Rolling on Shabbos.

In honor of our anniversary, and also to celebrate Jason's birthday, we're rolling on Shabbos at the Superbowl in Tarrant this Saturday night. We're all dressing up as characters from The Big Lebowski, and I think it's going to be a great time. The lanes are officially reserved from 8:00 until 11:00, and I'm AWFULLY excited about it. I hope to see some serious action from The Jesus, The Dude, Walter, and all the heavy hitters. I hope to see you all there.

Four. Or five. Or six, if we're starting with the first time I really thought about you.

I've been thinking a lot about friends and lovers and family and what it all means, what it means to be friends and lovers and family.

I've talked a lot lately about trying, making a concentrated effort to be a good person.

I just think that it's so hard to be sincere and honest AND think about the effect you're having on other people. Not impossible, but hard. It takes a lot of thought and time and attention span to think that way, to think about the future and other people's brains and your own brain and your desires and feelings and other people's desires and feelings. It's easy to say what you want to say, to put your two cents in, to make your opinion heard. It's harder to live the life that you want to live and hold onto everything that you love.

I've had a lot of concerns lately about Kane, his being eleven, his being in sixth grade, his inching towards teenagerhood. We've all either been through it or are heading towards it, so I know it's not an impossible mountain to climb. But I feel very much like I wish it could be easier, or I wish he could just already know the self-aware, stand-up, impossibly smart person that he's going to be in ten years. I wish we could skip this part where people are mean and it hurts him. He told us recently that he can't wear this particular jacket he has, this corduroy jacket with a fleece collar, a jacket that Jason and I both have exact versions of, because "I already get called a nerd enough". It's heartbreaking in a very personal way having been a person who had to start finding ways to endure acne jokes at the age of eight, a person who was "weird", a person who wore clothes from Bargain Town and went to school not knowing that there was anything about her that deserved ridicule. And I know that a lot of us withstood ridicule, that I'm not special in that experience. But that doesn't make it any easier when your eleven-year-old tears up when you ask him how his day was.

Jude is pretty solid right now. He tears up when we make him do his homework, or when sundown is too close to let him wander the neighborhood, or when we won't let him have that thirteenth piece of candy. He is impossibly cool. I wish I was as unapologetic about my coolness.

I feel constant pity for their mother, a woman who tries to find ways to spend less time with them. She is missing out on her children, on actual human beings that her body made, and when I look at Reed and every time my body aches because I have to leave him with people who are not his family I wonder how Mary can seek this out, can actively seek out how to spend less time with them. Every time I hear them talk in their sleep I think how it's a special gift, an inside joke that she's giving away to a crazy person who obsesses about socks.

Reed is a powerhouse, a tiny little person who has his own agenda and his own rules and tells us all about his life at every chance he gets. He tells us that there are boogers in his ears, that the kitty hit him, that he wants wadah and fizzy-fizzy and be-bies (water and coke and french fries, the basis of any healthy diet), and I ache to my core when I look at him because I know that I have an open invitation to totally fuck him up if I make him anything like myself. PLEASE, GOD, LET HIM BE NORMAL, let him be sure of himself and unafraid and steadfast and hardworking, let him be a good man who takes care of his family and loves his wife/husband/significant other/children/whathaveyou, let him be a person who can stay calm and remember himself and let water slide off the duck's back, PLEASE just let him be a rock, a stable person who loves life and sucks it through his teeth at every turn.

And God, while you're at it, please let me be a woman who is constantly thankful for the man in my life, a man who is a rock and is constantly reminding me how to be positive and excited and happy for my life.

Happy anniversary, Jason. I love you.

All these poses, these beautiful poses.

All these poses, these beautiful poses.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

Know what happens when you go out into the hall to take pictures at two in the morning after a lot of beer-drinking?

Reedy.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

Well, we had a lovely Thanksgiving. We ate Thanksgiving dinner about four times, I think, and I am feeling good about it.

Jason's birthday was yesterday; he is now not only an old man, he's an older man. We celebrated by going to his brother's house where we drank beer, watched the kids scream, and tested Reed's limits concerning his bedtime. IT WAS INTERESTING. I told Jason that part of what is so disorienting about being with his family is that they MUST have the television turned up to THERE, that level where you can't hear anything but the t.v., and they won't ever let you watch something for more than five minutes. I'm serious. I watched maybe ten minutes of a football game, five minutes of Father of the Bride, five minutes of some kind of special about Garth Brooks, five minutes of country music videos, and five minutes of some movie with Diane Keaton and Mandy Moore. After a while you forget where you are and what you're doing there.

There's a lot coming up, including our fourth wedding anniversary and the party we're throwing in honor of it (and in honor of Jason's birthday). I'm also planning our Christmas party, Reed's birthday party, and working on our Christmas cards. Lately I've been holding it together pretty well, even enjoying moments in which I feel like I can handle all of this. Don't worry; it'll pass.

Now is the time for pie.

DSC_0182.jpg
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

Wow. My bad. I have been really terrible at getting to the computer lately.

Work has been really, bizarro crazy lately. I work in an industry that really capitalizes on the holidays, on people's desires to have their houses look like the houses in the magazines at Christmas time, and it makes for an interesting work day.

We went to see Captured By Robots on Sunday night, and it was AWESOME. If you haven't seen robots play instruments and sing then you haven't lived.

Reed is right smack-dab in the middle of the terrible two's. He'll turn two in a couple of weeks, but believe me when I say that the terrible part has begun. The last couple of weeks have been filled with tantrums, writhing fits, screaming until he's hoarse, kicking and screaming, crying and screaming- basically all things that make me want to stick my head in the front door and slam it repeatedly. Right now as I type this, he's in the living room screaming and crying because he wants to sit on the desk and poke the caps lock key. I CANNOT TYPE THAT WAY. My caps placement is very specific.

Two of my oldest friends got married last Saturday, and we were fortunate enough to be able to be there and take pictures. It was really lovely and sweet, so sweet that we all had tears in our eyes by the time it was over.

But it's okay; there was beer hidden in the basement. Once we found it, the crying was remedied. Wonder if the same thing would work with Reed?

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. Thank you for reading, for being my friends, for caring, for listening. I hope your day is filled with as much screaming and pie-eating as mine will be.

Amanda,

You know, it's been a long time. A long time that we've been friends, a long time that I've gotten to know you, a long time since I used to get mad every time you and Deanna got the last seat on the bus because that one would bounce you the highest when our clinically insane bus driver would drive us down that back road with all the curves and bumps at about sixty miles an hour. That was fourteen years ago, and if anyone had asked me then if I would be attending your wedding, if I would count you as one my favorite people, I would have said "I don't know but that bitch needs to let me sit in that seat JUST FOR ONE FREAKING DAY, God!"

I was in the midst of a hormonal breakdown back then. LUCKILY THINGS HAVE CHANGED.

Amanda, you are one of the nicest, just sincerely nice people I have ever known. I know that sounds trite and meaningless, but I mean it an the most meaningful way, because no one I know is always nice. I'm not always nice, my kid is not always nice, and you are always nice. You are thoughtful and sweet and when I have a conversation with you I can see that you are not only listening to what I'm saying but also emoting, thinking about how I feel about whatever tripe I'm whining about that week, and it makes me feel immediately close to you.

I'm so glad that we're still friends, and that we can still talk like old friends when we see each other. It can be hard sometimes to hold onto what makes people want to be friends in the first place. When you and John moved away I prayed that we would still be buddies and feared that we wouldn't. Luckily I'm an idiot and besides the fact that we don't see each other as often, it didn't really change anything.

I'm not going to spout off any random marriage advice, because let's face it, I'm lucky that Jason has put up with me this long. You and John have been living together for a while now, so not that much will change. The main thing will be the mentality- knowing that the only way to break up now is an expensive legal procedure.

It's also about knowing that you live with someone who looked at you and thought, "I need to find some way to bind myself to that woman forever, because she is just that awesome." It's a beautiful thing, and I know that some people find marriage altogether unnecessary, and that's understandable. But I find it to be lovely and exciting and awe-inspiring that people are able to think that about each other- able to think that it's not enough to wake up every day looking at each other, not enough to eat most meals together or help each other with chores or go places together. Marriage is, at least some times, for people who want to go one step further, who want to cement that breathless feeling, that wiggle in the tummy with something spiritual and ceremonial that isn't just to let other people know how you feel, but also to let your girlfriend/boyfriend know how you feel.

Plus, if it doesn't work out, you're entitled to half of his shit. GO FOR THE TV, AMANDA.

I'm obviously kidding.

If Jason and I had more money, we would have gotten you guys awesome presents. Possibly a pair of Segways. As it is, we can offer you our friendship, support, and a pair of smiling faces. Oh, and three kids- if you guys are ever in the market for a few kids, call us. We can hook you up.

Some times I get the menstrual cramps REAL HARD.

First, I made myself a plate of heavenly goodness, a crispy, fluffy, cheesy gift from the heavens, a Mexican omelette this morning. I have honestly never had a Mexican omelette before. I was on my way home from dropping Reed at school and I was thinking about making fried eggs, and I OF COURSE started thinking about salsa and sour creams, so I decided to throw some tomato and cheese in an omelette, stick some salsa and sour creams on top and go to town. It was RIGHT, is all I have to say.

Second, Reed stayed in bed until nine o'clock this morning. I cannot tell you how wonderful it was, how much I thought God has finally decided to throw me a bone, how utterly confused I felt when he finally seemed ready to get up. He woke up at his usual time, but when I tried to get him out of bed he laid down and yelled "NOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOO!", closed his eyes, and covered up. As I was out late playing poker last night, I didn't have the energy to force him out of the bed, so I went back to bed myself. He stayed in bed and sang and counted and dozed until nine, NINE I TELL YOU, when he finally called out "Daddy at work?" which is baby talk for, "I know that my father is at work, so I will just have to deal with the fact that I have to hang out with the lesser half of my parenting team, my mother. Okay."

If my child suddenly turns into one of those kids who stays in bed until nine o'clock, it will be okay if I die because my life won't be able to get any better.

Third, lots of things. Last Saturday I helped two other people put chair covers and sashes on 400 chairs. I was bent over from ten until four that day, and not in the good way, okay? But that night I spent time with some of my best girlfriends and helped celebrate the fact that John and Amanda, two of my oldest friends, are getting married this Saturday. Besides the requisite excitement about this new step, this beautiful moment in their lives, I'M excited because Jason and I are taking pictures. We are slowly but surely building up our wedding portfolios, and it's good. Also, I'm continuing on my path to becoming a good person. I notice little changes, little differences in my thought patterns, and it feels good. My grandfather who I never met always said, "Remember who you are." I'm working on it.

Now is the time for my ass to grow.

Last night was Halloween, and it was another Halloween in which we didn't really get any good pictures of our children in their costumes. Kane was a dementor, Jude was a scary clown, and Reed was a monkey. Again.

You know how when you put clothes on cats, they sort of freeze up and act dead? That's what Reed does when you dress him up in a monkey costume. He would be very still, and wouldn't move his head but instead would look at you out of the corners of his eyes, as if to say, "SHIT THE BED. I'm in a monkey costume and I can't get out."

Jason and I didn't dress up this year for the first time since we started this adventure we call Trying To Deal With Each Other's Shit (except for the Halloween when I was pregnant; nothing counts during pregnancy). I'm going to have to go back and find some old pictures, because we have been some interesting stuff- a professor and a naughty school girl (I was the school girl, surprisingly enough), '70's porn stars, nuns. Good stuff. But we already have a good idea of what we're dressing up as next year. Only 363 days to go!

But at least I can fill these next few hundred days with eating candy. Kane and Jude are really good at replenishing my candy stash- Jude alone brought home 243 pieces of delicious candy last night.

If only one could trick or treat for bigger pants.