My morning began at 6:15 a.m. with a series of NPR stories about 9/11 memorials and remembering those who died horribly seven years ago. By 6:25 a.m., I was in tears, clutching my boys and wishing my husband were home with us. Not my favorite way to start the day. Honestly, I tried hard not to replay that day in my mind. Little flashes of memory arose, despite my efforts at avoidance. Sometimes this world is so fucked up. 

It’s hard, but things are going pretty well even though Ian’s not here. The mundane, rhythmical household stuff is getting done, for the most part. Yesterday evening I even cooked a nice meal of pasta with green beans, walnuts, and feta cheese. I got everyone up this morning, fed well, dressed, and off to carpool and the babysitters’. Then I worked and did more taxes stuff. Picked Lucas up from Ryan’s house at 4 and drove the kids over to see RoRo and Nana. A whole parade of people arrived while we were there: Julie, Ro’s PT, us, Bob, Mike, and finally Dad. 

(RoRo is grumpy and stubborn. We learned from my aunt that Ro had eaten nothing but candy since Dad brought her breakfast. We tried to cheer her up, and cheered for her while she did her PT with her therapist. He’s making her get up out of her chair, having her practice the movements necessary to do so unaided. Her balance stinks and she seems to have forgotten the body mechanics she has used all her life to move around. She doesn’t want to try, to work for it. She won’t do anything for herself. If she’s not very careful, she’ll lose her ability to walk altogether.)

I took Lucas and Asher out to Rubios for dinner. I just couldn’t face cooking and cleaning everything tonight. All Asher wants to eat is rice. All Lucas wants to eat are bean and cheese burritos and churros. Fine. Whatever. "No, we can’t have ice cream, too. But nice try."

They’re both asleep as of 8:15, which is good. I’m really glad Asher isn’t pulling one of his stay-up-late stunts. We’re out of vodka, damn it.

Tomorrow will be another busy morning, with Dad coming to take Lucas to school and me and Asher braving the pediatrician’s office and another wicked round of shots. (Must remember to dose him with ibuprofen before we leave.) Later, though, we’ll be having dinner with my parents, who are well aware that I’ll probably be totally pooped and out of my gourd by then. It’s great that they’re so involved and helpful in my life. Some days I don’t know what I’d do without them.

Ian, come home. I miss you.

Today is day 2 of trying to deal with 2007 taxes. (We filed an extension and have until October 15 to file.) Luckily, I don’t have to do all the nitty-gritty shit myself. I have Brilliant CPA, who does all that for me. I don’t have to figure out IRS instructions, forms, jargon. I just have to make sure Brilliant CPA gets all the info she needs to do her magic.

I thought I was done yesterday. But then I realized, Wait! Wasn’t 2007 that fucked-up year when I got so deathly sick? Wasn’t that the year we (cheerfully) bled money to pay for medical treatments, drugs, hospitalizations that ultimately made it all better? Wasn’t that the year of well-baby checkups galore and expensive immunizations? YEP. That was 2007.

So, now I’m trying to figure out if we paid enough out of pocket to be able to deduct some of it. Brilliant CPA says,
"You can itemize medical deductions if the expenses total in excess of 7% of your Adjusted Gross Income.  For example, if your AGI is $XX,000, if your medical expenses exceed $Y,Y00, then you can deduct the amount over $Y,Y00. Medical expenses include your co-pays, dental, vision, prescription drugs, medical insurance, etc."

(Brilliant CPA speaks in green, the color of money.)

Where are all those receipts? Those bills? Well, it looks like I have all the bills. But probably not all the drug receipts and stuff like that. We’ve never before spent this kind of dough out of pocket, so I don’t usually keep that little stuff.

Damn. Maybe someday I’ll have all this shit figured out. Sometimes being a grown-up is hard.

Ian is driving south on I-5 about now, heading for a two-day conference on autism therapy in Santa Barbara that begins tomorrow morning. I’m feeling a little sorry for myself that he’s not going to be around to take care of us. I’ll miss him terribly while he’s gone because he’s my best friend in the universe and I want him by my side all the time. Even though he snores.

Drive safely, Bascha. And come home in one piece. Our sons and I will miss you. We’ll keep a candle burning for you.

For  

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2008/09/photogalleries/culture-photos-week1/photo3.html

 
Halfway haircut, sucking on spray bottle. Garden zucchini.
    
Speed Racer.                               So thirsty.
 
New hat from Australia.

Playing pretend video games.

"Brothers Together, Friends Forever!"

The superhero.

The engineer.

Cute, but gross.
   
Borrowed headband.

The balancing grapes game.

He takes up half the bed now.

All these adorable Robeez shoes are now too small for Asher. They are all in decent shape—worn but wearable—so we’ll be finding new feet for them. I’m a little sad to see them go.

[P.S. If anybody knows how to size photos in LJ, please let me know. I remember at some point I elected "medium" size uploads, but I want "large" now. I’ve tried many times to find those settings again to no avail. Please help.]

In the dark this morning, I slowly woke and realized I was itching in several spots. Then I heard the buzz of my nighttime visitor: a mosquito. I got up to inspect my wounds. Sure enough, five bites. It was 4:50 a.m. I figured I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep for fear of being nibbled more, so I got up and tackled some Pokémon corrections on my borrowed Mac.

Early mornings are usually not my cup of sweet, beige coffee. Strangely, getting up so early today felt like just the right thing to do. I worked for an hour and a half, in the pre-dawn dark before any of my family stirred. When they woke up, I was able to greet them cheerfully, instead of in my usual half-asleep, crabby way. Our morning routine rolled without a hitch. We even had enough time to read Horton Hears a Who! together. Lucas was out the door with Grandma in plenty of time to make it to school. Ian drove away with Asher, heading for the babysitters’ house, just moments after 8 a.m. And then, I was on my own until noon! I managed to drive to my client’s office this morning, deliver the deliverables, schmooze, and negotiate for a potential new type of freelance work. Might be a once-in-a-while kind of thing, could become regular. Fortunately, the client seems to get where I’m coming from.

It’s 3-ish now. I nearly fell asleep when putting Asher down for his nap, but managed to drag myself back to consciousness to work some more. I feel good, if a little tired. I wonder if I should try to adjust my circadian rhythms enough to make early mornings a good thing? Early to bed tonight, I think.

I’m only now getting around to recording this moment from a few weeks ago.

Lucas: "Dad, if Asher and Grandma RoRo had a race, who do you think would win?"
Ian (laughing): "I don’t know. Who do you think would win?"
Lucas: "Definitely Asher."

Dear Lucas,

Today was your first day of school, the first day of first grade. It was an exciting day for all of us. You woke up and got dressed right away! You ate your breakfast without complaint! You were ready to head out the door before any of the rest of us! It was fantastic!

You posed for pictures without objecting. Your beautiful face shone with a quiet pride. You said things like, "Mom, aren’t you glad I passed kindergarten?" As if we ever had the slightest doubt about your abilities, your character, or your brilliance.

You jumped into the car without dilly-dallying. You marched down the steep hill to school, holding my hand the whole way. I loved it. You were nervous. We could tell. But you bravely strode on. You faced dozens of all-new experiences today with grace and dignity and courage. Your father and I are so, so proud of you.

You found your desk and cubby. You greeted old friends and new ones. You shook your new teacher’s hand as she welcomed you to your classroom. You were the last child in line to sit with your classmates at the assembly, sitting right on the edge of the row nearest us. We watched you while the administrator spoke, introduced the faculty, and welcomed all the students back to school. You patiently waited in your chair without much figeting—just a little nose picking.

We photographed you during the ceremony, sitting right beside your teacher and your buddies. You received a flower from a second grader, as is traditional. You then boldly took the hand of a high school senior you had never met before and allowed her to tour you around the school, showing you the classrooms, the play yards, and probably telling you that you are going to be happy here. I wondered if you would someday gently take the hand of a nervous first grader and tour him or her around the school, saying "Welcome. This is a good school. You’ll be fine here."

I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel sad to see my baby all grown up and ready for first grade. I did feel some overwhelming feelings, though. The strongest was pride in you, for you are a magnificent boy. The other feelings washing over me this morning were boundless joy to see you in a school where you will be loved, nurtured, respected for the person you are; fervent hope that you will grow and learn and love your school experiences and your friends; and profound gratitude that you are my son and have graced my life with your presence and love these last seven years.

Congratulations, my son. And welcome to first grade!

Love always,

Mama