As in, leaning towards...or doing something crazy a la Quixote. We have a new big secret. Which isn't really new, but it is big, and will be secret for the next six months. But I'm going to tell you.
We're going to try to move to Santa Cruz by the end of this school year.
I should have built up to it more, I know, and there is a lot you don't know because I haven't blogged much. In the last year, Jeff and I went through the motions of putting on our big-boy pants by deciding to stay in Napa for the long haul...like until the girls finished grade school. We were just so exhausted by the cancer, the twins, the job situations, that when our house started becoming a home, we thought maybe we should just quit while we were ahead. Good loan, good house (mostly), good school, (my) good job, happy kids. Everything great, right?
Except that all the work on our place in SC was going to crap. Why we moved from Texas in the first place was fading. Our dreams of waking up in the forest every morning, of welcoming friends into our sanctuary, of peace and many hot baths...was going down the drain! I guess I didn't realize how much I was mourning...and so was Jeff. Jeff's job, in the meantime, was getting more and more miserable, with no real alternative in our small town. He's looking for a good reason to eject.
It's a big job. Road, well, power, geological surveys, architects, contractors, drains, etc. Lots of time and $$$. I didn't think I had it in me. I think I was letting my fear defeat me. And driving my kids to school in the beautiful vineyards, with fucking hot air balloons like some 70's cliche in the distance, wasn't helping. Now, if we were still suffering in Oakland, it would be a different story. We are in one of the nicest small towns in Northern California, for my money...but it's not Santa Cruz.
Never mind that the mountains are long overdue for a major fire, and that everything we built could fry. Never mind that I have a somewhat contentious relationship with my dear mother, whom I love, but who often gives me heartburn. Never mind that the SC mountains seem to be the haven of the libertarian right these days.
Another factor that's been bugging me is that the public school system in Napa, after fifth grade, absolutely sucks balls. We were looking at private schools, which cost unspeakable amounts of money per year. Fries my little Scottish heart to think of that.
Meanwhile, the schools in the mountains are awesome, forever. All the way up to college. And they're free.
And our house in Napa is done, and we will make some good money on it (I think), which will get us started on the infrastructure. And interest rates are so low, we can get a decent construction loan.
And we can live at my mom's house (don't tell her--she doesn't know this yet) while we build. Yeah, that's a little, difficult detail that this 44 year old doesn't like AT ALL. However, it would be temporary, and the girls would get to hang with grandma a lot (they don't see her too much), and etc. I can suck it up.
It's going to be very hard, and my commute will be--87 miles each way. But dammit, I'm tenured, and I've paid my dues, and I teach a lot online if I want to, so there. Hence the secret.
I'm telling you because you are my dear friends, and part of the reason for this decision is so we can share this beautiful place with you and your family, for the rest of our lives.
I have no regrets about anything I've done in my life. I'm proud of that fact. I think, though, that not doing this would create a regret. This is the last big hard thing I will push for, will suffer for, will put my marriage and my kids through. I've had time to think, I've gone 180 degrees the other way, and it's come up wanting. I'm not a Napa country club type, which was where we were heading. My penchant for polarfleece and doghair was getting in the way. I want to chop wood and rake, learn how to take apart the engine on the VW, make apple cider, play the piano, save the redwoods, write some tennis commentary and maybe a memoir. I want my daughters to run through the big stumpy old growth with large dogs, and dig up artifacts. I would like to become the area historian, and push for a swim and racquet community center on Summit Road.
Anyway, I'm excited and scared. We're crazy, but we're going to try and go for it!
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Is Anybody Out There
That's ok if not. It's been a year and a day since my last post (father, have I sinned?).
I hate October. For sure. Between Halloween and Jan. 1, I'm good. Then from then until the first burst of spring, I hate it again. Which pretty much sums up the whole month of February (sorry, sis). It only took me 43 years of going through this before realizing how bad seasonal affective whatever you call it gets for me. The shortening of days. The coldening of days. The long slog to warmth. The other day I went into a butterfly exhibit at Six Flags and it was about fifteen degrees warmer. My whole soul went YAH. That was a little shocking.
Lots has happened, but it's been of the going around in circles and ending up only slightly differently positioned since last time I checked in. Jeff has outgrown his job in the way Lucy has her size 3 jammies. We've cut the feet off, and the fabric is starting to wear thin in the knees. Yet. We'll see what happens with that. My job, fine. Still in the house, with more improvements. Girls are well ensconced in kindergarten at the shishi school across town. I drop them off normally looking more unwashed and grumpy (I imagine, anyway) than the other parents. They are learning to read (cute!).
It feels as though a gear has changed and things are easier, though time is passing faster. I will be 44 in a few weeks. I've lost 10 pounds! I gave up flour and milk. That was it.
Other than that, I'm feeling the usual restlessness/despair of fall. Blech.
I hate October. For sure. Between Halloween and Jan. 1, I'm good. Then from then until the first burst of spring, I hate it again. Which pretty much sums up the whole month of February (sorry, sis). It only took me 43 years of going through this before realizing how bad seasonal affective whatever you call it gets for me. The shortening of days. The coldening of days. The long slog to warmth. The other day I went into a butterfly exhibit at Six Flags and it was about fifteen degrees warmer. My whole soul went YAH. That was a little shocking.
Lots has happened, but it's been of the going around in circles and ending up only slightly differently positioned since last time I checked in. Jeff has outgrown his job in the way Lucy has her size 3 jammies. We've cut the feet off, and the fabric is starting to wear thin in the knees. Yet. We'll see what happens with that. My job, fine. Still in the house, with more improvements. Girls are well ensconced in kindergarten at the shishi school across town. I drop them off normally looking more unwashed and grumpy (I imagine, anyway) than the other parents. They are learning to read (cute!).
It feels as though a gear has changed and things are easier, though time is passing faster. I will be 44 in a few weeks. I've lost 10 pounds! I gave up flour and milk. That was it.
Other than that, I'm feeling the usual restlessness/despair of fall. Blech.
Monday, October 15, 2012
OMG! A Blog Post!
I'm writing this because I'm having one of those days where I am utterly uninterested in work. Utterly. Very difficult to fake that I don't want to read another piece of freshman composition, or agree/disagree with the president at the staff meeting, or be a conduit of information, etc. etc.
All in all, I'm having a good year being senate chair...so far. Today, however, I could just as easily chuck it all. Today would have been a good day to get the girls off to preschool, then go back to my clean house and drink coffee and read all day long.
Anyway, here's where we are right now: looking for a job for Jeffy. There might be one at my school, and there are most definitely two positions at a campus in San Jose. As the leads come in, the applications go out, but I am preparing myself for The Move, whether it be this spring or next. Jeff has dealt with the inevitable living-with-the-mother-in-law thing (I think the $3500 a month rents have gotten his attention), and I am slowly shifting my books from our storage space to my office, to make room for--possibly--furniture that we'll need to store while we build our house. All decorating work on our current house has stopped, even though the place is becoming really cute and actually lived-in-looking.
Rosa and Claire were here last weekend, which was wonderful in that soul-recharging way, and we walked down to our place to have a little looky-round. It is becoming more real. It is also a bit terrifying...this creating something from nothing.
The girls are excellent. Excellent girls.
I've joined Pinterest, if anyone is interest. My handle is drbucket. There you can see what a big fan of clutter I am. It seems that all I want to do is organize: books, pictures, spices, etc. That's ok. You is what you is.
Health is good, albeit the weight thing. At least I'm thinking about an exercise regimen....
All in all, I'm having a good year being senate chair...so far. Today, however, I could just as easily chuck it all. Today would have been a good day to get the girls off to preschool, then go back to my clean house and drink coffee and read all day long.
Anyway, here's where we are right now: looking for a job for Jeffy. There might be one at my school, and there are most definitely two positions at a campus in San Jose. As the leads come in, the applications go out, but I am preparing myself for The Move, whether it be this spring or next. Jeff has dealt with the inevitable living-with-the-mother-in-law thing (I think the $3500 a month rents have gotten his attention), and I am slowly shifting my books from our storage space to my office, to make room for--possibly--furniture that we'll need to store while we build our house. All decorating work on our current house has stopped, even though the place is becoming really cute and actually lived-in-looking.
Rosa and Claire were here last weekend, which was wonderful in that soul-recharging way, and we walked down to our place to have a little looky-round. It is becoming more real. It is also a bit terrifying...this creating something from nothing.
The girls are excellent. Excellent girls.
I've joined Pinterest, if anyone is interest. My handle is drbucket. There you can see what a big fan of clutter I am. It seems that all I want to do is organize: books, pictures, spices, etc. That's ok. You is what you is.
Health is good, albeit the weight thing. At least I'm thinking about an exercise regimen....
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
The Pudgy Kleptobotanist
Ok, I'm fat. Fat fat fat. I weigh 135, which pushes this squat, small-boned European to a BMI of 24. Until my thyroid surgery--and excluding my pregnancy--I was a comfortable, if somewhat pudgy 128. Now that my metabolism is regulated by drugs, I am totally unclear as to what I can and can't eat and how much I need to exercise.
I began doing aerobics last spring, in a last-ditch attempt to look all right at my college reunion party. It worked really well, and I continued on through most of the fall. But then winter hit, and when the light goes, so does my energy. I tend to lie in bed whenever I'm home. This sounds awful, but it's the truth. The girls don't mind too much, as they are all over the house, doing their almost-four-years-old thing. I read, I check my mail, etc.
Now it's spring, and like the bear waking up, I'm on the move. I've started walking at dusk, looking for green things to clip with my Leatherman Micra, the only utility tool with a strong pair of scissors, instead of pliers, on the end. I wander around my neighborhood, noting which houses are vacant (not as many anymore), which are being used as vacation rentals (some)..., while surreptitiously picking up pine resin (I'm learning how to make incense) and making small bouquets of my neighbors' extra blossoms. Note: I only take flowers when there is an abundance of them, or if the bush is in a weird, out of the way place. I feel guilty about not asking, but not enough to stop doing it.
I also listen to music while I'm walking, and have been surprised at some of the random, unidentifiable, but great songs that have made it onto the Shuffle...no doubt a result of my wanton downloading. Yesterday I was singing Oasis's "Don't Look Back in Anger" at the top of my lungs while cruising down busy Jefferson St. This is not Jeff's kind of music, so I normally wouldn't be hearing it/singing it at all. It was extra special.
And...I do become more philosophical when I slow down and walk. Themes emerge, dreams get tossed around in my head, and best of all, I am satisfied, mostly.
I began doing aerobics last spring, in a last-ditch attempt to look all right at my college reunion party. It worked really well, and I continued on through most of the fall. But then winter hit, and when the light goes, so does my energy. I tend to lie in bed whenever I'm home. This sounds awful, but it's the truth. The girls don't mind too much, as they are all over the house, doing their almost-four-years-old thing. I read, I check my mail, etc.
Now it's spring, and like the bear waking up, I'm on the move. I've started walking at dusk, looking for green things to clip with my Leatherman Micra, the only utility tool with a strong pair of scissors, instead of pliers, on the end. I wander around my neighborhood, noting which houses are vacant (not as many anymore), which are being used as vacation rentals (some)..., while surreptitiously picking up pine resin (I'm learning how to make incense) and making small bouquets of my neighbors' extra blossoms. Note: I only take flowers when there is an abundance of them, or if the bush is in a weird, out of the way place. I feel guilty about not asking, but not enough to stop doing it.
I also listen to music while I'm walking, and have been surprised at some of the random, unidentifiable, but great songs that have made it onto the Shuffle...no doubt a result of my wanton downloading. Yesterday I was singing Oasis's "Don't Look Back in Anger" at the top of my lungs while cruising down busy Jefferson St. This is not Jeff's kind of music, so I normally wouldn't be hearing it/singing it at all. It was extra special.
And...I do become more philosophical when I slow down and walk. Themes emerge, dreams get tossed around in my head, and best of all, I am satisfied, mostly.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
The Circle is Now Complete
Jeff and I have entered a new phase of parenting, one that I'm embarrassed to admit has happened so late. I'm happy it happened at all, though, so I'll share.
We are a family.
Having two helpless creatures to contend with for three years has been very difficult for me. I fought it from the moment my daughters were born: there is a photo of me taken two weeks after I gave birth, where the expression on my face is unmistakeable: I was in utter misery. I don't like looking at that picture now, because it takes me right back to the feeling that I had grown another appendage, in the form of a 50-pound double-stroller: it was unwieldy, attracted attention, and contained two new things that were sooooo fragile. I lugged everything around with the ironic satisfaction that at least I was 38, and not 28. At least I did not have to add the frustration of not being able to travel or go to bars! Jeff, though not as hormonally affected as me, was equally in the dumps. It was so selfish, I know, but I don't feel as guilty about it now: we were used to being totally, albeit collectively, self-centered. The sleep deprivation alone was devastating enough. The constant uncertainty about the future (would she cry again; would we get to sleep for at least 30 minutes?) was unnerving. I was a terrible mother, I thought, though it was hard not to love each girl for the person she was slowly becoming...in the moment. Then the other would wake up.
We were working. We were not-quite-making it, financially. Lots of stress. My mother saved us so many times....
Our experience stopped feeling like triage about a year ago. It wasn't abrupt. We just began to be able to count on having more free time, like after bedtime, or when the girls went off with grandma, they wouldn't exhaust her to the point where she wouldn't want to do it again--like next week. As they began to potty train, drink out of real cups, eat the same food as us, and the amount of equipment needed dwindled, so did a lot of the anxiety. Childcare had stabilized at age 2, when they joined a bigger preschool (try finding legal childcare for twins under 2) and liked it. They did not cry or fuss (so much) in the car.
My husband and I also came back into focus with each other. Our relationship had always been conspiratorial: what happens when your own children become "the enemy"? We had begun to argue, like siblings, over who deserved x more (sleep, free time, sympathy, whatever). As he is a little brother and I am a big sister, you can probably guess how dysfunctional it became at times. When we began to laugh at it, I realized that we had moved ahead.
The girls themselves, however, were the real stars. At three, they began to do most things by themselves. Really, though, to me they become more complete. All of the fragmented parts of their personalities began to solidify, and even better, they began to tell us about it. I won't bore you with the story-about-my-brilliant-kid times two, but I will say that I began to look down on the sleeping faces of my daughters and think, "Wow. I am lucky to have each of them." I wouldn't say, yet, "I'd do it all again in a second." I would probably hesitate. (Note: I did more than hesitate two blog posts ago.)
I've never had to work so hard. In comparison, tenure (at least, at my institution) has been a cakewalk. Cancer, too. Nothing could have prepared me for what I (and Jeff) have been through. I will never say to a first-time pregnant woman (especially if she is my daughter!), "Boy is your life going to change." No fucking shit (Shirley).
We were driving the other day, somewhere, our car full of preschool paraphenalia. There was a vague smell of old sandwich, but we were all listening to Al Jolson's "I Love to Sing-a!" and trying to follow along with it. The windows were down and the mustard was in bloom. I started thinking (around the lyrics), I love California in the spring. I love being able to put the windows down. I'm glad to be driving a nice car with a tank full of ($4.16) gas. I love Jeff. I love my friends, many of whom are also enjoying Al Jolson. It felt like our car was a meteor, streaking toward its destination, in one piece. For now? Perhaps.
I'm glad I had kids. Dear me in 2008. I don't envy you. You can't see past the next 15 minutes, but I'm here to tell you that in about three years, you will be grateful. I promise.
We are a family.
Having two helpless creatures to contend with for three years has been very difficult for me. I fought it from the moment my daughters were born: there is a photo of me taken two weeks after I gave birth, where the expression on my face is unmistakeable: I was in utter misery. I don't like looking at that picture now, because it takes me right back to the feeling that I had grown another appendage, in the form of a 50-pound double-stroller: it was unwieldy, attracted attention, and contained two new things that were sooooo fragile. I lugged everything around with the ironic satisfaction that at least I was 38, and not 28. At least I did not have to add the frustration of not being able to travel or go to bars! Jeff, though not as hormonally affected as me, was equally in the dumps. It was so selfish, I know, but I don't feel as guilty about it now: we were used to being totally, albeit collectively, self-centered. The sleep deprivation alone was devastating enough. The constant uncertainty about the future (would she cry again; would we get to sleep for at least 30 minutes?) was unnerving. I was a terrible mother, I thought, though it was hard not to love each girl for the person she was slowly becoming...in the moment. Then the other would wake up.
We were working. We were not-quite-making it, financially. Lots of stress. My mother saved us so many times....
Our experience stopped feeling like triage about a year ago. It wasn't abrupt. We just began to be able to count on having more free time, like after bedtime, or when the girls went off with grandma, they wouldn't exhaust her to the point where she wouldn't want to do it again--like next week. As they began to potty train, drink out of real cups, eat the same food as us, and the amount of equipment needed dwindled, so did a lot of the anxiety. Childcare had stabilized at age 2, when they joined a bigger preschool (try finding legal childcare for twins under 2) and liked it. They did not cry or fuss (so much) in the car.
My husband and I also came back into focus with each other. Our relationship had always been conspiratorial: what happens when your own children become "the enemy"? We had begun to argue, like siblings, over who deserved x more (sleep, free time, sympathy, whatever). As he is a little brother and I am a big sister, you can probably guess how dysfunctional it became at times. When we began to laugh at it, I realized that we had moved ahead.
The girls themselves, however, were the real stars. At three, they began to do most things by themselves. Really, though, to me they become more complete. All of the fragmented parts of their personalities began to solidify, and even better, they began to tell us about it. I won't bore you with the story-about-my-brilliant-kid times two, but I will say that I began to look down on the sleeping faces of my daughters and think, "Wow. I am lucky to have each of them." I wouldn't say, yet, "I'd do it all again in a second." I would probably hesitate. (Note: I did more than hesitate two blog posts ago.)
I've never had to work so hard. In comparison, tenure (at least, at my institution) has been a cakewalk. Cancer, too. Nothing could have prepared me for what I (and Jeff) have been through. I will never say to a first-time pregnant woman (especially if she is my daughter!), "Boy is your life going to change." No fucking shit (Shirley).
We were driving the other day, somewhere, our car full of preschool paraphenalia. There was a vague smell of old sandwich, but we were all listening to Al Jolson's "I Love to Sing-a!" and trying to follow along with it. The windows were down and the mustard was in bloom. I started thinking (around the lyrics), I love California in the spring. I love being able to put the windows down. I'm glad to be driving a nice car with a tank full of ($4.16) gas. I love Jeff. I love my friends, many of whom are also enjoying Al Jolson. It felt like our car was a meteor, streaking toward its destination, in one piece. For now? Perhaps.
I'm glad I had kids. Dear me in 2008. I don't envy you. You can't see past the next 15 minutes, but I'm here to tell you that in about three years, you will be grateful. I promise.
Monday, February 13, 2012
I Still Need a Boat
It's early Feb., so I must be depressed. Yep. Like clockwork.
I won't bore you with the details.
One of my colleagues listen to my complaining, and then said, "You have tenuritis."
I'm one small hurdle away from the Big Day.
I'm also rethinking what I'm doing, career-wise.
I'm also pondering certain things that I don't like the idea of, but must do; and once done, am happy to have done. I have a very inconsistent record with things of this nature.
What about you?
I won't bore you with the details.
One of my colleagues listen to my complaining, and then said, "You have tenuritis."
I'm one small hurdle away from the Big Day.
I'm also rethinking what I'm doing, career-wise.
I'm also pondering certain things that I don't like the idea of, but must do; and once done, am happy to have done. I have a very inconsistent record with things of this nature.
What about you?
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Oh Hi
I found a co-worker's flash drive at work, and had to open it to find out who it was, and it turned out to be an engineering prof's. Who, as it turns out, is only MOONLIGHTING as a tenure-track prof....(?!!); his secret identity is that of a Wild Screenprinting Artist in The City. Oh my! It is not so fun when one realizes that the work world one has been taking (much too) seriously seems to another as not much more than an amusing set of metaphors. I went back and replaced my cute little cat photo on my Facebook profile with an ironic cartoon.
I'm still up, picking at my cuticles over this.
Actually, I just can't sleep. I see the endocrinologist tomorrow. She must think I'm crazy because I always have a complaint. Today I emailed her because I've had this crazy chest pain for the past week or so, like my ribs are bruised. I think it's just a remnant from the cold I've been trying to shake off, but you know how it is when you've had cancer (maybe not) in a nearby region. She told me to come straight in for a chest x-ray, which I did. Tomorrow I will find out if I am truly fucked (do NOT Google "sternum removal"--ok, I'll save you the trouble. They replace it with a synthetic...cage) or not. I don't think I am, but will relay the news either way.
On other fronts. This week has been nutsilishus. Jeff almost got fired for insubordination. Then he almost transferred to another office. Then he realized that that would totally wreck our life, logistically speaking. He reneged. HR made him come in and do a "conflict resolution" with his boss, who brought in a wooden paddle inscribed with the words, "I yell because I care" or something like that. Apparently, Jeff needed some visual aid in understanding that it's ok for one licensed clinical social worker to verbally abuse another (?!!!). Needless to say, we have made a few exceptions in the "no drinking during the weekdays" rule, of late.
The girls are pretty great: good sports in almost everything. Who knew that an old, pee-stained mattress and a plastic slide could be so diverting? Sophie tops each gruesome wound with another that's bloodier and has more skin flaps hanging off. Puncture wound in the upper lip/mandoline-style shredding of the top of the big toe/etc. etc. etc. Lucy got new Bettie Page-style bangs (not exactly on purpose) which make her look extra cute.
Speaking of which, we have a new kitten, Hester (who could just as easily be named "Plasma"). Today, when I was getting my blood drawn, the guy's eyes lingered at my wrists. "I have a new kitten!" I blurted out. The guy looked bewildered.
I actually waited a few beats.
"The scabs," I said, in a falsetto. "I swear, I'm not a cutter!!!!!!!!"
I'm not sure if he laughed because he thought it was funny or if he just wanted me out of there.
I hope you don't mind this rambling. I'm trying not to channel Lorrie Moore, but it's not working. It's a tic I've had since third grade.
Good night, y'all!
I'm still up, picking at my cuticles over this.
Actually, I just can't sleep. I see the endocrinologist tomorrow. She must think I'm crazy because I always have a complaint. Today I emailed her because I've had this crazy chest pain for the past week or so, like my ribs are bruised. I think it's just a remnant from the cold I've been trying to shake off, but you know how it is when you've had cancer (maybe not) in a nearby region. She told me to come straight in for a chest x-ray, which I did. Tomorrow I will find out if I am truly fucked (do NOT Google "sternum removal"--ok, I'll save you the trouble. They replace it with a synthetic...cage) or not. I don't think I am, but will relay the news either way.
On other fronts. This week has been nutsilishus. Jeff almost got fired for insubordination. Then he almost transferred to another office. Then he realized that that would totally wreck our life, logistically speaking. He reneged. HR made him come in and do a "conflict resolution" with his boss, who brought in a wooden paddle inscribed with the words, "I yell because I care" or something like that. Apparently, Jeff needed some visual aid in understanding that it's ok for one licensed clinical social worker to verbally abuse another (?!!!). Needless to say, we have made a few exceptions in the "no drinking during the weekdays" rule, of late.
The girls are pretty great: good sports in almost everything. Who knew that an old, pee-stained mattress and a plastic slide could be so diverting? Sophie tops each gruesome wound with another that's bloodier and has more skin flaps hanging off. Puncture wound in the upper lip/mandoline-style shredding of the top of the big toe/etc. etc. etc. Lucy got new Bettie Page-style bangs (not exactly on purpose) which make her look extra cute.
Speaking of which, we have a new kitten, Hester (who could just as easily be named "Plasma"). Today, when I was getting my blood drawn, the guy's eyes lingered at my wrists. "I have a new kitten!" I blurted out. The guy looked bewildered.
I actually waited a few beats.
"The scabs," I said, in a falsetto. "I swear, I'm not a cutter!!!!!!!!"
I'm not sure if he laughed because he thought it was funny or if he just wanted me out of there.
I hope you don't mind this rambling. I'm trying not to channel Lorrie Moore, but it's not working. It's a tic I've had since third grade.
Good night, y'all!
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