Summer, Summer, Summer...

"I have a runny nose, Daddy, and besides that, someone was making fun of me at school on Friday. I don't want to go to summer school today." Ahhh...so said my dearest at 7:30 this morning when D tried to wake up J up. So he could go to school, so he could get 10 credits and thus take less classes in his first year of high school.

Last summer we thought to relieve the kids of school. This year is a different story. Both boys are in school - A is being home-schooled by D, and J is at the high school. M is also being home-schooled. With J, we thought it best to acclimate him to the routine of school, to get him used to managing his tics in a school environment. D and I worried. He did so well at home, we didn't want his good work to plummet. But the reality is, his tics ARE being well-managed, and he WILL lose out on the music programs if he stays home.

"Come on, Daddy, I really just want to stay home, just for today."

D came into my room and whispered, "He's got a really runny nose."

"Give him a cold medicine."

D tiptoed out of the room. I drifted back to sleep. At 9 or so I got up and looked in the bedroom and there was J, asleep. He slept until 11.

When he woke up, he asked, "Hey, I made plans to go skating with my buddy. Can you drive me to the elementary school? Just to the hill."

Umm...no.

"Why NOT??!!"

"If you're too sick for summer school, you're too sick to skateboard for friends."

"It's just summer school, it doesn't matter!!"

Heavy sigh.

Yesterday was nice though - after screaming and fussing and complaining and threats to stay home, all five of us managed to get into the SUV and head out to the Orange County Marketplace (which used to be the Orange County Swapmeet) to walk around and buy a beach hat. Which we did. Bought beach hats. Afterwards, we drove to Newport Beach for an early dinner and I had a Mojito. Never did I need one so badly in my life. We all had fun, though. Lunch-dinner was the best. Classic rock playing. The ocean breeze coming in through open windows, chips and salsa, hamburgers, fun conversation. Beach hats.

I took pictures from the pier. I'd not seen that many people at the beach in years. Packed. Sardines.

Today we'll go swimming at the community pool. I'm going to learn how to make a Mojito.

Happy Father's Day!

Happy Father's Day to all my fellow fatherly bloggers, whether by biology or love. Hope your day's been a good one, full of family, friends, or the peacefulness of a quiet day.

Spectaculular Independence

I thought this picture was worth publishing. My little M woke up in a stormy mood, dramatically tossing clothes about, bemoaning her lack of desire to follow our strict time line in order to get to school on time. Since the days of my childhood, where I fought with my style-conscious mother over what I wanted to wear, I vowed never to force my own children to abide by my personal sense of dress. I'm glad to see I was successful in creating independent-minded children who see beauty in many things, in places others might skip.

Graduation

My oldest child, J, is graduating from 8th grade on Wednesday. I've been disconnected from it. My brother (father to step-daughter, S) and his wife put on a graduation party on the weekend for S (who graduates also from 8th grade) and to tell you the truth, I was relieved because when they let me know about it, I realized I hadn't planned anything in celebration of the day. Why? I suppose it's because the year's been a long one with J, our battle with Tourette's, with his "couldn't-care-less" attitude towards school, my own recalled "couldn't-care-less" brush with 8th grade graduation. I suppose the disconnect was more due to D's and my narrow focus/worry on his walking onto the high school campus next week for his first class back at school rather than walking to get a diploma. All my energy has gone into fretting about high school. Will he tic there? Is the medication enough to counter the anxiety? Will he be lost there? Will he let his grades plummet there? Will he walk to get his diploma there? And what of those other kids of mine?

So, he's graduating. Congrats, my dear. Now onto the really hard work of setting yourself up for college and a career. The world is your oyster as they say. Are you going to nurture the pearl, or swallow the meat with horse radish?

***

The weather is beautiful now. I love the June gloom which gets burned off by a slow-to-heat noontime sun. I sit on a chair on the porch with my book and a coffee in the morning, watching the sprinklers work and the dog sniff around the perimeter of the yard. Something always new to find in the familiar, eh?

Pssst....

I got the job!

And now...I worry about doing well. The angst never ends. God help my poor family, friends and loved ones.

Signed,

Assistant Professor Bliss

Names

As I reviewed the names of the students who were slaughtered at Virginia Tech, I wondered what the names were of the people slaughtered in Iraq on that same day. And the ones yesterday. And today. I keep wondering if the situation in the Middle East would be more "real" if we knew who these people were? If we saw their smiling faces, their dashed hopes, up front and personal?

Or would it only to serve to sadden us, to bring us all to the brink of helplessness since our voices tend to be lost in the politics of it all?

***

I had that job interview and now I wait. I did okay, not stellar. Sometimes in the throes of nerves, I tend to say things I wish I didn't. Can I recall anything specific? Yes...and it only gets worse in my imagination with time. So I do better not thinking about it. I'll wait for the rejection letter. As I munch on foods that are bad for me.

***

Only April 25? Damn it, I can't wait for summer.

Happy Easter!!

Happy Easter, everybody. Here at the Bliss household, we had a mini-Easter-egg hunt in the house because it's been raining. Later, we're going to host a lunch for D's sister and her husband. Nothing fancy. Lasagna from the local deli and a salad. I'm not sure we even have dessert.

The picture is from a few weeks ago - I attended a conference in San Diego and the family met me on my way home. We stopped in Carlsbad for a "dip in the sea." The kids played until their clothes were soaked. The two little ones wore clothes from my suitcase for the ride home. J sat at the edge of the sand, refusing to get his pants wet. Who could blame him? I ran behind the kids snapping away.

What's on our agenda? I've got an on-campus interview at the local university. Found out I have only one other competitor. When I first got the letter, advising me of the day-long interview, I was near tears with stress. Since then, I've let it go. I'm prepared, got a lecture ready to go, a portfolio put together, the suit's pressed, the only thing left is doing my best. Right? The terror has subsided because this is something we've been waiting for, but it's much out of my control. Either I'm a fit, or I'm not. Right? I know, to some, this is silly. They do interviews often, it's a routine. This has never been routine for me - it's always been an opportunity for Adriana Bliss, the child, to rake herself over the coals for everything that's wrong with her.

So here I am. Cannot wait for Wednesday night, after my evening class is over. So I can get on with my life.

The kids are doing well - J's vocal tics are under control at last. He still has a motor tic where he clicks his jaw, causing him real pain. But that seems to be on the mend - the times he does it is less, the ferocity is less. We're going to enroll him in our city's high school, come September. I'm hoping to work out a custom program where he can take two of his core classes at least, as independent study, or perhaps with a home teacher. He's done incredibly well this year - getting straight A's - earning A's on his exams. I hate to rock the boat by dumping back into the classrooms he's grown to hate.

April already? Tomorrow's my birthday. I'll be 43. Ouch.

I'm sorry I've let my blog go. Writing has become an exhausting task. Perhaps my energy is zapped by school, the children, keeping up the house, prepping for this interview. I'm not as free in my writing as I once was. The words don't flow like they used to. They are restrained, organized. To the point. I suppose that's good except the straightforward ideas never hit paper. Or a computer screen. They stay in my head, acting like a beach's waves. Thoughts of short stories and blog posts come and go, darkness finally arriving, so only the echo of creative thought is left as I fall asleep. The surf not seen by anyone. Maybe, maybe summer will bring new light.

I think of you. Often.

Happy Easter, my friends.

"I love you."

I'm sitting in my office, surfing the internet blindly, listening to J read a story with his home-teacher in the next room, the kitchen. The two each read sections, and at the end of the story will discuss themes, plot, character, the usual. At one point in the tale, a son leaves his mother to serve in the Civil War. The two share a brief conversation and then the son says his goodbye, marching off. J interrupts and comments, "His mom didn't say she loved him. That sucks."

I smile to myself. I suppose some habits are a good thing. Telling those you love, that in fact, you do love them, is a good thing.

On the other hand...

Our school changed its semester system, so FINALLY, today, I'm lecturing for the first time since the beginning of December. I didn't teach a winter session course and had a really long break, therefore. A break I appreciated because as you all well know, I prefer running barefoot and NOTpregnant around the house, free of all responsibility and obligation to anyone whatsoever.

On the other hand, I'm actually sorta happy about starting tonight because if my dear husband comes home from school one more time with the comment, "Why's the house such a mess?!" I will be forced...to commit a crime.

So...tonight...I will be away while he takes care of getting kids to bed, doling out meds, fighting to get A into the shower, cleaning, sorting, organizing. Ahhhh.... When I get home after ten, the house will be quiet, quiet, other than the gentle taps and regular noises of J at the computer, other than the sound of D snoring.

I did have my telephone interview with the school I mentioned previously - not bad. I have no judgment whatsoever on how I did. I do know the interview lasted for 50 minutes, the professor did let me know that the next phase was the on-campus interview but added, "We'll keep you informed." Who knows what that meant? I figured she wouldn't have mentioned it all unless she planned on asking me back...on the other hand, the "keeping informed" part sounded purposefully evasive, unwilling to commit, which meant I didn't blow the interviewers away. Either way, I'm relieved that part is over. I was terrified, I practiced, I was ill, waiting for this thing to happen.

So yay! It's done. Whatever the result, at least for now, I've got a reprieve.

What's coming up? I'll be attending an education seminar in San Diego at the end of March. I'm looking forward to it - two days. I'll be sharing a room with an old friend of mine, a fellow professor. She's a kick, we have a lot in common, we'll laugh a lot. I might run into one of the interviewers. I'd be surprised if she didn't attend. That might be...interesting.

More doctor appointments are coming up. We've got J on a new medicine for his tics, one without any side effects. Using it for Tourette's is a bit experimental, meaning no formal study has been done on this medication. It's called "Namenda" and is normally used in patients with Alzheimer's. The drug does something to the neurons that play a role in Tourette's Syndrome, meaning the medicine should theoretically reduce the tics. We'll see. Even though he just started, I have seen a reduction in the regular tic'ing. There doesn't seem to be a change however when it comes to stress. He still grunt-yells quite a bit with his teacher (school work causes him stress). I'm patient though, this time around. After a month, if there's not a significant reduction, if he still tics as loudly and as frequently with his teacher, we're stopping the medication and waiting the requisite six months on no new medication so we can get on the UCLA study for Behavioral Modication/Habit Reversal Therapy. Basically, he'll learn to control his tics by himself. We might do it in addition to the Namenda. If he can stay on that medication for six months without a change, then we'll be eligible for the program. According to studies, Habit Reversal can reduce tics anywhere from 30% to 80%. Knowing J, we'll get the 30% which is why I'm not too keen on getting him on the program.

The other reason is that the trip to UCLA is horrible - the traffic turns what should be an hour drive into a three hour drive one way. No matter what you do, you WILL hit that traffic either going there, or coming home. Because we live in San Gabriel Valley, there's no escaping it. I don't know if I could do that twice a week, or even once a week. We've been doing it for years, going to the Jules Stein Eye Institute for J's eyes (he was born with strabismus (cross-eyed)) since he was four years old. We know that drive well.

On the other hand, if he could reduce his tics without the use of medication, that would be a lifelong skill that he could turn to whenever he needs, as opposed to medicating even during times he doesn't need to, when the tics naturally wane.

On the other hand, I've got to prepare for school, and clean up this messy house! Tomorrow, I'll think of these things.

Updating at Last

Time is short these days even though I spend hours in bed on Saturday mornings and a couple of hours a day watching television. Sounds leisurely, but that's all there is as far as kicking back. The rest of the time is spent sleeping my requisite eight hours, guiding the children in their own responsibilities, disciplining them, tending to the dog, the house, attending social gatherings and professional development classes at the college, prepping for the Spring semester, watching my weight fluctuate between 143 and 146 from week to week, housecleaning, cooking, reading, moaning about my lack of exercise, and super-marketing. The little things in my daily life feel large these days, whale-like to my Jonah-self. Blogging is somewhere down the list. Way down the list. Buried. Swallowed.

As I said once before, posts pass through me several times a day. Thoughts on marriage, children, writing, movies, friends, siblings, funerals, speeding tickets. Nothing gets written down though. Time, time keeps cutting me off.

So here's a quick listing of things that have happened that warrant rambling posts, that get cheated out of rambling posts.

1. The wife of a cousin of mine died. I met her when she was young and in love. I was a pre-teen. The memorial service was held at my great-aunt's house (the mother of my cousin). The place transported me back to my teenage years and I spent the afternoon milling in and out of a throng of relatives, looking for my parents, because certainly, they had to be there. They were there the last time I spent time in that house.

2. I spent the evening of that service at the Magic Castle, in Hollywood, California, watching card tricks and other such illusions. When I stepped out into the cool night air, as I eased my way into late-night Los Angeles traffic, I wondered the illusion of our life, of death. Wondered if I would ever learn the secret to that Great Trick.

3. J's tics disappeared, then reappeared. Our HMO has decided that we need to travel to Ontario, California, in order to see a covered neurologist. We're saving money though on the kids' medications and on sick visits to the doctor. PPO isn't all that it's cracked up to be.

4. M had the flu this past week.

5. We all had some sort of stomach flu thing that kept re-upping in our bodies over the holidays and the early part of January. Thank goodness, it's passed.

6. Television that I'm enjoying: Grey's Anatomy, Heroes, Deadwood, Prison Break, 24, the Office, 30 Rock, and the dreaded American Idol. I gave in to the craze and despite YEARS of deriding the show as the sole reason for the decline of good old fashioned dramatic series, I'm liking the delusional attempts by some at fame. I suppose I'm horrified because my GOD, I'd never do that. I wouldn't dare think such a thing possible, even if I had the talent to back it up.

7. I learned a really cool program to boost my courses that I'll be teaching in the Spring Semester (set to start the final week of February), Blackboard Academic Suite. This is basically an interactive website where I can post assignments, handouts, where I can hold discussions on discussion boards, even have chats. I'm excited. I think the students will have a greater sense of the material, and the greater sense of access to assistance. I hope I have the energy and time to truly devote to the websites for each class.

8. A's mood has been awful for the past month: he's irritable, he's sassy, and has a bad attitude. He's 9 years old. I have no idea why he's behaving this way and talking to him hasn't gotten us anywhere.

9. I have dreams of divorcing my husband. The motivation for the move changes in these dreams. One in particular was because he insisted on wearing my pink, suede, cozy boots. Does this mean I think he's gay on a subconscious level? Or maybe I feel imposed upon, that he has moved into my closet.

10. Money seems to flow out of us like blood from a cut artery which brings me to the potential full time job which will more than double my salary. I have a telephone interview with the university in two weeks. I should do okay if I can practice enough, if I can prepare well enough. Part of my problem comes from the school's desire for its professors to do scholarly writing. Because I've only been teaching for four years, because the community college has no requirement for writing, I am completely at a loss as to what the hell I would do scholarly research on. See, legal scholarship is not my love, never has been. If I do make it through the phone interview, then there will be a face-to-face as well as a teaching demonstration. You want to know the truth? I had been hoping the school would lose my resume, not because I don't feel qualified but because interviewing, being judged, scares me to death. I am filled with blood-curdling, paralyzing fear.

11. Today's a beautiful day. Tonight D and I will be out celebrating my sister's 40th birthday with wine, good dinner, fun conversation, kids with babysitters. Ahhhh....

Happy Saturday, everyone.

The Slippery Slope

On Sunday morning after much planning and purchasing of the minimal snow gear, the entire Bliss clan (entire: my family, my sister's family and my brother's family) took a jaunt to Wrightwood, California, in order to tube down a slope. Yes, a very short slope with 8 different "slides." Hundreds of people lined up to buy tickets and then got in another line to slide down the slope on a plastic innertube. I'll give that the line moved fast, I'll give that as I slid down the slippery slope (yeah, I used that cliched phrase on purpose) I was slightly afraid that I'd fall off and when I went zooming up the up-slope, I shut my eyes out of slight fear. Run #2 was fast! The funny part (besides the ridiculously long line of snow bunnies waiting for the slide down the hill) was seeing everyone come up the slope via the conveyor belt. That, and the tow. People sitting on their innertubes being dragged up the slope via a tow rope. Or tow wire.

Clearly, I don't have the lingo down.

We had a fun in this radically different place, a place that hit 22 degrees near ten in the morning, especially when we pulled over and played in someone's private driveway (see picture) in order to make snow angels, yellow snow, snowballs, and collect snow for our cooler. Whoever you are, thank you for allowing us to indulge for about 15 minutes. You made the day for the little Blissians, three of whom never have been in snow, like ever.

Well, that's not true. One cold morning long ago, my mother and I took A and J, ages 3 and 5 respectively, up Mountain Avenue towards Mount Baldy, driving until we hit snow. We tumbled out of the car and joined several other families who found the same snow patch. The boys used an old cardboard box to slide down the small hill a couple of times, then they just played. After they were sufficiently wet, we got them out of their clothes and wrapped them in blankets and our jackets for the ride home. I guess we forgot how wet snow can be. My mother took pictures of the boys that day. Later, she cut the photos, cut around their angelic faces and placed them on "flowers," sticking the "flowers" in a narrow glass vase as a bouquet. The vase is still on my kitchen window sill, the photographs unfaded although they are a little water marked.

Then there is my own personal experience with snow - skiing. Yes, it's true, back in my college days I used to ski every season. Not a lot of skiing, just enough to take the intermediate runs at a good clip, without too much slowing down. I think I actually managed to swoop a little, you know, swoop, that rhythmic back and forth thing that looks so easy in the winter Olympics. I really enjoyed it - I'm thinking of taking the kids back to Wrightwood for snowboard lessons (the boys) and skiing lessons (M and myself). D says he'll wait in the lodge with hot chocolate and a book (he says when he was learning to ski, he knocked over enough people in his mad dashes down the bunny slope to last a lifetime). But...the money. Skiing is definitely a hobby for the wealthy.

And wealthy we are not.

Still...to escape into that cold. Might be worth a little debt.

The change of pace was a blessing. The icy ground, the tailgating sandwiches, getting a chance to feel cold that never hits the city during daylight hours...relieving.

Stuck

We spent a windy day at Legoland on Friday – my sister, myself, and five of our six children. We had a guest, too, a cousin the same age as our kids. J didn’t go because he’s grown out of the park. In truth, I didn’t want to go either. The thought of an amusement park just rubbed me wrong. The thought of expending energy rubbed me wrong. When my sister rang me up in the early morning, all dressed and ready to hit the road, I sank deeper into the sheets, my eyes drawn to the curtains where shadows of trees swayed, behind which leaves brushed the windows. D was anxious for me to go, so he could get stuff done without the children hanging on him. He popped out of bed and got coffee going.

A kind of depression had come on. I felt sorry for myself, for J with his intense tics, tics I could hear across the house with doors closed. I’d spent the night awake, staring into the dark, tossing and turning, listening to D’s snoring. I found myself crying over J’s condition, crying in utter disappointment that the medication had quit working, that we were back to square one, where nothing worked and we were just going to have to try something else.

Goddamnit.

The drive to Carlsbad seemed interminably long, the children happy though, happy to be hanging out together. They’re easy that way. We arrived and spent a long lunch with JE, our cousin who works there. She left her son RE with us for the afternoon. Again, easy. I walked and had a coffee and chatted with Sister. Little energy had to be expended. As the sun began to go down, the temperature in the park did, too. I put gloves on, put my coat on. Huddled on a Lego-red metal chair to watch M ride the little cars while my sister entertained two-year-old Izzy nearby.

With all the other children in the group, she ran and got into a Lego-blue car. The announcer asked everyone to raise their hands if they buckled their seat belts. Like the kindergartener she is, she raised her hand. They were off. Except M’s car didn’t move. She raised her hand. An attendant ran to her and tried to get the thing moving but it still didn’t move. He pushed her to the side and got her into another car. Lego-yellow. She buckled up and began her first loop around the track.

She rode an entire thirty seconds before the announcer told everyone to stop their cars because their run was over. M made it around half the track. Everyone popped open their buckles and began running to the exit.

Except M. She fumbled with the seatbelt and when she couldn't get it off, she raised her hand high in the air like a good student. Just like the attendants told her to do.

And she sat. And sat, her arm unmoving and as high up as she could get it. Without getting a single attendant to look at her.

I began to fight the exiting kids, trying to get in through the exit, waving and calling out to A and AH who were coming out, too, “No, no, turn back! M is stuck in the car! Go get her!”

The attendants were too far away to hear me and too wrapped up in managing exiting riders to care. My poor little M continued to hold her hand in the air and no doubt was in a state of pure mortification. The attendants of course continued to be completely oblivious to the trauma that was happening across the track. I couldn’t see M’s face clearly, just her little hand in the air, waiting, waiting. But I knew her heart.

She then got the clue that she was going to have to save herself, that nobody was going to come, so she began to squirm out of the belt, just as third-grade AH arrived to save her. The tears started as the two girls walked closely together off the track, AH’s arm around M, AH flashing nasty looks to the Lego-workers.

Normally, I’d have ripped the attendants new you-know-whats but you know, I just grabbed M into my arms as she sobbed over the ridiculous humiliation of being trapped by a seatbelt.

I couldn’t help but chuckle and yet…

The wind picked up and the kids rode one last ride, the awful seatbelt nightmare forgotten by everyone but me.

From there, tiredness fell over me that I cannot describe. But first we had to have dinner with my cousin, JE. The pizza was late, didn’t get to her house until eight that evening, an entire two and a half hours after we left the park. She had ice cream sandwiches to offer, pictures to share and pictures to take. Truly a lovely hostess. We had a long ride home. By the time I got into bed, it was after midnight and all I could see in the dark was M in that car, far away from me, with her hand up and nobody coming. I couldn't sleep a wink.

D said across the bed in the lightless room, “Forget it. It was kind of funny, wasn’t it? Classic even. I mean, who can’t get out of seatbelt other than blonds and Polish people?”

“But it wasn’t funny. She was helpless. Kind of like how we are to J’s tics. Completely and utterly helpless. Mortified.”

Silence met me.

“You’re too deep for this hour of the night. Stop thinking in analogies.”

“I can’t help it, it’s what I do. I think in analogies. Constantly. My entire blogging life is made up of analogies. What would I write about if not for the analogies?”

“What would you write about?” Not a question. A statement. Sleep overtook him. I got up and watched TV. I’m going to call UCLA, I thought. I’m going to stop that lousy new medication he’s on that isn’t working. I’m going to look more seriously into dietary changes. I’m going to wiggle out of this medical seatbelt.

We are not helpless, goddamnit.

Happy New Year!

This morning I awoke to J ticcing again, often and loudly. Very disheartening because the medication he's been on seemed to be working really well. We thought we finally found "the one." So...I've got a headache. As I doled out the morning medications for the boys, I realized that I tend to live my life waiting for the proverbial next shoe to drop. The happy times, the peaceful times, are just moments in which we take a breath. I'm just waiting for the next bad thing to come along, you know? What's it gonna be next? A new disease, a death, a speeding ticket, job loss? A tornado? What, what, what's gonna happen NEXT?

This is an attitude I have to stop, change. And therein lies my New Year's resolution. What's yours?

Post-Holidays

I see my last blog entry and it feels like Christmas lights on a house, long after the holidays have ended. Something new needs to be put up, the lights have to be taken down along with the Christmas tree and wrapping paper and decorations. Everything needs to be put into the old boxes and re-stuffed back into the garage. The thing is...every time I sit down to clean up here, one of the children demands something or other. Before long, I'm out of the habit. Like now.

So today's M's birthday. She woke up with a big smile, her front tooth missing after a goof-around session with A last night. "Mommy," she said, "the tooth fairy came last night! I got..."

She peeked into the plastic baggie and said, "Five dollars!"

D had put it there - we tell the kids the tooth fairy is kind and always leaves the tooth for the memory box we keep in the kitchen. I glanced at D, "Five dollars...wow. That Tooth Fairy has become very generous."

"Increased cost of living, you know."

"What does the tooth fairy look like, M?"

"She's green and white. Green dress, green shoes, green face...and she wears a bracelet with a white tooth!"

"So beautiful."

A couple of presents came, by way of D who had already started cooking some bacon out in the kitchen. Roller skates, elbow and knee pads, a pink outfit from the Gap, and socks. All lovely. The house was warm, the boys were still sleeping, and Sassy was romping in the wrapping paper. There didn't seem anything wrong with having a post-Christmas birthday. We'd worried about that when we learned M's due date. Would she feel cheated, sad, bummed out? So far...so good. Only time will tell.

Christmas seemed to fly by as usual. All holidays seem to do that. Every year seems to do that. Teaching has intensified the speedy feel of time because when I teach, I live lecture to lecture, test to test, assignment to assignment...focusing on the end of the semester. Poof it comes...then it goes...then the year starts up again. Very roller-coastery. When life stops, like now, during the holiday break, I feel like I just got off that crazy coaster, looking around, saying, "Whew!", dizzy, breathless, the memory dream-like. I see the children and they are so much bigger now, so...outside-the-womb.

I long to hold them again in Papa's rocking chair, rocking in the dark, feet deep in slippers.

We went to my aunt's house yesterday, spending a blustery day in Mission Viejo. At one point I turned to look at the kids outside, all the kids, cousins, second cousins, and they were running like mad against the wind, even J, looking to be swept away in that wildness. They laughed hard and I chuckled at teenage J having as good a time as nearly-5 CousinMG. We sang a birthday song for M but she couldn't bear the attention so she dipped her head down, fumbling with an errant string on her pants. At least she didn't cry. She used to cry when she was younger. At every birthday song. The moment that song started, she cried. Prescience maybe.

So yeah...Christmas is done with. The financial leak is plugged. We'll cry come January's bills, I can assure you. The Visa card was hot this month which we loathe but feel compelled to do anyway. The teachers, other kids, extended family, the selves. We tend to use Christmas as the excuse for buying what the kids need. Shoes, clothes, crayons, a new skateboard deck, a book of bass guitar tabs, books, a winter coat, socks and underwear. Then the few games and toys. The kids don't seem to notice. Thank goodness. They are the sorts where if it comes in a wrapped box, then they love it.

I got sweaters. Still need new jeans. Wish someone would have gotten me time, though. Time in a box. Maybe a trinket that slows up the clock and erases the wrinkles I see in my face. The laugh lines that no longer go away, the worry lines that don't fade with relaxation or sleep. Oh and what of all that whitish hair? You, dear readers, have no idea the greyness of my hair. I stopped coloring long ago, not able to keep up with the white roots that would shoot up only two weeks after a tint. At one point I was called, "prematurely grey." I think I'm passed the premature part, heading into forty-three. The hair seems appropriate.

Why do I feel like sighing? A sense of loss in the wake of the holidays overwhelms the moment. Some things are lost that can't be given back...some things are lost that I'll never re-attain. I think I've lost those things sooner than others lose them, sooner than I was ready.

I'll be back...I need to watch M skate in the front yard. Need to break up J and A who are battling in a back room. Damn it, I'm strapped into the seat and the attendants have called, "All clear," and the coaster is off again.

Merry Christmas!

Happy holidays, everyone. May the world treat you gently, these days and always.

Shhhh....

Everyone quiet...I'm blogging while I'm giving an exam. Yes! It's true! The students are trudging their way through a grueling legal research and analysis exam. They've got a case to read, a statute to analyze, and a page right out of Shepard's Citator. I feel all-powerful. Their futures lie in my hands...my reviewing of their exam will either make their "A" or bring them down to the "C" or the "D" or worse.

[Please, someone, hand me my sceptor..and that crown over there...thank you, oh so much you worthless subject, you.]

I kid.

Actually, this keyboard is really noisy so the flow isn't happening. I'm certain when I get home later I'll read this post and be horrified. I'll edit and re-edit and drive the Bloglines people nuts with the repeat posts (assuming that's what happens). But see, I'm compelled. I've been reading blogs lately and they all made me want to write. I'd love to slam out some fiction, or a really good memoir-type thingie. Sometimes though I think I've said it all. I talked about my mother's unbalanced ways, the lemon tree, the pine tree, the children, the husband, the marriage, the school...Tourette's, hypertension, bipolar...stiff muscles, overweightness (yeah, yeah, that's not a word)...eating...photography...bubbles in the sink, sunlight in a dusty room...teaching, learning, crying, laughing.

There's just no more to say.

I have that trouble with photography. For the longest time I was documenting my suburban life--

[Student, that's called a true and false question. If any part of the sentence is wrong, then the whole thing is wrong. Right...if your notes indicate a different bit of information...then...right...it must be...? So "true" is your final answer, eh? Okay then...be on your way, you stricken student, you.]

I had oodles of pictures, plenty of beauty in my quiet urban-suburban town. Then one day I hit a wall. I'd taken a picture of that wall already. And that reflection. And that pond, and that graffitti-stained tree. And the kids. Oh the kids. They do keep changing, true. They are an ever-shifting subject...but...

I felt I'd seen it all, documented it all. I press my eye against the viewfinder and there is only familiarity.

Shhhh...the keyboard is driving me wacky. Two more hours to go. I'll edit tomorrow. No, no, I'll just write a new post.

Blindness

All right, I'm admitting it here, right now. Total confession time. Heard about Britney Spears' no-unders photos and had to look for them. I was curious...found it hard to believe, believe it or not, that she'd run around without...panties. I mean, COME ON! That's ridiculous.

I found the pictures.

I cringed.

I looked.

My mouth stretched into an "eeeek...it's true..." and cringed again as I scrolled once more through the several, horrifying shots of Ms. Spears getting into a limo and then engaging in what looked like a group hug with the huggers purposefully hiking her skirt so the paparazzi could get a lower-than-low shot of...everything under the skirt.

I sent the link to all my friends and family.

I don't know...maybe I have to be a guy but I found the pictures intensely embarrassing. Then I got nostalgic. Awwww...I remember the days when I'd actually WANT someone to see my personal business. I remember the days when I could actually drink enough alcohol to not mind strangers seeing my personal business without getting a migraine headache and throwing up in the bushes. Remember those days?

Yeah, so...I'm blind now. Completely, utterly blind. I looked and lost my vision. Blackness, I see, colors blurring into black, background noise of my children demanding Christmas presents and cell phones and cards for downloading music off the internet and really expensive clothes. The noise I appreciated most though was little almost-6 M, chiming, "Mommy, can I get Snow White panties, huh, Mommy? Or maybe Ariel panties? Or...or...the Twelve Dancing Princesses panties?"

"Oh yes, M, you can have as many panties as you want! All the panties in the world!"


***

Once again, I offer my apologies to my loyal blog-checkers for not updating very often. Just the school and holiday blues - too busy - not enough quiet time. Blog posts rush past me every day - lengthy posts - posts about dreams and nightmares and Tourette's syndrome and then when I sit at the computer, nothing reaches my fingertips.

I'm disturbed on some level because not so long ago I imagined that just maybe I might eek out a living writing. I envisioned short stories, novels...I saw something real and plausible. Then I started teaching. And it seemed like all those ideas of mine disappeared. I started a blog as a creative outlet, as an alternative to making a living as an author. I put a lot into the blog - it was wonderful. Then the blog became an extension of my conscious and subconscious and suddenly it wasn't anonymous anymore but really me.

And then the "me" began to act just like I do at home - indulging in non-productivity. The silence of the blog is me on the couch. Wearing underwear, for those of you smarties out there. Underwear and jeans. And a top. A bra under the shirt or sweater. A well-covering sweater. With boots. Socks and boots. And beer in the hand. Or maybe a book. Or it could be no boots and socks and just slippers with M or A next to me. And the house is messy. And there is chili simmering on the stove. Bubbling chili with beans, Italian sausage, ground turkey, canned tomatoes and lots of spices. My sister's recipe that took me a week to finally pull together. Because lately, me-on-the-couch has been enjoying prepared food. BBQ pork, pineapple fish, orange-peel chicken wings, vegetable lasagna, turkey meatloaf. D and I love prepared food.

"Look, honey, I just have to stick the thing in the microwave and voila! All done!"

"Delicious. The salt will do wonders for my hypertension."

"No...that's the trick...low salt."

"Delicious. The blandness will definitely do wonders for my compulsive eating."

"Exactly!"

So...yeah...the silent Bliss Blog is Adriana on the couch. Wearing underwear.

Happy Thanksgiving, Dear Bloggers!

May your day be filled with family, friends, love, and wonderful food!

Just Around the Corner

I don't know whether it's the up and down weather here in L.A. (cold in the morning and at night, hot during the day), or the high energy of impending holidays, but I've been incredibly lazy, sleepy, unwilling, when it comes to writing. Instead I work on school stuff, help the kids, kick back and watch television, read, eat. As I told someone who asked, "I'm just bobbing along," a leaf floating down a creek, a seedling in a gentle breeze. A quiet peace seems to have fallen over our house - the noise level less, the tension dissipated. I don’t know where all that “extra” stuff went, but the absence is welcomed.

A local college has an opening for a full time business law professor so of course, I applied. It took me months to do it. The ad has been sitting on the college’s website for two months. I’d look at it and my heart would skip a beat and my stomach would tighten up…not in wishful thinking but in pure stress. I felt obligated to apply because these positions are rare. The family needs the income. The hours wouldn’t be much more than now, only I’d get paid twice as much. Oh certainly there’d be a wee bit more work, networking-kind-of-work…yes, yes, but…but…

I sent out the application. Right away I got a letter in the mail. I saw the envelope and thought, “A rejection letter! So soon!” I slashed open the thing and found an optional information sheet. Something about my sex, age and race. For survey purposes. I have nothing to hide – I filled it out and off it went.

Full time work is daunting, however, especially with the children being still so young. On the other hand, the financial stresses are killing us. The stories don’t joke that money is the primary cause of marital disharmony in the suburbs. I’d go one step further and say it’s the cause of familial disharmony. The frustration leaks down from the parents to the kids to the dogs. I’m pretty sure that when Sassy runs screaming out the front door every chance she gets, it’s due to our lack of finances. (“Not enough snacks! Not enough snacks! Get me to Beverly Hills!”)

So…I don’t know. Here I am…waiting to see if they’ll interview me, hoping they won’t, desperate that they hire me, terrified they will. Truth is, I like being free of any responsibility or obligation. Raising a family though takes away that as a viable option.

***

The other day I saw a black cat sitting proper in between two small track homes, sitting still as an Egyptian statue. She sat on aged grass facing the street, facing me. Behind her I could see the water meter, pipes twisting into the house, and slew of tied, colored balloons, leftovers from a party. I wondered whether they belonged to one of the two houses, or whether they’d landed there from some other house, from some other gathering. The cat looked perfect. Picture perfect. Belonging to nobody. Free…like the balloons had once been. I wished for my camera.

***

New tics. A has developed a vocal tic – a repeated humming. His Tourette’s actually started that way but A.D.D. medication alleviated the symptoms entirely. So for two years he hadn’t made any noise at all. D and I just looked at each other tiredly when we noticed that it wasn’t going away. The thing came on as suddenly as it had disappeared. The good thing is that has a soft voice so the sound isn’t as jarring as J’s noise which means we won’t pull him out of school, not yet. I don’t know if I could handle both boys being home taught, or home schooled. The thought of the two of them at home makes me shake in my proverbial boots.

Unfortunately, A had to endure two different teachers who chastised him (one of them wrote him up for “insistent noise”) for making the sound in class. I had to go to the school and educate the teachers. What frustrated me wasn’t the substitute teacher but his regular teacher. I’d made her aware of the potential for vocal tics months ago. I had explained to her, “If he makes a noise that doesn’t stop with a warning from you, a noise that continues, a repetitive noise, it’s a tic and he can’t control it.”

My poor baby – despite his tendency to be a bull in a china shop, despite his stocky build, he’s quite passive when it comes to authority. So when his regular teacher asked him to be quiet. He really tried to be quiet. He didn’t say anything to her when she commented, “Are you copying your brother? You weren’t doing this last week so it can’t be a tic.”

She did admit that she asked him, “Can you stop doing that?”

He’d looked at her, pursed his lips, thinking, pondering the question. Then said, “No.”

And STILL she didn’t believe it was a tic. So…needless to say, she chastised him and he arrived at my car, upset and moping. I had a chat with the teacher, sorry that I hadn’t told her earlier, believing my month-ago conversation would be enough.

Epilogue: she did apologize to him personally.

***

J’s transformation into a full-fledged teenager continues to…captivate me. The other day he asked me to drive him to a local park to hang out with some friends of his. He grabbed his skateboard and hopped into the car. We drove to the designated park and he didn’t see his friends. He called on the cell phone, speaking in some language I could barely understand, something sprinkled with “dude” and “where you at, yeah?” Soon, about five kids emerged from the playground, all tall and lanky and swaggering. And then J rattled off an, “I love ya, Mom, bye!” before slamming the car door and making his way across the grass, a boy tallish and lanky and swaggering. As he walked away, skateboard at his side, his long-haired form blurred, he blended in with the other kids. He looked nothing like my child. He was a teenager. Worse, he was a teenager that I’d have never communicated with when I was his age. Hell no. I’d have passed him by in the halls. I’d have looked down and hugged my books to my chest and groaned with annoyance if he screamed or whooped it up (as J is wont to do). The sight makes me drive home quickly to A and M – who are home, sprawled on the couch, watching something stupid. I huddle down in between the two of them, grateful that they’re still little and kissable, that they’ve not hit that peak yet. The sight of J in the park makes me miss his babyhood intensely.

Wheee!

Where have I been? No, really, WHERE have I been?

***

Sleeping, not-sleeping. Going through the usual motions of mother-wife-teacher-flake, watching t.v. until late, following the elections, digging into Don Quixote, eating leftover candy, picking fleas off Sassy, staring at a picture of the boys when they were 3 and 1 and crawling and making an "oh" expression while in cowboy pajamas and smiling, oh smiling to the point where I want to pick them both up in my arms and never let them go, or grow, going to a shouldn't-have-happened bachelorette party out in the boonies, wondering the point, the punchline, of all THIS.

***

Kate and Sawyer had sex in a cage! Wheeeee! I wanna be in cage, too!

***

Driving home from the elementary school the other day, I see in the side-view mirror M's reflection as she leans in her booster seat, leans with her still-tiny and round face out the window. I ask her, "Honey, why do you do that, put your face outside the window like Sassy?"

Not a second passes, no time to think, she says, "I like the wind. It makes me happy."

A few days later, as usual, D comes home in the afternoon and this one day he finds me on the bed in our bedroom, stretched out, pillows behind my head. I've got the Playstation going and I'm slashing away at creatures in Final Fantasy XII and he just eyes me, shaking his head at my laziness. The younger kids are running around in the backyard and screaming like mad, the kitchen is a mess, homework isn't getting done, late sun rays are coming in through the sliding glass door, dust, dust is dancing in the lit air, and he says, "Why are you doing this when there's so much else to do?"

I smile, wiggle my toes, stretch like a cat, pause the game, "I like it, I like the tossing of work to the wind, the noise of it - it makes me happy."

***

Tonight, take-home exams were due. I lectured, assigned an in-class project. The students must have been anxious to go because they all sped through the assignment and the class emptied out early, near 9:30 p.m., a whole half-hour early. When I locked the doors and began the walk to my car, two young women came up to me with worn tests in their hands and a story about a car and a cell phone and a brother who'd disappeared with keys, and they were huffing and flustered and grinning hopefully, asking if I'd still accept the test. I laughed, calling them, "Lucky girls, girls born under a lucky star."

They giggled and were so thankful that they'd caught me, that I took their papers, that I gave them a break. They hustled off, huddled in the chill air, disappearing into the still-busy parking lot, into the darkness, and I climbed into my car. The radio turned on as I turned the key. Lucky, I thought, to have made someone's night.

***

On Saturday, I talked to a veterinarian technician. Like an expert she massaged the haunches of a once-abandoned pit bull terrier, and told me how much dogs like that. I said I’d be sure to do that to Sassy, massage those rear muscles of hers, or the shoulders. She’d love that, I said.

“Oh yeah, isn’t that good? Isn’t she just the best doggie ever?” The dog stretched and rolled over to her side, in heaven.

The tech was beautiful, long, blond, straight hair, just past the shoulders, bright brown eyes. She sat twisted, her bare feet turned up slightly, the piercing in her navel glinting in the low light of the low-ceilinged room. Music thumped in the background and women chatted away, laughing, glasses clinking against the other. A party.

“Should I give you my e-mail, so I can get the DVD?”

“Oh yeah," she said, "just put it on the evaluation.”

“Great, yeah, cool.”

“You want to dance some? You never did try those moves.”

“No, dancing on a stripper’s pole is just…not my thing. But you guys did an awesome job, especially teaching us the lap dance. The sexy, drunk walk was good, too. But the lap dance...that was really good…ooohhh…and the push-up, the dragging-your-boobs-on-the-floor-with-your-ass-in-the-air push-up. Nice! Beautiful!”

“Sexy!”

“Yes, very sexy. And I agree…slow is sexy.”

“Slow is the key…want the last penis-candy?”

“No…you keep it!”

“Love the condom!”

“Isn’t that just a kick? Ohhhh…puppy…you want another rub? I just love animals.”

"I'm sure you do," I smiled.

***

Strange, we’re not too far off the end of the semester. I’m anxious for the ending again. Looking forward to the long winter break. I suppose I don’t really want to work. That’s probably the truth. Raising the kids is job enough – raising myself…job enough.