thankful

Okay, do you ever get sick of me saying it?

I am so thankful. Thankful for my family. For our health. For our moderate mental health. I'm thankful for Spring in Pittsburgh, which falls at least 3 weeks before spring in Michigan. I'm thankful for my kids smiling eyes and laughter when they try to run each other over getting to the swingset that they can finally use.

I'm thankful that I live in the United Stated and not in Japan, because it looks like a crazy movie set over there right now. I'm thankful that Pittsburgh doesn't get earthquakes, and I'm thankful that when my sister lived in the San Fransisco Bay Area, there was one earthquake in 2007 and it was only a 4.2, and even though I called her at 4-something AM there she was able to realize that it was 7-something AM here and not kill me. I'm thankful that Good Morning America had already informed me, before we even spoke, what was happening, and that she was probably okay. I'm glad she was okay. And I'm thankful for the time when I had only one child, and she was under two, and I could watch news programs. Instead of Sid the Science Kid.

I'm thankful for college, when I was able to sleep until 1pm if I wanted to. And I wish I had appreciated that time more. Even though I couldn't sleep 'til 1pm now if I tried, I'm thankful that there was a time that I could.

I'm thankful for my family, and myriad friends, who are quite an eclectic bunch of neighbors, old college roommates, people I met here and there, moms I stalked in the mall (and in the library, and in the post office, and in Gymboree...). I'm thankful that people usually put up with my sense of humor and that sometimes they learn from me. I'm thankful that I can still learn from others, since I'm pretty damn stubborn and I'm sure soon I won't take anyone else's lip about how I do things.

I'm thankful that I got the chance to have children, and that I used the chance when I didn't have children to influence other people's children's lives in a positive and healthy way. I'm thankful that I haven't had a mental breakdown yet, and I'm thankful for all the people out there who have made that possible.

I'm thankful that my husband is my best friend (gross, right?) and I'm thankful that I waited so long to meet him, that I didn't have to wait longer, and that even when we hate each other we still love each other.

I'm thankful for when the crap hits the fan and we get through it. Because even though life is pretty hard sometimes, even terrible occasionally, I've gotten through it so far. And so have you. And there are always, always sunny days after the rain.

I'm thankful that you're reading this. And I'm thankful that after reading this, you'll be thankful for your stuff, too.

somebody's babies

My kids and I drove to Michigan this week, just me, Helena (4), Lilly (not yet 2), the van (rrrgh), and the van's DVD player. I'd like to say something for the record: Thank you, DVD player. We could not have survived those 7 hours without you.

There are definitely things that run across your mind when you're driving by yourself for 7 hours (yes, it's really a 5-hour drive) with two young children. The most benign thing that you think is "how bad would it really be if I let them out of their carseats for the remainder of the trip?" Especially crying, kvetching, screaming 22-month Lilly. In the end, you'll be proud, I resisted the temptation. I kept picturing the time when I had passed a woman on the road driving with her great dane loose in the car, halfway in the front seat, drooling everywhere. She was pushing him in the face and obviously yelling at him while she tried to still drive with the remaining, non-shoving hand covered in drool. I thought if I let me kids loose it would be a lot like that, except for less dog hair. Oh, yeah, and it's illegal. But illegality was not the real reason I didn't let them loose. I just didn't like the idea of shoving them by the face to get them out of the front seat. And all that drool.

Of course I would never shove my kids by the face. But there are definitely times that parenting involves a bit of force. Like when you grab the arm of a child not listening just before they run into the street. But what I'm talking about is loving force. Not hurting.

On the way up here I was listening to This American Life, a great, great, great radio program on NPR. And the program was about being "slow to action," taking a long time to deal with something you should really deal with. And it was a good program but one part of it was about a child being abused. If you know me, you probably know I don't watch scary movies, or even the news sometimes, because I just can't get that stuff outta my mind. I don't just feel bad for people, especially victims, especially children. I hurt for them. There's this line from the book/movie The Green Mile, where the main character, John Coffey says:

Mostly I'm tired of people being ugly to each other. I'm tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world everyday. There's too much of it. It's like pieces of glass in my head all the time. Can you understand?

That's how I feel about other people's pain. It's so real to me, especially the pain of a child, it hurts me. Forever. So when I heard the beginning of this little segment on This American Life I knew already that I would pay for it. Of course, the story was redeeming in the end. The child who was so horribly abused grew up, plotted to kill the perpetrator, and then in the end met him at a mall and talked abut why, why did this happen? But the whole time I thought about the kid, when he was seven years old and being hurt so badly. What could I have done? What could anyone have done?

It's hard to have my own children and see the bits of horrible violence in the world that affect me so much. Sometimes I watch them at night drifting off to sleep and concoct crazy schemes: how to make an impenetrable cloth to cover them with for protection. Wiring them with electricity so anyone who tried to harm them would receive a fatal electric shock. And I know that it's crazy, but I know I would do anything to protect them. And I'm sure you would for your kids, too.

The last thing I think when I hear stories like these about rapists or child molesters or other disturbed and heinous people is this: one time, long ago, that person too was somebody's baby. And maybe if that baby was held,cared for, and loved more, maybe that baby wouldn't grow up to be sick, and terrible. That's why I can't watch the news. I just want to adopt everyone as babies before they turn out wrong.

It's so wierd being on this small blue marble of a planet. Even when we think we're different, we all began as somebody's baby. So go hug yours.

Oh, and let me know if you develop an impenetrable fabric.

holy rollers

Okay, we got a van.

When people see the van, they usually say "Oh, poor Ben!" as if my husband caved and got ol' mom a van finally. Actually what happened is this: I loved our SUV. The Saturn Vue got 18-ish miles per gallon around here (ALL city-stop-and-go) and 32 MPG on the highway--awesome. It was our nicest car to date, and the only one we actually bought secondhand, instead of like 6th-hand. We always buy our cars used (read: extremely used), for example, Ben recently sold his Toyota T-100 truck for a Ford F-150. The T-100 had 200,000 miles on it. The Ford? 240,000. The Saturn? Only a 2006 and had 60k miles when we bought it. Also power windows. And it was the first car we ever owned that had air conditioning for longer than 3 months.

So I had my lovely little SUV, but Ben wanted more space. I searched craigslist every few days for a year (really) to find a van, a super-loaded Chrysler with more miles than you should have after owning it 2 years, the guy was getting a company car and his kids were getting older so he didn't need a van. We bought it. And I drive it.

You can take the girl outta Detroit, but you... Okay, no one really lives in Detroit, but the auto industry pervades every aspect of living in Michigan, at least in Eastern Michigan where I grew up. So driving a van when I want to drive a Dodge Charger, has given me a little mid-life crisis. (Mid? Maybe "third-life crisis.") I don't see myself as the van-driving, stay-at-homing, 30-something mother of two. I prefer to see, just like Charlie Sheen, what I want to see, which is a fun, sexy, outrageous woman who drives a CAMARO. Just like the one in Better Off Dead. Or heck, maybe even a DeLorean, if we're going 80's movies. I told Ben "we can get the van if every year on my birthday I can rent a car I want to drive."

Okay, I guess I can be a van mommy. But just wait until these kids are older and there are no car seats. Then I can be what I want. Right? No, you're right: by then I'll definitely be what they want. What's worse? That will probably be what I want, too. Ahh, children.

BTW, I'm still getting a fast car when they leave. Mark my words. :-)