6 on 6.26

I always think of this photo on MiniMe's birthday. It represents the goofy, happy anticipation we had for her arrival. We paid such close attention to every little detail, from how my body was changing to planning for how our life would change.

And oh, HOW our life would change.

From Winnie the Pooh

to Elmo

with an inexplicable shift to dinosaursand a predictable focus on Dora the Explorer
finally into full-on girl mode with pink poodles in Paris.
Each birthday brought new and exciting consumerism into our life.

{ahem. Mom said no to Bratz, so who stepped in to accommodate? Grandpa.}
{Score TWO for Grandpa...Littlest Pet Shops RULE.}

With a late June birthday, the first three years of celebration involved water and the great outdoors.

But then in our new house, with no giant shade trees and a lawn that was being nurtured back to a lush green carpet, we spent very little time outdoors and much more time doing games and crafts indoors.

We always had special friends join the party, and the 3rd year was particularly interesting. There was a healthy competition between the nannies we had over the years, and even though the smiles appear to be genuine, well...let's just say there's a story behind the story.

Truly, the happiest day of her year is the day of her birthday party. And the second happiest day of her year is the day after her birthday party -- when she can begin planning the next one in her head.

All in all, birthdays for MiniMe are the defacto measurement of time and progress in Schaererville. Happy Birthday, Punkin Girl!

Excuse me while I reaquaint myself with...myself..

60 days.

Since my last post.

Okay, 56 days. But 60 days adds drama.

Like I need any more of that.

A quick recap:

1. The Best Man arrived from Rapid City on April 13. Until he moved his family here and into their own apartment last weekend, it was bachelor hell at our house. The refrigerator looked like it belonged in a dorm room (beer and condiments only). If I got one or both of them off the couch or out of the garage for 15 minutes to do something productive, I called it a good day.

2. The lawsuit. I got to play lawyer at a hearing in late April. I'm representing myself against the claims made by a multi-million-dollar company, and actually got the decision to go in my favor. Even though it didn't cost me anything in legal fees, the cost in time and sleepless nights was steep. Lawsuit still ongoing.

3. My mother in law was with us for most of the month of May. For her first visit in 3 years (she lives in Switzerland). I spent her entire visit attempting to de-bachelorize the house to keep her from doing it herself. See item #1 for the vicious cycle.

4. For the week prior to her visit, I was sick. Horribly, awfully, debilitatingly sick. Home-from-work-two-days sick. Worse yet: had both kids home sick with me. Mr. Outdoors was traveling for business.

5. Earning a living. Busiest time of year. Main industry trade show last week in San Diego, new booth property purchased a month before the show. All 1,200 pounds of crated booth materials lost on the way to the convention center. After much ranting and gnashing of teeth, pallets were found.

6. And the piece d'resistance -- the power supply on our main computer (the one that houses our wireless network and main hard drive) chose to die a slow and complicated death. Power supply now fixed, but computer in hock until bill is paid. Back up computer not very cooperative.

The rest of the summer includes:

• MiniMe's 6th birthday (her theme changes each day along with her underwear -- from tropical fish to Hannah Montana to Barbie Fairy Princess) later this month
• a visit from The Brother and his family (who live in Switzerland and haven't communed with us in over 8 years) in late July
• MorMor for the month of August
• a threatened visit from The Sister and her family also in August

That right there may be what pushes me over the edge. MorMor and The Sister are like vinaigrette dressing -- a wonderful blend for the first few minutes, but they separate out into oily and tart very shortly thereafter.

Just shoot me now.

Ticklin' the ivories?

Two loves of my life have come together in the last few weeks. MiniMe is taking piano lessons on my heirloom piano.

The piano is from my great-grandmother -- a 1917 baby grand that I spent 15 mortgage payments and 3 years refurbishing via an artisan of epic talent. It is stunning. It plays like only a piano of that era can.

This piano and I are now in the same home for the first time in 20 years. Those 20 years and the metaphor of the piano in my life are a story for another post, another time, when I have 5,000 or so words to waste.

Back to piano lessons. Sort of.

I have a colleague who plays the piano like a new-age angel. She composed, performed and produced her own CD a few years ago. Last Christmas, she gifted me with a copy and I have had it in the CD player in my car ever since. It's exactly the decompression I need during my commute.

It's also the music that is playing as I schlep MiniMe and Muggsy to and from their respective schools each day. I credit the music for soothing the savage beast of school-based overstimulation, but, other than background, I'm not sure they really listen to it.

Until last week. I had the volume low so only I could hear it.

MiniMe: Mommy, turn up the music.

Me: Sure, Punkin, how come?

MiniMe: I want to learn to play the piano.

Me: How is this going to help?

MiniMe: Because, Mommy, when you listen to songs your brain remembers them. Then you just need a piano to play them on.

So she has a piano to play them on, and a teacher to help the brain-to-keyboard translation. I am in heaven. My little girl is learning to play the piano!

Unwired

We're heading out for our first weekend away as a family since July 2006. Back to one of our favorite places. Mr. Outdoors threw it together at the last minute with the group from the boys trip -- this time with wives and kids.

I. am. speechless.

And. excited.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Overheard and totally in context

Mr. Outdoors: I'm heading out for a hike. Be back in an hour or so.

Me [absentmindedly...typing]: Great. Have fun.

Mr. O [insert attitude here]: Are you going to be on the computer all day?

Me [still typing]: Yep. Gotta get all our tax stuff finished.

Mr. O: Well, you're not doing that now.

Me: I'm not in the mood now. I'm in the mood to be blogging.

Mr. O: [growl]

Me: Bye. Have fun.

Birthday gifts: a two-way street

The light of my life turns two today -- the sunny, funny crazy little boy I call Muggsy. The second child, the one I wasn't supposed to have...literally and figuratively.

He arrived on a day that wrapped up six weeks of chaos, nine months of holy-shit-what-have-we-done, and marked a turning point in life as I knew it.

My body was aging, chronically damaged from a series of quarrels with various unwelcome bacterial inhabitants, and hadn't cooperated in conceiving for almost three years. Between surprisingly early hormonal shifts and an assortment of other afflictions, I had settled into parenting an only child.

So had Mr. Outdoors -- our little girl, the one who has him wrapped so tightly around that pinky of hers, took every last available piece of his heart, head and funny bone. He said he didn't have enough to give a second child.

Sometimes our Higher Power has either a better plan or a wicked sense of humor. Most days I think it's the latter.

In the course of 3 weeks, we signed paperwork to start a business from scratch, took a 10-day trip to Alaska (our last major vacation before business ownership would take that freedom away), and THEN found out we were no longer going to be parents of An Only.

My head spinning, I had to reconcile that we would be giving birth to a business and a baby at just about the same time, that our house at the time was not the home within which to raise two children, and my career in Corporate America would need a serious review. I hid my pregnancy until my 6th month -- I was the first female VP among a dozen others and I had a target on my back. This child was going to really, really complicate things.

We had a wariness, an expectation that things would be topsy-turvy. Of course, when we found out we were having a boy and none of the stuff we had for MiniMe would be suitable for re-use, we stoically accepted that as part of the deal. We had long ago given away all the other toddlerhood gear since...well, we wouldn't need it.

Then came attention to the nest. Moving to a new place had come up a few times before, mostly because Mr. Outdoors sold his house and moved into mine so it never really felt like "our" place. Even so, after 8 years it just became a matter of practicality. All the stuff! Moving would suck.

But, as luck and manic hormonal drive would have it, we found the perfect house for the perfect price at the perfect time -- I had issued a moratorium on house hunting if we hadn't succeeded by that point. We moved into our new house February 15, opened our business March 15 and Muggsy joined us March 28.


My head still spins when I think back on that time. Since then our business has folded, I left my career position and got sued for the way I did it, and our house is relatively unimproved because those kind of things require disposable income. The failed business and the lawsuit have taken away all of it and then some.

So much, though, is better. I've gotten to see MiniMe embrace her role as Big Sister, teaching and leading and occasionally wielding the power that is granted first borns. I watch the evolution as Mr. Outdoors bonds with the other man in the house ("Pull my finger...quick!") and has somehow found all the necessary room in his heart for both kids. I get the unbridled energy of this little boy who can make my worst day away from him into the best day ever once we're back together. We are a family of four, and I can't imagine it any other way.

Muggs, you're the best thing that ever happened to all of us. Happy Birthday!

I can name that tune coffee in two notes words

Does it make paying $5.00 for a coffee seem worth it?

You know, to be able to use as many secret code words as possible to order it?

I may be one of only 17 people on the face of the planet that go into Starbucks and order in two words.

I take turns with a colleague of mine when we travel and need to make our Starbucks run. Her drink of choice is a venti iced decaf Americano, no water, ice to the top, two inches of nonfat milk, with 3 Splendas. Unless it's exceptionally cold that day, in which case it's a venti decaf Americano to the syrup line, two inches of nonfat milk and 3 Splendas.

We had the chance a few weeks ago to actually sit and enjoy ourselves together instead of being on the go and she freaked me out by ordering something different. I was so out of sorts as a result of her digression that I can't even remember what it was. No matter, she's getting her Americano any time it's my turn. It's committed to memory.

I've been chewed out by barristas everywhere for ordering it her way instead of as a venti with 4 shots which is the same thing, but my colleague has figured out that a venti with no water is, in fact, cheaper than a venti with 4 shots (trust me, this is part of her charm -- she's also been known to ask servers for their home phone numbers so she can call them at 3am if she got non-decaf by mistake, but that's fodder for a whole other post). I just smile and excuse myself for being such an enfant, then place my own simpleton order.

I'm such a rebel.