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That Time We Moved to Tucson for the Weekend

admin · April 19, 2019 · Leave a Comment

We moved around a lot when I was a kid. I wasn’t a military brat, I just had parents who were restless and poor at sticking with decisions. But one of these moves stands out more than the rest…the time we moved our household of six for one weekend.

When I was in my early teens we lived in Los Alamos, New Mexico. It was an okay place as far as places go. We’d been there for a couple of years already, so in retrospect the move shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise.

Still, all of us (especially my mom) were a little upset when my dad came home from work one afternoon and announced that we would be moving to Tucson. He was already on the phone with the moving company by the time my mom finally figured out that he hadn’t gotten a job in Tucson, he simply had an interview for a job in Tucson.

“Listen, Nikki,” I can imagine him saying. “I’ve already got the job. So-and-so said that he was very interested. It’s a done deal.”

I have no idea what kind of conversations my parents had after that. All I know is that the U-Haul was picked up a couple of days later, several guys packed all our stuff up and loaded it into the U-Haul, and my brothers and I said semi-tearful goodbyes to the few friends we’d managed to make on this leg of our childhood journey.

The trip down went about as poorly as it could have possibly gone. The U-Haul air conditioner went out, leaving half of us to sweat it out on the black vinyl seat as we made our way through the desert. After our first night in the hotel it was decided that we needed to change rooms because something was very very wrong with ours (as a kid I didn’t know what was going on but looking back I can hazard a guess that someone in the other room was having loud sex). I’m not sure what happened with the interview but my dad was angry afterward and his bad mood infected all of us. We drove around looking for houses to rent and there was something wrong with every one of them. Too much cactus was a popular complaint. And then at the end of a very frustrating day, my dad went into the gas station to get us some drinks and the place got robbed as he was waiting in line to pay. He came out alive eventually and with several Sprites that nobody wanted anymore.

And that’s when shit got real.

The entire horrible strange weekend journey all came down to this–the six of us sitting in the cramped cab of the U-Haul with undrunk Sprites, us kids watching as our parents played rock, paper, scissors to decide our fate. If my dad won we would stay in Tucson. If my mom won we would go back to Los Alamos.

This taught me many good life lessons, as you can imagine.

Yeah, we didn’t take this picture either… Image courtesy of Pixabay

So after being gone for one weekend, we drove the van and the car back up to Los Alamos, to the great amusement (disappointment) of our neighbors. They thought they’d finally gotten rid of us. They’d have to wait another year for that to happen.

I feel like we had the U-Haul sitting outside our house for a while. My memory might be faulty (or biased…) but I want to say that it was left up to my brothers and I to get most of the stuff back into the house. Another good life lesson–child labor rules don’t apply to one’s own children.

The Yard Water Level is at 127%

admin · October 19, 2018 · 2 Comments

It’s been raining a lot in Austin lately. Days and days of it after a summer of serious drought. I like the rain, and it’s a welcome change. But the dog…

The dog is terrified of the rain. A couple of days into the onslaught I start really worrying about her. I watch her as she sits in the sink shivering, wondering what I should do. I think it’s been maybe 24 hours since she’s gone out to pee and the only way I finally entice her out of the house is to let her out the front door to chase the deer that run amok in the neighborhood.

I wait until there’s a break in the rain. It’s cold and wet but nothing murderous is attacking her from above. There aren’t any deer out this evening but thankfully Pepper follows me out anyway. She’s nervous though. She keeps eyeing me like, you better not leave me out here to die, bitch!

Does she pee? No, she does not.

She’s taking her sweet time as it starts to drizzle again, suddenly unafraid and intensely curious about what the squirrels have been up to in her absence. Until now I’ve been encouraging. “Go potty, Pepper. Come on, go potty, please!”

But it’s cold and I’m getting wet and I really just want to get back inside to see what the boy is up to. He’s been quiet too long.

And this is when I realize my preschooler has followed us out into the yard. He doesn’t seem to mind the cold drizzle. He’s watching me yell at the dog with what can only be described as glee.

“Pee, Pepper! Go potty you stupid animal! Pee, damn you!” I’m really getting into it now. I’ve had enough and I’m cold. She’s still sniffing pecan carcasses like they hold the secrets of the universe.

Something catches my eye. Until now I haven’t realized that while I’ve been yelling at the dog to pee my son has whipped it out and is whizzing with wild abandon in the front yard in the rain, a look of sheer joy on his face.

I really wonder sometimes what our neighbors think about us. But that is another post for another day…

My instant reaction is to yell, but after a minute of fuming I start to laugh.

Probably the wrong reaction because now he’s laughing too and I can see how his little mind is working… peeing in the yard makes Mama laugh. I should pee in the yard every day!

I look over and Pepper is going now, too. At least the yard got plenty of water this week.

12 Rules For Life: An Antidote to Hating Yourself Upon Waking

admin · October 15, 2018 · 2 Comments

*before we begin…I actually enjoyed (some) of Jordan Peterson’s book, 12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos and thought I’d take a crack at it myself. This post is meant (mostly) for entertainment purposes and I cannot guarantee you’ll hate yourself less by following my or anyone else’s advice. See rule 12 for more.

Rule One – Don’t weigh yourself more than once a month

You’ll either see a good number and get a false sense of comfort and elation and stuff yourself with Cheetos, or you’ll see you’ve gained weight and give up on what tiny shred of self-control you had and eat Cheetos because, what the heck?

Rule Two – Unplug the internet if you plan on doing any serious drinking

When you wake up with that monster hangover in the morning, you’ll thank yourself that you don’t have to damage control the overly enthusiastic and idiotic comments to friends’ Facebook posts, the messages to ex-boyfriends, the ill-advised and blurry selfies that seemed to really capture your soul when you took them.

Rule Three – Get enough sleep at night

This might mean you have to kick the children and the husband and the dog and the remotes out of the bed but remind everyone that even if they have to sleep in the bathtub, it’s worth it so Mommy doesn’t have a meltdown the next day. Because we all know what happens when Mommy has a meltdown…

Rule Four – No fad diets.

Fad diets are the devil. I probably don’t need to say anything else on this subject, but I’m going to anyway. I’ll bitch about fad diets all day if you get me going. Paleo isn’t really the way paleo people ate. Keto is for children with epilepsy. Spicy lemonade is not something any human should live off of. And let’s not even mention the tapeworm diet. You don’t even need an internet connection to know that that one is going to lead to regrets.

Rule Five – Volunteer for nothing

There will be a time when you get sucked into volunteering for something–resist this at all costs! It may be your idea to begin with (or as I recently found out, it very well may not be your idea at all. You are simply incapable of saying no under pressure).

I’ll feel better about myself, you may think. Or, I might make a difference/friend/community. But those will probably be lies. Very likely what you will feel is existential dread (should I be spending my precious time on this? I could die tomorrow…), exhaustion (they want me to do what?), and hesitance to get out of bed on days you have volunteer work to do.

Rule Six – Don’t throw your work away

Being the control-freak perfectionist that I am, I’ve thrown any number of papers, notebooks, nearly-finished book projects, blog posts, hell—even whole blogs, into virtual and real trashcans. 99% of the time I want the thing the next day or the next week. And I vow I’ll never throw anything away again. At least until next time…

Rule Seven – Don’t swear in front of your kids

This one is counter-intuitive for me. Before I was a mom I was like, “let the little fucker say whatever he wants. He needs to know the power of language.” Well, the power of language is all well and good until you hear your toddler say, “Holy shit, Grandma! Look at that big fucking bug!”

Rule Eight – Bullshitting is a good tactic if you are lost

Don’t know what to write next? Make it up. You’ll find your way. Don’t know the answer to life’s big questions? Stop worrying about it. Let bullshit be your guide and move forward. In all likelihood the answer you choose doesn’t really matter anyways. Also, bullshitting is storytelling at its best. If nothing else, by bullshitting you are perfecting the craft of telling a fine story.

Are you actually physically lost? Then you’re really up shit creek! If you are truly able to get lost with all the technology and overly-helpful strangers running rampant in this day and age, then no amount of advice will help you. (And also why are you reading my stupid ramblings on life? Shouldn’t you be trying to find your way somewhere?)

Rule Nine – Don’t wear high heels to parties

If you are like me and don’t spend the majority of your waking hours in heels, it’s very likely that you will fall, especially if alcohol is involved. You may get lucky and fall on your ass. Or you may find yourself toothless upon waking, a truly regrettable situation.

And for what? So your calves look sexy? Give me a break, nobody’s even looking. But I guarantee they’ll be looking as you bite it in front of everybody. This is a health hazard. I’m thinking about starting a movement to ban all heels at social gatherings for the good of everyone.

Rule Ten – Comfort over style

This may seem the same as rule nine on the surface, but it’s not. This is all about how you feel on a regular basis. It’s hard to focus on creating something or playing with your kids or enjoying your dinner or the latest episode of Ozark when your pants are too tight or you’re worried about splattering mud on your cashmere sweater.

A caveat here. Don’t go anywhere in your pajamas. I don’t care if it’s Wal-Mart or the Taco Bell drive-thru. Have some self respect. Comfort is different than slobbery. Don’t be a slob.

Also, when you are uncomfortable, you’re much less likely to follow the next rule…

Rule Eleven – Try everything once

Definitely there are exceptions to this rule. Like probably don’t try robbing a bank to see how that feels, or snort cocaine because you’ve never tried it before. But for the most part, you don’t know what you are going to like unless you try it.

This rule applies to all sorts of situations, but adventures with food is the most important in my book. I don’t care how foreign it is. You will very likely not die, and you may find something you love, or at the very least get street-cred for eating ants off trees or downing stinky tofu right in front of the vat of bubbling green sludge they pulled it from.

When in doubt, give it a try (unless it’s going to kill you or land you in jail).

Rule Twelve – Don’t take advice

Doesn’t matter who’s making the 12 rules or the 14 rules or the 48 rules. Those people aren’t you and don’t live the life you’re living. This goes for all sorts of rules, from writing rules to wardrobe rules to parenting rules to power rules. It’s fine to read the missives of other people and consider what they have to say but at the end of the day, you are the only one who knows what’s good for you.

So don’t listen to me. Go make your own rules to live by, or at least a few rules to keep you from hating yourself upon waking.

Shotgun Shells, Oh Hell!

admin · February 5, 2016 · 4 Comments

I guess I could make a long meaningless excuse for why I haven’t blogged in six months. But I don’t want to, and I don’t think you want me to either. Instead, I’m just going to say that shit got real for a while, and I’m presently working my way out of an extended period of sloth-like mediocrity and toward something new, as evidenced by such things as the complete redesign of this blog and the (hopefully) different slant my writing takes henceforth.

So why not get right to it? I’m going to do a series of posts about our recent experience with corporate housing. Forgive me if you’ve already heard these stories. I’ll shamelessly complain about The Apartment to anyone who will listen.

This week, we’ll begin with my personal favorite of all time, wherein I am nearly shot…

A bit of a preface first – When we lived in Austin, we lived way way south, on the edge of the city limits. Just about every afternoon a neighbor shot guns, probably practicing for the glorious day when Texas would finally cede from the nation. Or perhaps honing skills for the fast approaching zombie apocalypse, who knows? Whatever the reason, the great echoing booms scared the shit out of our dogs. It got so bad, they wouldn’t even go outside in the afternoon, gunshots or no. So when we moved to Portland, one of the things I promised them was that there wouldn’t be anymore gunshots. Ha. Ha.

Our Oregon apartment was a tiny cookie cutter sort of thing where you could hear everything from all the apartments around you. We were blessed to be on the second floor where we got to hear the blaring t.v. and late night parties of the downstairs neighbors and the stampeding children running in circles from the neighbors above. Lucky us.

It’s eight thirty on a Sunday night sometime in November. The baby’s in bed, Dan is watching t.v. and I’m in the kitchen doing the dishes in my nightgown. Pepper Potts is right beside me. She has a habit of finding a “safe spot” everywhere we live, where she can go in times of trouble – and for some reason she’s chosen the tiny kitchen, between the fridge and the dishwasher, in this place.

So we’re in the kitchen together, me loading the dishwasher, her looking at me with mild disdain. And all of a sudden there’s a huge thud and the floor kind of vibrates. It’s almost as if the disposal has fallen out of the sink or something. Dan hears it too and comes over to inspect.

Pepper, of course, hightails it out of the kitchen in search of a better safe spot and we try to figure out what’s happened with no luck. I let it go because everything seems fine and I’ve got dishes to do.

A few minutes later…

I’m in the bedroom and hear a knock on the door. Dan answers and then comes in with a frown on his face.

“Do you want me to tell you what that noise was? Because I’m not sure you want to know.”

Hmm. Of course I had to know. Of course I did.

“It was the downstairs neighbor. I guess he was cleaning his shotgun and it accidentally went off.”

Blank stare. It might take me a few minutes to process this information in its entirety.

“He claimed it was an ‘unintentional discharge event’.”

Still processing…

“We should probably keep an eye on the pipes and the dishwasher, make sure there aren’t any leaks or anything.”

I think even now, four months later, I’m still processing the fact that our neighbor “unintentionally discharged” a gun into our floor right where I was standing.

Dan helpfully pointed out that we were lucky he hadn’t been cleaning a rifle.

And poor Pepper Potts. She went from being traumatized by the sounds of our neighbors’ guns, to almost being shot by a neighbor’s gun. I way oversold Portland to her, and she still hasn’t forgiven me.

A Becoming

admin · August 1, 2015 · 1 Comment

woman is not a completed reality, but rather a becoming, and it is in her becoming that … her possibilities should be defined”

– Simone de Beauvoir

About a year ago I found out I was pregnant. It wasn’t exactly planned, but it wasn’t a total surprise either. My husband and I had talked about having kids many times in our fifteen years together, but with our nomadic ways and our epic self-absorption, we found it hard to take the plunge. At the beginning of 2014 we sort of (probably drunkenly) agreed we would roll the dice and not try to prevent it anymore. We continued our lifestyle, ignoring the possibility that I might eventually become pregnant, totally unaware of the turn our lives were about to take.

That positive pregnancy test was a shock to my system. Suddenly I felt totally unprepared for what I had just gotten myself into. The fear and weight of the responsibility settled immediately over me, took over my entire being. At the time I had no real idea of how vulnerable and constantly concerned I would feel once my son came into the world, but I knew it was going to be tremendous and that it would change me, and the fear of that change was palpable.

On top of constantly worrying that I was doing something that would harm my baby (the amount of googling that took place in those pregnancy months was impressive) and being concerned that all fun and adventure were gone from my life forever, I was also worried what becoming a mother would do to my creativity and my ability to write. In her book, Black Milk: On the Conflicting Demands of Writing, Creativity, and Motherhood, author Elif Shafak wrote about her own struggle between being a writer and being a mother.

My vocation as a novelist thrives upon solitude. In almost all areas of art one has to work with other people during the creative process… But not fiction writers. For weeks, months and sometimes years on end, we retreat into the novels we write; we stay inside that imaginary cocoon surrounded by imaginary characters, writing destinies, thinking we are God… Self-absorption and an inflated ego are the two most harmful side effects of our profession.”

Would I still be able to write, to create, once I became a mother? Or would I have to let go of that self-absorption and inflated ego so necessary to this work in the process of becoming a mother?

This pull between the needs of creativity and the demands of parenthood has long been a popular topic with writers. Recently, Maria Popova’s Brain Pickings highlighted a book dedicated to the subject. Selfish, Shallow, and Self-Absorbed: Sixteen Writers on the Decision Not to Have Kids by Meghan Daum gets to the heart of what many writers feel about the decision to have kids or not.

No young woman aspiring to a literary career could ignore the fact that the women writers of highest achievement, women like Jane Austen, the Brontës, George Eliot, and Virginia Woolf, did not have children… Doris Lessing declared herself “not the best person” to raise the two young children she left behind when she moved from southern Africa to London to pursue her career. Why? “There is nothing more boring for an intelligent woman than to spend endless amounts of time with small children.”

– Sigrid Nunez

As evidenced by my total lack of posting or social media interaction over the last year, pregnancy obviously did have a profound effect on my writing. I found it difficult to know what to say. Suddenly I was thinking in terms of being a mother rather than simply being myself. What would my child think of what I was writing? How would my decision to publish one thing over another effect him or her in the future? Once my son was born, it became a problem of finding the time as much as anything else, and of not feeling guilty for spending that time with a pen instead of him. It was overwhelming to the point that I quit writing all together. But the urge never left me. In fact, having my son made me want to write even more, to capture all the new thoughts and emotions that have flooded into my life.

Now, with a beautiful seven week old boy sleeping peacefully beside me, I have finally found my voice again. But I find it has changed. I’m no longer the person I was before, but I’m okay with that.

Is being both mother and writer going to be a challenge? Of course. But now that I’m here, now that I can call myself both mother and writer, I wouldn’t have it any other way. This baby has given me new eyes with which to see the world and I’m happy for the change. I’m looking forward to exploring both my inner and outer worlds from this new vantage point.

I’m looking forward to a continued becoming.