gobbledygook

This is my better-late-than-never big fat Thanksgiving post. I am a total slacker who sits around eating bon bons and watching soap operas and just finished editing my turkey day photos last night.

First of all, let's talk about caramel apples. I had every intention of making these kick-ass candy apples that I saw on Amber's blog. We bought all the ingredients and were all set to go...







When it came time to melt the chocolate, it ended up being a giant FAIL. We got water in the chocolate, which apparently is a big no-no, thereby learning the reason behind the title of Like Water for Chocolate.

Peeps, please learn from our mistake. Don't ever think that adding water to melting chocolate is a good idea. It just isn't.

See?



And please don't try to put caramel-coated apples on wax paper. That doesn't work.





Yeah.

The candy bags I bought from Michael's ended up not working out, so we stuffed each apple into a Ziploc bag and called it a ghetto-fab night.



Chuckles was pleased when we finally gave up trying to be Martha Stewart.



The next day was Thanksgiving. After taking a ridiculous amount of photos of Charlie in his Thanksgiving sleeper, we headed over to Mandy and Paul's, who were kind enough to host Thanksgiving this year.



For some reason, I didn't take a wide variety of photos. Instead, I have a crapload of pictures of me, Charlie, Roy, and Charlie's uncle Jake.











Oh wait! My nephew Merlin snuck in there...



...and so did Uncle Paul...



...and Cerby made an appearance as well.



Dinner was great, and even though the caramel apples were a ridiculous amount of work for ultimately something that ended up being stupidly simple, they were very tasty. Charlie even gave his own seal of approval.



And that was our Thanksgiving.

(I'm going to try to put up a big fat Christmas post before the end of the year. I have about 1500 photos on my camera from the entire month of December that I'm going to need to go through in order to make that happen. You can go ahead and make bets on whether I'll actually get the post done before New Year's. My money's on hellz to the no.)

Six Months

Dear Charlie,



Today you are six months old. Half a year.



Today also happens to be your grandma's birthday. I will never forget her face as she held you for the first time. She last saw you when you were one week old, but in less than two weeks, you'll be seeing her again. I honestly can't wait to see you together. I miss her terribly. I know she misses us as well. I wish that we could all live in the same place so that she can watch you grow up.



Family is a tough thing, Charlie. I left home because I wanted to live a life on my own terms, not one dictated by my family. I had all kinds of illusions that my family was trying to control me, and in my typical early-20s angst, I rebelled by leaving everyone far, far behind. I moved out of state and settled here in California, and it was one of the best things I've ever done for myself. Looking back on it, though, it was also one of the hardest. It seems that the most worthwhile things in life are often the most difficult.



This past month your grandpa was put into a nursing home. This has been something that's been a long time coming, but even so, the day I found out I spent a lot of time crying. I don't suppose that a daughter is ever ready to hear that her dad is in a nursing home, no matter how difficult their relationship may be. It's so ... final. There's nothing left after the nursing home. It's the last stop.



I wish with everything I am that you could know your grandpa. His illness has been such a long, hard road for all of us, and part of me wants his suffering to end. Another part of me wants him to stick around for many more years because I want him to see you and be with us. I seem to have reverted back to my old fantasies where love brings him back to us and our family is restored. But I know it'll never be what I truly want it to be. Instead, I know we will visit him in the nursing home, and he will not be transformed. He will still be sick. But I also know that he will be so happy to finally meet you.



I never really had the experience of having a grandfather. Both of my grandfathers died way before I was born. Once I was hanging around a hospital visiting my sick grandmother (your great-grandmother), and an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair told me that I reminded him of his granddaughter. I burst into tears; in that moment, there was nothing I wanted more than to be his granddaughter. I couldn't have been more than five years old.



You know what else I wish for? I wish that you had more time with your grandma. I wish that we weren't so spread out so that she could just pop on over anytime she wanted. It's hard, Charlie. It's really hard to know that you might not ever fully get to know my family. It's hard to face up to the fact that I was the one who put this distance between us. I'm not sure how to fix that.



Today you are six months old. And I don't know when you'll ever read this letter, but it will hopefully be at a time when you can understand that no matter how lost and lonely I am at this moment in my life, I wouldn't change one bit of what I've done - because it led me straight to you, my absolutely perfect little man. My life, however, is far from perfect, and at times it makes absolutely no sense. But then there are those moments in the middle of the night when I feed you and then bring you up to my shoulder to pat your back. You lay warm and soft against me. I can hear you breathing as you slip into a safe and oblivious sleep. The whole world is still. And I realize that this moment, this is what it's all about. It's about me and you and love and how devastatingly fleeting time is. It's about recognizing each moment for what it is: an instant that is going to pass and give way to the next instant. These instants, they're what make up our lives. Our imperfect lives, full of pain and suffering. And love. It all makes sense for that one instant as you and I sit together in the blackness of your room. Love will always carry us through the darkness and our pain. It's the one thing we have to hold onto.



Love,

Mommy

I just end up walking in the cold November rain.

It's only Tuesday, and this week already feels too long.

My dad has been moved into a nursing home. Apparently his condition has worsened to the point where his doctors were adamant that he not live alone anymore. He's been disoriented, has fallen down several times, and has probably had several small seizures and strokes. My aunt and uncle, who have overseen his care and finances since he had a major stroke ten years ago, moved him out of his apartment and into a nursing home near them. I had no idea any of this was happening, as my dad really is not the best communicator in the world. So getting the news was like getting punched in the stomach multiple times.

The latest developments in my dad's 27-year illness have reopened some old wounds (that probably were never healed to begin with). At times like this I am reminded of how deeply devastating my dad's disability has been for me and the rest of my family (not to mention his side of the family). I guess there are some things that you just never get over. You just learn to live with them because you have no fucking choice. That's what sucks about life.

I feel like my whole life I've been waiting for my dad to die. And when I heard the news, it felt like finally it was all coming to an end. I was so stricken with a multitude of emotions. And then I realized that as prepared as I am for the phone call that my dad has passed away, whenever it may come, the truth is I'm not prepared at all. I am not ready to lose him completely yet; I am not ready to say goodbye.

I want my dad to meet Charlie. And he wants to meet Charlie. According to my aunt, he asks about Charlie all the time and wants to see pictures. I spent tonight making him a photo album, and tomorrow I will mail it out. I am happy to contribute something, to do something that will bring him some comfort. I wish that I could be there. I feel hugely guilty that I am not. I don't feel like I have the right to my own life when my dad is suffering. But I know he wants me to live and be happy.

But anyway, my dad is not dying in the sense that they can see the end of his life just around the corner. He is dying in the sense that he's got a ticking time bomb of an inoperable vascular tumor in his brain. All of his symptoms (that he's had for years) are intensifying. He needs round-the-clock care now, but it's my impression that he's still himself. Which makes me so, so happy.

The plan is to go see him while we're in Texas in December. I wish I could see him sooner. But I know it'll be a great day when he can finally meet his grandson.

I never really ask for this unless I really need it, but please keep us all in your thoughts and prayers. I'm not in a really good place right now, because of this and because I'm processing some other big, huge, life-changing things. When it rains, it really fucking pours. Oh yes, it does.

30 Days of Happiness, Day 12: It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp.

We spent most of our day with Mandy and Paul, having lunch, farting around town, and watching season one of Gossip Girl (my latest addiction). Oh, and trying for two hours to get Charlie to take a nap. Holy hell.

We went out separate ways for a few hours so we could all relax and get some sleep. And yes, I got a nap, and yes, it was awesome.

Mandy and Paul came back around 8:00 tonight after Charlie was down for the night and we cracked open a bottle of this (my new favorite beverage) and laid out the Monopoly board. Since we were in a bit of a time crunch*, we each started out with four properties and decided to limit the game to twenty rounds.

*We're old.

These were the properties I started with:



Everything started out neat and tidy and happy.





And then it slowly morphed into this.




I was doing pretty good - hell, I started the game off with a clear advantage (Park Place and Boardwalk), but I got demolished after landing on one of Mandy's properties that had a hotel on it.

I came in last place. But seriously, there was no shortage of laughs. I'm pretty freaking witty when I've had some alcohol.

A good day and night all around. That ended at 9:30.

Have I mentioned we're old?

30 Days of Happiness, Day 10: A Phone Call from Far Away

My dad called me today.

I wish I could just have that sentence be my entire post for today. But as is the case with my dad, it's not that simple. It never has been. It never will be.



This was the first time since I've moved away from home that my dad has called me. I've learned not to expect him to call. He never calls me on any special day. Not my birthday. Not my wedding. Not when Charlie was born. Not anytime at all. I always have to call him. But he hardly ever answers the phone, which means that we almost never talk.

I don't mind being the one to have to make the call. I really don't. If I were younger and more angsty, I might wonder why I'm putting in all the effort to keep in touch. But I know that anything outside of my dad's normal routine is often too much for him. He needs predictability and stability. Or at least this is how I imagine it is for him.

So the fact that he called me this morning was, in a word, huge.

We talked for a record minute and a half. He asked about Charlie. He was so proud that I had had a boy. He asked about how much he weighed and seemed delighted that Charlie's a chunker. It made me feel good to know that my dad actually felt something about his grandson and about me. Often, my dad comes across as unfeeling and indifferent. It's easy to begin to believe that he doesn't care.

I believe that my dad does care, at least as much as he can care. Over the years, just when I have needed him to show me the most, he has come through for me. In his own limited way, yes, but still. He has come through.

In 8th grade, I tried out for the basketball team and didn't make it. I was crushed and humiliated, especially because my two best friends made the team. I came home and sobbed dramatically in true 13-year-old fashion. My dad called, and my mom told him what happened. She passed the phone over to me, and he and I talked for a bit. Right before we hung up, he told me he loved me.

It was the first time he'd ever said it to me.

And at that moment, I realized that basketball could suck it because my dad had just told me he loved me.

I want to say it was a turning point in our relationship and that my dad slowly began to come out of his damaged shell, all because of the love he had for his only daughter. But I learned the hard way, after years and years of wishing for him to be whole, that life is not a Lifetime movie. He would never have that huge breakthrough. We would never sit together and cry over our separation. He would never be the daddy I needed him to be.

I'm 30 years old now. And I don't really need a daddy anymore. But still, I hang onto his moments of purity and lucidity like they're gold. There have only been a handful. But they are real. And they are mine.

And his phone call today was one of them.


(our most recent family photo, circa 2000, looking almost normal)

30 Days of Happiness, Day 7: A Visit from Uncle Wade

Charlie's Uncle Wade (my brother) came out from Minneapolis for a short visit last week. It was his first time meeting Charlie. We spent a lot of time close to home base, but on Wade's first day here, he did humor me and let me take him out to Mr. Rex's Dinosaur Adventure in the desert. If you've seen this fine piece of cinema, then these pictures will probably ring a bell.



What we didn't realize is that there was a robotic dinosaur museum in addition to the two giant dinosaurs you can see from the freeway. For $5, you get access to the "museum" (which is really a big patch of dirt with lots of totally real looking dinosaurs hanging out and looking like they totally belong in Southern California) and the gift shop. Score!

And if you are in a wheelchair, you can get in free! (See sign below.)



Here we are posing under the big ol' T-Rex.





Scary!



This Army guy was hiding in the corner in the gift shop. Hunting dinosaurs, no doubt.



Making friends with the dinos





I was completely taken aback by this crusader hiding out amongst the dinosaurs. Later on I figured out why he was there.



The owners of the museum took many opportunities to remind us that we were being watched. Too bad they never passed their spelling tests in elementary school.



Dinosaurs are friendly!





And then we found ourselves at the main attraction, the huge T-Rex.



This is, I shit you not, the first thing you see when walking in.



Turns out the T-Rex was filled with signs proclaiming evolution to be fundamentally flawed. Interesting...

Charlie was unaffected by all that religious rhetoric. That's my boy!



I climbed up to the top of the T-Rex. This was my view.



Awesome sign!



When we left, we were each gifted with two DVDs titled "Dinosaurs in the Bible" and "By Design, Not By Chance." Of course we went home straightaway and popped those suckers into the DVD player and were instantly saved, thanks to Mr. Rex's Dinosaur Adventure.

(If you want to experience some of Mr. Rex's religious rhetoric for yourself, click here. Have fun!)

Later on at home (after being saved), Wade gave Charlie a dancing lesson.



For the rest of Wade's visit, we stayed local, hit up a music store, ate at my favorite Thai place, went to the mall, and did a fat music exchange.

As a going away gift, I gave Wade a new toothbrush. Here's his old one.



We took some really bad photos of ourselves.




Wade's visit was really brief, but it was really awesome to see him again. I really can't imagine a better companion for our dinosaur adventure, since we're both recovering Catholics and all. And it was nice that Charlie got to meet his uncle. Not to mention the experience of having Uncle Wade give him a dancing lesson.