Wow! Two weekend trips in a row! I haven’t written about the last one yet, which was super-fun, but I will soon.

Tonight we head up the hill to Strawberry, just west of the Tahoe Summit. We’ve been invited by Grandpa Glen’s girlfriend, Miriam, to stay with them at her cabin. It’s lovely and nicely situated near a small river and within short driving distance of those sapphire Alpine lakes. I’m really looking forward to hearing the wind whistling through the pines.

Ian’s planning to barbecue some of his extra-fancy steaks. We have loads of organic produce from our CSA (Farm Fresh To You) to take with us, including gorgeous cherries, grapes, heirloom tomatoes, and more zucchini than a CRV full of Wilsons could possibly eat!

I have an empty CF card and I’m not afraid to use it.

P.S. Today, Asher is two and a half, or in the proud parent vernacular, 30 months old!

Earlier today I was grumpy because my pharmacy called me to say my prescription is too old and they contacted my Asthma doctor and he won’t renew it. This happens once a year. I take a drug called ADVAIR—one that is very effective and very much a brand name. Which means it’s pricey. Every year my scrip gets bounced and every year I drag my annoyed self in to see my doctor.

See, there was a time in my life—from 9 years of age to … say 26—when my asthma was what doctors politely call “unmanaged” or “uncontrolled.” I took medications for it daily, constantly, and still had terrible symptoms all the time. Colds hit me hard and stayed with me for three weeks or so, when they migrated south and morphed into bronchitis—about five times per year. I used to take a drug called Theophylline, also known as dimethylxanthine, which frankly doesn’t work very well and kills some number of people a year. It made me jittery as a mouse all the time, and I had that unfortunate young person’s habit of forgetting to take it, getting into a crisis and then taking too much because maybe then I’ll feel better sooner. Yeah. No dice. I pounded my “rescue inhaler” constantly—20 times a day, just to function in the way sort of kind of approaching how I wanted to function in the world.

In my 20s, I was called by Kaiser to participate in a study of people who suffered from mild asthma. I answered a few questions over the phone and the caller told me, “Well, I don’t think you qualify for this study because your asthma is not mild.” She referred me to a Kaiser specialist and my life changed. That doctor, a woman with a striking first name: Stamatiki, informed me that asthma therapy had changed while I was busy singing in high school musicals and dating boys and going to college. She put me on different, much better meds. I even did allergy shots for a while. Let’s see, this was during my mortuary days.

ADVAIR came into my life about eight years ago. I’m a whole new me now. I take my maintenance dose, or less sometimes, and I can do all kinds of things that I couldn’t do when I was a child! It’s awesome. ADVAIR works so great,  I only rarely take my rescue inhaler anymore. In fact, I’m now kind of bad about forgetting to have one with me. (That is telling.)

With my PPO health insurance, however, ADVAIR is also really pricey. About $140 per refill for a month’s supply.

So, back to why I was grumpy. I didn’t want to go to the doctor. I just wanted my prescription refilled. I didn’t want to take the time out of my day to tell him all is well, as long as I have my dang meds! And then he listens to my lungs and I watch him write the scrip by hand. It’s kind of a waste of our time, really.

But today was great. I called the office. They got me in right away. Dr. Marino and I had our customary yearly chat. He read in his chart how I thought ADVAIR was expensive, something I must have complained about in the past. He handed me a month’s worth of samples and a coupon for $50 off a refill of ADVAIR and a $20 off a refill of my rescue inhaler.

So, although I was bitchy about going in, I’m not anymore. He basically gave me $210. It took a total of 40 minutes out of my day and I didn’t pay a copay.

Thanks, Marino. See ya next year.

Glowing
Originally uploaded by SarabellaE

We like to take evening walks after dinner. Sometimes the light is crazy-brilliant, slanting into our eyes and gilding everything it touches. I’ve uploaded some photos of a recent evening walk with a golden superhero on my Flickr.

I fear my inevitable evolution into a Soccer Mom has begun.

Today I bought Lucas his first pair of cleats, shin guards, and soccer socks. Big 5 had a deal on the shoes, shin guards, and a ball for $29.95, which was timely, as tonight Lucas starts a four-day soccer camp. From 5 p.m. to 8 p.m. he’ll be learning soccer skills. Ian will be taking him to camp tonight, and will do that meet-the-coach thing.

I am hoping that this will be the first soccer experience for other kids, too, as it is Lucas’s first. I figured this short camp might be the perfect introduction to the sport—give him a taste of it without the long commitment and competition of games. If he takes to it and loves it, well … then I guess we’ll become a soccer family.

He is a sporty boy, and loves all manner of games. But he basically plays a kind of Lucas Ball—no matter the size or shape of the ball—wherein he makes up all the rules to his benefit, based on the little he knows of each sport. I think it’s important for him that he learn the all-pervasive boy vernacular. I feel it’s our job to give him enriching experiences of all types, and sports is one of them.

Inside I am silently screaming NOOOOOOOOOOO! But I know there are all kinds of good things to be gained from participating in organized sports. I just have no first-hand experience of them. Hopefully, Lucas will get something fantastic out of it.

For the first time in a long time, I find myself stuck with nothing to do (except housework). I’m sure it’s a momentary problem. I’m waiting on a small handful of colleagues and clients to do their things and send them to me, so I can then do my things.

Lucas is away at a birthday party this afternoon.

Asher is asleep.

Damn! I should be reading! But first I’ll say this:

I’M SO EXCITED TO GO OUT OF TOWN TO SAN FRANCISCO AND SEE GORGEOUS FRIENDS AND STAY WITH BLUE AND HEADRA AND GO TO THE CALIFORNIA ACADEMY OF SCIENCES AND SEE THE KING TUT EXHIBIT AND VISIT THE OAKLAND ZOO AND SEE ELEPHANTS AND HAVE FUN AND EAT AT NEW RESTAURANTS AND GET THE HECK OUT OF MY HOUSE!

OK. Thanks. That felt awesome. This is our first weekend out of town since … February, I think. Mama needs a change of scenery!

Seriously, I’m thrilled to be going on this little adventure finally! We have been promising Lucas for years that someday we would go to SF and see dinosaur bones and visit a zoo that has elephants (The Sacramento Zoo doesn’t). We were surprised to learn that the SF Zoo doesn’t have elephants either, but no worries—because we can swing by the Oakland Zoo to see them on Sunday.

Asher keeps asking me, "See elephants now? See animals?" And I keep having to say, "Not yet. We’ll see them in a couple of days. Soon!"

Blue and   are putting us up (THANK YOU), which is wonderful because we don’t get to see them nearly often enough and they are making this weekend affordable by doing so. We get to see   and hopefully other darlings we love. We get to escape the valley heat, which actually isn’t bad at all today.

Ian and I are both looking forward to seeing the King Tut exhibit because we both went to San Francisco to see it with our families when we were children. If Lucas likes it even half so much as I did, I will be very pleased. And if by some miracle the magic of Ancient Egypt should capture his imagination away from Star Wars (which he is still too young to see but obsesses about anyway) I will be over the moon! … Ahem. So to speak.

And here are a few words to the fearmongering harpy slave-drivers screeching in my mind about the perils of taking the weekend off work:
"Screw you, girls! I deserve this trip!"

Nursing Johnny Depp by Molly Remer

Speaking of Voice, which I did a day or so ago, my toddler has found his! The place in Asher’s brain that controls music is now ON and he wanders around singing to himself constantly. His repertoire is small, and his lyrics are liberally splashed with baby talk and made-up words. What is interesting is that he intuitively knows that some songs have the same tunes, and he slips from one to another and back again without a hiccup.

For example, "Where Is Thumbkin" and "Frère Jacques" are the same tune.

And the first part of the classic English "Alphabet Song" is the same tune as "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," which is the same as a French song called "Ah! Vous dirai-je, Maman" (but neither of us knows that one). I’m not writing anything new here.

Anyway, Asher’s constant singing was enough to get on my mother’s nerves on Sunday when she babysat the kids all day while we went rafting. And I admit it’s a lot to listen to, after awhile. My eyes cross after the fiftieth rendition of "A, B, C, D …."

But I’m inwardly reveling in it because for so long he wouldn’t let me sing at all ("No Mama! NO SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNG!"). Last night, when I was putting him to bed, I whispered to him in the dark, "Do you want Mommy to sing to you "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star"?

And he said yes.

I’m a Gemini, and They say that makes me easily vacillate between two opposing extremes. When They’re feeling generous, They say that Geminis can embrace the two sides to every story, can be of two minds about issues. Whatever. I doubt my wishy-washy nature has much at all to do with the stars.

I blame my fantastically large and flexible brain.

How would I describe this little blog I write?

Well, I suppose I’m a little bit country and I’m a little bit rock ‘n’ roll. I’m a little bit sci-fi geek and a little bit Waldorf mom. I’m a little bit Dooce  and a little bit Soule Mama, although I’m not as accomplished or as popular as either of them. And I admire them both tremendously, for very different reasons.

Dooce is crass, bold, and outrageously honest. She is unapologetically writing about her world, without qualms, without worrying about who’s getting pissed off. She writes about depression and poo, hate mail and her frustrations, her dogs and her kids, her successes and failures as a person in the world, an employee, and a parent—all with the broad stroke of a brush that’s glopped with her own favorite color—and too bad if you don’t like it. She cusses like a sailor and lives bravely, as an ex-Mormon in Utah whose job is to write to the Internet. She is a little too focused on style and stuff for my taste, because frankly I don’t give a damn who designed what light fixture or wallpaper she likes, but when she writes about motherhood—personhood—she is raw and regal. She has made me laugh uproariously and cry—both in the same post.

Soule Mama is a creative, soulful mother of four. She lives in Maine and writes books about making things from scratch and doing it with children working beside her. She preserves foods, sews, knits, and creates things constantly. Like Dooce, Soule Mama is a great photographer, with a completely different style. Her blog about family life and mothering is idyllic; she writes about the good stuff because that’s what she wants to remember, and that’s what she wants to focus her energy on. She doesn’t complain online or pull out her hair (and with four children, I imagine even she wants to do so once in a while). I appreciate the way she has embraced living simply, and the way she seems to love every day of mothering. She is inspiring and I love her for embodying a kind of patience and grace that I long to possess.  

I think it’s interesting that these two blogs are the two I read faithfully. And I admire how they’re both living/writing.

So, no. I’m not either of these women. I am myself—struggling, rusty, insecure, jubilant, loyal, full of both yearning and love. I have my own voice, although if you asked me to describe it, I’d be hard-pressed to do so. I am both bold and staid. I love and sometimes despair at what I am doing with my life.

Sometimes I want to make my living writing to the Internet, too. I just don’t know how to go about it. Nor do I know if anyone beyond my lovely circle of friends would care to read what I have to say.
 

OK. So I admit I was scared. I am scared of a lot of things, so in those instances I do my best to jump in head-first; I am what you might call a studious thrill-seeker! I was probably a little quiet during my second rafting trip down the south fork of the American River yesterday. I was content to enjoy the banter going on around me. I laughed at jokes and enjoyed the beautiful California foothills scenery. The wind was hot. The sun, hotter. The river was deliciously cold.

About halfway through the trip, a rapid bounced me out of the raft. I remembered my training: nose and toes up! “Swimmer’s position,” as it is known, is meant to keep your head up and your feet from entangling in underwater hazards, which can push your face underwater. (Just because your body becomes entangled and you stop moving downstream, doesn’t mean the river stops rushing on. This is how it’s possible to drown in a shallow river.) Anyway, I went over some rocks, scraped my leg a little, and experienced first-hand how the river sucks you down underwater and pummels you from above. But, I popped out of that gripping current after a short moment and got back into the raft with help from my friends. I’m glad I didn’t drop my paddle or lose my hat!

Justin went over at the same time, and soon he was pulled into another raft full of companions, then moved back to his place behind me in our raft. They were some exciting minutes, but I kept my cool and didn’t get scared. When it was all over, I felt wonderfully alive. Afterward, I paid better attention to how my weight was distributed, keeping it more over my feet and thus prepared to fall into the raft, rather than out if it came to it. (It sounds dumb when I write it, but that is the idea—to stay in the raft.)

I think it’s fascinating that all the various river currents and eddies have names and a whole science of hydraulics behind them, just as the different types of ocean tides and waves do. But I can’t write about any of that with expertise.

After the Sara Overboard incident, I was able to relax a little. The harder rapids appear near the end of the run, so that’s nice. We got to practice on the easy ones first. There is so much to pay attention to all at once. I watched a raft ahead of us almost lose a man who was sitting in the exact position that our guide, Dock, just finished saying was the risky spot. That’s where nonosays  was sitting and she was warned. Seeing that guy nearly fall off minutes before we entered the rapid was trippy. It gave me new respect for Dock, and NoNo managed to stay in the boat, although the river tried to do the same to her.

I saw other rafts with smallish kids on them. The kids were riding, and not paddling, I think. But, darn, they were little! I don’t think I’d take my boys out there anytime soon. It’s a fantastic, empowering experience. And Lucas and Asher can have it when they’re physically up to the challenge and no sooner.

I’m so grateful for the opportunity to be out in the world surrounded by beauty and beautiful people. My thanks to Andrew and jaleenafied  for making this happen for newbies like me, and to Dock and Daisy (and Andrew) for being great guides. I enjoyed my shipmates immensely. It’s so good to be alive!

In my work I am finding myself saying yes a lot lately. This is a good thing on many levels: It’s good for my pocketbook, good for my reputation, good for my clients, good experience, good opportunities to learn new things and grow my skills, and theoretically it’s good for my own sense of satisfaction and confidence levels. Right?

So how come I privately feel so inadequate? I’m saying yes and nervously fretting about whether I’ll actually be able to pull it off. I know, sticking my neck out is essential for growth to occur. As a freelancer who works alone, I’m not sure if I have more or fewer opportunities to impress people and learn new skills. Perhaps more, if I continue to say yes. It’s not exactly like I have a prescribed job description. I take on the jobs I want (or in lean times, whatever I can get). Every job is different. Every client is different and has different expectations of me. This is a source of steady, low-grade anxiety for me, and it means I have to learn in a vacuum by myself, but it’s also an opportunity. AFOFG.

There are times when I CRAVE security, crave the feeling of knowing exactly what I’m doing (which partly explains why I continue to edit strategy guides). I suppose this insecurity is just a part of being a self-employed business owner. There are no clear maps to follow. So I suppose there are no real limits.

P.S. I hate it when my angst aligns with my zodiac sign.