The Christmas Letter I Didn't Mail

I started writing a Christmas letter this year for the first time. The brag-fest known as "Christmas Letters" have always been uncool in my humble opinion. It was on the short list of things that I thought I'd never do. Like driving a minivan, selling out and working for the MAN, and becoming my mother. And obviously, since all those other three things have come to pass (have I told you how much I love our new minivan?) and there are no signs of Armageddon that I have noticed lately, I figured why not give in and send the letter.

Actually, the more realistic reason for the Christmas letter is because I've finally reached that stage in life where my children, their activities and our family obligations have usurped enough time that I'm not getting to see dear friends as often as I'd like.. and also because I have far-flung friends and family that I get to see maybe only once a year, if at all.

Also, this was an eventful year. I had major illness (HG), a baby, 2 surgeries, and a serious car-accident. Hubby was threatened by a rogue cab driver in Amsterdam. We also traveled (with a 5 week old baby) to Germany, and then in October attended my Grandma's 80th birthday party (which doubled as a family reunion) and my genius cousin's wedding. Although no one wants to see pictures of my gallstones, I figured gratuitous baby pictures and before and after pictures of our car that got totaled in the car accident would be nice to spice up the letter.

But then I ran out of time. Between the Pre-School Christmas party, end-of-year financials at work, Christmas cookies, wrapping all the presents (that's my job -- I could let hubby do it, but I'm a control freak) and organizing the holiday potluck for our group at work (AGAIN with the control-freakishness) ..I think I'm lucky I got the cards out at all. I had a couple of late-night sessions with me sticking on the labels and rapidly signing the cards (No handwritten personal messages, just our names. I suck.)..after the kids were all in bed. After three days in a row of this I wasn't even safe to drive I was so overtired. 'Cause I still had to get up for work at 5am each morning, irregardless of how late I'd been up trying to finish up the cards the night before.

So, consider this post the Christmas Letter I meant to send. We had a busy year. Good outweighed the bad, and we certainly have nothing to brag about except the healthy arrival of our third and final child and the continued survival of our other two. Our little family is overjoyed and we've had a wonderful end to 2004. It ended much better than it started.. and I have hope that 2005 will only just get better.

In fact, the best thing to sum up 2004 is this: I have hope.
I have hope that our children will grow..remain healthy and thrive. That hubby and I will work on getting in better shape and losing our baby weight. I have hope that I will stay employed, and even have a neat opportunity to travel back to Japan in Q1.
I have hope that 2005 will find us NOT visiting the hospital so frequently. I have hope that no one in our little family will require surgery or anything more than well-child visits or antibiotics for ear infections.
I have hope that nothing bad will happen to our new vehicles and that we won't need the cars to visit a body shop. I have hope that we'll actually get out on the boat a bit more next summer than we did this past summer. I have hope that I will finally finish the baby's quilt just in time for his first birthday. I have hope that 2005 will be one of those years that we look back on some time in the distant future and say: "Man, I'd go back to 2005 anytime. That was a good year."

I hope the same for you, too.

We are so going to hell - part 2

So, for the wonderful mom who drives my daughter from her day care to her Christian pre-school 2 days each week while I'm at work, I made a special trip to the local Christian book store to find a particular book I thought she'd enjoy. I found the book I planned on giving her plus a couple more and almost choked when the grand total at the register was like 2X as much as I expected.

I came home and hubby and I had a (blasphemous!) conversation that just confirmed our one-way tickets to Hades:

Me: "Man, that place is a rip!"

Hubby: "Yeah, they think just 'cause you're buying Jesus-stuff they can screw you!!"


Then we both cackled, y'know, like evil heathen types do.

We are so going to hell

Hubby listens to NPR all day..and heard this woman speak. He sent me this link:

http://www.psr.edu/page.cfm?l=91&id=106

..because he thought it would interest me.

It was heavy duty reading, but I can condense it for you:

1) Our gay family & friends and their partners are OK in the eyes of God (this I think I knew already, BTW)

2) Hubby and I are so going to hell.

...And this would be just because we got married after his Ex divorced him (re-marriage for him, marriage to a divorced person for me). The only thing that gives me hope that we aren't off to purgatory is that she (his Ex) cheated.. But then only one out of the three passages of scripture give us a chance at being legitimately married because his Ex cheated. So, 2 out of 3 Bible passages tell me to prepare for eternal damnation.

Hmm. Maybe I should stop teaching Sunday school then, eh?

Can I please have the guacamole-ranch dressing with my foot?

Flashback to Mother's Day 2001. We had flown with our 3 week old baby to show her off to the Ohio grandparents. On our way between houses (being a child of divorce means 4 grandparents on mommy's side of the family) I stopped at a store to buy my mother a hanging basket of flowers for her patio as a Mother's Day gift. Hubby and the baby stayed in the rental car as I ran in quickly. As I carried the hanging planter to the counter the cashier said: "Oh no, let me carry that for you." Then, as I pulled out my wallet to pay she said: "So, when are you due?" After a long pause (can you just hear the crickets in the background?) I said: "The baby is in the car parked out front." To her credit, she blushed and mumbled an apology of some sort.
I blamed myself for wearing an old maternity t-shirt. Plus I'm sure I looked pregnant still. Heck, the baby was only a month old. Still, my feelings were bruised a bit. I remember griping to my husband that it's just never safe for someone to ask that question unless it's ABSOLUTELY obvious someone is with child.
How quickly we forget.
So, hubby is out of town on business this week. This means that some nights instead of cooking at home we go out to eat. Sometimes it's easier to be at home, but usually the littlest one (4 mo. old) is so cooperative and the big ones are so entertained at the kid-friendly places we dine, that eating out is the path of least resistance. Lately the 3.5 yr. old is in love with a chain restaurant featuring a large red pepper as it's logo. I like a salad they have there, she loves the "slushie" style drinks, cinnamon apples and that they give her a whole big cup full of crayons and a balloon.
As we plopped into our booth the waitress came by to take our order. As I turned to look at her my eyes were level with her mid-section. And what should pop out of my mouth but: "Are you expecting?" Open mouth, insert foot. Of course, she said: "Um, no, my little one is already here." I apologized and then tipped her BIG. Really big. I thought about writing a little note on the receipt apologizing for being a doofus and blaming my complete and utter lack of sleep lately on my lapse.. but decided that I'd just slink out and leave lots of cash in apology. So, she probably thinks: "What a rude woman. Good tipper, but a rude woman!"

A short list of things to be thankful for..

At this very moment my wonderful husband is working on getting our oldest two children to bed. This is not a special occasion, he does this pretty much every night when he is not traveling for business. This allows me to nurse the 4 month old and relax in the rocking chair. This gives me time, at the moment, to post for the first time in nearly a month.. and he does this without fuss or complaint. And this is just one of the many kindnesses he shows me on a daily basis.

Watch out -- the flood gates are opening and I'm feeling incredibly grateful for everything in my life tonight. (And it's not just because of Thanksgiving. Which came and went in a pleasant, if somewhat uneventful manner this year.)

Today, every member of my little nuclear family is healthy. After a month of nasty high fever viruses, my surgery, at least 2 colds per family member, pink eye and a Partridge in a Pear Tree.. we're all (if only for a moment) healthy.

We're all safe, warm and cozy and about to go to sleep for the night - and we have no fears, concerns or major worries to trouble us. I'm almost scared at how idyllic life is for now.

I am very blessed. I have healthy, beautiful children. A loving, extremely thoughtful and talented husband who I only love more and more with each passing day. Wonderful friends. A home and no major financial problems. I live in a free country where my greatest worry is meeting our material needs, not whether or not we'll eat each day. We have excellent health insurance. We have more clothes and food than we need. Our children have plenty of toys and go to good schools.

On a more shallow note.. these are the things I am grateful for each day..the small things that make each day a bit sweeter:

-Heated leather seats in my luxurious new minivan. I thought I'd never drive a minivan, and moreover, if I was forced to that it'd suck. I LOVE this van. It's cool. And, I love it's heated leather seats.

-Paradise Tropical iced tea. Delivered to my house. I brew up a large pot and it lasts for about 2 days.

-Wonderful coworkers. I love my boss and my coworkers. Having had a terrible boss (we're talking mentally abusive and mind-warping as opposed to just annoying or demanding) in the past makes working for my current boss that much more appreciated.

-My day care provider. She loves my children genuinely and shares the same values we do. She takes care of my kids the way I would if I could stay home with them everyday..or maybe a bit better.. because it's her JOB to play with them and do art projects with them.. whereas, if I stayed home, they'd just go to grocery and dry cleaners a lot more often. I never have to worry about what my children are doing, learning or feeling-- because I know she's hugging them, holding them, feeding them well and building them up in the best possible way. I am VERY fortunate.

-Quilting. I am so fortunate I have found a lifelong hobby - and I am totally addicted. There is nothing more comforting than the feel of the fabric between my fingers.. Well, except maybe for hugs from my husband. Nice quilting cottons are a close second to hugs from my husband.

-Decent alternative radio. Thank GOD we have one alternative station in this vast wasteland of radio suburbia here in the Twin Cities. It's good, too. When I hear the new Green Day song and crank it up (when the kids are NOT in the minivan the volume goes up REALLY loud), I want to send a large cash donation to keep this radio station afloat. Thank God for good alternative radio. And, for the XM radio channels I'll be able to listen to when I get my portable XM player at Christmas.

That's enough for now. Now I think I'll go to bed.. so that tomorrow morning I can be grateful that I got almost 7 hours of sleep.

Clearly I was on crack

One of the frequent expressions we use around our house is: "You must be on crack." This is used to convey the opinion that the other person is so clearly in an altered state that what they've just said makes no sense.
Example:
Hubby: "I thought you'd WANT to take the kids on a hike. It's so sunny out today and it's going to be near 30 F by afternoon.."
Me: "Take the newborn on a hike? When there are snow flurries? You must be on crack."

Now, to be honest, if I was trying for humor I'd be better off using "Meth" as opposed to "crack" in my sentence.. as clearly, the suburban midwest has far more rampant meth use than crack use.

However, this particular phrase was coined years ago in our little family, and we'll probably be saying it when we're in the retirement home in the year 2054 when crack no longer exists and the health aides charged with our care will have no idea what we're talking about.

Perhaps we should worry about not saying this in front of the kids..in case they repeat it at school. Hmm. Hadn't crossed my mind until just now. Oh well. The things that come out of our 3 yr. old's mouth are already so colorful that her teachers would probably not be terribly surprised. I'm looking forward to a very interesting parent-teacher conference with her pre-school teachers later this month. Especially because around election day she was given to saying: "Bush is a bad guy. He likes war and killing." I'm sure any comments about that at her all-Christian pre-school went over like a lead balloon. But, I digress.

What I really intended to explain is that -- I was obviously on crack when I posted last Thursday. A vacation? Chuh! What was I THINKING?
First of all, we had a sick toddler (hence, no daycare for her), and it was a non-school day. So, hubby ended up with ALL 3 kids at the hospital. It's hard to say who was having the worse afternoon. Me, being cut up, or hubby trying to entertain and keep somewhat quiet three children (age 7, 3.5 yrs. and 3.5 months).
And, things did not go as I expected. Last time I had sedation, this time I had to be totally put under anesthesia and intubated because they didn't want my lungs to move and mess up the procedure. Those darn spastic lungs!
And, furthermore, they have done away with the Lorna Doone shortbread cookies in the effort of cost-reduction at the hospital. That was a BIG disappointment.

So, post-operatively, I had my choice of saltines ...or saltines. They made a nasty paste in my dried out mouth..because the anti-nausea medicine (or perhaps due to the intubation?) had totally shut off my saliva factory.
That dry-mouth thing lasted for almost 24 hours! I kept telling hubby that he had to touch my tongue..because it was surreal. I could drink water or suck on an ice cube and STILL have a totally dried out tongue that felt like a cat's tongue. Very strange.
However, I couldn't even really enjoy that strange sensation much because there was so much pain. I writhed. I made noises. I scared the small children in our house. I had plenty of pain drugs.. but not much could help me but the passage of time. And gas. See...they fill you up with CO2 gas when they do laprascopic surgery. I didn't know this. Oh, but did I learn. It's NOT pleasant to be inflated like a balloon. I kept visualizing the scene in Shrek where Fiona and Shrek inflate a snake and a frog - that's how I felt, like the snake that got blown up and twisted into shape like a clown's balloon trick.

About 36 hours after the surgery I was OK. Not good, but OK. Back to being able to care for the baby and fend for myself a bit. Fiesty enough to tell the home care nurse who called that the worst part of the recovery room was that there were not Lorna Doone cookies anymore. She said almost every repeat patient has commented on that. In the words of Flavor Flav: "Operation No Doubt is in effect."
When you haven't eaten in almost 24 hours, your first bit of food is important. I mean, if they really want to do it right, there should be a menu and linen table cloths. Then again, this time I couldn't have appreciated that anyways. This time, all I wanted was more anti-nausea medicine and something for the pain, please.

Now I'm just sore and weak. But otherwise ready to go back to work tomorrow.

Vacation my @ss. I must have been on crack.

Mini Vacation Tomorrow

I am having surgery tomorrow. Nothing major. It may entail one night hospitalization, or I may manage to be discharged from day surgery just after dinner time. I'm not at all worried, and in fact, I'm looking forward to feeling better once my pesky malfunctioning gallbladder is removed. In fact, I have a very odd way of looking at day surgery - to me it's actually a bit like a short vacation.
You see, at this point in my life with 3 kids, a fulltime job and a very often absent husband, I'm very tired. I get up daily at around 4am, sometimes 5 - and literally run myself ragged until I collapse at night at the first chance possible (whenever the kids are in bed).

Tomorrow, I will lay down for several hours, be given a steady stream of pain killers, be waited on by kind nurses who will fetch me cookies and juice, and even get a nap for a few hours. It's a lot like flying first class. In fact, the second recovery area, where you sit in an oversized lounge chair and your family comes back to join you even feels like a First Class seat in an airplane.

So, the mild discomfort the surgery brings, at least for me, is totally made up for by the luxury of being able to spend the day horizontal and being cared for by others instead of having to care for others.

Greetings from Mrs. Chesty McChesterson.

I have the rack I always daydreamed of as a teenager, but I'm certainly far from flaunting it. I wear baggy layers. Non-descript loose fitting sweaters or shirts. Anything long enough to cover my thick waistline, and certainly nothing with a plunging neckline. You'd think I (or my husband) would want to savor this last time that I'm going to have anything close to the category of "well-endowed" for a bust-line. Um, not so much.

In fact, the only comment that my husband ever makes these days about my chest is for me to cover up and not flash people. See, I'm not afraid to nurse the baby in public, and generally speaking I'm well covered up (baby's blanket, appropriate nursing top, etc.) but I'm apparently not as conscientious about it as my hubby would like. (I'm less observant - mainly because I'm more concerned about how the baby is latching on or eating and less concerned with whether anyone else is getting a glimpse of skin.) See, it's not that he's afraid of other men seeing his wife's chest. No, no -- he's worried about other diners in the Perkins being grossed out by my boobage. I might spoil their appetite. How thoughtful my husband is. Not of, me, but certainly of his fellow diners.

On a topic totally unrelated to my boobs (or poop - I'm not Dooce(TM) after all - no, I'm nowhere near as cool as Dooce).. Halloween has come and gone once again. Every holiday lately just goes to serve as a reminder that I am getting old. That my children are growing up so rapidly that I may blink and find myself wearing adult diapers rather than changing the diapers of my little nipple-muncher (oops, there goes that boob topic again).

This year, our oldest decided we weren't cool enough, or at least not "hard core" enough to go to enough houses to get the maximum possible amount of candy. Thus, she went trick or treating with her friends. (And an adult chaperone. I'm not stupid. Just uncool - ask my kids. Actually, strike that.. read on and you'll know I'm both uncool AND stupid.)

Our pre-schooler, after an exciting day of carving pumpkins, singing in church (mommy was very verklempt) and brunch with grandma and grandpa and playing at home.. Daddy let her skip her nap. Unfortunately, this meant she looked more like a Zombie frog for Halloween. Unintentionally. And, when she's overtired, like all other 3 year olds on the planet, she gets a bit prone to high-drama tearful episodes.
And so, I give you the choice lines she said yesterday:

1. "Mommy, you don't know your shapes. So just do what I tell you." (while carving pumpkins)
2. "Daddy! You just don't know about kids!" (when daddy was trying to put her gloves on before she went trick or treating)
3. "I like Claire." (out of the blue, hours after seeing her friends from pre-school)

Yes, our little moppet is full of fun sayings. More funny stories about her and her announcements (particularly in public settings) another day..

I give in..

So I've been reading other people's blogs - and each time something hits a nerve I leave a 10 - mile long "de-lurking" reply. Nazi-LaLeche league types. Nasty people in the grocery store. Gallbladder woes.
These lengthy comment submissions are.. a bit embarassing. I mean, it's something like being a wind-bag at someone else's party. Reminds me again that I'm old before my time because I'm like that ancient Aunt that corners you at the family reunion and tells you all about her bunions when all you wanted to do was slip past her to reach the bowl of dip on the table..

So, instead I'll make my own blog.
Of course-- the moment I do, watch my pithy comments and interesting stories dry up and wither promptly.

And, of course, I've chosen the single most busy day I've had in the last 6 months for the day I'd start to post on blogger. Doesn't it figure.

In brief... I'm a mom (hence: Okaasan, the Japanese word for mom). To three. In fact, I'm a stepmom (1) , biomom (2), wife (1), fulltime computer engineer (geek), and sometimes I even call myself a quilter.

I used to be cool. Really. Ask me about my wild days of touring with the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Smashing Pumpkins. I haven't retired my Doc Martens - but the black leather jacket doesn't get worn much now that I'm stuck in the 'burbs.

I have a newborn, a pre-school and an elementary school aged child. I breastfeed - but only one of those three. I work - did I mention full time? I am bilingual in Japanese (um, hence the Okaasan name...). My kids say funny things. I have good stories. At least, that's what my girl friends tell me. But, then maybe they're just being kind.

Maybe I should try this again another day when I have more time, and a little less work to finish.

Osenko and the Fudoyasan

This afternoon while doing the laundry I got a whiff of the incense I was burning and it brought back a memory that must be from a dozen years ago.

When I'd been in Japan a while I lucked into finding incense from a small shop in my college town back in Ohio in a department store in Oita Japan. I was so excited and bought as much as my meager salary would allow.

I came back to my apartment and lit up a stick and was transported felt a bit less homesick. I had grand plans to make a taco salad for dinner with some Doritos I'd found at the import store for just about $10 US (980 yen) and was doing laundry, hanging clothes out to dry on my balcony when the phone rang.

It was my Fudosan (不動産業者). (= Rental Agent) The real estate company which I hadn't seen since I'd signed my lease when I first arrived at least a year before was calling me at home, how odd!

At this point I should explain. The apartment overlooked a recycling company. It was loud, and sometimes smelly (they'd burn tires occasionally) and I'd tried hard to adjust to the early morning sounds of clanking metal being dumped from a truck into a yard, but this was the only apartment the school had arranged for me, and I had no choice in the matter or opportunity to move.

All of the residents had balconies that overlooked this lovely industrial scrap heap (and the burning tires and chemicals) and THIS is where we would hang our laundry. For the most part almost no one has a clothing dryer in Japan, or at least not in the late nineties, early part of the new century. It's normal to wash, then hang (inside or out) your clothes, linens - and most people air out their futon by hanging it out their window or on their balcony rail occasionally, too. Oh, and when airing out the futon, people would beat them vigorously to shake out the ダニ dani (dust mites).

Also, while your laundry was drying if your neighbor was frying fish (a common breakfast item) or cooking anything else pungent--oh well, it all vented out to our common balcony areas. The higher floors probably had a better view OVER the recycling place to the ocean (we were about a 5 minute walk from Beppu Bay) but..any cooking smells that went up, went up to them as well, too.

So, back to the call from the 不動産業者. They reminded me who they were (the fudosan) and we did the surface formality greetings. Then they started asking me very round-about questions:
F: "Are you cooking something?"
Me: Uh..no, doing laundry.
F: "Oh..then do you smell a fire or something? Something burning?"
Me: Uh..no (but now alarmed) but let me look outside to see! Sometimes they burn things across the way!
F: "..."
Me: (Relieved after checking) Oh, good, no - I can only just smell neighbors cooking.
F: "Are you SURE you aren't burning something? Because we have had, um, a complaint about some burning smell - something not right coming from your home."
Me: (still clueless) Wow, no. That's weird. I'm not burning anything. Anyhow, thanks for checking on me - I'm relieved there is no fire!
F: ...
Me: (all the expressions/formalities for ending a phone call in a businesslike manner)
Then the Fudosan, in a resigned tone, also exchanged the end-of-phone call expressions and we end our call.

A little while later, while hanging out my white load I realized it!
My incense!

There was a crabby lady who lived one door down from me. She would never greet me whenever we would happen to cross paths (even though I was greeting her in perfectly fluent Japanese - so she needn't have been worried I didn't speak Japanese).
She once left a nasty note in my mail box saying that my futon was obscuring the morning sunlight for her plants on her balcony and I should be more prompt in bringing in my futon. (Unsigned note of course, but the neighbor to the left had no plants and never was anything but friendly.)

Even though incense (osenko) is commonly burnt in the Butsudan daily (the Butsudan is a sort of family shrine with photos and momentos of deceased relatives commonly found in nearly all Japanese homes)..the incense from the Butsudan was slightly different in scent than my "foreign" incense (osenko).
Also, the neighbor probably assumed there was no way I could have a butsudan, so clearly as a young and wild American I must be smoking something! Perhaps her imagination ran as wild as to think it was illegal drugs. Who knows! 

How wrong she was. I would've loved if she'd had the gumption to push a little further rather than to passive aggressively call up and complain to the Fudosan. Had she called the police and they'd found it was osenko (something SHE burned daily, by the way) she would have been completely ashamed. (A big deal in Japan to lose face that way. Especially to a gaijin!) 

Oh well. Didn't stop me from burning incense in the future. I just tended to keep my balcony sliding doors on HER side (there were two rooms with floor to ceiling balcony doors) closed when I enjoyed my Wildberry Blend22 or Sandalwood incense.