I could write about today’s poo storms, Dr. appointment, blisters on a scrotum, getting peed on by one son and getting hit by the other, our daily dose of YouTube cute animal videos, or our new tradition of after-dinner disco dancing, but instead, I’m thinking about my dad.

My dad is doting on us lately (as in lavishing attention, not the other kind). He is always involved in my life and the lives of my kids, but he seems extra attentive lately. I wrote already about the jam-making sessions he and I had last month. We usually see him (and my mom) at least twice a week. He gets up early makes a special trip to our home one morning a week so he can take Lucas to school; on those mornings, he makes eyes at Asher and drinks a cuppa in my kitchen. He calls me on the phone a lot. He shares the infuriating tribulations of taking care of his elderly mother and aunt. We laugh because what else can we do?

Dad is actively planning our family trip to Hawaii next January. He’s considering his health and recovery needs, but making plans nonetheless. I suspect he needs this trip to look forward to.

This past Friday, Mom and Dad took all of us and my brother, Jonathan, and his girlfriend, Courtney, out to dinner to celebrate Ian’s birthday. We had a lovely dinner at Serritella’s in Carmichael, an Italian restaurant that’s been in business more than 40 years. We laughed, drank wine, played with the kids. Dad held Asher and allowed him to pinch his nose a lot. It was a good time.

Dad made a special plan to take Lucas shopping the next day. My brother went along, too. They went to the sporting goods store and my father bought Lucas a fishing pole and ten of every type of fishing gizmo, gadget, and lure that’s ever been made, it seems to me. Lucas is understandably over the moon. Dad also bought a pole for Ian, so now they are both kitted out for adventures on the American River. Rainbow trout and bluegills beware! I overheard my father saying goodbye to Lucas after the outing and the fabulous fishing gifts were given, "Buying fishin’ poles is what grandpas do. That’s grandpa’s job—to make sure you have a fishin’ pole of your very own."

Maybe I’m sentimental. Maybe I’m just nervous and reading into things. I hope he’s around a long, long time.

I’m feeling sleepy and like the best thing to do right now is to go back to bed. I have a lot of work on my plate this week, which is a good thing. But even so, I don’t wanna do it yet.

So, here’s a little book meme for fun.

Directions:

* Grab the nearest book.
* Open the book to page 56.
* Find the fifth sentence.
* Post the text of the next two to five sentences in your journal along with these instructions.
* Don’t dig for your favorite book, the cool book, or the intellectual one: pick the CLOSEST.

"She could have any man she wanted in Verity, married or not. There are actually some women who won’t allow their husbands to come down to the Hole-in-One on Sunday mornings, as if Janey would look at them twice. She figures love and heartbreak are best suited for teenagers; she’s got enough on her hands with raising Shannon, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about the way things used to be."

—Alice Hoffman, Turtle Moon

I belong to an editing network that does tons of online marketing and sends me job ops. I pay a commission to the network if I land a job from a network client. The commission isn’t small. Most of the people contacting the network for bids disappear; they often do not realize that buying professional-level services costs ACTUAL money, not that paper stuff from their kids’ board game. It can take a frustrating amount of time to bid on a job, communicate back and forth with a potential client, only to have him or her eventually say, "Well, I didn’t know editing my 85,000-word masterpiece novel would cost more than $50." Sometimes the client accepts another network editor’s bid over mine. It’s OK, mostly. A month ago, my bid was rejected by a novelist who wanted someone with experience editing African American fiction (I think my friend C.A. probably got the job). The novelist didn’t think I could hack the Ghanaian place names, to which I wanted to say, "Madame, if I can keep track of 5,000 specific Pokémon terms from a 90,000-word manuscript in two weeks’ time, I can handle a book set in Ghana." I didn’t say that, however.

All this is prelude to my report that I have finally landed a network client: a novelist. It’s my first network job in two years, but to be fair, I took more than a year’s leave of absence after Asher was born. I’m kind of a nervous Nellie when it comes to contracting with individuals. They can be really freaky. I live in fear that someone will blame me for their book’s lack of financial success, so I have very clear disclaimers and indemnity written into my contract.

So far, this project looks like a good thing. My client didn’t balk at my rate. He liked my sample edit of a few pages of his book. He happily signed my contract and sent me 50% of my fee up-front. Now if I can please him stylistically with my edits and meet my deadline, we’ll be golden. I hope this goes well. I begin this project as soon as my client’s check clears.

Wish me luck.

Dear  ,

Happy Birthday! I’m so glad we’ve become friends. Thanks for hanging with me last spring while you were in Sacramento. I’m amazed by your bravery—you let go of a whole host of Knowns and stepped boldly into the Unknown to grab your piece of life. It’s inspiring. I hope your new hometown brings you closer your truest self and to having your deepest needs fulfilled. Have a joyful, beautiful birthday!

xoxoxo

Thirty-seven years ago today, the brightest star child traveled down the rainbow bridge from heaven to grace this planet with his joy, enthusiasm, love, and brilliance. He is the most sensitive, dynamic man I know. He is the most dutiful, patient, passionate, and outrageous man I know. He fills my life with surprises, adventure, kindness, and constant, ever-flowing blessings.

Dearest love, you are my perfect soulmate, my forever friend, my joy, and my succor. Living with you is milk and honey, wine and roses, chili and cha-chas. I thank you for every day you’ve spent with me, every kiss and every glance you’ve given me. Our dance through life together is marvelous. I wish you the happiest of birthdays, a day of joys and delights. I wish these things for you always. I love you. There aren’t enough words to say it properly.

Happy birthday!

Dad’s surgery has been scheduled for October 28. He has to have an MRI before that, to find out how much of his aorta needs replacing.

Mom said, "And I don’t want anyone thinking they should come to the hospital and waste all that time. There’s no point."
I am not sure, but this could be Mom code for "I don’t want anyone to see me lose my shit."
I said, "Well, you’ll probably have a hard time stopping me."
"Whatever for?"
"To keep you company, for one thing," I replied.

So, there is a date. It is real. Mom said they were told to expect him to stay five to seven days in the hospital after the surgery. And then he’s gonna feel like hell for three to six weeks afterward. Others report longer.

I’m curious. Has anyone considered changing the amount of money they are investing in retirement or other savings accounts with a stock/money market component? Someone I know suggested perhaps we should place our monthly savings in a regular ol’ bank savings account for the time being. I’m not talking about liquidating accounts or pulling already-invested money out.

IMG_8407
Originally uploaded by SarabellaE

Photos of our recent trek up the hill to Strawberry are on my flickr.

xoxox, with tongue

I’ve been thinking about cruelty, which is treacherous ground for me because I can get stuck in dark mental loops sometimes. The following incident falls into the "boys will be boys" category, or perhaps the "big siblings pick on small siblings" category.

Sunday night, after we returned from Strawberry, they boys took a shower together, as they often do. Lucas needs occasional reminders of why he’s in the shower, but can basically do all the jobs (washing hair and body) himself. Asher requires washing assistance provided by an adult, and mostly just plays in the water. Usually they have a wonderful time together and we hear shrieks of joy and giggles wafting through the house at this time of the evening. Since they have very different days and are often separated, having this bath/shower time to play together is good for them.

I recently bought Lucas a new type of body wash: Method body wash for kids. It comes in a cute bottle and you only have to squeeze it a little for the soap to squirt out the bottom valve. I’ve read that this brand contains no harmful chemicals and is cruelty-free.

Well it wasn’t cruelty-free on Sunday night.

Lucas squirted the body wash soap directly into Asher’s face. Asher cried and cried with soap bubbles all over his face, in his eyes and mouth. At first Ian told Lucas, "help him!", by which he meant, help him rinse the soap off gently. I think Lucas splashed a bunch of water directly in Asher’s face then. Nothing gentle about it. This didn’t help and made Asher feel madder and more freaked out. Meanwhile, Ian jumped in the shower to help get the soap off, but of course, the process of rinsing it off was also traumatic—Asher doesn’t care for water in his face. Even after Asher was cleaned up, his eyes were red and irritated and he was all amped up.

We came down on Lucas like a ton of bricks. Lots of shouting. No bedtime stories.

Neither Ian nor I could believe he could be so careless, so thoughtless, as to do this to his baby brother. I think Lucas simply didn’t think it through, and acted solely on mischievous impulse. There are a lot of mischievous impulses coursing through him these days.

Of course, Lucas repented when he saw how angry we were. Many tears were shed. Much pleading and begging ensued. "Are you going to put me out on the front lawn and make me find other parents?"

I almost, almost didn’t snuggle him. Withholding my loving attention is not something I do lightly; it is not a punishment I approve of because I generally believe parents may disapprove of a child’s behavior, but must never, never disapprove of the child. We had a long, long talk about why what he did to Asher was wrong. We told Lucas that we needed to trust that he would be kind to his brother, to trust that he wouldn’t hurt Asher. We laid it on pretty thick. 

"I promise, Mommy. I’ll never, never, ever be mean to Asher again. I promise. You can trust me. I’ll always be nice to him. I’ll never do it again."

I told Lucas that there was one thing that would never be tolerated in our home: cruelty. Cruelty to people, other family members, to animals, to parents. And especially not to Asher. Cruelty has no place here.

I made sure he knew what the word meant: "being mean on purpose to hurt someone."

Golf