Happy 39th!

Happy anniversary to my parents, who have been married 39 years. The longer I am married, the more I realize how impressive my parents' marriage is and how much they have put into their life together.

I love you both very much!

It is Nice

When those you love very much, whom you would do just about anything for, and whom you know would do the same for you, affirm their love for you.

There is something so powerful about old friendships, the ones where you have ridiculously funny memories of growing up together, of fucking up together, of grieving together and for each other, and of rejoicing in each other's meaningful life moments.

I love you too, Mealby. But then, I was forced to: Take a look at my choices.

P.s. I love you too, Jason B., even though you will probably call me tomorrow with the cackle laugh and make fun of me for my sappiness.

Belated Birthday Post

I often feel like reflecting on another year when my birthday comes around, but for some reason, I didn't feel like it yesterday. Once again, I feel like my birthday is just a number, and I am stuck at 27 or so, and I know that the number of years mean nothing. I love my 30's, though - I feel like I know more about the things I want out of life, and I know who the important people are, and I know to let the other things and people slide, because life is way too short to waste time on the meaningless, and on regrets. My birthday, though, has always been tinged with regret, because I hurt people around me on my birthday one year, and every year, I wake up and regret that I caused pain, and the first thing I think of is how this birthday will inevitably be better than that birthday. And every year, it never fails, no matter how lackluster it is, it is better than the terrible birthday. Life has a funny way of giving you things to remember as horrible, and in that way gives you the gift of context; You can always compare an event to the event by which all other events are measured and be reminded that things are generally good, and you should appreciate it for what it is. See people? I can be a glass half full person. i can!

This year was no different. Todd took me out on Friday for my "real" birthday celebration, which meant that we were able to eat dinner together in a decent restaurant without dealing with whiners and spills, and cutting things up, and making sure things weren't too hot, and all the little things that a meal with children require of parents. We stayed out late, and we had hangovers on Saturday, and they were worth it, because we had fun together. Then yesterday, Todd got up with the kids, which meant i was able to sleep about 10 minutes later than usual. It sucks being an adult on your birthday - you still have to battle yucky weather, and get kids to school, and pick kids up. You still have to smear peanut butter on bread and pour milks. Nobody makes you a handmade crown. But you do get to go out that night and your family has you blow out candles (Yes, Rollie, they do have that many candles at the grocery store,) and you have cupcakes (chocolate with hot pink icing!). You get phone calls from people who don't call you regularly, and nice emails, and cards, and people remind you that they love you. And you feel loved. And you win at trivia, and that is always a great birthday gift.

Thanks to all the wonderful people who made me feel very special yesterday, in a ton of different ways. You know who you are, and I love you all.

Freakishly Close

I met my sister at the dog park yesterday morning. We spent over an hour together. Afterwards, having just said goodbye to each other in the parking lot at Piedmont Park, I picked up the cel phone to call my sister as I pulled out of the lot. I had forgotten to mention something very important to her.

Her: Hey. What is it?
Me: I haven't talked to you in a while, and I missed you.
Her: We should talk more often.
Me: I know. So, did you see that mutant mutt dog? I mean, I am a dog lover, but that was the ugliest thing I have ever seen.
Her: I thought he was cute! Like a Bassett raped by a pit bull.
Me: Seriously, that dog looked ridiculous.
Her: He can't help it that he looks that way.
Me: I know. I would take his ugly brindle ass home anyway.
Her: Me too.
Me: Okay, bye.
Her: Bye. Oh, wait! Are you coming over?
Me: Yeah, I'll meet you at your house.

So, it has been mentioned before that we are very close to one another. My friend Harris might have used the words, "Freakishly close" to describe our relationship. I don't give a shit. Everything in my life is better when shared with my sister. Even unfortunate mutt rape victims. I couldn't not call her and talk about it. Does an ugly mutt at the dog park exist if I don't call my sister? Yes. But it's way more fun if i call her about it.

Strange

It is very strange to watch the bonding experience between a 22-month old little girl, and a 91-year-old man. They don't have a lot to talk about, and she can't enunciate well, and he couldn't even hear it if she did. They both like food. And they hug a lot, which is not at all how I remember my grandfather being with me and my sister when we were little. He keeps on telling her that she is such a sweet little girl that we should've named her "Love." Who is this man?

This was the man that when you told him, "Goodbye! I love you, Pop!" would grunt in reply. I think he is either dying or possessed. The funny thing about him, though, is that I honestly think he thinks he is going to live forever. He told her tonight that it was good she liked books, because maybe she would get a scholarship, and that he would help her out with tuition. That's like 16 years away. He would be 107.

The sad part is that i could sooner see him living till 107 than actually paying for all of someone's college. He is that stingy. He cuts one paper towel into four pieces, then uses one piece for days on end. I put tin foil over his dinner and then threw it in the trash can; He pulled it back out and then washed it and folded it up for later.

You can't make this shit up. Someday I'll have to write about the mountain of fast food jelly packets he was hording. Good stuff.

I'm Back (And a Little Rant)

Well, Saturday we were at the Dogwood Festival when I received a call that my Mom had been taken to the ER. When I talked to her on Friday, she was fine, and thought that she might be coming down with a cold. She mentioned having a sore throat. During Friday night, she had a 104 temperature, and Saturday morning, she got up and couldn't swallow anything. By 10 a.m., she had called 911. Her throat was closing up and she couldn't breathe. Dad had gone to the Lake on Friday - he received a call from one of the neighbors saying only that an ambulance had been at the house, and no other information. He raced to the hospital and found her in the ER.

Seems she had a severe case of Epiglottitis, which means that her epiglottis was infected. This is evidently extremely rare in adults (the diagnosing doctor called other doctors from around the hospital to come look at the case) and is fatal if not treated quickly; thank God she had the presence of mind to call 911 before it was too late. The epiglottis was swelling up and obstructing her airway. (Interestingly, George Washington reportedly died of Epiglottitis.)Once they realized this was an infection, they took cultures to figure out what was causing the infection.


While getting her breathing under control with epinephrine breathing treatments that made her act annoyingly like a speed freak for an hour or so after every one of them, and keeping her on oxygen, they moved her to ICU. By this time, Lisa and I had rushed the hour and a half drive from Atlanta to get to the hospital. We found her scared, out of it, and struggling to breathe. Right after putting her in the room, they also brought in a trach tray, which is the big package they keep around in case they need to do a tracheotomy. Based on a few years of watching ER, I know that if someone's airway is obstructed, they will intubate them (stick a tube down their throat), but evidently if your epiglottis is swollen up, it is more likely they won't be able to get a tube down, and so they will have to cut a hole in your throat to your trachea.

Suffice to say that all of this tracheotomy stuff and doctor's talking about "life-threatening" and "potentially fatal" stuff pretty much freaked our shit. She was not supposed to swallow, cough, or talk, for fear of her airway closing up.

Luckily, Lisa is a nurse, so we had just enough knowledge to scare the shit out of ourselves. At first, we were going to take shifts staying at the hospital, but when they pulled out the trach tray, Lisa, who was on first shift, thought she would feel better if i stayed too. We spent Saturday night sleeping upright in ICU waiting room chairs. Lisa had trouble sleeping. I was exhausted and managed to crash out, contorted and drooling, for over four hours straight.

Lisa and I took shifts sitting bedside in the ICU, watching the fucking vitals monitor: four numbers and the "normal" values for those numbers are seared upon my brain forevermore. When visiting hours were over (inevitably this was the time at which the doctors bothered to check in on their patients, thus making it difficult to get information out of the doctors) Lisa and I would take turns going home to sleep or shower.

It was Monday before I felt comfortable that she was going to be okay. Monday during the day, they brought in an infectious diseases doctor to see Mom. He identified her infection as being caused by a gram negative bacteria. You can read all about it through that link, but the long and short of it is that those are the "big baddies" of the bacteria world. Things like E. Coli and salmonella. The culture had not grown enough to know what exactly the bacteria was, though, so they were pulling out the big guns and giving her like five antibiotics. (All of this was through IV; Mom couldn't swallow even a sip of water until Monday.) The doctors seemed really interested in her, and very serious, and maybe even a little grave when they spoke to us. We were really frightened for her, and felt like the doctors weren't telling us something. Most of the time, we tried not to let on to Mom how scared we were for her. The rest of the time, we spend trying to figure out how to get her to shut up; Anyone who has ever met my Mom knows she will try to make friends with a lamp post. It was nearly impossible to keep her from talking to every nurse and tech who came into her room, even though the doctor told us multiple times that speaking was endangering her breathing.

I should mention that Mom has Rheumatoid Arthritis, which basically sucks ass, because it means that her immune system is compromised and she is susceptible to all sorts of nasty virus and bacteria.

On Monday night, the results finally came back, though, and she has Haemophilius Influenzae. This sounds like a flu virus, but it is actually a bacteria. The kind of funny thing is that they initially were worried that she had Diphtheria, which there has evidently been a bit of a resurgence of in the United States. Kids are vaccinated for both HIB and Diphteria (the famous "DPT" of Raising Arizona fame). Or at least kids should be, and that is where my rant comes in.

FUCK ALL OF YOU WHO ARE SO SELFISH THAT YOU DON'T VACCINATE YOUR PRECIOUS LITTLE CHILDREN.

Mom could have gotten the HIB anywhere. It is all over us. Diphtheria, though? It might be coming back. just like any number of other infectious diseases that could be prevented through vaccination.

Next time you decline a vaccination for your child, think for a second what that means to newborns, to those with compromised immune systems, and to the elderly.
Better yet, check out what a nice case of Diphtheria can do for your little precious here.

Mother fuckers.

Oh, Mom, when you get out of the hospital and read this? I love you. Glad you called 911. Sorry I cuss so much, but it is pure love cussin'.

The Times Have Changed

Last night, I took a night away from the kids and had a burger at the EARL (best burgers in America!) and then hit the coffee shop to write for a little while. Over dinner on the sidewalk, I read Todd's Men's Journal. There was an article about the 50 Best Places to Live. Two Atlanta towns were on the list. Dahlonegha, which I could see, and Gainesville. Huh? Gainesville was on the "bedroom community" list. Basically, i think they were saying that you could live there and commute to Atlanta every day. Obviously, these jerks don't actually drive in Atlanta, or they would know that a 50-mile commute in Atlanta can take three hours to complete on a bad day.

Also? It's Gainesville.

Wow, got a little off subject there. What I was really thinking, as I ate my Blue Bacon Burger and gazed at The East Side Lounge across the street, was this: Things have really changed for me in less than ten years.

East Side Lounge used to be The Fountainhead. I remember a February night back in 1999, when I left the bar with friends Honey and Andy, and my sister. We were pretty loaded, and as I got in the car with them (Lisa was not so loaded, and she was driving,) we discussed the people we had met that night. Thoughts on Robin's friend, Todd? I believe I said, "He seemed really nice." Then we proceeded to discuss a couple other people Honey and I hadn't seen since college and they looked exactly the same! And then there was that weirdness of seeing two guys that I hooked up with in college. One I made out with on the roof of my boyfriend-at-the-time's house while said boyfriend was in the house below. Everyone who knows me will attest to the fact that I am way classier now, but word to the wise, children - you cheat on your boyfriend, even if it's the only time you have ever cheated, and even if it was only a stupid drunk kiss, you might just end up running into someone you might not want to hanging out with the man you will marry; Karma is a total bitch like that. The other i made out with at a party, then ended up living with platonically later and who turned out to be a total psychopath.

I mean, pretty memorable night! You run into two former hookups and the man you will spend the rest of your life with, all in one night, in one little bar, in one little corner of Atlanta and the world. I was giddy that night, leaving the bar, and I like to think that while part of it was the alcohol, part of it was some deep part of me that felt and knew on an almost cellular level that I had met The One.

I don't know, but things sure have changed since February 1999. Now I am just sitting here blogging in our second house in the same neighborhood, and trying to block out the sound of my kids beating the shit out of each other with Hot Wheels and lunchboxes.

Not that I'm complaining. I kind of like my life better now than i did back then. But I wouldn't mind a drunken evening at The Fountainhead with my husband again, and the following day sans kids to recover. March 31st anyone? March 31st is the night.

Oh, and everybody wish Dogwood Girl's Daddy a big old HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I love you, Dad.

This Must Be The Place

I was reading the New York Times online yesterday morning, and came across a pretty long article on the band Arcade Fire, whom I love. They have a new album out, er . . . coming out tomorrow, officer, I swear I never illegally downloaded any of it already, cross my heart and hope to die. The new album, Neon Bible is totally not a disappointment, as those things can be sometimes; I am digging on it, and it was the weekend-without-children soundtrack. You should go out and buy it today (putting money in their brilliant pockets, and maybe those of good ole Mac and Laura - of Superchunk fame - and their label Merge. Love me some Merge. And if you have not heard the Arcade Fire's debut, Funeral, well . . . get thee to a music store! You will not be disappointed, although you will be late to the game.

Funny Arcade Fire aside: They were in one of the skits on their recent SNL appearance and it was really hilarious, because, well, Rainn Wilson from The Office, and Arcade Fire. I tried to find a Youtube link and got overwhelmed, because evidently the internet brings into focus the fact that I do not have focus. (U2 and Arcade Fire doing "Love Will Tear Us Apart;" Arcade Fire and Bowie doing "Wake Up" and "Five Years." Holy Shit!!!" I will die on YouTube.)

And that brings me, quite roundaboutedly (it's a word, because I just made it up) to the point:

Arcade Fire. David Byrne. Together on a stage. DOING MY FAVORITE SONG OF ALL-TIME.

First of all, to all you lucky motherfuckers who happened to go to an Arcade Fire show in NYC and then had the unexpected pleasure of seeing them joined on stage by David Byrne, and then to realize that they were doing "This Must Be The Place (The Naive Melody)" - Well, I hope you all die, especially those of you who didn't recognize the song, and so didn't get how huge it would be to see the whole thing. For the one person who managed to get a little video of it and post it on YouTube - I love you and want to have your babies, and why couldn't you have gotten the sound just a bit better, because really, the sound is so disappointing, but beggars can't be choosers.



I cannot imagine. Okay, I can try to imagine the completely elated mindfuck of this whole moment, but really, how many Arcade Fire fans really even knew this song? It was old when I first heard it thanks to an ex. I immediately loved it. I have never stopped loving it. Boyfriend? Long gone. Still love the song, though. Everything about the unabashed cuteness of it and the way that it is so starry-eyed and dramatic, just like teenage lovers, and about how it still rings even more true and honest and sincere now that I actually know about adult love and what home really is. And God Almighty do I love that cowbell at the end. That cowbell is my soul ringing out joyously every time I hear it.

Best. Song. Ever.

Oh, yeah, and about how I get sidetracked and lost on the great Internet? Try to find something about Byrne and the Arcade Fire show and come across David Byrne's blog, and not only find his thoughts on playing with Arcade Fire, but also an interesting entry about his visit to Savannah and SCAD with his daughter. How weird would it be to be in Savannah and run into David Byrne? At Lady and Sons, no less. And then I look at the date and it was written right after the weekend we were there. Damn. Of course, Todd has already had his run-in with Byrne and his bicycle, but it could happen twice, right?

Rollie on Valentine's Day

What Rollie thinks about Valentine's Day:

Heartwarming Story of the Day

This one was lost in the shuffle of my trip to Orlando. It happened a few weeks ago.

Todd helped me dye my hair and took his wedding ring off to do it. He set the ring on the counter, then helped me with the hair, then put the ring back on. Or so he thought.

After going to the hardware store, then coming home and putting pine straw out over the entire area of beds in our yard, he came inside and realized he was not wearing his ring. He sheepishly informed me. I think he thought I was angry that he lost the ring, but I wasn't. As the day went on, we turned the house upside down looking for the ring, and I became more and more aware that I was a little upset that he had lost the ring. Not upset with him, but upset that it was gone. Sure, we could replace it, but it wouldn't be the same ring that he had slipped on my finger that April day back in 2001, as I giggled and cried and he sweat nervously. It would have to be newly-engraved with our mysterious code word and the date. It just wouldn't be the same.

We looked on the floor of the bathroom. We looked in the drain. We looked in the bathtub, the trash cans. We looked on the floors upstairs. We gave Rollie the Spanish Inquisition, and still i think he had no clue what a wedding ring even is. I even kept an eye on Tiller's poop for a couple days. We walked the yard, and looked in the cars. We pretty much gave up. Oh, well. C'est la vie. It is only a ring. It is replaceable, and it isn't platinum, just white gold.

Todd had decided that it was lost while he was putting out the pine straw. Talk about the proverbial needle in a haystack. He had traversed every square inch of the beds putting out the straw, so it could be anywhere. On the off chance that someone had one, he posted on the East Atlanta community board to see if anyone had a metal detector. As if.

Sure enough, there was a guy who owned one in the Village. Seems that he asked for it for Christmas so that he could search for civil war artifacts in his yard. (The Battle of Atlanta took place right here in East Atlanta. People find bullets and the like all the time here.) So, this nice guy agreed to come out and help us look for the ring. He took the time out of his Saturday to help strangers find a wedding band. Pretty nice.

The guy showed up, he showed Todd how to work the metal detector, and Todd started scanning the beds, while me and the guy chatted. Turns out he's a Cartographer - never met a Cartographer, and it sounds really archaic, but was actually really interesting to talk about.

He was here for a good thirty minutes. Todd finished two the beds and was about halfway through the third one. I had given up hope, but was appreciative of the guy coming out to help, and of Todd for giving it the old college try in finding the ring, even though there was a snowball's chance in hell of finding it. Then the detector beeped again (we had false alarms all over the yard already - there is an old t.v. buried back there, for god's sake) and Todd leaned down, and stood up in triumph. There it was, sitting right next to the Gardenia the whole time.

I almost cried, I almost hugged the stranger, Todd and I kissed. It was like movie for a moment.

When you have been married for five years, even the little things become meaningful. They may even become more meaningful than the big ones.

And here's a big Thank You! to our Good Samaritan neighbor, the Eros of East Atlanta, the metal detector guy.

Tiller: 15 Months Old

I cannot believe it. It has flown by.

She still doesn't walk regularly, although she can. She just takes a couple steps, then crawls. I guess it is faster that way. She still wants to be held all the time. She is addicted to pushing things - her pushcart, a shopping cart, any chair that isn't nailed down. She has a hysterical laugh, and is completely and totally in love with Todd now. I think he likes her a bit, too. She loves playing peek-a-boo, and the first time she said "mama" to get my attention, it was because i had stopped playing peek-a-boo with her to answer the phone. She was not happy.

She is going to be on debate team next year, because she LOVES to talk. She doesn't really have a lot of words yet, but tons of babbling sounds. She does say, Mama, dada, kittykat, doggie, elmo, milk, cup, book, ball, bath, bear, and she has tons of funny repetitive sound effects. The funniest one is something she picked up from Rollie. Todd taught Rollie to say "redrum" and "rollie isn't here" in a The Shining voice, and Tiller can't say those things, but tries to do the voice. It is hysterical.

She smiles a lot, but when she is in a new place, she is very serious until she has checked everything out. She just today started screaming and screeching, just to hear herself do it, and hopefully that will be short phase, because she's got some pipes.

She eats an enormous amount. The other day, she ate two pieces of pizza in one sitting. Large, new york-style pizza slices. Her little tummy is so distended after she eats. It is cute. She will beg or take food if she is out and someone else has it. Her hair is starting to grow out and she looks like a girl, even when she is wearing rollie's hand-me-downs. Lisa and I cut her bangs last month, though, because they were in her eyes and she had a bit of a skate rat thing going.

She loves to read more than Rollie ever did at this age. He destroyed so many books. She loves the Sarah Boynton books and has a particular order she wants you to read them in at bedtime. She is no shrinking violet - she speaks up when she wants something.

She still only has five teeth, so i have plenty of those to look forward to.

At bedtime, she splashes like crazy in the tub, and we are having trouble disciplining her, because she doesn't listen to No. She knows it, but ignores it. We just have to take her out of the situation when she does something, and that is usually a big screaming fit. In the bathtub, when she splashes, we say no, and she laughs maniacally and keeps doing it. She is going to push my buttons hard in about 10 years.

Another cute thing she does is the Nestea Plunge. She is so trusting of us, that if we are anywhere near her she will fall straight backwards and expect us to catch her. It is nerve-wracking, and I know she is going to crack her head sooner or later. We can't figure out how to teach her not to without letting it happen.

The best thing about her? She LOVES to hug. Over and over. She is starting to give kisses, too, but they are open-mouthed and wet. She will also pat you on the shoulder while you are holding her, as if to comfort you. The hugs, though? They kill me, they are so sweet.

I never thought that my heart could hold two. I thought it would explode with just one. I was so wrong; The heart expands to accommodate what you find to love.

More photos of the girl are here.

Disclaimer

After receiving an email from a male friend, asking if he should really read the Outlander series, I feel it is my duty to explain more fully about the genre of the book: Outlander has tons of fans in the romance category.

I am not one to sit around reading romance novels, so I didn't mention this. I guess I didn't want anyone to think I was a romance reader. That being said, the reasons that I like the book have little to do with romance (although I would admittedly leave my husband for him if the hero showed up at my doorstep) and everything to do with genre-bending characters, strong females, adventure, what it might be like to live in the past, and a touch of time travel and witchcraft, mixed in with a healthy dose of biology and horticulture.

I don't read them because of the love story, but all of these other things I mention do add up to make this one of my favorite love stories (with apologies to Mr. Darcy.)

So, male-friend-who-shall-remain-nameless, I think since you went ahead and bought the book, you should go out on a limb and read the damn thing. If for no other reason than that you can share a discussion over a bottle of wine with your girl, and she (and I) will be highly impressed with the level of security you feel in your manhood.

My friend Mike, at the urging of his wife, did so. He liked it and ended up reading more of the series.

The Things We Don't Say to Our Children

I went to pick up Rollie today from Mommies' Morning Out. When I got there, he was pouting, and when I told him it was time to go, he threw a fit. Both the teacher and the aide looked concerned, and the aide said, "We have Lunch Bunch today and he heard the kids talking about it and then saw them pull out their lunches, and he got really upset." Lunch Bunch is this thing where you pay extra for your kid to stay there from noon til 1pm, thus giving moms an extra hour of freedom. I told Rollie he needed to put on his jacket, so that we could go see the doggie in the car (Quint always rides with Matilda and I to pick up Rollie). He began crying pitiful, tortured tears of sorrow at not being able to eat with his classmates.

I felt the heat of tears welling up in my own eyes, and struggling to fight them back, I clutched Rollie to me with one arm (the other occuped with Tiller) and held him to me as he struggled. I managed to get his jacket on him, and grabbed his hand to take him to the car, Matilda still in my other arm, and Rollie struggling all the while. He managed to break free, screaming "I want Miss M____" (his teacher) and threw himself into her legs. She picked him up and offered to take him to the car, but i declined and said it was okay, he needed to learn that he couldn't stay.

I knew that i had about five seconds to make my way out of that classroom before I burst into tears, and I managed to make it out the door and around the corner before the dam burst. Tears began flowing freely down my face as I struggled to get the keys out of my pocket and open the van doors. I fought them back and then realized it was no use and began angrily wiping them away as soon as they fell, finished strapping both kids into their carseats, and got into the driver's seat. There is a point when tears come, at least for me, when I know there is no turning back, that once i give in to them, they will not stop. Everything in me wanted to lay my arm across the steering wheel and sob my guts out right there in the church parking lot, with all the well-meaning do-gooders coming in and out with kids in tow, but for a proud non-cryer like me, there is nothing more horrific than the thought of being comforted by church ladies with their well-meaning pats on the back, and their concerned looks, and, God forbid, their attempts at giving me a hug.

I had to get the hell out of there.

I drove to the end of the parking lot, and knew I was in the clear, as it is one way during pickup time. As I rounded the corner out of the lot, the tears came on full force, and Rollie said wonderingly from the back:

"Mama, what happened?"

"Mama's sad."

"Why you sad?"

"Because I love you."

Great, i think to myself. Now he thinks it's his fault.

The tears came harder, and became sobs, with my voice sounding to me like someone else's, coming forth of its own volition. I just gave in to it, and I cried the whole way to the light, where I sat and sobbed and snuffled and sniffled, and wiped snot on my sleeve and rubbed my eyes roughly, and did all sorts of undignified shit until I got the left turn signal, where I wiped away the tears, turned left and headed straight for McDonald's drive-thru. Sometimes your son just deserves the chicken nuggets, with the fries rather than the fucking killjoy apple slices, and with chocolate milk instead of white milk (the annoying term for regular milk that drive-thru employees in the 'hood call it. Those of us with an education call it "regular milk.") Sometimes his Mama deserves to say, "FUCK WEIGHT WATCHERS. I WANT A NUMBER 2 VALUE MEAL, PLEASE." That's just the way of the world.

Rollie says, "Mama, you like chicken?"

"Yes, Rollie, I like chicken, but i am going to have a hamburger."

"Tiller badiller likes chicken. She not like chocolate milk. She likes regular (yes!) milk."

"Yes, Rollie, she likes regular milk and chicken and french fries."

"Mama, french fries make you happy?"

"Yes, Rollie, they make me very happy."

"Mama?"

"Yes, Rollie."

"Why you cry in the car?"

"Because I'm happy. Sometimes mamas get sad. Sometimes they are happy."

Sometimes you don't tell little boys that you are crying because you are sorry that the house hasn't sold, so we live 30 minutes from the school and if he stayed for Lunch bunch, he and matilda would fall asleep in the car, and then there would be no nap, and how could i have the silence necessary to figure out the budget in a vain attempt to find some miraculous way of allowing me to stay home with them longer? Sometimes you don't tell him that even if we lived five minutes from the school, we probably couldn't afford the Lunch Bunch, and that he is never going to get to do Lunch Bunch with his new friends, because in less than two months, we are going to have to yank him out of that school and put him somewhere that will take him all day, and hopefully it will be somewhere that will also be able to take his sister, but it probably won't, and so they won't see each other all day long, and we will have to figure out how to get him to one place, and her to another and me to an office, and I fucking hate offices and their fucking fluorescent lights, and I hate that i will have to get up two hours or more earlier than I do now and that I hate that I won't be able to see him at lunchtime, or drive him through McDonald's, or yell at him to stop trying to hold hands with his sister, because she doesn't want to hold hands right now and that is why she is crying. I hate that I will get back two tired, over-stimulated kids, who will argue and cry over dinner, and I will be tired and not even have time to play with them or just sit and watch a cartoon on the couch with both of them in my lap. That I hate that now I have them from 7:30 a.m. until 7:30 p.m. every day and that the times that I don't have them are like magic, not torture, but that will change, and it will all be torture and the maybe two hours i have with them every day will be sweet torture, too. I don't tell him that I will think a hundred times a day how much i miss him annoying the shit out of me with wanting me to build the choochoo tracks and give him snacks, and how much i will fucking hate those people who give him his snacks every day when he should be trying to get them out of my fridge at home with me trying to stop him. I don't tell him that I feel like Tiller is completely getting the shaft, that he got me for over three years, and she barely got me for over one year. I don't tell him that I am scared of the people who will be talking to my baby, who is just learning to speak, and who knows what kind of frightening grammar they might teach her? Or that I read to her in the morning, and before quiet time, and before bedtime, and it is our special time, and we have a routine and she is warm and she laughs when I nuzzle her ear as I whisper into them some of the words.

"Mama," Rollie says, "why are you crying?"

"Because I love you, and I am happy, and I am sad."

I don't tell him that it is because my heart feels like it is about to break.