it’s not about you

And Killian cut his first tooth at DFW airport Sunday night. It’s his bottom right one - and boy, is it sharp.

…is probably the most surreal thing I’ll ever write here. Or maybe anywhere.

But it’s true. He proposed to his girlfriend (surreal thing number two) on Valentine’s Day (number two and a half) and he told all us kids this past Sunday that they will be getting married on March 31st.

I was in Texas for the Southwestern Photojournalism Conference at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, sponsored by Christians in Photojournalism this past weekend. That’s a mouthful. I’ve been off and on since college and have attended five or six conferences. Last year, I didn’t go because that was the weekend we moved to California.

Sunday, before I had to get to the airport to catch my flight, Dad, Kyle, Lacey, Jacob, Sharyl, Katie, Josh, Killian, Wiff, Jeanette and I all met at Texas Land and Cattle near the airport for a mid-afternoon meal. That’s where he told us the date they had set. So I got back from Texas on Sunday and booked my next trip out there next month. Judah’s going to be a flower girl.

Everyone wants to know how I’m doing and simply: I’m happy for my dad that he’s found someone to love and to love him in return. I want him to be happy - I want him to have companionship (though I did offer to buy him a dog) and to have love and all of those things. God knows he deserves it. Yes, I have mixed feelings, of course I do. It would be weirder if I didn’t. It’s good and happy and hard and raw and all of that, and really. Those emotions are mine and I don’t really want to share all of them, if everyone doesn’t mind. I need to feel right now, not process. My feelings and emotions are mine to feel and they’re intensely personal and while I appreciate the love and care from everyone, I just don’t want to hash this out with every person who asks.

I want to get through April 25 this year and make it out of this decade in one emotional and spiritual piece. So I don’t in ANY way mean to be rude, but if I don’t want to talk about it, please respect that. I don’t even have everything sorted out. Yet. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. I don’t know.

Everyone is asking me what I’m thinking and how I’m doing, and you know what? I wish I didn’t have to fucking ask myself that, because what I WISH, what I really WISH, is that my mom was still alive and none of this would even be a fucking issue. So take a tablespoon full of that with a tablespoonful of happiness for my dad, swallow it down, and there you go. Is your stomach feeling funky, too? Thought so.

(excuse the language. sorry ’bout that, Dad.)

After talking and e-mailing back and forth with a few friends of mine who’ve been screwed by their respective “landlords,” I feel it is important to say:

I don’t care who you are renting from, or for how long: GET A LEASE.

Whether it’s from a company, an individual, short-term or long-term, from your family or friends (perhaps I should say especially if it’s from your family or friends), have SOMETHING in writing, signed by both parties, and preferably notarized, especially if it’s an agreement between individuals. This is to protect you, whether you are the one leasing out your space to others, or the one living or working in it.

For the worst-case, hope-it-never-happens, not-in-a-million-years-could-this-go-bad scenario. PLEASE.

Judah was playing by herself today and I heard her say, for one of her toys, “Oh my gosh!”

I snickered. Sometimes she says “Dangit!” I think it’s funny. Of all the words my kid COULD be saying, I’m thinking I’m pretty dang lucky, oh my gosh.

We went to Japantown on Saturday to (a) get some bento boxes and (2) because I’ve never been. Saturday was gorgeous and we had a good time. We even got some sushi to-go and we ate it next to the fountain at Peace Plaza. I’ve decided I’m not a fan of sushi. It makes me kind of sad that I don’t like sushi. I like saying it - sushi … sushi - it’s fun to say sushi.

On the way home from Japantown, we took the 22-Fillmore to 16th Street and Joshua walked home with the kids while I caught the 14-Mission. I was one of the first of many people to get on the bus and it was full - there were no seats left and a few people are already standing, but it wasn’t yet a sardine can. I weaved (wove?) my way through the front of the bus and found a pole to stand next to and turned around to face the middle of the bus with my back to the pole. On the side of the bus were forward-facing one-seaters, and I was standing in between two of these.

Apparently, I brushed the person sitting in the seat directly to the front of me, because she recoiled from me, turned around in her seat with this nasty look on her face and said “DO YOU MIND??” I turned to her and said, “Do I mind what?” And she glanced at my skirt and said, “Your …,” letting her voice trail off. At this point in our short conversation, I REALLY wanted to know what she was going to say next, so I said, “My what?” And she looked at my skirt again and said, “Your …derriere,” as if she had to FORCE the word out of her mouth. Now, “ass” I was expecting, or “butt” or maybe even “bum,” but “derriere?” Now that’s funny. I said to her, “Lady, it’s a crowded bus.” She got all huffy and offered me the seat, which I declined, and the she offered it to the girl standing next to me, who also declined, so she offered it to some other lady getting on the bus, who took it, not knowing (or caring) that my derriere was within a foot of her.

I mean, come on, it’s a freaking BUS. If you want personal space, hire a taxi. This ain’t the Ritz-Carlton, people. So this woman, ended up standing RIGHT next to me on the bus, because by this point, the bus was really packed. As the 14 wove (weaved?) its way down Mission, everyone was getting jostled and people were bumping into each other - that’s just the nature of the beast. So by that point, my derriere was REALLY touching her. I think she made it two stops before she took her muttering self to a point further back on the bus. I think she thought I was bumping into her ON PURPOSE. I really do. I wasn’t. I mean, if I was, I would have grabbed her ass or something.

So today, we all got on the 49-Mission/Van Ness to go to the dentist. Our bus driver today was the shit - he was the compliance KING. There are a few rules for MUNI that practically everyone disregards - fold up your stroller (I ALWAYS do, now), board at the front, no food or drinks, pay the fare, let people off before you get on. This guy was making sure everyone got on at the front. If anyone boarded at one of the back doors, he wouldn’t go anywhere til they got off - and he MEANT it. One guy got on at a back door and the driver wouldn’t move. The guy got off and boarded at the front.

One other guy got on at the back and the driver made him board at the front. When he boarded at the front, he tried to get on with a cup of orange liquid (HE said it was juice - I’m sure some of it was) and the driver told him he couldn’t bring it on board. He made drunk dude get rid of the cup. So drunk dude did, and then he tried to get on without paying the fare or showing a transfer. The driver kept telling drunk dude to show a transfer or pay and drunk dude just kept walking to the back. The driver kept telling him to come back up and we all sat at the stop until drunk dude came back up front. I mean, our driver meant Biz-Ness. Drunk dude didn’t have a transfer, a pass, or the fare, so the driver told him to get off the bus. This whole process actually took three to four minutes. That may not seem like long, but we’re at a BUS STOP.

Stops usually take fifteen to twenty seconds - all you gotta do is get people on the bus. Drunk dude kept arguing with the driver and people starting yelling, “Man, get off the the bus!” Drunk dude kept trying to convince the driver it wasn’t really a big deal to let him on (I can’t tell you how many times he used the very-stoned phrase, “come on, man…”), but he FINALLY got off. So did a lot of other people who left to catch other buses and were tired of waiting for drunk dude to get off. Every stop the driver would use the intercom to say “Do not board at the back door, board at the front!” and at one point, an older lady was trying to get off at the front and people almost started shoving past her to get on, and the driver made them all step back. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried getting off at a back door, with Killian, the stroller and Judah and people are SHOVING past me, practically knocking Judah over to get on the bus. It really pisses me off.

I told Joshua it’s nice to finally see a driver making people follow the rules. I mean they’re not THAT hard. But he wasn’t a stickler either. I got on just after 8 a.m. and my transfer is STILL good, and it’s dinnertime (they’re supposed to be 90-minute transfers) - I guess I was rewarded for good behavior. A lot of people were complaining that his enforcement held us up, but really. If people would just do what they’re supposed to, it wouldn’t be a problem in the first place. We were slightly late to our appointment, but at least my sense of justice was satisfied (oh, and Jill, when I told Dr. Katz I was from Texas, he told me I didn’t have an accent). I think I’m going to have to add a MUNI category for all the things that happen on our bus travels. Sound good?

So tomorrow is Ash Wednesday and we’re having a morning service at our house. Unfortunately, the palm branches that Julie sent from LGBC didn’t make it in time (dang President’s Day holding up the mail!), so I’m going to have to substitute something. Perhaps artist’s charcoal? I think I’m going to add the prayer from Brent’s blog post from today as a benediction, along with how Mark recently signed off on an e-mail (which I’m SO stealing) which is this:

“Peace in Christ if nowhere else.”

And on that note, it’s time to go fix dinner.

A 5-year-old girl fended for herself for days while home alone with the body of her mother, who apparently succumbed to bacterial meningitis, authorities said.

Police forced their way into the rural home about 45 miles northwest of Grand Rapids on Sunday and found the cupboards open, rice and cereal spilled all over, and the bathroom sink overflowing.

The body of Tina Tietz, 39, was on the couch in the living room. Her daughter Marissa had rummaged the house for food for an unknown number of days. The family dog was tied up inside.

Michelle Schnotala, 39, drove to Tietz’s home Sunday to check on her friend after not hearing from her for several days. They last spoke Feb. 3, when Tietz complained of a headache and ear pain, Schnotala said.

The house was locked, Schnotala said. “I heard the dog barking and Marissa crying,” she said.
“She just kept saying ‘Mama’s sleeping, Mama’s sleeping,’” Schnotala said. Mother and child lived alone.

Marissa was examined at a hospital and is in the temporary custody of the state human services department, agency spokeswoman Karen Stock said Tuesday. The dog was taken to an animal-rescue organization.

A preliminary autopsy found that Tietz likely died of bacterial meningitis, an infection of the fluid that is in the spinal cord and that surrounds the brain, Muskegon County Undersheriff Dean Roesler said.

via the San Francisco Chronicle.

“Mama’s sleeping. Mama’s sleeping.” OH. MY. GOD.

It’s really all I can do to hold it together. In fact, the only reason I’m not curled up and sobbing in the fetal position on the floor right now is because Killian pooped his pants right after I read the article.

After my mom died, I used to think think that my worst fear was my dad dying. I got married and my worst fear became Joshua dying. I had a baby and my worst fear became something happening to my baby. Now, as Judah’s growing older and I’ve had another baby, my worst fear is something happening to me - in front of my children. Of me dying - slipping getting out of the shower, the lift in our building failing while I’m on it, getting hit by a car crossing the sidewalk, my heart exploding inside my chest or something, and they’re left to fend for themselves. That fact, no matter how depressed I feel, is what keeps my from killing myself - leaving my children behind with me lying dead somewhere. It’s what keeps me going.

I sometimes wonder what would happen if I died and no one else was around but my children. Judah doesn’t even know her numbers, she wouldn’t be able to call 911! And even if she did, so what? What’s a three-year-old gonna tell the dispatcher? Mommy’s asleep? I have visions of Judah prodding me, saying my name over and over, and of Killian, who would have rolled over on his stomach and gotten stuck, screaming because he’s hungry with a dirty diaper and wondering why I won’t come get him. The fridge would be open and all the applesauce and cheese would be eaten. Judah would have overflowed the toilet with too much paper and the place would be a disaster. The only person I talk to every day is Joshua, so no one else would even have a clue what had happened (though I suppose five days without a photo post would cause some to wonder where I was).

“Irrational,” you say. “Your children wouldn’t be left for five days in a house with your rotting corpse laying on the couch.”

Probably true, but that’s the way fear works, it doesn’t have to be rational, IT JUST HAS TO SCARE THE SHIT OUT OF YOU.

I refuse to be cute and kind out of fear. I will get back to being kind, don’t worry, I won’t always be swearing at people, pulling off rude jokes and being bitchy. (Well, I will at times…) But the thing is, when being kind is a way of hiding, when being soft and gentle is a learnt behaviour, it is nothing but just that, a learnt behaviour. It still serves it’s purposes and in some ways makes this world a nicer place to be in. But it sure doesn’t count for true love from God.

Well said, Erikka. It’s just what I’ve been thinking and didn’t have words for.

Dinner last night was your standard American fare - meatloaf, mashed potatoes and mustard-glazed broccoli - complete with the running commentary of a three-year-old and the loud and jerky interjections of an almost six-month-old.

Judah was interested in anything BUT eating, and Killian was tired and hungry when we all sat down together, so he was a bit fussy. At one point, Judah said that Killian was sad, and I told her he was fussy because it was time for him to nurse. She said, “He’s sad ’cause he’s hungry?” and Joshua said, “You’re gonna be sad and hungry, too, if you don’t eat.”

I just turned and stared at him, trying not to laugh out loud, and he said, with his mashed potato-laden fork halfway to his mouth, “What?”

“That’s such a ‘dad’ thing to say,” I said. “I mean, come on, can’t you just hear your dad, or my dad, saying that, just like that?”

He started to grin. “It is, isn’t it?”

“You’re such a dad.”

I guess this means we’re really parents.

By request.

It’s been overcast and slightly rainy the past couple of days. Judah says it’s “drooly.”

She’s become very aware since Killian was born that in her life she has gone through stages of development. She will refer to when things happened was she was younger. It usually goes something like this: “That’s for I do that when I’s a baby.” or “That’s for when I’s a baby.” It’s like she’s taken “he’s” or “she’s” and fixed it for herself, or for you, as in: “That’s for when you’s a little girl?” She’s totally got her own set of grammar rules.

Sunday morning, while all four of us were lounging about on the bed, she decided she wanted to go to the castle. So she and Daddy and Killian got in the car to drive to the castle (keep in mind, this is ALL taking place on top of the bed). She kissed me goodbye and said they were going to a party at the castle and that there was going to be some cake there. I told her to bring me back a piece of cake. She said she’d put it in her purse to bring home. So they rode in the car to the castle, and when they got there, she went on ahead and Daddy put Killian in the stroller. The next thing you know, a monster came out of nowhere and blocked the street so Daddy and Killian couldn’t get to the castle. But never fear, Judah’s here! She ran across the bed to stave off the beast, and started to hit this pretend, invisible monster. She got about half a swing into it, then turned around to Joshua, held out her empty fist and said, “You hold my purse?”

Because every good female superhero needs SOMEONE to hold her purse while she beats up monsters.

The good news is she remembered to put some cake in her purse to take home to Mommy, and even got napkins, forks and spoons. So they left the party and drove back home and we sat around the table and ate cake. Imaginary cake is perfect and very tasty.

I hope you’ve been enjoying the photoblog.

In case you haven’t noticed, I took a little time off from writing blogs. I’ve been enjoying the discipline of posting a photo every day. Which, of course, I will keep doing. It makes me have to take more pictures. Which is kind of the goal for this year - take more pictures. And get paid for them, hopefully. I’m resurrecting rearviewWindow photography as a business this year after taking last year off. You know, to be pregnant, throw up a lot, move, be in a lot of pain, be more pregnant, move again, be pregnant some more, have a baby, get used to having a baby, do the holidays - that kind of stuff.

So, anyway, for the past month I’ve been trying to focus (no pun intended). I’ve also been trying to salvage my faith - in God, in others. Right before Christmas is not a good time to stop believing in God. It kinda sucks all the joy right outta that holiday. But I’m better now. I’m just going to take it one day at a time here and see what happens. Don’t expect anything profound. I’m sorting through a lot of stuff and I still don’t have many answers. And I only get to blog during naps, so we’ll see what happens. Also, I would appreciate any sidebar or blogroll links directing to the main page, not the blog.

Thanks for sticking around. You know who you are.