dearest daughters & son

My Living List: 25 things I want you to know about Living Life

Dearest Daughters,

I'm writing this list because now is as good a time as any. That being said, I do think about what you will remember when I'm gone.

I wouldn’t say I’ve been suicidal in the clinical sense of having “a plan,” but I’ve certainly entertained the thought of death. And in my darkest moments—not just once, but still—the only reason I can think of to not run away or run my car into a ditch, the only reason I can think of to stay alive is to not hurt the people that love me. When I start to think about you growing up without a mommy, I know that I have to be in that picture. That is my “reason for living” in the most morbid and inspirational senses of the phrase.

Death is something that my mind spirals to on a daily basis surrounding me in a bizzard of What Ifs. What if I get in a car accident? What if I get cancer? What if there’s an earthquake or a tsunami or a zombie apocalypse? What if something happened to you?

In my right mind, I know that it does no good to think about death. It is a certain thing, but we, as humans, must deny this reality on a daily, hourly basis in order to focus on the Living part of Life. We cannot be paralyzed by the fear of death or bad things happening. We must Live in the present. #mindfulness

And yet, I find myself wondering whether I’m Living my best Life, whether I have any regrets or unfinished business, whether I’ve told you I love you enough?

One day—hopefully no time soon, but one day, I will pass. And there are things I want you to know—about me, about your family, about yourselves, about Living Life. Many of those things you’ll find on this blog should you one day choose to pore through it.

Until then, here is my Living List—25 things that I want you to know about Living Life:

1. Crazy is in your blood. Not just clinical crazy—which you should be aware of, but bathrobe-curlers-clashing-red-and-purple-mile-long-nails-bingo-daubber-disco-disco-gun-in-your-purse-capital-C-R-A-Z-Y. That would be thanks to your Great Grandma Marie.

2. You don’t have to grow up to be religious or believe in particular teachings, but know that I believe in a loving and gracious God. And if you choose not to, I’ll believe for you, because I see God in you—from your first steps to your missteps and everything in between.

3. You do need to grow up to be kind, thoughtful and caring—not because you are girls or because you are doormats, but because you will consider and be understanding of people, places and forces beyond yourself.

4. You will seek knowledge. The more you know, the more you’ll realize how little you know. Ignorance isn’t a lack of knowledge, it is a lack of desire to know. Let your curiosity be your guide.

5. Family is family. If it looks like a family, talks like a family, walks like a family, then it’s a family. Be family.

6. I say, we can dance if we want to / We can leave your friends behind / Because your friends don't dance / And if they don't dance / Well they're no friends of mine. (source)

7. Be close to your siblings. I mean realrealclose. See, talk and text with each other weekly if not daily. Have unwavering loyalty. Be willing to cut a b*tch. Laugh with and at each other. Make fun of your parents together. Always say yes—to watching their children, to putting out their trash, to going on vacation. When I get old or am gone, you’ll have one another to help decide my fate, to cry into each other’s arms, to take my trash tchotchkes to the dump.

8. Falling in love makes you grow Stupid Cells. You’ll fall madly, deeply in love—maybe more than once. Once the experience of falling in love has worn off, make sure your Stupid Cells didn’t grow into a tumor. If they did, get it removed immediately.

9. Trust your gut. It’s never too late to say no, to turn around, to back out.

10. Always practice safe sex. Enough said.

11. Look for integrity and respect in your partners. If you don’t know what that looks like, pay attention to how he treats his parents or how she treats your waiter.

12. Judge no one, except for assholes. Assholes are assholes.

13. Love is a choice. We all love and like to be loved differently: in words, in acts, in gifts, in time, in touch. Be aware of how you love and like to be loved. Fill others with love and allow yourself to be filled.

14. Be passionate about something. Anything.

15. Practice doesn’t make perfect. Practice makes practice. Take breaks, but never stop practicing.

16. When you’re lost, go get lost in nature.

17. Believe you are worthy. This is more than having good self-esteem or confidence. Know that you are worthy—of love, of attention, of time for yourself, of treating yourself, of pursuing your passions, of taking up space, of existing.

18. Play—music, with paint, with a ball. Play with your friends, your children, by yourself. Make-believe and make time. Laugh at silly things and wonder at the playfulness of creation.

19. You can’t wear makeup until I say you can or until you’re sixteen, whichever comes first. And you’ll wear quality makeup that accentuates your beauty. You are not a clown. No tattoos or piercings until you are eighteen and out of the house. And I shouldn’t ever see your booty or your tummy in public. Say no to drugs.

20. If you feel you can’t talk to me, talk to your aunties, uncles, ninangs and ninongs. You are loved more than you know by more people than you know.

21. Know that there are awkward things about being human—poop and farts, bras and periods, wet dreams and body odor, among other things—but there is no shame in the human body. They come in all shapes and abilities. Our bodies can do amazing things—run and jump, spin and tumble, create and transform, see color and movement, feel a soft breeze and immense pleasure, hear whispers and thunder, smell the first rain and bread baking, taste sweetness and snowflakes on the tip of your tongue.

22. Be angry. Be sad. Be outraged. Feel powerful feelings. Do not run or hide from them as they will overwhelm you.
 

23. Do not harbor resentment. Resentment comes from not speaking your truth, from not being vulnerable enough to say what you need or want and then blaming it on someone else.

24. I love you no matter what. My love is unconditional. I will love you in the depths of your pain and mistakes. I will love you in the heights of your success and happiness. I will always be your lap to sit on, your ugly place, your shelter, your sanctuary. I will not always be nice or your friend. I will be the voice that haunts you, that urges you to do better, that annoys you. You will say you hate me. You will want to run away. You will say you love me. You will come back. You will always be my babies and I will always be your mommy.

25. Make good choices.

Relationships Suck and Other Wisdom I Can't Keep Under 1000 Words

Dearest Daughters,

Today, being Valentine’s Day, seems as good a day as any to talk about relationships. I can’t predict what the nature of your relationships will be, what hurdles or wonders they will hold, and you’re not likely to listen to anything I have to say anyway.

Nevertheless, I’m going to talk about relationships. Marginally, about my relationship with your daddy and, mostly about holding up my half of the deal. This probably isn’t what most kids would expect when their parents want to talk to them about relationships and this ain’t no fluffy stuff, so hold onto your seats [car analogy #1, it will all become clear].

While The Mommyblog Movement (that’s what I’m calling it; may or may not be a real term; haven’t googled it) has led to frank, open discussions of parenting (a little bit about that), the same is not resoundingly true for discussions of relationships and marriage.

People who have been together a long time will vaguely tell you that there are rough patches, but no one really gets to the nitty gritty.

As a society, we idealize and idolize marriage, we present a glossy magazine image of it (have you read a Mormon mommyblog lately?—related salon.com piece from a million years ago) and we’re so shocked when we discover that someone’s marriage did not work out.

Glossy image of marriage. No, literally, glossy. Not matte.

[I don’t mean to write a diatribe on marriage or divorce. I also know I’m leaving out a whole discussion of marriage equality.]

While we make gallant efforts to maintain the facade of marital bliss, we are often poorly equipped, unable or unwilling to deal with our little blips, bumps and failures along the road and we get lost [car analogy #2, in case you’re counting]. It’s kind of like ignoring that clanking noise in your car while simultaneously refusing to ask for directions [bringing it home with car analogy #3].

For me, that clanking noise has been my inability to feel, accept and express my feelings. Achilles’ heel, much? Good thing I know how to ask for directions. And anyway, I had to work through my own stuff (as I’ve written about a thousand and a half times here) in order to even come out the other side and see how my relationships have been affected by my tendency towards emotional closed-off-ed-ness (unavailability?)

In terms of feelings, my default factory settings were dialed to sensitive and wired to repress [last and final car analogy #4, sorry for all the car analogies, but it works, right?] Anyway, a lot of emotions come up over seven years of being with someone. Heck, over seven minutes or seven decades!

In my seven-years time with your Daddy, I have struggled with: a long-distance relationship, a short engagement, marrying young, a rapid transition from a family of two to three (that’s you Bel) to four (that’s you Danjo), becoming a SAHM, loss of autonomy, increases in responsibility and in accountability, learning to compromise, sacrifice, cross-cultural understanding and communication, my identity, mental illness and, just this week, coping with a spouse who travels so much.

Through all of that, for the most part, I felt nothing or tried to feel nothing (because feeling was too hard to bear, which I’ll explain in a few paragraphs).

Below the surface of nothingness, things were stewing, and the truth is that I felt, in no particular order: insecure, immature, incapable, afraid, disdainful, vengeful, annoyed, uncertain, worthless, undesirable, betrayed, guilty, dishonest, alone, abandoned, resentful, frustrated, sad, angry, misunderstood, taken for granted, burdened, jealous, unhappy.

I just have a lot of feelings. #namethatmovie #butitstrue

I thought that feeling any of those feelings in relation to my spouse, would unleash an avalanche, a tornado, an earthquake that would level my marriage and destroy me. (Are natural disaster analogies any better? Not really.)

(Side note: it doesn’t help that I had a therapist who took any hint of misgivings or expression of unhappiness as proof that I must hate my husband and my children, want a divorce and a first class ticket to Freedom. And so that’s why I had a nervous break down. The End. She didn’t make me feel exactly safe to explore my true emotions, because I had learned not to listen to or trust my feelings and I feared that maybe she knew better than I did.)(It’s taken therapy just to recover from that therapy.)

As I got deeper into marriage, into children, into the complexities of life, to protect myself and, I thought, my marriage, I continued to repress my feelings so much so that I began to act as if I did not need my life partner, as if I could care less if he left for weeks on end, as if I didn’t even love him—sort of a “dump him, before he dumps me” mentality. The truth is: by being a robot-zombie, I hurt my spouse and our relationship. Private apologies forthcoming.

All the while, you guys, that whole list of emotions that I was trying not to feel? Guess what? They’re totally normal! They are totally part of being imperfectly human and being in imperfect human relationships. Whew, I don’t have to be a robot-zombie after all!

Here’s the thing: relationships (of all kinds) are often unpleasant, painful and miserable. And here’s another thing: it’s totally okay to feel that way!

I'm not a robot-zombie after all. I can feel! We can both be Not Fun. But, we do love each other!

And maybe we don’t talk about it to protect our delicate pride or our children’s ears or our spouse’s reputation or just plain ourselves. We compare our lives to others (he doesn’t travel as much as So And So or there are hungry children somewhere) and we make concessions (he doesn’t beat me, he works all day, I’m bipolar and a pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps Puritan).

But, there is freedom in saying: this sucks and it’s okay and it’s normal.

And then, you truly let it go—a weight is lifted when you stop working to maintain a facade for others and start living your own authentically, totally and completely normal life.

And maybe my perfectionist expectations of life were a little off? My bad, working on that!

Okay, that was all nice back story, but Dearest Daughters, I want you to listen For Reals now:

It is life-changing, relationship-changing to realize not only is it okay to acknowledge really awful feelings in your relationships, but it is also okay to let yourself feel them, to feel pain and anger and sadness, to feel alone and helpless, and to feel resentment during the NFL playoffs. #goniners

It does not make you weak, it is not a betrayal, it does not define you; it is just part of being human, of living and experiencing Not Fun things with someone else who is sometimes Not Fun.

And if you ignore your natural and emotional survival instincts and can allow yourself to be really vulnerable, puppy-when-its-born vulnerable, chick-out-of-its-nest vulnerable, fish-out-of-water vulnerable (Animal analogies? No? Still?)—if you can be (get this) humanly vulnerable with the person you say you entrust your heart to, then do it.

Be vulnerable with each other. Not just in that moment you fall in love or when you say your vows. But, the whole damn time. Talk about why he sucks, why you suck, why the kids suck, why life sucks. And if this is sounding depressing and so (so, so, so) sucky, I’ll tell you this:

When you stop spending time and energy attempting to appear strong, unaffected and flawless, guarding your heart, protecting egos, avoiding authentic interactions, going through the motions, wondering how you got here anyway—when you can open yourself up to All The Feelings, you get through the rough stuff. You get to the Joy and Delight, to Connection and Trust, to Honesty and Gratitude, to Security and Worth and Contentment. And, above all, to Love.

And suddenly, instead of feeling alone and helpless and resentful all the time because your husband is away on business, you find yourself at the end of the day, after the kids are out of the tub, taking pause to savor the smell of your daughter’s clean hair as you comb out her tangles, to absorb the energy and light of your three-year-old’s body as she squirms from her towel and knocks over a Duplo tower her sister built—and in the moment right before the screams and cries begin, you think fondly of your beloved, your partner, you miss him and wish he were here to share this slice of life, this beautiful, perfectly-imperfect moment with you.

But since he’s not here, you hope he will come home with a box of French chocolates.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Love,

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With my commitment to taking care of myself and my mental health--in addition to (or in conjunction with!) taking care of my family--I'm not able to post here as regularly as I would like or as much as I did in the past.

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Manic Monday: reframing, trying to be thoughtless and stockpiling for the zombie apocalypse

Dearest Daughters,

We've now made it through a couple of weeks of child care and mommy care.

When your dad left for about a week on business travel, it forced the issue of me returning to my role as your daily care provider. With some mental and medicinal preparation, some scaffolding (e.g. Lolo and Lola hanging out while I put you to bed on my own) and planning, I've been able to spend a lot of time alone with both of you.

And I'm also enjoying (instead of feeling guilty about) my time without you.

My current life task involves a lot of re-framing. Teaching my mind to look at things differently. Less negatively, harshly, judgmentally.

To see your days at childcare as an exciting developmental stage in your life instead of a place I was forced to send you because I went bat-shit crazy.

To see my hours alone as my new "job" of sorts; a time for me to work on finding out about myself and being me. To spend it doing many of the things that bring me joy: baking, cooking, knitting, reading, catching up on Whale Wars. And to come to believe that I am enough. That the life I lead is enough. Instead of seeing my days as insurmountable to-do lists that never get done. Or as a series of meaningless tasks to fill a void. Or as a life as "just" a stay-at-home-mom.

I've realized that I've been carrying around a lot of insecurity about being a SAHM. Because I'm young. Because I went to Wellesley College. Because I'm driven. I never felt that I was doing enough. So I did too much. Instead of either 1) accepting and embracing the life I live or 2) accepting and embracing that I need to do something else with the life I live.

The jury's still out on that one, but as I feel unable at this time to secure and keep a job outside of the home, for now I'm working on the former.

Some days while you're away, I get "a lot" done--not in a to-do list sort of way, but in a way where I feel fulfilled by the rhythms of my day. Not fulfilled by my list of accomplishments at the end of the day, but fulfilled by the actual almost meditative, mindful motions of my day--while I'm doing them--the folding of laundry, the chopping of vegetables, the kneading of pizza dough, the click-clacking of knitting needles.

And while I may "do" as much or even more than I was doing before, it doesn't feel that way. My days feel as they should, easy. At ease. In ease. Because I don't feel exhausted at the end of the day. I don't feel like I didn't get "enough" done. I don't feel like anything or anyone was neglected, including myself and you. Because I'm doing more to nourish myself than I ever even allowed myself to consider doing before this breakdown.

So, when you get home from a fun and love-filled day at childcare, I have the energy and focus to spend on you. Because I've already put on my own oxygen mask.

 

from Raising Happiness by Christine Carter, Ph.D.

 

The mood stabilizers work, so does the Xanax, the meditation and affirmations that are becoming ingrained in my mind.

The affirmation that comes to my mind most often is this one: "The blueprint of myself that I hold in my mind's eye is one of me vital, healthy and doing what I want to do without a thought."

Seems simple enough, right?

NOT!

Not for me, at least. Most of my thoughts are followed by second thoughts. I can't even watch the Travel Channel or think about public transit without my stomach turning. Transitions and sudden changes are hard. And can send me spiraling into panic.

But, day by day my confidence to face the world is growing. I still have panic attacks. But, I'm learning how to get through them to the other side. Accepting that the paralyzing and debilitating feeling of my imminent death will, indeed, pass. If I can just breath, get to the Xanax in time, tell my body that I'm safe, tell my adrenaline and my heart rate to subside, that I'm not being chased by lions. That I and my Dearest Daughters are safe and sound.

I've been having these flickers of glimpses of moments where I think to myself "I'd like to do that!" To drive again. To pick you girls up from childcare, to see your smiling faces and embrace the blow of you bodies as you barrel into my arms. To go to Target. To go to a movie, even.

But, then I think. And worry. And the anxiety returns.

But, not all the time.

Not when I re-frame and prepare myself. Not when I actually find myself wanting to leave my house.

Look what I did this morning, with Lola by my side, of course:

And you can bet I stocked up. We won't need toilet paper or laundry detergent or Goldfish crackers for at least two months. But, then I thought, as I rolled my cart to our car (which I also successfully drove home!): Hey, Lauren! You just did that! BOOYAH! Take that, anxiety! Take that, panic attacks! You could probably do it again, right Lauren? So, maybe that fourth box of fruit snacks was a bit excessive?

Then again, you never know when the zombie apocalypse will hit. And you'll need those stockpiled granola bars!

I got you covered, baby girls!

Love,

 

 

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Do you Facebook? Don't lie. I saw you posting those puppy photos! Since I'm not posting here so much, make sure to like us on Facebook to see what we're up to in the in between.

In full disclosure...

I was all set to publish the post below about identifying the positive parts of my life on Thursday morning. But, after another panic attack at home on Wednesday afternoon, a rough and hopeless couple of days followed, so I never posted it.

Today, I'm out of bed, finally got to a therapy session and my babies are back to visit me for a few hours (they've been under the care of a village of friends of family while beadle stayed home to support me). (I couldn't bear to hear their voices or cries for me through the bedroom door; it worsened my anxiety and a sent me spiralling into inescapable thoughts and feelings.) But, they're here now. And cuddling. And puzzling. And I'm coping.

Heavy sighs and continued prayers.

Also: will take a short blogging hiatus.

Thanks for all the love and support. I am very very truly blessed to be loved by so many and to have the "troops" that rushed to our aid over the past two days.

In the meantime, here's the thing I wrote before, a reminder that there will be a whole lot of ups and downs, steps forwards and backwards, just plain good days and bad days, and it's all part of the process.

Dearest Daughters,

One thing about depression/anxiety is that it causes you to fixate on things. My thing, in particular, involves what I feel to be the inevitable, worst-possible, most-out-of-control outcome on all of planet earth: having a panic attack, in a crowded public space, far from my home, while two unpredictable children are under my care.

That's about 78% of what I think about. The other 22% of the time, I think about how stupid that is and how it sucks to be me. And you, because you have me as a mother.

Oh what a self-fullfilling prophecy! And self-perpetuating too.

I've got an equation for how this feels (right now). It's very mathematical:

(anxiety = depression = more anxiety = more depression) x infinity = the rest of my life

If only we could fuel vehicles on the fear that drives me!? (Hold on a sec, I'm calling a venture capital company right now...)

(They didn't go for it.)

So, you can see why a lot of what I write here focuses on the negative, on the parts that need healing, on the worst of the worst.

It's not only that I'm being transparent and vulnerable, it's also that I'd be able to look back on what I've written here and think, "that was some serious shit and I lived to tell of it."

I'd like to be able to laugh, nay, to scoff at my fears. Not in a belittling way, but in an I-conquered-that way--I climbed that mountain or trudged through that valley and whatnot.

So, in full disclosure, I must also, for the record, attest that while I've probably experienced my emotionally worst day EVER in life so far, there have been many things that go right and that are in my control every single day.

Here's a non-exhaustive list:

- I built a sandbox!

- And have done work on the yard, got a patio set, so we can spend endless hours soaking up Vitamin D.

- I have no problem going to familiar places without Xanax, even with one or both of my Dearest Daughters (depending on the day, of course), i.e. the doctor's office, dropping and picking up your daddy from work, dropping you off with Auntie Jonelle or Auntie Dina, stopping at the pharmacy, getting ice cream at the McDonald's dive-thru, going to church (both of them, actually), going to Lola and Lolopop's house.

Our successful trip to CVS. That may or may not be a bag of M&Ms that Danjo is waving.

- I'm able to run errands by myself (sometimes assisted by Xanax, sometimes not).

- I went to see The Avengers.

- I've been shopping (in stores with walls and bright lights and choices) with Lola a couple of times.

- While driving, I sit calmly in line at stoplights (almost) everyday without wishing I had a monster truck to drive over all the waiting cars.

- I'm taking care of myself, asking for what I need (including asking my husband to stay home. BIG DEAL.), trying not to feel overwhelmed by options, pracitioners, insurance hurdles.

- I haven't lost all civility. But, maybe because I'm taking more intentional care of myself (or maybe it's the drugs), I've unabashedly stood-up for myself, said no, been forthwith, set limits on several recent occasions when I might have otherwise spent time being too polite or accomodating to my own detriment.

- My closet and shoes are organized. It might feel obsessive at times and it's TBD whether it's emotionally productive, but there are benefits to controlling the parts of my environment that I can: I can see our bedroom floor!

- On the other hand, I'm letting go of things that I used to feel compelled to control. For example, your daddy's been doing the grocery shopping and he basically gets some version of the right thing. And I deal with it. And it costs less overall anyway, because he's better at sticking to the list.

- I've completed many, many, many puzzles!

Here I am, trying to be gentle and kind and encouraging to myself. Whew, now that that's done, I'll head back to my corner. Feel free to join me, my always-and-forever-even-if-Mommy's-not-all-there, Dearest Daughters

Love,

P.S. And also, I wrote this just in case one of the People sees me in public and thinks: "Isn't she, like, supposed to be crazy and vomitting or something? Hurry! Run! Fast!" Yeah, you don't have to do that. And you can talk to me too, if you want. I'm not that kind of zombie.

The Stay at Home Momdrobe, Part II - Accessories

Dearest Daughters,

I wrote before about the four foundational pieces of my Momdrobe.

For my birthday, my sister, Auntie-Mommy Dee, as we call her, gifted me with The Best Present Ever: Lucy yoga pants.

I got them on Tuesday. I have not removed them from my person. That's how awesome they are.

The other three elements, I'm still working on. You can't rush these things. Don't underestimate the importance of finding just the right sweatshirt. I mean, hood? No hood? Full zip? Half zip? No zip. These are important first world conundrums.

While you go sit and consider those mind-boggling things, I wanted to add some accessories to the mix.

1. The Mom Hair.
Short, out of the way, and I mean business! Sometimes, I wish I had long hair, that I could shape into meticulous tendrils. But, 1) my thick, relatively textured hair don't play that and 2) WHEN. EVER. my hair is long, it ends up in a pony tail or bun. And not one of those cute, fancy pants, with braids and wisps and a romantic softness around the face kind of deals that are popular these days. Nope. We're talking high school athlete pony tail. But, with less sweat. OF COURSE. (Exercise? You can get hurt doing that.)

2. Hello? Hipster Glasses, duh.
Makes up for whatever street cred I lost when I cut my hair. Ugh. I'm getting to an age where I'm not sure what I can pull off anymore. I try to wear things that I won't regret twenty years from now when you girls pull out the ol' iPad12 to look through family photos. Unfortunately, I know glasses are one of those things that will date me. I can hear it now: "MOM! You wore THOSE? You look... you look... like a dork." And I'll reply, "Hey! Your cousins were wearing those glasses in the 2010s too." And you'll roll your eyes and be like: "Weren't they like cool 'tweens and high-schoolers at the time?" Uh, yeah, so what? And you'll walk away shaking your head, with a "my point exactly" look on your face.

3. The Whip.
It was time to enter Mom-car territory. Your daddy would NEVER go for a mini-van, not that I pushed it. So, an SUV took the cake. (It can also haul a LOT of cake). We could have survived in our four-door sedan, but I started to suspect we were getting minor brain damage from the number of times I hit your and my own head putting you in and out of the car. And if I ate one more donut, I wouldn't have been able to squeeze between the two car seats in the back. Now, we can carry more People and more Stuff! Like the good red-blooded Americans we are... driving in a Swedish car, in our Swedish clothes, hauling our Swedish furniture. BUT! BUT! I'm most excited, that now I can go buy REALLY BIG things at the lumber yard and build things with my own two American Pioneer Homesteader Urban Farmer Off the Grid Zombie Apocalypse and Earthquake Proofer hands. I digress. What's most important, is that I can commence donut eating in 4, 3, 2, 1...

This has been another quasi-helpful public service announcement for those investing in a Stay at Home Momdrobe.

Love,

Death By Raccoon and Other Sources of Guilt

Dearest Daughters,

This morning, I went outside to check on the chickens. I really can't say that I was doing this "as usual." Our chicken maintenance schedule is a little lax.

I go out to get eggs every day, but never at a consistent time. When I do, the chickens might get fresh food, or water, sometimes both. Depends on how many children were left inside playing with matches.

When I went out this morning to throw them some kitchen scraps, la di da di da, I reached to open up the human-sized door to their run. And at my ankles OUTSIDE OF THE RUN was my poor little Chicken Katsu. She rushed that door like a Tweener at the Walmarts Justin Bieber perfume display on Black Friday.

But, Gold Rush? My dear sweet Gold Rush?

RIP Maestro Mice-tro

Dearest Daughters,

I was just minding my own business this morning, picking up laundry off the garage floor and putting it into the washing machine. When I felt something warm, furry and twitchy brush against my hand.

I'm sorry to admit, I screamed like a girl, as the poisoned mouse fell to the floor.

Then, I took a deep breath and sent my curious girls and beadle back into the house, while I transported the slightly alive Rodent in Residence to the trash.

Glad to know I wasn't a crazy THERE'S A MOUSE LIVING IN MY PIANO lady after all.

Love,
Mommy

Have I Told You Tuesday: why there are push pops in our freezer

Dearest Daughters,

I only knew Great Grandma Reyes/Acoba/Crazy for what is now, half my life.

She passed away, but remains a force to be reckoned with, bits of her living in our memories, in our hearts and in your Lola. In me and in you too. And in our freezer, but read on; there are not actual parts of her in our freezer.

She was and is this spirit and presence of love and laughter.

Of dandruff on shoulder pads and inches-long, millimeters-thick, pinching finger nails.

Of fashion statements. Of fake pearl barrettes, clipped onto, hanging from necklaces and Hawaiian print outfits.

One dare not mention her name in disrespect. In loving jest about her insanity, perhaps, but with a quick, "we sure love her," to counter any aswang attack she might launch from the heavens. Or your closet.

She's a game of shot-gun roulette. A hinged door, swinging one way or the other, depending on the breeze.

You never knew with her. And that was half the fun. And half the fear.

She watched Kevin and me after school. And some days she indulged our PBS kids show desires, watching Sesame Street and Mr. Roger's Neighborhood with us.

And some days we were stuck watching Press Your Luck and soap operas.

While she made us an after school snack of instant ramen (my choice) or macaroni and cheese (not my choice).

If we were lucky, she'd hand us an expired candy bar that she'd won at the bingo hall. But we were never to play with her bingo "daubers."

Or else the fingernails.

Seriously.

I can't even describe the fingernails. Without cringing in fear and mild disgust.

But, sometimes. They tickled, tucking the musty electric blanket around my shoulders. When I pretended to stay home sick and was supposed to stay in her bed all day.

But, sneaked out to sit with her on the couch. Or at the sticky kitchen table. Thumbing through decades of Reader's Digest, eating freshly fried banana fritters.

Told not to play by the fence outside. Because of the snakes. That go down the back of your shirt. And give you a fever.

"Keb-ben!" she'd yell, my little brother ignoring her warnings.

"Git down prrum der!" The fence, the tree or the flat asphalt roof of her house.

"Pabungúlo." You silly, hard-headed boy.

And she'd throw us in the Oldsmobile. I'd ride shotgun, being the child who didn't climb on the roof.

To Star Market. For a push pop. Or those glazed fruit pies. Banana creme or chocolate filled. Probably on the shelf a year too long.

To a rusty playground.

And I'd sit beside her on a park bench, watching the pabungúlo play. As she smoked a cigarette, reminding me not to tell my mommy, her two-inch long fingernails unconsciously clacking together in subliminal warning.

Melted orange push pop dripping down my chin. She pulled wadded napkins from her purse, saved from the drive-thru bag of KFC chicken littles or wrapped around gas station "AM/PAM" hot dogs.

Wiping my face.

Calling for Kevin, "Psssht! Psssht! Time toe goh home now! Git ober here!"

And he did.

Love,

Lists keep me sane: earthquake edition

Dearest Daughters,

I want to talk to you about something very important: ice cream.

It's very good. And from the devil. And that is why it does not live in our freezer.

Now, I want to talk to you about something even more important: earthquakes.

We've had two this past week. And being under three years old and asleep during each of them, you weren't much fazed by them.

But, I read people's tweets and facebook updates of anxiety and of their frightened kids responses (most of whom had just coincidentally participated in "The Great California Shake Out"). The State of California and I both knew something was coming; that's why we were prepared.

I'm just kidding. That's the thing about earthquakes: they're not as predictable as we'd like them to be. Which is EXACTLY why being prepared is SO important.

Especially when you live on the fault voted "Most Likely in the Bay Area to Experience a 6.7 or Greater Magnitude Earthquake by 2036." Compared to other faults in the Bay Area, our probability (at 31%) is at least 10% higher than any other fault.

(See for yourself.)

But, am I terrified? Should you be terrified? Should we move? Should we spend the next twenty five years at the edge of our seat?

Emergency Preparedness Edition.

Dearest Daughters,

Today, after having a lazy morning since we didn't need to bring Daddy to "Work at The BART Train" (as you say), we ran some errands, the most important of which was to get supplies for our emergency kits.