One Week Each July

Last Saturday I woke at 5 am to take my kids and their dad to the airport for the "Kesler Vacation." Every year, for the last decade my (ex)husband's family - two brothers, a sister and their respective spouses and their parents - have taken a vacation for a week in July.

In 2000 year we took an Alaskan cruise. I was pregnant with Joe, and sick throughout the trip. It was our first time traveling as a group and we were all getting used to each other. The scenery was beautiful. The ride (to me anyway) was a wreck.

Over the years we met-up at some wonderful places - Whitefish, Montana; Kauai, Hawaii; Kiawa Island, S. Carolina; The Delaware Beaches; San Diego, California .... With each vacation the family grew. Children were born, cousins were created, relationships between in-laws were forged. Watching the children grow and play together was beautiful and priceless.

Last year they went to Lake Tahoe. It was the beginning of the end of my marriage and I decided to stay home. This year, they are at Lake Lur in North Carolina. They are telling me that it's beautiful and they are having a wonderful time.

While they've been gone I've been keeping myself busy looking for a new house (my lease ends 8/1); cleaning; and cranking on a ton of work projects. I've been extremely productive and pro-active (including finding a home, but that will be a separate blog post).

When I imagine the kids on Lake Lur, with their cousins and grandparents, aunts and uncles and all the love that is surrounding them I feel great joy. They are very lucky to have such a wonderful family. I'm saddened that I will not be able to follow the growth of my (ex) nieces and nephews who I still love. It is one of the lesser-known, lesser-spoken drawbacks of divorce; a reminder that there are always more people involved and effected than the couple themselves.

So now the week is coming to an end. I retrieve them from the airport the day after tomorrow. I can't wait to see them and hear all their stories and squeeze them and hug them and kiss them all over. :-) I'm very happy that they have this opportunity to spend time with their paternal family; but I'm overjoyed to have them home.

So It Is

So the last two weeks have been challenging. If anything could go wrong, it seemed, it would. I'd like to make a list here - just to get it all out

• Woke up with ants crawling on me

• Was told that my health insurance premium would be twice as much as listed because of "preexisting conditions"

• Had a toilet clogged for four days to the extent that bowls were used for ... you get the picture

• Paid PGE to the wrong account number and had my electricity turned off

• Been told that my income and savings does not make for a strong rental applicant in the area I'd like to live (my son's school zone)

• Bumped a car while parking. The driver was in the car and asked immediately if I had insurance. When I protested there were suddenly 10 people in the street yelling at me. The word "bitch" was thrown around. I gave them my info and "ran"

• Discovered my purple bike was stolen from the backyard

• Was lied to by a close friend.

There's more, but I can't write it here. Trust me. It sucks.

So I'm feeling a bit like a punching bag. Waiting for the next blow. Bam bam bam.

Parenting, which is difficult in the best of circumstances, is extra challenging when the world seems to be crumbling. My children are wonderful. But they are kids going through a major life transition (living in two homes) and expressing their frustration in startling ways that, should probably, be expected. Sometimes they are hurtful. As much as I know they don't mean what they say, it still manages to beat me down and wear me out.

I've been trying to figure out where my bad luck - bad karma - is coming from. What did I do? Who did I hurt? What am I paying for? Have you read the book of Job lately? Sometimes there just isn't any rhyme or reason. It just IS what it IS.

Michael Jackson Eats Iran

Those of you that know me understand that I monitor much of my world through twitter. (See sidebar for my twitter feed.) I communicate with friends (both virtual and IRL folks), promote my blog, youtube channels and business and get virtually all my news through twitter.

This past week I witnessed twitter become "the" go-to source for breaking news and first-hand accounts of the atrocities happening in Iran. My feed pointed to YouTube videos that provided witness to the carnage and violence in the region. There were riots, marches, stone throwing, gassing and shooting -- right there for the world to view. We saw Neda Agha Soltan shot in the heart and die on camera while her father desperately screamed "Neda, don't be afraid. Stay with me Neda." Beyond words; beyond heartbreaking.

And so all was a-twitter with the news coming out of Iran. It seemed like everyone was coloring their avatars green (in a show of solidarity). My "followers" brainstormed about how the world could help. We agonized together about our inability to come up with solutions. We fantasized about how it might end.

But today, when I logged on and found that Farrah Fawcett was the top trending topic I wasn't necessarily surprised - after all, she'd just passed away after a long battle with cancer. She was an American idol. She shared the column with #iranelection and #neda and the news from Iran continued.

But sometime after 1pm tweets started coming in about the (alleged) death of Michael Jackson. The rumors flew: he was dead, he was in a coma, he committed suicide... finally confirmation of death and then the tribute blips started, video tributes, fascination with death coming in threes (Ed McMahon, Farrah and MJ). It didn't stop. And then it rolled into ridiculousness as tweets popped up about Jeff Goldblum's apparent "plunge to death" while filming in New Zealand. Kevin Spacey finally put an end to that one ... but everyone was so busy with celebrities dying that trending topics swallowed up and digested any news about Iran.

I pleaded in my tweets:

two icons. one day. 7/25/09. Now lets get back to figuring out how to help Iran. Please. #iranelection

Iran has completely fallen off the trending topics list. In the coming year what will touch ur life more: MJ or Iran. Come on folks. Please.

RT: @p_sullyRT RT @kensands: Most significant death of the week? U decide: Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Neda Agha Soltan.

Thankfully, I was retweeted, and my feed started bringing thoughts on Iran back. Slowly, tentatively, #iranelection has snuck up to the bottom of Trending Topics. There it sits... like an afterthought.

I remain disillusioned and bitter. How could the world - at least my twitter world - be so incredibly shallow? Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett are dead. It's really sad. My heart goes out to their friends and family. But honestly, their deaths do not make much of a difference in my life or the lives of my children. The revolution happening in Iran, however, could change not just Iran, but also the world ... it may very well continue to be meaningful and relevant to our lives for years.

I leave you with this haunting video by Arian Saleh. Please show your support for his amazing talent by subscribing to his YouTube channel HERE (Warning: graphic images)

Flying Solo

A couple of months ago I flew across the country to visit relatives. I went over a weekend that the kids were scheduled to be with their dad. I've been traveling with babies or children for 8 years. I've forgotten that there can be productivity in the process. JOY even.

I traveled light. I took a carry-on bag and skipped the check-in line. Waiting in the security line was effortless while I read and responded to email on my blackberry - I had only MY shoes to take off and put on again upon inspection. Once on board the flight, I chose the emergency door aisle (it has more leg room but you can't sit there with children), I opened a book and spent the next two hours lazily reading. I slept, did work on my laptop, listened to my ipod and basically completely enjoyed the private quiet time.

Sooooo, you childless reader ask, what is the difference?

Here is a list of the things that I did NOT have to do:
1. pack and check bags
2. consider contents of carry on bags including but not limited to: crayons, coloring books, dolls, and lots and lots of snacks.
3. referee an argument about who gets to sit by the window.
4. feed, read to and otherwise entertain two children.
5. go back and forth to the potty with the toddler
6. apologize to passengers when my children kick the backs of their seat
7. sit uncomfortably while one of them sleeps with her head on my lap
8. wait for baggage
9. install the car seat in the rental
10. -- I think you get it.

For the past 8 years I've dreaded travel. It took flying solo to remember why.

Best. Mothers Day. Gift. EVER.

Joseph, my eight year old son, stopped by today with his dad to read me this poem he wrote. He delivered it as spoken word. Beautiful.


MOMMY

She is magic
she is magic
like the hand
the hand of her soul
she is amazing
she is amazing
like the heart
the heart of her body.

It is HER
who warms me
it is HER
who sings me
yes
it is her.
yes
it is her.
Yes, it is you mom.
It is you. WHY
because ...
because ...
You are the angel in the cloud,
You are the devil in the ground.
You are yourself
and you are you.
Yes.
You are you.

by Joe

Rockin' 40's

Remembering the Garbage

Friday mornings, at around 6am, the garbage truck comes rumbling down the street. Not long after that the sound of crashing tins and breaking glass preclude the arrival of the city recycling service. In the past the noise was little more than a disturbance, lulling me out of sleep at about the time my alarm was going off anyway.

For the last 10 years my husband has been in charge of trash day. Prior to that, I lived in apartments with communal bins. No one had to DO anything-we dumped our bags in and the city took care of it. It's different now. For the first time EVER I am responsible for remembering to bring the garbage to the curb.

My newest residence is in a duplex. If I don't bring the trash and recycling out on Thursday night I awake on Friday morning with a panicked start - hearing the trucks, knowing that unless I jump out of bed and run outside in my pajamas and bare feet I'm doomed to a week of overflowing stinky garbage. It's not a pleasant way to start the day. Furthermore, failing at the chore results in a seven-day stint of unreasonable self-deprecation: cursing myself every time I try to stuff yet another bulging bag into the the bin. The waste becomes a symbol of my failed marriage, struggling career and the parenting snafus I FORGOT TO TAKE CARE OF!! Is it any wonder that my life is a mess? And so it goes until the week passes and another garbage day arrives.

On the other hand, REMEMBERING the garbage on Thursday nights has become an opportunity to pat myself on the back. In this way, the mundane chore has morphed into a celebration of my newly single status. Rolling the bins to the curb, in the dark cold of the night, makes me feel strangely satisfied: I've taken control of the trash and in doing so have reined in my failures and set them out neatly on the curb for someone else to dispose of.

Eventually, I assume, the Thursday night garbage ritual will become more automated - completed without thought or intention. I look forward to that time: when the rubbish is just rotten food, empty wine bottles and coffee grounds. But for now, this weekly accumulation of trash represents the mess I've created. Remembering to dispose of it brings me one step closer to cleaning everything up.