Post script

It did seem a bit anti-climactic to just have an ordinary night on Bobby’s birthday Thursday, so we opted to go to an Italian restaurant with singing waiters for dinner instead. The world of going out for family dinners - indoors! - seems a million years ago; lately, I’ve had a lot of feelings about these two years of lost normal experiences we’ve had. All the parties, all the dinners out…all the opportunities to meet and bond with people between 2020 and 2022. Sigh. But anyway. We had a nice dinner out and it felt more suited to an older child’s birthday. Then last night we had his little cake. 

The school year is starting to wind down. You can feel it everywhere, this anticipation of summer; you’d think it was May already and not March. It’s probably because we are having a heat spell at the moment. Next week calms back down to normal early spring temperatures. 

After lots of texts and confusion, we have determined not to use contractor #3 because he’s just too expensive - it would probably cost about $50,000 more to finish this cabin if we had him do it. Which is particularly egregious for me since I had agreed to have him start only to pull the rug out from under him just the day before. However, I have to admit the F was right about this one. There are times when having a partner around to help you avoid ruinous financial decisions is a good thing. This week was all about getting the container delivered and placed, both of which thankfully happened without a hitch. And, remarkably, contractor #2 has stated he’s available to fix our roof at a fraction of the cost of the #3 guy and was planning to start today. He also said he’d like to get the bathroom banged out and windows and door in before he leaves in April. I don’t see how any of this can actually happen, and we’ve been let down so many damned times that I don’t dare hope. But maybe…?

Next week I have to get a prenup started and I’m full of anxiety about it. We’ve talked about having a prenup a lot over the years - and the F is fully on board - but at this moment I don’t know for sure that he completely understands just how much I intend to keep all of my shit separate. Maybe he knows this, but maybe he doesn’t. To me the main sticking point will be this cabin, which, even though has been entirely on my dime, he may end up putting in countless hours of labor over the years to make it useable for us. And I can see how it would appear unfair that, if we were to split up, I get to keep whatever increase in value came from all his unpaid labor. So my plan is, if he objects to me keeping this cabin 100% in case of a divorce, maybe offering some kind of agreed upon buy out of his labor. Hopefully it won’t come to that - and hopefully all of this is a moot point since we won’t get divorced - but I’m terrified of being ripped off or taken advantage of, especially when there are kids involved and everything I do is for their legacy, not his, and certainly not him and some woman he hooks up with after we divorce and her stupid kids. So before I start drafting this thing with the lawyer we need to have a real conversation about how I don’t intend to share anything with him - not my retirement, not my house or businesses or money or anything else, and that he’s essentially on his own, as he has been. I figure this conversation could go anywhere from “of course” to “the wedding is off”. It’s true. It could go that badly that we decide not to get married at all. Not probable, but possible. Just one of the many pitfalls of getting married later in life when you’re already established. There’s just so much at stake for me if this marriage goes wrong. That’s why I want to limit my risk as much as possible. I watched Bad Vegan! I know what happens-! 

Last night I had a maskless date night at an indoor dance - also a first - and reconnected with a lot of people. On the top of everyone’s list of questions is what my covid policy will be for my event, and I just don’t know. I’ll talk with my epidemiologist friend again, of course, but just like last year I know I won’t follow his advice to the fullest; he doesn’t think of things from a business perspective, as in, he’s very much an absolutist that everyone must be vaxxed and boosted, no exceptions - but I recognize medical exemptions and am considering not requiring boosters since statistically that would reduce 60% of my audience, and by September most of us who got boosted, that booster will be 9-10 months old, so does it really matter anymore? I’m considering offering a negative test in place of a missing booster in order to be more accessible. And masks, hopefully those can be optional. It’s so hard to walk the line between what cities and states are recommending vs what our very cautious dance community considers necessary (a much higher bar). I think the only thing I can for sure say is vaccines will be required (with exemptions), you can test out of boosters, and masks will be optional. And that everything except vaccine requirements will be subject to change. That may not be very satisfactory for people, but surely after all we’ve been through, people will get it’s impossible to set a policy in April that will still be applicable in September. 

10

Tomorrow Bobby is ten.

This seems like such a significant moment that it's hard to believe it’s going to pass with only an ordinary school day followed by a store-bought carrot cake and opening the one present he has left - a Gorillaz t shirt - since he opened the rest along with Theo on Theo’s birthday last week. But yes, he is ten, and I’ve kept this child alive for ten years and been a mother for ten years (whereas I was not a mother for thirty nine years - make of that what you will). 

What is Bobby like, on the eve of ten? Who has he become in these ten years? He’s smart, sensitive, empathetic, introverted, funny, sardonic. He’s got a jaded wisdom that belies his few years and comfortable life - I credit myself with this. He’s so much like me, and I’m so much like my mother, which means he’s like his grandmother who he never met. This also means he’s a bit like his great-grandmother who he also never met and who I only knew for fifteen years, because that’s how these things work. Somewhere in each of us is a gesture or turn of phrase or a look that probably goes back hundreds of years, out of this country, even. It’s funny to think of that. 

Of everyone in this house, we two are the only ones who had each other alone for nearly two years. He’ll never remember those heady early days of his life when it was just me and him and a cranky elderly chihuahua around here; those insane nights of sleeplessness interrupted by quick cat naps with my hand resting gently on his chest to make sure he was still breathing, every light on in the house all night to allay my postpartum terror, the sweet smell of life breathing in from the windows in the form of spring orange blossoms and lantana and jasmine, the parading around in circles as he screamed, singing The Cure’s All I Want -

Tonight I’m feeling like an animal

Tonight I’m howling inside

Tonight I’m feeling like an animal

Tonight I’m going wild

And all I want is to be with you again

And all I want is to hold you like a dog

We never could have imagined that one day there would be another little boy here, even less a grown man not of our flesh. Once it was just us. The weight of that is not lost on me.

Tomorrow he turns ten, with normal ten-year-old boy concerns - mostly revolving around how to get things; more Ipad time, more sweets, how to stay up later. How to avoid the boring things - cleaning up, brushing teeth, homework - and have more of the fun things. That’s what his life is about now, which is as it should be.

Every year of these boys’ lives that go by, I’m so pleased they’ve “made it this far” without any major traumas or losses; I feel like every year they continue in this vein, their brains can develop in a healthy manner. Even as I say this I recognize being proud of making it this far with no trauma is like being proud of making it this far without catching covid - it’s not an accomplishment; it just means that so far you’ve been lucky and that luck can run out at any time. It’s essentially meaningless. But as “being careful” with covid does mean your risk of catching it is likely less than those who don’t give a shit, so is being careful in your life - making good financial decisions (mostly), staying in one place, choosing good partners, looking after your health. All of those things have helped keep up the bulwark against life’s many tragedies. 

When I turned ten, I had just moved to New York after a year in Connecticut with my aunt and uncle and two cousins, a circumstance I still don’t entirely understand. Newly reunited with my mother after a year apart, we set off for a summer in Wisconsin for a yacht club cocktail piano gig in Bar Harbor. I don’t remember much about that summer except how much my mother resented being housed in the “help” quarters (shitty cinder block housing with constantly partying teenaged waiters) and once nearly drowning in the club pool because every time I tried to come up for air I was viciously attacked by hard-biting black flies. At that age I was relentlessly obsessed with everything Victorian and took to always carrying a handkerchief and a small velvet 100 year old purse; I was reading through the original Mary Poppins books (which are very different from the movie - a lot darker). And somehow on my tenth birthday that summer I spent the day in tears and inconsolable. Why? Because I didn’t want to grow up and was terrified of “losing my childhood”. This was an ongoing theme in my youth - I had a similar reaction to the arrival of my first period four years later. Where did this notion come from? I asked a therapist once - and she asked me how my mother presented adulthood to me at the time, and I responded…not very well. My mother was fond of responding to my childhood complaints with such phrases as “just wait until you’re an adult” or “get a job” or “you don’t know how easy you have it” etc etc. Which, to be fair, was pretty standard parenting boilerplate in the 70s and 80s - children couldn’t be depressed, or have anxiety, or be anything but carefree tousle-haired little rag mops. Nevermind that I’d just spent a year being traumatized by an evil boy cousin (who I hasten to add has grown into a delightful man) inexplicably separated from my mother while also having been abandoned by my father a few years before that, and had spent just about every year or few months since the age of five moving and switching schools. By ten I had lived a full life. I was exhausted. I think I was entitled to a few tears, especially faced with the prospect of my adulthood, according to my mother, being exponentially worse (spoiler alert - it wasn’t. I’m glad at fourteen I made the decision not to jump out of that window and instead live to find out). 

I’ve made a habit of never taking a “just wait until you grow up and see how hard it is” attitude with my kids, after seeing what it did with me. Occasionally I’ll wink at one of them conspiratorially and say, “adulthood is awesome - you’ll see”. I always hated the lack of control I felt as a child; I felt like my entire life was doing things I didn’t want to do and being places I didn’t want to be. I suppose most kids feel that way, and they’re not wrong; it’s just the nature of things at that age. You have to go to school, which has very few redeeming qualities; whereas as an adult you can luck out and actually enjoy your work, or at least aspects of it. You can eat candy all day and stay up all night if you want, but you’ll be surprised by how unappealing these concepts become. 

Tomorrow, Bobby is ten, and the second half of his childhood begins, and it will be radically different from the first. In ten more years he’ll barely resemble the person he is now, although some essence will still be there - the green eyes, the dry wit. I’m fascinated to see what he becomes.

Summer plans

Summer has been on my mind. I’m not sure what to do with the kids. Parents are starting to look at each other and ask what camps are good - but I’ve had no good information yet. The local rec center camp we used last year, the kids have aged out of (or certainly Bobby has). I think this will probably be true for most of the inexpensive rec center camps - they’re really best for 5-7 year olds. At this age, they move on to specialty camps, and those are expensive. I found a basketball camp that’s local, but I asked the kids if they wanted to go, and they said no. I’m not about to spend $1000 a week for something the kids don’t even want to do. We have a week and a half with us on honeymoon and the kids here with their aunt, and they have one week of sleep away camp. That leaves six weeks of no plans. In years past this would be unthinkable, but now…I’m thinking…would it be so bad to just have a relaxing summer with no plans to speak of? I don’t relish the thought of being home with kids all day - making lunch, trying to get them out for exercise, especially when I’m potentially running my event, too. But we do have a pool, and the kids are pretty self-entertaining, and I can leave for errands occasionally now. So maybe it won’t be so bad. With the exception of the four summers I went to camp as a kid, I pretty much spent every summer watching tv from morning until night bored out of my mind. Maybe it’s doable this year. And next year I’ll be more prepared with a better camp plan. Right now I’m just terrified to spend thousands more for just a week or two of camp. I’m hemorrhaging money at the moment. 

Speaking of hemorrhaging money, it looks like there’s a plan to resume our cabin build. Contractor #3 got inside the place yesterday, and worked up a plan for the roof. Unfortunately due to shoddy construction he pretty much has to start it over, to the tune of $7000. That’s a lot. But it is in the process of blowing apart, so I can’t delay. He can start next week, and probably be done in two weeks, which gives perfect timing for us to spend spring break working on windows with the contractor. I’m pretty happy about that, since window placement has been a big issue from the beginning (and had been brushed over repeatedly by contractor #1) so I’m glad we’ll be able to do that in person, and that our week out there will be productive. Also, our shipping container is set to arrive today. After four months of no work, is it possible this is finally happening…?

Yesterday I had an unexpected positive experience. A local wealthy dancer has started holding dances at his large Brentwood mansion, and our band played. He basically invites only people he knows, and it’s vaxx-only and has food & drink. I was sort of dreading it the way I sort of dread all gigs, but it turned out to be really lovely. We’ve had a few other “we’re back!” gigs, but this one really felt like it - so many people came out of the woodwork, and everyone was so happy. Just tons of good will everywhere. I got so many compliments on my singing and my dress (this old thing? Literally - all my dresses are 80+ years old) which was unexpected. So just good vibes all around.

Tomorrow I drive out to the desert for the final (?) walk through of the wedding venue, and then have another gig in Irvine at night. It’s going to be a loooong day. Then Thursday is Bobby’s tenth birthday. Wow! 

Big steps forward

Two big developmental things happened this week and only just now am I realizing just how life changing they are. Even though they’re things I’ve been thinking about for years, now that they’re here, it’s…strange. I mean, good, but strange. 

First, is Theo doing his own laundry. I cannot tell you how weird it is to have only my laundry in my laundry basket for the first time in ten years. I’m so used to being inundated by tiny socks. It’s just bizarre. I did only my laundry a few days ago and I couldn’t believe how fast it was putting everything away. 

The other is, after walking up the hill to pick up the kids on Monday and Tuesday, they spontaneously decided to walk alone yesterday. All of this communicated by Bobby’s kids’ watch, of course. Unfortunately, he had slept with it the night before to use the alarm in the morning, so by the time they left school at four the battery was at 5%. I tracked them from my phone, watching B’s little icon face as he crossed the right streets and made the right turns until it died, and then sat gripped with mild panic for the remaining 15 minutes until I heard them clamoring up the stairs. For the amount of true crime I watch, I was able to look at the frozen icon and say, “well, at least we have a record of their last movements before they disappeared.” 

But then there they were, all sweaty and proud of themselves, and telling me it was fun. I’m glad they get that this is important for them and don’t just think it’s a big drag, although I’m prepared at any moment for them to decide they’re over it and want to be driven. I’m not sure what I’ll do if they say they don’t want to walk home anymore - give in and pick them up? Agree to pick them up but only certain days? I don’t know. Hopefully I won’t have to cross that road. I figure if things go as planned and B stays at this school through 6th grade, that means I have 2 1/4 years of the boys getting themselves home before they go to schools that are too far to walk to (schools near here, as far as I know, don’t offer bus service, and I’m not too keen on them using public transportation, at least not until they’re quite a bit older). So the time will come when a) I’ll probably have to get us all up a lot earlier to get to school, and b) resume picking up, and from two different schools for two years. 

Speaking of schools, we got the best results possible from our “choices” application - I accidentally applied to a gifted elementary school magnet back in November rather than the middle school one, only to find out I’d sort of done it correctly anyway since all I’m needing to do right now is apply for schools we won’t get in to, get wait listed, and rack up points that will then be used to get into the middle school we do want. So we’ve been wait listed, which hopefully means we won’t make it in and can snag those 4 points we need to have 12 by the time it’s time to actually apply for real. If we do make it, we’ll have to decline and lose the points (just to clarify, I have no intention of taking him out of this school to attend the elementary school). Next year I’ll know better and apply to a school that’s impossible to get in to (this one isn’t as difficult so there’s a chance a spot will open up and then we’re screwed). A friend’s kid did make it in - and he’s a really brilliant kid who’s been bored at this school for years - so she’s debating sending him over there even though he has a little sister who just started kindergarten, so they wouldn’t be together anymore. It’s a tough call for her; I’m glad it’s one I don’t have to make. 

Today I finally got out to buy some fabric for my wedding dress that my sister graciously agreed to make for me, as my actual dress is hopelessly trapped in Russia and I can’t even get a refund because the banks are frozen. I hope I made the right choice. My big fear after all this tsuris is that I’ll put it on and just not like how I feel in it. But so much is about the embellishments we pick for the bodice - the dress itself, much like the original, is very plain; in this case, a sort of greenish-grey tulle with a grey backing for the top, and I’ll buy a cheap tulle underskirt in pink or purple or light green or something for the bottom. I’d like to bling up the top with some appliqués and rhinestones and things but I’m not sure what yet. Unlike most women I have zero concept of what I want to look like as a bride; I feel pressured to do something really different since I’m a unique and creative person and our situation is so different and I’m a rebel, dammit - but what exactly does that look like, as far as dress, hair, makeup…? Normally I’m a very decisive person but in this case I’m pretty darned stumped. Endless hours perusing Pinterest has only yielded insufferable boho brides with lace dresses and cowboy hats and vaguely bearded grooms, broken up by repetitive ads for The Beachwaver (totally getting one of these at some point). I’m sure it will all come together - the rest of the wedding has - but right now my vision of myself is still pretty blurry.

Theo is eight

Yesterday we celebrated Bobby and Theo’s birthday although it was Theo’s actual birthday. We had a joint party at the trampoline park we last used for their 5th and 7th birthdays in 2019, at their request. Bobby invited three people and Theo, ever the extrovert, invited six. It was strange having to meet all new parents and kids - it reminded me of Bobby’s first year at this school and all the newness it brought.

It was also interesting watching them interact with other kids and not just each other for once. Just like all of us, kids are very different around their friends, and really come alive. At Theo’s age, the kids were very much like puppies - wild and all over the place, whereas Bobby’s friends were more mellow. 

The party itself was the usual chaotic mess as everyone signed in, got waivers, changed socks, and tried to figure out where to put purses and presents - that part sucked, with kids playing tag on stairs and jumping out of their skins with excitement. Once they were able to play it worked out well, and I got to know the parents, one of whom grew up in the neighborhood and went to the kids’ school. 

Thankfully I bought just the right number of cupcakes, and there was enough pizza, and we all drove home exhausted and happy. I gave Bobby his kids’ watch, and today I walk up to retrieve them to show them how to walk home, and at some point - maybe tomorrow? the kids will walk themselves home. It’s all happening.

Daylight savings did a number on all of us this morning. I was outraged when my alarm went off in the dark, although Bobby set his watch alarm and was up before me (to play with the new family Oculus, no doubt), and went right back to bed after dropping them off. I have a lot to do today but I fear very little of it will actually get done. I’m wiped from the triple stressors of the big band gig on Saturday, the party yesterday, and the time change. I just need to sit in a quiet, dark room for a while. 

Coming together

Today I have a big band gig that was last had this weekend in March of 2020, which I officially listed as the weekend before the tanks rolled into Poland. This week two years ago was a time of sheer dread and terror. We’ll never be who we were then again, not ever. But here I am, squeezing on a tight eighty year old dress, teasing my hair and slathering my face with makeup, to go do it again, and we’re all still here, and life (for most of us), goes on. It’s a strange moment.

Tomorrow Theo is eight. Last night I had him do his first load of laundry, which he attacked with his usual good will and enthusiasm. Eight years ago I was starting to suffer with early contractions; I *think* Theo was born just about spot on his due date…? It’s funny how you forget these things. But I do remember sitting on the couch with my sister in my favorite green dress (I wonder what happened to that…?) and writhing in discomfort, finally deciding I should just head to the hospital to get checked out and make sure I wasn’t in labor. I remember the painful cervical check, and being told I wasn’t in labor, but a kind nurse telling me I can hang out for a couple of hours to see if anything develops. And then suddenly I was in real labor, and I remember clinging to the nurse in agony, and calling the midwife. And then oh, the suffering, the suffering. And why didn’t he just fly out of my body with a couple of pushes like Bobby did, why is it so hard? And then the midwife saying, “Hilary, open your eyes, your baby is being born!” and then there this strange little dark haired child was, nothing like his brother, and I held him and told him he was going to do his own thing in his own way. And the relief that labor was over and I would never have to do it again. Never ever. 

I’m glad I have a complete record of all these things on this blog, because you really do forget. And I don’t know why we remember certain things and forget others. I remember how the house buzzed with magic when the new baby finally came home a few days later; I remember waking up to the horror of the announcement of my friend who had her baby that day losing her to cardiac arrest. 

But here we are on the eve of Theo’s eighth birthday. He’s a smart, friendly, extroverted child that I don’t feel like I’ll ever have to worry about. So unlike his brother while he simultaneously worships him. We are solidly in school-aged kid time, and these are good times for us. I worry what the tween and teenaged years will bring us; but I can’t think about that now. 

Last week I got that much closer to things being wrapped up - I did a lengthy zoom call with the main rental place for the wedding to figure out the lighting and other logistics; Tuesday after next we meet out there to walk the space. I paid for the cake order, and met with my friend to go over flowers. My dress is now trapped forever in Russia and they can’t refund me, either, because of banks being shut off, so after wasting weeks of time on them, we’re back to my sister making it and me shopping for fabric on Monday. The F finally got me addresses to invite his friends after I threatened to not remind him again, so we are officially out of invite mode. It’s coming together.

My employees have still not answered my emails from now almost two weeks ago, so I decided to write one last time and then replace them all. I have a back up plan, so I feel confident going forward. I spent all week stressing out and working on it. 

Our shipping container was not delivered because of a screw up on their part, so we now will probably have to wait weeks or even months for another one. No word from any contractors. Good times. 

Moody Monday

Yesterday I got up at 4 AM to drive out to the desert to meet my new (hopefully) contractor. It was surreal driving out there by myself in the dark - and kind of nice, other than the early wake up nausea. I accomplished three things yesterday - picked up more tasting cakes (I asked to baker to use less sugar this time - the last cakes gave me the runs - and voila! These cakes were much better and did not upset my stomach. Hooray!). I met with the contractor - builder, really - who is my realtor’s husband. He seems like a good guy, even if he talked over me a lot (what is it about white guys this age? Ugh), and I think we can move forward with him. The only disadvantage I see is he can’t do all of the projects - the bathroom and stove install may be beyond his scope - and since he has a full time job, progress may be slow. But he said he could commit a couple to a few days a week on it, which was better than what we were getting before. I’m worried that by spring break - a month from now - the place will be nowhere near ready to even camp at, so now I’m not sure what my plans should be for that week (we were supposed to camp out there to do finishing work on the place - I don’t know if anything will even be started by then). So now I need to wait on his estimate, and he probably can’t start for a couple of weeks. Back to the waiting game. Supposedly our shipping container comes on Thursday - we’ll see how that plays out. Maybe we can camp in there, if we can arrange a quick temporary toilet:shower situation by then. 

On my way back I stopped at a cactus rental place, but discovered they’re just too pricey for wedding stuff. And they don’t deliver. So that’s a no.

But it was a productive day. It was weird to be home by noon and feel like I had already had a full day. I pretty much just lay around in bed the rest of the day.

I feel like things are winding down. Last week was soooo stressful with all I had on my plate; much of it has been resolved now, or at least I’m at the point of waiting for people to respond so my hands are tied. I emailed all of my staff last Tuesday and Wednesday about working this year, and much to my chagrin almost no one has responded. Wtf? Do you want a paying gig or not??? I’m really irritated by this. It makes me want to fire everyone and start over. 

The boys’ birthday party is this Sunday and I’ve done pretty much nothing about it. Part of this is because it’s easy - it’s at a trampoline place and the food is already ordered, so my only job is cake and maybe goodie bags if I even do them. I bought and wrapped all their presents. Everyone’s been invited and most have rsvp’d, so it’s not like I have a ton to do…but considering how much energy I’ve put into these parties in the past, it feels weird to be barely thinking about it. 

After their party, a couple of big things happen at once - I teach Theo how to do his own laundry (which means I will be doing only my laundry for the first time in ten years!), and I get Bobby’s kid watch set up and start them walking home from school. I figure I’ll walk up to get them and walk them down a few days until they feel comfortable. The whole thing makes me a bit anxious - I second guess myself a lot that I should ever let these kids walk alone - but the fact that they’ll be walking through a very safe area until they get to our street where it all changes, they won’t be alone, they can get in touch with me, and lots of other kids in their school walk home, tells me that I’m not out of bounds in thinking this is possible. We’ll see how it goes. They may be just too lazy to even want to do it! To be fair their backpacks are pretty darned heavy. I think if I had the choice of a .8 mile walk or being chauffeured I know which I’d choose. 

Two years

It is March, which means we’ve officially been in a pandemic for two years. The words “grim milestone” come to mind, as we also are careening towards a million Americans dead. Good morning!

Saturday is the F’s birthday and he wants nothing more than to go to the seafood buffet we went to two years ago. Indoor dining is *kind of* a thing again, so I feel ok going to a place with no outdoor seating and taking the kids. I remember the F telling me that night back in 2020 that we probably wouldn’t be able to go to places like this again for a long, long time, while I scoffed in disbelief. Yes, that was back when I was mocking him for asking me to stock up on hand sanitizer and masks, and thought maybe dance events in March and April might be shut down but my event in September would be just fine. It feels like a million years ago.

This year, the birthday invitations are flooding in. Parents, like me, who have had to deprive our young children of proper birthdays for two years, are chomping at the bit to get back in action. I’m glad to see most parents are having the same thought as me - that by kids’ 10th birthdays you really don’t need to invite the whole class anymore. It seems like the trend is small parties doing special activities. Theo’s fellow students are still doing big parties. I wonder if I can just drop him at the party and leave now…? I don’t know social etiquette anymore.

This weekend should be eventful - I drive out to the desert at 5 AM, meanwhile picking up some tasting cakes with less sugar (maybe these won’t give me diarrhea, like the last ones did…?). I was going to go alone, but we may need to place railroad ties for the arrival of the shipping container which is scheduled to arrive next Thursday, in which case I’ll need the F’s car and help. Either way we’re meeting with a new contractor and please lord let the third time be a charm, please.