slipping in the snark

It's hazy out here, where I've been lately.  The weather is foul, murky-green shot through with bilious colours, and the footing is decidedly treacherous. If you ignore both the pond-stink of old water and whatever that was that just went squirming and shrieking off through the underbrush, it still looks sorta normal.

Kinda normal, anyway.

Ever get caught up in a relationship you look back on and know with a sick twist to your gut that you ignored your feelings, stuffed down the slightly-hysterical voice inside you that was giving you warnings, the i told you so i told you so i told you so clawing rampant under your skin? And then the ooze buuurps under your heels and you realize you're far too deep in to abandon ship now.

We bloggers get invested in each other. Hazard of the beast, really, when talking about our lives and families and children and carpool and work and work again. Then Facebook came along and catapulted us all into each other's laps, and I now know more about people I've never 'met' than some of the ones I've lived near for a decade now.

What do you do when you realize that someone you've looked up to isn't who you think they are? Someone who you've read for a few years, whose stories you've looked forward to and whose children you can call by name?

What do you do when the mask cracks and falls away and what you see beneath takes your breath away with revulsion - all the pretty stories sworn up and down to be truth exposed and crumbling in daylight, groups and websites sprung up to hammer home the point that you've believed a lie, a lie with a wide colourful bow, yes, but still a lie - what do you do?

I kind of wish I still was clueless. Because now? I gaze at my family in the light of the waning sun and know that I've lost something through this revelation, that the blogging community for me will never be the same again.

I mourn, yes.
And then I turn my back on the toad squatting in front of me and look towards the sun, clear at last.



**This has been bubbling for awhile, but I need to get it out and on the page before it festered from simple grief, disbelief and pity to hate**

a house on the lake

We've been having a bit of a water problem around here lately. 


It's going down now - thank goodness - but it's been a scary week. Down the road each way are small* bridges, which were both closed when the water began to lick at their foundations. The big bridge across the river here was slated to be closed (leaving us unable to leave the house) so I did a flying trip to rustle the children out of school and buy a few jugs of spring water in the village, and then we hunkered down. We had water in the basement, yes, but we had power and lights and heat and a couple of sump pumps. And if you didn't look outside at the way the back and side yards were disappearing under water, it was fine. We would be on an island! It would be an adventure.

It was a lot easier to maintain the cheery wartime spirit during the daylight hours. And when it wasn't pissing-down raining.

Monday and Tuesday, we were using our old pump, which decided to sputter and die at about three in the morning. Wednesday morning we flew like the hounds of hell were behind us and rented a big gas pump. When we returned, the basement lake was deepening. This was rapidly becoming not-fun. And it was raining. Again.

Last night, though, was crisp and cold and clear and if you pretended the flashing yellow lights of the Ground Search and Rescue truck were stars it was a lovely night.

This morning the water had dropped an inch. And the sun came out. This afternoon, the kids and I watched the side yard began to reappear and the driveway to heave itself out of the muck. We found pieces of wood that had washed downstream - heavy, waterlogged things - and Cass and Rosey lugged them around, enjoying the squelch under their boots, the sun lighting up their faces and lifting the stress and worry of the flood away from their small shoulders.

Bear has been awesome through all this - watching the water levels, manning the pumps, pumping out the neighbor's basement, checking and rechecking and positioning and calling neighbors and keeping the house warm...and by Wednesday, he was exhausted. Today, he finally had four straight hours of sleep and stopped listing gently into doorways and walls. Tonight, he'll watch the water levels and adjust the pump as it needs it so I can sleep (I work tomorrow) and then it'll be my turn Friday night. (he works Saturday.) It's not an exaggeration to say that without everything he's done, we would not have been able to stay in our house.Yes, I married a rock star.


So while the back yard is still gone (see photo above - the edge of the watershed is on the other SIDE of the foreground trees) we....are....relieved.

And enjoying, sort of, the memory of the week we owned a house on the lake.


*last three pictures, this post. The bridge at the other end of the road is much the same.

is it friday already??

Wow. I feel like I abandoned you at the gas station or something.

Bad, bad blogger!

Well, how was your Christmas?

Mine was splendorous; we scampered over to my SIL's house and opened mountains of presents, drove back to our house and opened more loot (my kids are completely jazzed and haven't a clue what to play with first)
and were just about to leave to go back over to my SIL's for Christmas dinner

and the power went out.

Well, I thought we were screwed. But when we got there, all the side dishes were merrily finishing up on Coleman stoves, and the company was fabulous. The food, wonderful as usual.

Of course, about halfway through, Rosey turned to B and said in a plaintive little voice 'I ate too m......'

and then erupted all over B.

Christmas dinners are never boring 'round here.

(She's fine. Back to her sunny self this morning.)

*sigh* I wish I could say the same for my house. It's going to be a few days to knock the mess back, I think.

Maybe I can just eat more Christmas food and ignore it for awhile....

utterly disjointed

To the dentist:

Hi! I like you. Or I did. Man, my teeth hurt. Yes, I'll try to floss more (mutter mutter mutter)if you'll promise me you'll never come near me with that BIG-ASS syringe and expect me to sit still while you jab it into my poor defenseless mouth.

'Kay?



Holy crap on a cracker, Bat-Man! It's been a long day.

Must zzzzzzz. Back with saner stuff later.

conducting the holidays

I am DONE.

Stick a fork in me, NEVAH going back to the mall again this year, good-bye supermarket, done.

(ah crap, the cookies. But that's one batch!)

So -technically- DONE.

Whee! Now to put my feet up and resist the urge to straighten the christmas tree....

van mocked by der leader

I have a Dutch last name. It's extremely easy as Dutch monnikers go - if you can say his name,

then it's a good bet I'll turn around if you sing mine in the supermarket.

Coupled with my husband's short and to the point verah, verah easy name, my last name is a mouthful but relatively simple to say. Most people sail right through it.

Which is why I paid no attention, carrying on the getting-to-know-you prattle that you say to the person sitting next to you for the day until a silence fell and I finally turned to see the reddening face of the woman leading the training.*

"Excuse me!" she trumpeted said loudly. "Are you Jessica Dutch name Dutch name-easy name OR NOT?"

Now, I hate being the bad kid. But I hate being made an example of even more.

And it gave me great bitchy pleasure to say 'No, you've got it wrong."



*She'd been snarky through most of the pre-meeting gibberish. Obviously this was not her favorite thing to do.

easter comes but once a year

The kids were hyped up higher than kites blindingly high on sugar (note to self: Rosey can now reach the back of the counter, so hiding things there? Not so good.*) and careened around the house, tearing things apart and reveling in bedlam,

which excited the dog so much he peed everywhere (although it may have been in self-defense - by that time I was screeching so loud that the windows were rattling) and ran in circles and bit his tail,

yelping so loud he startled the amok twins. Cass stopped jumping on the couch in mid-leap, Rosey leaned in to look, and Cass fell on her. Rosey screeched and

the phone rang and I couldn't hear my mother on the phone until

she was half-way through the aghast lecture on 'why don't you control your children?' which

made me full of guilt and snappish and short with her,

which translated into me getting off the phone, looking around at the wreck of the house and realizing that this time, she's right, and becoming even more snappish and short-tempered with the kidlets,

who were so high on chocolate they didn't care.


*Cheeks bulging with jellybeans. Bulging. Like a little squirrel.

waiting for Beryl

We're supposed to get hit with the tail of Beryl tonight - a crapload of wind and some rain.

This makes shopping and errands fun - along with the 'Chicken Little' shoppers (The sky is falling! Quick, buy every can of soup the store has!) and the Duck and Cover boys at the hardware store (Ayup. Gonna have a little wind. Better tie down the tractor.) the bank's computer system went out and we were back in the land of it-takes-twenty-five-minutes-to-make-a-withdrawal.

Since we couldn't stock up on soup (I kid!) we drove over to a local produce stand and bought some really nice corn and blueberries, dodging comments about why on earth we were out - didn't we know there was a storm a'coming?

The weather was grey but not nasty yet. We took the scenic route back and watched the rain come in over the ocean. By the time we got home it was drumming rain and blowing hard - and it's been doing that pretty constantly since then. The power has flickered a few times, but nothing more than a blip - hardly worth noting.
---------------------------
THAT'S IT? That was the storm? It looks like Beryl decided to unleash her (dying) wrath on Newfoundland and pass over Nova S - the night tonight is rain drizzled and chilly, but hardly worth a cart full of Campbell's creamed whatever.

Besides, what does one DO with that much soup?

i'm really okay

It's been a mixed-up, crazy day.

First, we are now a two-cat household.

Secondly, Rosey's ECD appointment went phenomenally. Her therapist gave me a copy of one of the Hanen books (It Takes Two To Talk) to read and said she thinks R may take some coaching but she doesn't think she'll be a long-term client.
I can't tell you how wonderful that was to hear.

Almost as good as it felt to have my daughter grin at me and say 'Bubbles!'

Guess what we'll be awash in this summer?

the continuing story of a quack....

Job interviews: Most are dry, dull and predictable. I don't tend to interview well - it's always a challenge - and I know that's held me back a few times.

Today, though, nothing I could have said or done would have changed the fact that I slipped into a time warp of weird.

I was interviewing for an office position - some accounting, some parts work, filing, writing checks, and keeping track of the boss's schedule. Nothing I hadn't done before. The secretary, the owner and his wife interviewed me, in a tiny, grotty office that smelled overwhelmingly of something floral - ly I couldn't identify right away. It was a casual atmosphere (mostly because of the dirt and mess the shop made) and the owner and secretary were both in jeans. The wife had a long denim jumper on. The owner is (justifiably!) proud of the business he's created, so he told me all about how the business started and how it's expanding. The secretary started her portion with a rundown of a typical day - what she does when, how many different things she has going at once. They both seemed like nice matter-of-fact people. I started to relax. Finally, it was the wife's turn. A short silence. She flicked her long hair back, leaned forward and took my hand in hers, and said "And do you feel your heart led you to this job?"
Me: (thinking: what on earth? no, it was the want ad. PATCHOULI! THAT'S THE SMELL! IT REEKS OF PATCHOULI IN HERE!) Um.
Wife: Because you know, you need to have your heart invested in this job to take it.
Me: Well, I've always found...
Wife: And you have two little ones. What have you done this year to better yourself?
Me: (thinking: that didn't make any sense?) I took a course in the latest version of Excel and Alchemy last fall....
Wife: No no no. What have you done this year to better yourself? What are your hopes and dreams? Your fondest wishes?
Me: (thinking: what the fucking fuck?) (Warily) To own a bookstore?
Wife: So you really have no interest in this industry.
Me: (thinking: Well, this is in the can. You're nuts, and the other two are hypnotised by your patchouli candle. LET GO OF MY HAND.) No.

No Picasso

Never, NEVER leave a one-year old alone in the crib in only a diaper.

We had an unfortunate finger-painting incident today.

'Nuff said. I have to go buy footie pyjamas tomorrow.

a leetle bit sore from the car-ride

But otherwise okay. Bear and I corralled the young'uns and threw them in the car, drove (okay, Bear drove, and I played an amusing 23 hour game of pick up bottle, pick up nook, pick up toys, and also answered 20 hours of questions about highway construction and big machines.) and we drove, and we drove, to upper New York, where my mum and dad let us stay, and then the next day drove through three states to Kentucky. Why Kentucky? In August? Surely the smart thing to do is visit the hot and humid states nearer Christmas? Yes, that would be the smarter thing. But we had a purpose. My grandparents were having their sixtieth wedding anniversary, and everyone on my mother's side of the family was going to be there. It was lovely. Hotter than hell, and so humid it felt as though we were drowning in warm water, but lovely to see everyone. My Uncle Rick has married a smart and beautiful woman who I met for the first time, and they were nice enough to let me and mine stay in their house.

Oh, did I mention this was the first time 98 percent of the people we visited had seen Rosebud in the flesh? Including all my parental units and the grandparents? Living three thousand miles away is hell on get-togethers.

But hey - we managed, through all the relative seeing and merrymaking, to haul the children (under the guise of this will be a fun thing, damnit) to the Louisville Zoo, and I had the privilege and pleasure of not only watching my little boy ooh and aaah over the animals, but of carrying my 42 lb son when halfway through he decided it was too hot and sticky and awful to go any farther.

Cass at the beginning of the Zoo:


and a melted and crabby boy (just on the edge of a whine):


Jesus, it was hot. But the relatives were all there, and, amazingly, all liked my renegade children. (Or at least faked it well.) The celebrations were wonderful, and the kidlets had just started to relax when boom! We threw them, protesting, back into the car (the baby has no more love left for her carseat, let me tell you) and drove back to Canandaigua and stayed there for a few days. Time with the other set of parents, dont'cha know.

I looove New York. Bear loooves New York. I may, actually, be able to get his little Canadian heinie to move to New York. I'm afraid I spent a lot of time saying things like "Oh, look! If we lived here you could work there!" while Bear smiled lightly and rolled his eyes. (No fool, my husband, even if the car ride thingy was his idea.)

Mum and Dad's house is spectacular. And peaceful. We spent a lot of time just relaxing, talking and swimming and eating incredibly good food - it was a breath of calm in our hurricane of a vacation.

And now we're back, and I miss all my extended family with all my heart.

goodbye, puppy

We put down our dog Kansas on Friday - my son is sad and bewildered and I am fighting a battle between my heart and my head. My heart wants to cry and feel guilty that I stood there and let them inject him, let them end his life while I sat by and stroked his head, murmuring 'Such a good dog' while he slumped, and snored, and was still, and my head is sending a fierce refrain, reminding me that he was ten years old, a severe case of hip dysplasia, getting so sore and crippled that he couldn't crouch to poop, and that it was best to take away all his pain.
The house is poorer without him here, and lonely.

Cass has decided that God put Kansas on a cloud, and blew him up to the moon, and he's there, watching over all of us. I like his version of Heaven.

As for me - I think I will be conflicted about this for a long time.

Poor doggie. Poor Kansas. I hope somewhere you are running free, barking at rabbits and sure that you have a soft rug to go home to. We'll miss you, big dog.