Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

A few pictures from the day I tried to keep fiats from flinging out of my mouth.

I also forgot to lose 20 pounds before they showed up.

A couple of weeks ago a reader emailed suggesting I get in touch with someone from her boyfriend's job. This is how I ended up being forced to talk on the phone with a pr person from Zillow.com while I drove to Indy. Driving and talking on the phone, I don't know how people do it without killing themselves. Honestly. 

Zillow's PR person put me in touch with Good Morning America who wanted to do a story about people who can't talk on the phone and drive without killing themselves.

No, actually they wanted to do a little story about people who sell their homes and choose to go forward leasing instead of buying another home. Obviously Logan and I are fans of this approach, even after dealing with our ridiculous ex-landlord (still no security deposit!) and water in the basement.

It was decided that a crew and reporter would come to our house, the house we moved in to just over four weeks ago. I probably should have panicked more about this chain of events but, my worry skills seem to be failing me. I've started avoiding worrying until just before I'm faced with an event requiring my worry.

I didn't think that much about what I'd wear, I didn't get my hair cut or colored. I pretty much woke up like it was any old Wednesday. Then at 10:45, when two strange men showed up at the house and started putting lights everywhere and pointing cameras in my face while I pretended to intently read the internet.

Then, I started to worry really, really hard.

I worried because I wasn't wearing anything particularly special. I worried because I didn't worry about my hair. I worried because I didn't clean the house. I worried because to sound even remotely intelligent I often have to formulate my thoughts in writing several times.

The thing you may not know about recording a television segment that will be about 2 minutes, if that, long is that you could quite possibly spend a day with a camera following you around on your lame errands, you could spend an hour or two showing the camera your house. Trying to think of something you really, really love about those columns. Or the kitchen.

You'll also repeat yourself a lot and feel increasingly stupid, even though the reporter assures you saying things over and over in a slightly different way will just give them more to edit with.

Things I actually said while showing the crew around the house:

With my left hand posed awkwardly (as requested) on a column and cabinet shelf, "I really like these 1920's details. They're really nice."

Him: "Why don't you pick, three spots that are your favorite in the house. We'll use this room, but let's avoid the dining room and kitchen so we can use those shots later with your family."
Me: "Uh....those are pretty much the three spots...."

In my bedroom, while struggling to come up with three rooms I love in the house, "I like this room because of the natural light that pours in. It makes me spend a lot of time in bed....I mean in bed....working. I'm working.....in my bed. I mean I have a computer....and....."

I did avoid accidentally showing america my vibrator. But the reporter took a peek into Logan's messy beyond reason closet and said, "Oh, don't worry we won't show america his boy scout costume." Like he thought it was some kinky thing we were into. And, when I joked, "Well, he does like to help me across the street, you know what I mean?" Crickets.

Just to get a few extra shots, we go to the bathroom. "And...this is the bathroom. I like it because.....it works."

In the kitchen I suddenly didn't know what I liked about it. "Well it's recently remodeled with new appliances and this....(I fondle the fridge)..is my dream refrigerator." Off camera I joke about how suburban wifey lame I am, with my dreams of refrigerators. We all laugh, but they feel sorry for me.

I said a bunch of other stuff but I don't remember it. I do remember being really happy when Logan came home from work because somehow everything he said sounded intelligent and reasonable. Also the reporter told him he looks like Brett Favre, and suddenly I felt like I could hide my ridiculousness with a shield of Hot Husband.

But still everything that came out of my mouth sounded like this:

"Uh.....DUHHHHH."

Reporter: "Melissa, what advice would you have for other people thinking about getting out of home ownership?"
"Uhm. Well. ........................................................"

The worst part of everything was being given specific things to say, like when I had to suggest I show everyone the upstairs. I'm a terrible actress and even though, if I had a house guest I may give them that awkward house tour you always do, something about saying, "Why don't I show you the upstairs?" Felt like I was saying, 'Tally Ho Fine Fellows!" (Unnatural).

But even worse, for editing purposes I had to say it once at the beginning and then again at the third step of the stairway. Let's relive it:

"Why don't I show you the upstairs?" 1, 2, 3, 4, "Why don't I show you the upstairs?"

We all took a field trip to the grocery store where I could grab a few things, with a camera jammed in my face and a giant furry microphone hanging over my head. Boy I never noticed how interesting buying a few cups of yogurt could be.

Years ago I traveled with Logan to Cape Cod to attend his cousin's wedding. The wedding was videographed, in one scene we watched with Logan's family later, the camera is shooting scenes from the tables. These are supposed to be photo journalistic shots of the action. But, oh, look there's Melissa....and then as the camera passes by I gently lift an (illegal, I was 20) glass of wine to my lips and stare directly into the camera lens like a crazy woman behaving like a deer in headlights.

The threat of a repeat performance was taunting me the entire day. Me picking up broccoli, staring into the camera like a deer in headlights. Me contemplating pasta shapes, while eyeballing the camera, "Would you buy Penne? Or elbows?" My eyes will ask. It took all my strength not to look at the camera.

When the kids and Logan were home we sat down to play a game of Uno. A game where I kicked ass in record time and yelled out "Uno" all sing-song opera girl, kind of not remembering the camera was there. This I'm sure will be played on the segment also noting my competitive spirit when pummeling my children in a simple card game.

But by God I didn't look at the camera.

The piece will air on Saturday or Sunday on Good Morning America. The kindly producer is going to send me a dvd of the piece so I can continue my long tradition of sleeping in until at least 9 am on Saturdays and Sundays. I'll share it when I can. Unless they've decided to scrap the whole topic and show clips of me doing stupid things like singing Uno at the top of my lungs or saying, 'Let me show you the upstairs!" 5 to 10 times in a row.

Then Logan will share it.

It was a fun experience and a lot less stressful than being on a live segment, but still a little terrifying.

The last part of this post is not true, but man, I wish it was.

When I arrived back home after dropping the kids at school this morning, I plopped myself down on the sofa and let out a long sigh of contentment. Gary, the fat one, looked over at me and said, "I know what you mean."

We high fived and he took a nap, the first quiet nap he's had in the last 9 days.

It's 9:30 in the morning and the nice thing is my day is only going to get better than it has been since I woke up at 7am.

Max does this charming thing where he decides he doesn't want to go to school. It starts out as grumbling, "You know, I'm not a big fan of the school thing...." Then, when I tell him, "I know, but everyone has to go to school." He moves along to the more dramatic, "I hate school and whoever invented it should burn in the fiery depths of hell."

When that doesn't clue me into how serious he is, he begins making a terrible sound with his mouth. I would rather listen to a dying goat than my son making that sound with his mouth. And at 7:30 in the morning, that sound makes me want to hurl myself out the second story window.

After telling him he was going to school, sounding like a keening elephant and wearing his pajamas, please, feel free. But buddy, we've had 8 full days of intense togetherness and you are going to school today. I'll take you there naked if I have to.

In the end it took two threatening phone calls from Logan and a "call" to the "principal" to get the dying elephant out of bed and to the car. He was wearing clothes, thankfully, but was making that terrible sound with his mouth for almost the entire drive.

He got out of the car and grumbled his way over to the school.

Maddie is a safety squad kid, this means she helps kids safely cross the street using the power of anxiety. It's like a superpower.

So she watches for cars, makes sure no one is turning left off the busy main road onto the side street and starts making the "Go On!" sign with her hands. Max begins crossing the street, floating across on the power of Madison's anxiety.

And just as he's crossing someone comes barreling down the main road and starts turning left onto the side street, trying to miss the oncoming traffic.

Luckily Maddie's anxiety, stopped the car from running over the kids in the crosswalk. But while the man in the car waited for the kids to get out of the crosswalk he stopped oncoming traffic and wildly gestured and yelled inside his car at the kids in the crosswalk. Because they had the nerve....to cross...the street....to get to school....

And something inside of me broke right then.

I stepped on the gas, chased the man down the street, pulled up right next to him and made ferocious eye contact. Then! I pulled the wheel over and rammed my car into his, knocking him off the road. I pulled him from his car, and very reasonably explained that pedestrians have the right of way, and if you're driving around a school around drop off time, you should really try to be aware and patient about getting around...so you know, you don't kill a child.

Then I stood there and made the noise Max likes to make with his mouth at him, until he cried and begged for mercy and promised to never try to run little kids over in the cross walk ever again. But I kept right on bleating like a goat at his head. Until Max came running over from the school and said, "Oh My God that is the most annoying sound on earth. Please, please stop."

My work there was done.

I am typing this from the toilet.*

After six agonizing weeks stuck in an uncomfortable chair at my dining room table, my laptop has been magically brought to life. I don't really know how to tell you the computer got fixed. It involves a reader, a disc and perhaps a sprinkling of ground up unicorn horn.

I don't really care if there's a giant turd in my computer making it work, it's working and, as long as it doesn't start smelling, I'm really happy.

I'm so happy, I actually decided to write a post this week.

It's Midwinter Break, the break who's sole purpose is to remind me that we don't budget our money or time very well so we never go anywhere for this break. Actually this break is multipurpose, it's also here to remind me that I really need to get the summer filled with some activities. It's Friday now though so if we make it through the weekend Midwinter Break will not have broken me.

Maybe a little, emotionally.

Hug me.

*I'm not typing this from the toilet, but I could be if I wanted. Thank God for the laptop.

Curious Things

We still haven't gotten our security deposit, and our landlord's "Representative" appears to be avoiding responding to our requests to schedule a walk through. This means I can't exactly talk about the debacle that was renting from that guy.

However I will say we did not shovel any snow from around this house, not even on the driveway where there was so much the day we moved in we were forced to live with a terribly icy driveway for a few weeks.

Shockingly! DRY BASEMENT.

I have a feeling we aren't being invited to do a walk-through because our old basement is (once again) full of water.

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In other news I am going to Indianapolis today at some point between when I drop the kids at school and 11:00am. Yes I realize Indy isn't exactly the Bahamas. But in these tough times we all have to live well with less. I'm a simple girl and 5 hours alone in a car with whatever music I want to listen to? Sounds pretty great. Add to that seeing great people? It's all palm trees and swim up bars as far as I'm concerned.

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Did you know that I've been without my laptop for three weeks now?

By the lack of hysterical whining and crying about it you'd think this was less difficult than it is. But no I'm hysterically whining and crying inside. I just know there's nothing to be done about this situation until we regain our financial equilibrium from the move (and, you know, pull our money from the Ex-Landlord's Cold Dead Hands). So I'm choosing not to get hysterical.

But seriously, this is awful. You know in the same way a really stingy paper cut is "awful" or finding out you left your electric juicer in that one bottom cabinet at your old place and now you've got to juice 30 limes for a party all by hand.

OHMYGODYOUGUYS THIS IS WORSE THAN I THOUGHT!!!!!!

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I glimpsed one of our new neighbors today. She looks like Gwyneth Paltrow's mom.

I'm not sure what this means.

Tastefull Tours!

I mentioned a few months ago how my friend, Chef Laura, was let go by a local market via a note attached to her paycheck. After ten years.

You know, there's a special place for employers who fire people like that. Or say, the ones who tell you you're going to take over the business when they retire and then turn around and let you go four weeks before your second baby is born. Ha! Wow, that's still there, is it? I thought I was over that.

Anyway, instead of sitting around and being bitter, Laura decided to use this as the opportunity to go full steam ahead into a business idea she and her friend, also named Laura, had for a while. They both have a passion for good food and decided they'd like to share that passion with Metro Detroiters.

So Tastefull Tours was born.

They organize these tours that take you around to fabulous culinary locations throughout the area, on The Night Move biodiesel bus. These are places you may never have known about or may have been too intimidated to go into on your own. I went on a tour and the Noble Fish sushi guy made me fall in love with him (fed me lots of sushi). We visited a meat guy at the Royal Oak Farmer's Market and I am now forever ruined for regular store-bought bacon. (Here's a picture of me doing something stupid with my stupid face. GAH!)

One of my favorite things is listening to people talk about what they're passionate about. On our tour I wanted to hug one of the Julian Brothers at his bakery when he held up a couple loaves of his bread for a picture, the pride was so evident. I don't have a passion for wine, but I could have listened to the Cloverleaf guy talk about wine for an hour. And I know I like bacon, a lot, but listening to the pig farmer talk about what makes his bacon the best was so touching...I mean even though he kills pigs. (They are well fed and cared for before that!)

Saturday Laura's leading a special Valentine's Day tour, a pizza and wine adventure....

We love pizza!!!  We've traveled all over metro Detroit and found the best.  Join us on a pizza adventure as we sample thick and thin, white and red (in wines too!) traditional and unusual toppings.  We will also stop by a favorite wine shop for a tasting (included in the price of the tour) and suggestions for the perfect beverage to go with your favorite pizza.  Additional wines can be purchased and taken along for additional tastings on the bus! What a great way to celebrate love.

I'm planning on being there and so is Logan. I know you wanted to spend your Valentine's Day with me. For the hugs.

Make sure you check out their other tours. Logan and our friend Tom went on the Beer and BBQ tour and loved it.

I also drool uncontrollably if you ring a bell.

This morning I woke up almost totally on time. The nice thing about the kids having to be to school at 9am is that if you can't do it (and you only have two kids and you work at home) you really are an asshole. So I've arranged my morning routine so that I can perfectly get breakfast made, lunches ready to go and make sure the kids are dressed and brushed and washed up and then to school on time.

The only part of the getting everyone ready in the morning that's missing is me who generally doesn't like to get dressed in the morning. I like to work in our bedroom with the beautiful sun that blows into our bedroom all day, well when there is sun anyway.

So this morning, having to be out the door with the kids for my appointment threw a little kink in my plans and I was feeling a little frantic and, because I was frantic, I didn't worry very much about the "mass" in my breast.

Until I got in the car to go to the appointment and I realized I hadn't spent a lot of the weekend worrying like I planned to. I planned to worry a lot but when I looked up information on Google, usually the perfect Panic Tool, right? No, words like, "Overwhelmingly Benign" kept coming up in reference to smooth edged masses in one's breast.

Thanks a lot Dr. Google, I was trying to freak out over here.

So instead I tried to pack in as much hyperventilating and worry as I could on the drive over and while in the waiting room. A friend suggested I picture the "mass" as a spider egg, ready to explode. That was shockingly effective at raising my heartbeat and getting me in the correct mindset for a such a momentous occasion.

I was called in to get more detailed shots of my left breast and Ouchie Waa-Waa. I don't think Bea, my technician, actually has breasts of her own because she tried to pull mine off with that machine.

Maggie mentioned that when she's working out and it's difficult she may do a "crazed hyena whimper-laugh", well I think that's the noise I made while Bea tried to rip my left breast from my body with a tiny piece of plastic clamped down on a machine. Except my giggling was punctuated with "Wow! Hey....Wow!" because I couldn't believe she wanted to put my boob through this and wanted me to hold my breath while she did it.

Also Bea was wearing a chainmail ensemble. Is that normal?

Seeing the actual part they were looking at on my mammogram ramped the worry a great deal, so that was good.  I wish I could share the mammogram with you....I tried to subtly snap a picture...if I did you would see why I'm not ready to say "good bye" to my breasts. They're really lovely even with a small mass in the upper left quadrant of one.

When I finally got into the ultrasound room I couldn't seem to get over the fact that they were using the ultrasound wand on my boob. And when I looked at the screen, I kept thinking how I should be waiting to see a baby, which is absurd, because a baby in your boob? That's definitely worse than cancer.

And that got me going with the crazed hyena laugh again.

But then I could see the "mass" and I knew it was supposed to be clear...so black...and a couple of times it did not look black it looked white. For a few moments I contemplated what it would mean to go home and call Logan and tell him I had cancer. I thought about how I'd sit the kids down and tell them that cancer isn't that big a deal! It's better than a poke in the eye!

And my heart was racing and I felt the power of the Internet worrying with me and it was a beautiful crescendo of worry!

THANK GOD WE DID THAT! Because then the nurse said, "It looks like you have a small cyst and one of your lymph nodes has migrated from under your arm to your breast and they're very close together."

Bluh???

My Lymph Node Migrated? It didn't like the weather? Wanted to be closer to family? Wanted more loving attention from my husband? Needed a shorter commute?

Apparently your Lymph Node seeking out a nice vacation spot in the South of Your Boob (There must a be a great beach and amazing antiquing!) is not necessarily a problem because all parties agreed this situation is benign.

(Handy note for those of you who haven't spent the last 3 days frantically reading up on cancer: Benign = Annoying But Nothing. Malignant = A God Damn Motherfucker. )

So all is well, I go back once a year from now until I die and every year we all commit to worrying with the same amount of vigor. Deal? Ha ha....ha.......ha....

I always thought I'd feel a lump in my breast if there was one, that I didn't feel this one is probably a good thing in the long run: I'll never miss a mammogram appointment!

But generally it's shaken me a little. It's scary what can be growing in your body that you aren't aware of. I honestly thought if I felt myself up enough I'd know. Now this means I can't grope myself at the grocery store for medical reasons. And it means that you can't catch these things on your own, and I'm a little sad about that.

Luckily, I know how to worry the shit out of things.

A few people tried to explain to me how worrying, or not worrying really doesn't change reality. And all I heard was "Mwah mwahh maa maaah."

You know how dogs bark at passersby, and the mailman and the (really hot) UPS guy? And people struggle to train their dogs not to do that because it is intensely annoying and disruptive to every day life because, guess what? The mailman keeps coming and people keep walking by and the UPS guy is going somewhere on your street almost all the time.

In your dog's tiny brain, he believes his barking kept those people away. Your dog is all,
"Phew! The mailman walked up....and then he walked away when he heard me barking."
"The brown truck? Terrified of my barking!"
"That human, walking down the street, kept right on going because I barked. Hey! When's dinner?"

I realized at some point Sunday I am no different than a dog. Maybe a little different but I appear to have the same neuron paths.

You will never convince me my worrying doesn't control the universe, or at least my itty bitty universe and today just reinforced all of that.

Also if you walk by my house tonight, I'll bark until you keep right on going. And if you're a squirrel in my yard? Man you picked the wrong house buddy.

Daddy Daughter Dance 2009

Last year I was in Portland with Maggie when Logan and Maddie had their dance, a sock hop, and so, sadly, no pictures.

Considering the father I grew up with, these father daughter events have a special meaning. Even if Logan is "so embarrassing..."

I'll give Maddie that he's a really bad dancer, but what he lacks in skill he makes up for with enthusiasm.

2009

2007

2006

My new book, working title: The Power Of The Worry

On Monday I finally went to have my baseline mammogram done. For some reason I kept putting this off, even though the doctor has given me three different referrals for one and even though my mother had breast cancer and even though I believe with almost absolute certainty I will one day have (and survive) breast cancer.

I put it off, even in spite of those really good reasons to not put it off, because I don't like strange people handling my boobs. I also don't like to see my breasts smooshed between two pieces of plastic because....wow.

Finally I went ahead and did it because when my mother found out she had breast cancer she let the lump grow so big that it was actually uncomfortable against her bra strap. (!!!) She was lucky and went through treatment like a champ, had just a lumpectomy and missed a few days of work in the process.

Funny thing about my mother, she found out she had cancer when I had just gone off to college. She knew I was hating school and hated being away so she didn't tell me about it so I wouldn't worry.

Conversely a couple of years ago she had an accident in a parking lot while with my sister....a slow moving bump with another car. She called me and sounded so upset I thought my sister must have been killed in the "accident". But no it was just a small mash up in the parking lot. That's kind of how my mom is, big stress, she rolls right through. Smaller stresses, she totally loses her shit.

Actually, I do that too. Must be all that wacky post traumatic stress syndrome!

Anyway so I went to do the mammogram even though I didn't want some lady to handle my breasts and shove them in a machine because it always infuriated me that my mother didn't care enough about herself to go to the doctor the minute she felt a lump. When I catch myself not taking care of myself in those ways, I start to look in the mirror and see myself morphing into some sort of martyr mother with ill fitting jeans and an overgrown hair cut.

And that is so undeniably sexy.

Now here's where we're going to talk about the power.....of my mind.

If you've been reading this site you know that I have a penchant for worrying about things. I've often reprimanded myself for wasting energy on worry. My friend Jean always said to me, "I figure if something happens, I have time to worry about it then. If I'm worrying about the possibilities and none of those things happen, I just wasted all that energy on nothing."

I tried to subscribe to that newsletter.

The thing I've started to realize through the last year or two is that my worrying actually has the power to prevent things from happening!

Exhibit one: I spent a year worrying about selling our house. I laid awake wondering if it wouldn't sell or if we'd find a place to live. Then! The house sold in record time in this market and we were able to live in the neighborhood I wanted with the school I wanted the kids to go to.

Exhibit two: We got an offer on the house and I was so happy I didn't bother to worry at all about the inspection. Inspection caused the buyers to back out.

Exhibit three: I worried for years Maddie would never touch a food that wasn't fried or sugary. Now she eats steak, salmon and even the other day ate chicken that had a sauce on it.

Exhibit four: Every snow day this year has come after a night I went to sleep not at all concerned about a snow day. Without even letting the thought of a snow day (and the resulting change of all my plans) cross my mind. When I go to bed worried about the possibility of a snow day, no snow day.

Exhibit five: We withhold our last months rent because we know our landlord will hold our security deposit as long as possible and suspect he doesn't even have the money. Logan is worried when the legal threats start rolling in, I am raging like a bull and not worried and tempted to mail a picture of my ass to the man as he attempts to pursue legal action. While I'm not worrying, legal action heats up becoming unbearable. And now our landlord is still holding our security deposit and we're waiting to go to battle on that. Who knows how this would have turned out if only I had worried a lot!

I know you're clearly seeing where I'm going. My brain obviously caused (or prevented) all of these things with worry. Seemingly pointless, sometimes hysterical, illogical worrying.

So this brings us to my mammogram on Monday. Why would I worry about a mammogram, the girls are healthy. They're my favorite thing on my body. My boobs get their fair share of attention and there have been no reports of lumps from either party involved (or the occasional medical professional).

In fact that's part of foreplay for me, "Hey....baby....does everything feel normal?"

Also undeniably sexy, you should try it.

So I didn't worry going into the appointment. I was mildly worried about my boobs transforming into silly putty in the machine. Also I was disappointed the technician had no feedback about my boobs, you'd think they could just give out compliments to make things more comfortable in there.

But I was not worried about them finding anything. At the end of the exam the technician mentioned that on a baseline the radiologist will often call back for more images, since they want good images for comparison. So, she said, "If they call it's probably not because there's a mass. They just want more images [because my God your boobs are glorious] to establish a good baseline set of images."

But I thought to myself, "Ha. They won't call me back, that went so well, my boobs were so good at getting all flat, and I didn't even breathe while they took the pictures." I saw the images on the screen and I just knew they wouldn't need me back. A+ mammogram!

BIG MISTAKE. I should have been worried. I'll never forgive myself.

Yesterday the hospital called and couldn't give me more information, but I needed to come in for an ultrasound and more pictures with the radiologist. I remained mostly calm but a little bit of worry peeked in. I kept myself calm thinking everyone says worrying is a waste of time and then there's that book that says what you give energy to brings it to you....so hey, they probably just want to admire my rack, I said to myself. The technician said sometimes they call you back even if there's no mass. I would have felt a mass. Logan would have felt a mass.

That's what I told myself and while we watched a movie I made Logan examine my breasts for three hours. (Results were inconclusive. He'd like to have another look tonight.)

Today I saw my general physician about an unrelated thing and asked if they'd gotten the report from the mammogram. And he said the fucking word I didn't want to hear, the one that sealed the deal on my hypothesis that me worrying about things makes them not happen.

There's a mass in the upper left quadrant of the left breast and now I've got to ramp up The Worry. I think I'll set it at hysterical. That'll make for a fun weekend right!?

But the good news is on Monday after I get back from the appointment and everything is totally fine? We can all have a good laugh at my ridiculous worrying. 'Oh Melissa', you'll say shaking your head. 'When will you learn worrying is a waste of energy!?'

And I'll laugh with you, but I'll know the truth.

Mighty Junior: You love the little shits. Show them.

Mighty Junior: Valentine's Day Cards For Kids

Not a licensed character in sight...

Happy New Year 2009.2

Our haphazard move resulted in a lot of things being left behind. And though the things we left behind didn't seem that overwhelming at first, it seemed every day last week we'd go back to grab some more and in our absence our things had multiplied.

Logan was certain we were leaving just one male item behind and it was making everything reproduce. I never thought we'd get everything out of there. In fact we didn't, I forgot our perfect ice cube trays in the freezer and getting those back from The Landlord should be about as easy as extracting our full deposit from his cold, bullying hand.

Now our drinks will be a lot less perfect. Oh Great!

But in the end I got nearly everything out and spent 4 hours on our official move-out date washing the floors from the movers and the painters. I decided as I washed the floors on my hands and knees and tried to think happy thoughts, that when I turned in the keys I would feel better. And when I did finally turn in the keys and drove away I felt genuine happiness.

I ignored the looming anxious feeling I had as I drove past all the houses of the neighbors I've come to love. I pretended none of that part of this mattered. Instead I focused on how good it felt to be out of limbo between the two houses and done doing the work on the old place to get it ready to turn back over him.

(You know things like putting back the bare bulbs he had as light fixtures and removing towel bars from walls, because that's the way he wanted it. For what reason, I have no clue...I assume to "teach us a lesson" and let me tell you! Lesson learned: Some people are really spiteful even when it shoots them in their own foot!)

Since Maddie and I drove away from that old house for the last time I have tried to shift my focus off of giving up the perfect neighborhood I had, with block parties and pancake breakfasts and bike parades.

Hold on a minute. A bike parade? YES! A fucking bike parade!

Instead of focusing on all those wonderful things we're leaving behind I decided to focus on the sublime pleasure of being done with dealing with that person who owns the house in that dream neighborhood. and that has made a huge difference in my mood.

It's also helped being able to focus on putting my things out in this house and arranging furniture and knick knacks without the anxiety of the things, the things that were wildly copulating while we weren't there, we still had to get out of the old place and the things we still needed to do.

On Saturday night Maddie and I walked up to Gayle's to get a hot chocolate, then we walked around the block and went into the bookstore to browse together for a while and finally we went to dinner together. The waiter didn't even bring Maddie a kid's menu, she ordered off the adult menu. Of course she ordered $18 blackened salmon but she also ate it all. So there's the double edge on the food sword.

I think there's a reason we had to do this move. I'm not exactly sure what the reason is yet. I suspect it's the universe's way of making me understand that a house doesn't have a life. You bring a lot of your life in it, but the house itself maybe doesn't matter as much as my heart thinks it does.

I think I'm supposed to be learning about handling disappointment and change. I also think I'm supposed to be helping my kids learn a little about adaptability, a life skill I never quite managed to learn. 

I've moved just five times in 35 years, four if you don't count college. There's of course something to be said for strong roots and raising your family in one spot. Kids who have moved a lot have horror stories of how hard it was for them moving from place to place.

But I think a move across town, within the same school enrollment area is a great place to start showing my kids how to adapt to new situations. So far I've taught them that you deny it's happening, pout about it, sob a lot, and then you make the best of it.

It also helps if you take them to get hot chocolate a few times. (Maybe spike your own serving.)