Monday, April 30, 2012

No, Really...

Here's the thing: My kids are awesome. They are brilliant and beautiful and preternaturally funny. They are kind and sweet and well-mannered. (Except when they are not.) They are 90% angel and 10% brilliant beaming light from above. In other words, I am every parent you've ever met.

And I talk about my kids a lot. I have seven years of experience at talking about my kids. You know, because they are exceptional.

And here's the thing: people have no trouble believing that Brynna is reading on a fifth grade level, or that she regularly gives me (good) fashion advice. I've never been met with disbelief when I am waxing rhapsodic about her acclaimed and phenomenal artistic talent.

People nod emphatically when I regale with tales of Maren's impressive intelligence and early mastery of sarcasm. They may look taken aback, but never disbelieving when I demonstrate her abnormal vocabulary. And they never bat an eye at her predilection for all things scary.

So, why? Why, oh why, cruel world, do you not believe me when I tell you that my three year old fixes cars. I will readily admit that she does it with help and that she's not out there dropping transmissions on her own. But the fact is that she is really helping and in a much bigger way than the tool handing that I occasionally did for my grandpa when he tried to beat engines into submission, because he was truly as lost as I was.

She knows if your car has a carborator. I dont' even know the purpose of a carborator. You could tell me in the comments, but it's not like I've never been told. It's just not the sort of information my brain retains. (Ask me about which Manson victims were killed with which weapons or the order in which 90's grunge icons died, though. I retain stuff. Just totally and completely useless stuff.)

She got mad at me for putting coolant in my car without her assistance. She helped put new brakes on my car and she occasionally (with her Papaw's help) rescues stranded motorists. She is, completely of her own volition, obviously,**) saving money for a motorcycle.

I do not make these things up. If I were going to assign her a skill set and tell completely fictional stories about her aptitude, it would be about something which I know more than - oh hey, car, yo.

So trust me, I am not making this up. Gushing, yes. Telling the same stories ninety times, of course. Hoping that one day she'll get my stupid triad of doom to go away and my van to run properly, absolutely. But not making this up.

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Kids: Ruing Stuff You Love Since Ever

My mother and my little brother share this intense love of cars and all things vroom-y. And I like to be inside of the vroomy things. I am supremely uninterested in how it works or why it works. All I care about is the windows down, stereo cranked, wind in my hair, what speed limit?

I love to drive. I used to drive a lot. Just for the fun. I would take the longest possible route home, purposely get myself lost in the middle of nowhere. A full tank of gas and who cares if we missed that turn, let's see where this road goes.

My long drive (about an hour each way with stops for kids) is a big part of why I live where I live. (Let's be honest, ridiculously low housing prices in the smallest town in the world is another big part.) I like to get in the car and go.

I like the feel of the road under my tires, the push and pull of curves and hills, the roar/purr/clanky jive of the engine. It's an experience. Driving. It fills me with peace and happiness and faith in the world around me.

Or it used to.

Now, it fills me with headaches and misery and screaminess. Why? Because the car is much like the octagonal ring in UFC. By that, I men that the minute we get in the car, my kids start with each other.

"Don't touch me." - "I'm not touching you."
"Maren caaaalled me Frienna."
"You hit me! She hit me! Make her sit on her hands."
"Be quiet! I don't want to hear you sing."
"I just want to go to sleep."
"It is not a bear. There are no bears here. Mommy would have said, hey kids, look, it's a bear if there were a bear."*
"That's my baby. Get your own baby."
"Why won't you share your blanket with me."
"I dropped my puppy."

It never ends. Until we get out of the car. And then, magically, it's:
"I'll get the mail."
"Do you need help with your backpack, Maren."
"Mommy, can I unlock the door?"

But by then, my nerves are shot, my patience is gone, my head is throbbing and all I want is to go to bed.

I find myself dreading getting in the car. I find myself trying to avoid driving places.

Someone tell me this will go away. Please. Before they both have a licence. Just in case: only-thirteen-more-years, only-thirteen-more-years.

I love my kids, but I sure miss my drive.

*I'm not totally convinced I would. It would probably be more like, "Holy Pants, where'd that bear come from? What should we do? Should I call someone? Bear on the lose, bear on the lose." I live in the boonies, but not that far in the boonies, y'all.

Friday, April 20, 2012

Five Things on Friday - Living in the Future Edition

You know, this was once amazing
and bizarre technology.
As you know, I read a lot of Sci Fi. My passion for Sci Fi is the balance of what changes and what stays the same. The human condition is a constant, whether we're in Renaissance Venice, modern-day New York City or a colony on Mars. Humanity will be consistently beset with the same issues and tribulations - the fragility of the human body and mind, the balance of compassion and self-preservation, the moral ambiguity of everyday life.

What changes is not us, is not ever us. What changes is our interaction with the world around us. The technology that is developed, or sometimes lost, changes the way we live, but not who we are.

Sometimes, I am struck by the reality that I am, in a very real way, living in the future. We all are. We have, chronologically at least, surpassed 1984 and 2001: A Space Odyssey and more and more checkpoints are passed by every day. And yet, in some ways... well, in some ways, we are still watching 90210 and Dallas, so we can't be making that much progress.

All the same, though,

Five Things We Have Now that Could Have Been Wild Speculation Just a Few Years Ago


1. Holographic Performers - Okay, obviously, everyone has heard about the resurrection of Tupac, via hologram at the annual Coachella whatever it is. But, hey, did you know about Hatsune Miku? No, neither did I until this morning. Here, watch this, then return to me, my minions of YouTube. Confused? Hatsune Miku is a completely holographic, fictional performer who plays sold-out shows in Japan. Really, there's no person here. Her voice is sampled and run through some obviously voodoo computer program. Her lyrics and music are crowd sourced, written by fans and posted to YouTube or the Japanese equivalent. There is no human element. She's all made-up and all Live and In Concert. I can't decide if this is amazing or truly creepy. That's kinda what makes for good Sci Fi, though, so I'm a-gonna roll with it.

2. Cell Phones - I know this is wicked obvious, but just take a moment to soak this in: you probably have, in your pocket right now, a computer more powerful than the first computer to ever browse the Internet, with more memory than one of the early roomful of computers. Faster than the teacher's computer in your first Apple IIe computer lab. And here's the thing - chances are you've already reached at least one limit of it's power, run out of storage space and complained more than once about how slowly it loads video. It's a minuscule little powerhouse that just happens to also make calls, take pictures, check your email and function as a Star Trek worthy comm device. Plus, it's voice activated. (At least mine is - ha ha suckers - and I don't even have to call it Suri.)

3. E-Books - Trust me, I am the absolute first to insist that real, paper books remain a part of our world. There shall always be libraries, book shelves, the smell of paper and the annoyance of dust jackets, so long as I rule the world. (Shh. Don't upset the crazy lady.) But, seriously, as someone who is a book hoarder and has moved her entire library across the country and across town, I can say with absolute conviction, walking around with 27 books in my purse, like I am right now, rocks. Being able to whip out a couple of never-before read books in the doctor's office or a traffic jam to amuse a whiny kid rocks. Making margin notes and covering the pages with post-its, without literally making margin notes and covering the pages with post-its rocks. And I won't even get into how great it is to be able to go to the library at 3 a.m. FutureBooks - we has 'em.

4. Smart Appliances - The Smart House is something that pops up again and again in Sci Fi. In fact, on the fabulous show Eureka, airing right stinking now, Sarah is the sheriff's smart house (and more this season, hehehe). And yet, have you seen this fridge? It keeps track of what you have, tells you what you need to buy, what you can cook with what you have, connects to the Internet and scolds you if you take too many brownies. (I'm not sure about that last part.) And that's just the start, smart ovens and stovetops aren't far behind and there's even been a preview of a smart washing machine. Is it really that far fetched that we'll get them all to talk and maintain one "house" computer that knows everything that's going on? I think not. Exciting in a Sarah sort of way. Terrifying in a Skynet sort of way.

5. Reality TV - From The Running Man to Death Race to The Hunger Games, reality TV is an important part of our future. It's the struggle for humanity itself as people watch with awe as other's are injured, tortured and even killed. This is the "there but for the grace of God," version of the future. Or you could look at the example of Idiocracy and compare it to Jersey Shore. Whatever. It works either way.

I'm still waiting for the teleportation device, though. What are you amazed that we have? Or, what are you still waiting for?

Thursday, April 12, 2012

About Me




About Jessi or LadyJess
(depending on how you got here)






I am:
  • Clinically Insane - I perhaps lack paperwork, but I make up for it with a collection of neuroses that rival only serial killers and clowns. I am afraid of being trapped, silence, Charles Manson, dead things, mice and really bright sunshine. I am not afraid of vampires, bats, snakes, tornadoes or zombies. Go figure.
  • A Crafter - It's possible that this counts under clinically insane. It does lead to hoarding and the annoying habit of picking up trash and saying, "Oooh. Wouldn't this make a lovely mixing bowl." Forgive me. I also crochet.
  • Single - I am recently divorced. I talk about it some.  I actually kinda like it.
  • A Mom - I have two beautiful and amazing kids who drive me crazy, make me laugh, cuddle up with me in front of the TV and sing Indigo Girls songs. They are pretty spectacular. 
  • A Huge and Unrelenting Geek with Only Moderate Geek Cred - I read comics, but only those with no superheroes, I love SciFi, but am neither a Trekkie or one of those people who can remember if Admiral Akbar is a good guy or a bad guy. (Good guy, right? These are the things that keep me up at night.) I love Joss Whedon, They Might Be Giants, Wil Wheaton and British genre shows. I say things like "I love British genre shows." I have a degree in English Lit, which means that sometimes I wax rhapsodic about TV as literature or the place of faith in modern Science Fiction. I also read. A lot.
  • Ridiculously Insecure - So, you know, just like every other girl on the planet.
  • A Pof - Or Person of Faith for those of you who are not me. I go to church, I read the Bible, I do all of that stuff. I'm a Christian, mostly.
  • A Believer - Here's the thing. I believe in ghosts, I believe that zombies are one irresponsible government move away and that we will one day colonize another planet. Yes, I am insane. We covered that. No, I'm not crazy.
  • A Writer - As long as you share my definition of writer as "a person who writes." 
Other Things I Do:

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

A Where that Is Else


So, I know I've been MIA. I spent Friday shoe shopping with youngsters, yesterday caring for a sick kiddo and today, well, today I'm busy catching up from Friday and today. I promise that there will be better posting ahead. Way better.

In the meantime, I shall distract you with shiny things:

I have a post up today at Do These Kids Make Me Look Crazy as a part of The Divorce Project. You should check it out. 

Oooh, shiny. My kids decked out in their Easter finery.
Slightly less shiny: Maren in her natural Easter state.
Brynna rockin' the Easter shades.

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

What I Want to Say

When things began to look grim, I went in search of blogs dealing with divorce. It seemed only rational to look to people on the blogosphere who were sharing my experience, or the experience I was fairly certain I was headed toward.

I didn't find much.

Oh, it's not that no one out there is writing about divorce, it's just that none of it was right.

There were the bitter folks: those who blamed everything on the other party and hated them like fire for the horror they'd caused. You know, I have those moments, I suppose everyone has those moments, but the truth is that sustaining that kind of anger takes a lot of work. I don't have the energy. Plus, I figure we're both pretty stricken right now. No need to make it worse.

There were the sad people: those who felt like everything they'd ever been was being yanked away from them. I guess I have those moments, too. Let's not forget that in addition to being my husband and the father of my kids, The Ex was my best friend. For about fourteen years. Losing that person is sad and hard and there are a lot of days where I just feel like no one will ever get me again. But that's not the sum, or even the majority of my experience.

I believe that what we are doing right now, no matter how hard and sad and rage-inducing is right. We tried, we did. We made a valiant effort and now we are making an effort to move on, be cooperative, co-parent and live happy lives.

I never saw myself here. I never imagined that we would be part of the half that don't make it. Not for one second. But now that I'm here, I don't feel any of the things I thought I would feel. I'm hopeful and mostly happy.

Just before Christmas, someone who works in my building heard the news. "Congratulations," she said. I blinked. Said thanks. Blinked again. Then I started crying. Happy tears, because I swear to pants she was the first person who didn't say they were sorry or that they hoped we worked it out or that it must be so hard. She was the first person that saw in me that this was better.

When I told her that, she told me this story. When she and her husband split up, a well-meaning friend said how sad it was that her kids had to grow up in a "broken home" now. My friend, let's call her Abby, said, "No they don't. It was broken and I fixed it."

That's largely how I feel. We were broken. And we were living our broken lives, convincing ourselves that it was better, it was healthier, it was more moral and better for the kids and that broken was just a temporary state. We were wrong.

We're still not to the point where we talk much, but I can tell you about me. I'm not broken anymore. I'm adjusting. I'm struggling some days, but I'm not broken. I'm finding myself and remembering all the things I used to like about myself. I'm pretty spiffy, actually.

And here's what I want to say: Divorce is never easy. It's never pleasant or nice or comfortable. It's not ideal. But it's okay. It's fine. It's okay to be mad. It's fine to be sad. But it's also okay to be fine. It's okay to see the way your life was and the way life is now and say: That's better. It's okay to dust off your hands and start putting your life back in the order you prefer. It's okay.

People are going to say stupid things. Because they do. People are going to do stupid things. Because they do. But when people say you are in denial or that you're cold or that you should be feeling this whole list of things that you just don't feel, just remember. Fixing is hard work, but that's what you're doing. And you're doing a fine job of it.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

For D Upon His Graduation

Dear D,

Do you know how clearly I remember the day you were born? Or your goofy little kid smile? The pictures you sent me in Kansas? Or the dragon shirts? Or your middle school football games?

This weekend, I watched you graduate and walk out into the world as an adult. Someone with purpose and preparation. A person ready to pursue your dreams.

I have spent your entire life being fiercely proud of you. Proud of your intelligence, your sense of humor, your compassion (even though you like to pretend you don't have any), your strength, your talent and your grace.

You are an amazing person. An amazing person who has thwarted expectations at every turn.

At your graduation, there was a speech about the "three kinds of people in this world." It was sweet and inspiring and in may ways, oh so true. I thought I would share with you my version.

There are three kinds of people in this world: those who can count and those who can't.

I say this, because as much as I understand and appreciate the sentiment behind that touching speech, I hope something else for you: that you will never strive to be any kind of person.

Because you are enough just the way you are. By following your heart, your conscience, your faith or the voices in your head, you have become more than I ever dreamed of hoping for that chubby faced little brother of mine.

You've never done what was expected or easy or enough. You have instead sought out the paths that lead where you want to go, regardless of where they lead in the meantime. And you have persevered.

Now, you are standing on a precipice. I don't know if it truly feels like it or not, but this is the moment. The moment when you let go of the rope, jump out of the plane, yell "Geronimo" and free fall. You'll have more moments like this, some even more scary, but this moment is where you and you alone are responsible for the outcome.

It's terrifying and exhilarating and amazing. And you are ready.

Don't follow. Don't try to be anything you aren't. Do what you think is right is best and never forget that no matter how high that plane, you always have a safety net.

Just be you. Always. Because you are amazing.

Love,
Your Big Sister

P.S. I love you.