mouth.  And if that doesn’t sound uncomfortable to you, then… well, you’ve got some strange ideas of comfort.  

Anyway, so my throat is so sore I can’t sleep.  I took some codeine cough syrup (I’ll bet you’re surprised by that!) and that helped a little.  And I drank some Throat Coat tea.  And that also helped.  I think now that I’ve got this terribly important thing I needed to tell you off my chest I can finally go to bed.

Wait.  I didn’t tell you yet, did I?  Let me go back and read through what I’ve said.

No.  I didn’t say it.

What I wanted to say was that today, despite being home sick, was a good day.  Our house is clean.  Not just clean, but SPRING clean.  Which means that it’s pretty darned organized, too.  When our house is clean I remember how much I love living here.  And our yard is also clean and ready for summer living.  Last year we didn’t get ready for summer living until Labor Day weekend.  This year it’s not even Memorial Day yet and still our yard is cleaned, the gardens are cleaned.  The gazebo is up.  The furniture is out and cleaned off.  The hammocks are hung (all 3 of them).  I love our yard.  I’m going to do a yard post soon so you can all see it and how much it’s changed.  It’s so beautiful.  We’ve worked so hard on it.  I took a short nap in dappled sunlight on a hammock this afternoon.  Short because my ears throbbed and a gob of gunk landed in the breathing pathway of my nose.  But still, lovely.  

I went back inside our clean house, and all the windows were open and a soft spring breeze was blowing through.  

And what I’m writing this post to say was that it was a good day. 

Letting Go the Safety Net

So I love my new job.  It’s fun, it’s fulfilling, and it’s challenging.  And it’s only part time.  We just paid all our bills on our new income level, and it’s tight, but doable. 

Except.  

In February A found out that rent on her place was going up dramatically, but they weren’t planning on making the shit-box any nicer.  You know, fixing all the broken things.  She wanted out, but didn’t have the chunk of cash needed to not only find a new place and put a deposit on it, but also pay all the fees to get re-licensed at a new location.  We had just got our tax return, so we offered to pay several months’ daycare in advance to her so she could have the liquid cash to make the move.  She took us up on our offer, we paid through June, and she moved into a lovely house only a few blocks from our own.  We love the new house and we love the new location.  

So, when I paid our bills this month using our new household income, and we barely made it, that didn’t include daycare.  There’s no way we can pay for daycare without me getting a second job.  Or somehow pulling $500 out of my ass.  

I don’t want to get a second job.  

I’m working 12 hours less than I used to, and I have no idea how we were surviving.  It already feels like a bad dream.  In order to get a second job that would pay $500 a month, I’d be working MORE than I worked before.  And seeing my family less.  Unless I worked out of the home.  The spice tins… they sell when I put effort into marketing them.  But that’s not consistent.  I’d love for that to be mad money.  Or vacation money, you know?  Not crucial-part-of-our-budget money.  

So, when this problem first presented itself to me, I started wishing that I knew someone that I could trade child-care with.  Some other mother that works part time.  I wished for that hard.  And then, because I didn’t know anyone, I let it go and started mulling on the whole second-job thing.

But now…

One of Klove’s classmates who graduated with her has a little girl almost exactly Sassa’s age.  And she was asking if we’d be willing to split daycare at A’s with her.  And in talking with her about it, I realized… THIS is the mother I’ve been asking for.  The one to trade childcare with.  Our daughters get along great.  They live close by.  She’s only working part time.  She’s going to be going back to school in the fall (like me, hopefully).  She’s looking for a permanent solution to the part-time care conundrum.  She’s 6 weeks pregnant, so hopefully we’ll have babies close in age, too (assuming, of course, that we get pregnant again soon) that we can swap care of, too.  It looks like we’ll each take 2 days of care.  I’ll watch the 2 girls two days and she’ll watch them the other two.  And since Sassa got into the preschool we wanted her to get into, they’re going to try and get their girl into it, too, so the two girls will have interactions with other children AND if we each take a pre-school day for one of our care days, we’ll each get a morning off.

Sounds perfect, no?  

So why do I hesitate?  

It’s because having Sassa at A’s place is a giant safety net.  There were so many times the last 2 years that we were so happy to know that Sassa was content and safe,  that she had a place to be during the day.  Days that we were sick and didn’t go to work, but Sassa got to play at A’s.  Like when I had pneumonia.  When Klove had her surgery.  The first work day after the miscarriage.  A is a safety net.  When we’re overwhelmed and need a day off, Sassa still has somewhere to go for fun.  

And what if something happens financially and I DO need to go get a second job, or leave my current job to find a full-time job?  There are rarely openings at A’s place.  Most of her kids start when they’re infants and stay till they’re too old.  If we walk away from A, chances are good we won’t be able to change our mind.  And A loves Sassa.  And Sassa loves A.  And Sassa loves the other kids at A’s that she’s known her whole life.  And I think, “how horrible of us to make a decision that would just rip her away from these friends.”  

But mostly my hesitation is just fear.  It’s removing one of the supports that kept us up the last 2 years.  It feels arrogant to say “we don’t need this anymore” like the universe is going to come down and slap us silly for our impudence.  

And yet, the last couple months, with the notable exception of our baby’s death, every single thing I’ve asked of the universe has come to us.  Even this child care opportunity. So let go, Chicory, let go. 

The Graduwitch

A couple of days ago, Klove tried on my Masters gown to see if it was going to need to be hemmed before Commencement.  Sassa was in the room and declared that her mom was now a witch.  ”I’m not a witch,” Klove said, “I’m a graduate.”

“You’re a graduwitch!” Sassa replied.

But yes. It’s finally true. Klove graduated last night. Well, I guess she graduated when her grades were posted for her classes. But last night was the big ceremony. I cried. Sassa was unimpressed.

I just can’t believe it’s over. This was the hardest two years of our life. The first year Klove was going to school full time (12 hours), had a practicum (15 hours/wk), and a full-time job (40 hrs). Not counting study or commute time, that’s 67 hour weeks from the end of August to the beginning of May. During that time she got a chronic sinus infection (sick from October through June), had her sinus cancer scare and sinus surgery, Sassa had 4 ER visits including one overnight hospitalization, ear tubes in and adenoids out, a number of asthma attacks and dozens of doctor’s appointments until we figured out her dairy allergy. I got pneumonia and sicker than I’d been in a decade, oh and I was futilely trying to conceive during the whole time. And let’s not forget the vacation from hell to Hawaii. (search this blog for Hawaii if you want to read about that particular trip).

This year was a little easier. Klove was allowed to count work hours as practicum time. Which meant that she had 52 hour weeks (not including commute and study time) instead of the 67. But we have had 3 ER trips since January (2 for the miscarriage, one for the Unbloggable), a car accident, and several weeks living with a turbulent teen.

Not like all those things were the fault of grad school, but…

It’s over. She did it. She’s a Master of something. She’ll get to make more money now and she’ll get to do more interesting things at her job. I can’t believe she got through with all those obstacles, but she did.

We’re all so proud of her it’s unspeakable.

virtual accolades to anyone who can pick Klove out in this picture…

9 Mile Canyon

I’m running late for work, but I saw this post and paused to send the requested email.  I’m hoping that others of you will send an email, too.  This may be a Utah site, but it’s a national treasure.  Sheesh, that was cheezy.  But true.