Hollow be my name

"I want to tell you that I love you,
But does it really matter?"

-- Chloe Dancer, Mother Love Bone


Late last night, I finished the pumpkins. It took us three days to get two pumpkins gutted and carved, and technically we're not done yet because we haven't roasted the feast of the innards, but those damn jack-o-lanterns were at least ready in time for our own little neighborhood soiree.


After the carving, I thought I would have a relatively stress-free day today. I had the day off to go to Grandpap's funeral, a quickie ceremony at the funeral home and trek over to the cemetery, and I thought I had all my ducks in a row.

BOY, WAS I FUCKING WRONG.

The day started with Joe refusing to drop Jacob off to me directly. I finally got the baby from day care and headed over the funeral home, and then the ceremony started late. I got to see my cousins who I haven't seen in years, and when we got to the cemetery, I saw just how long it had been: 1995. That was the year of death marked on Grandma's half of the headstone. Her funeral was the last time....

Oh, the guilt. I've been back in Pittsburgh for two years.

Tom had been avoiding me since Tuesday morning, and I guessed it had something to do with an aversion to attending funeral-related regale. Then I found out he was headed to the hospital this afternoon. "I sent you an email," he texted me. I had an afternoon full of family crap and no access to email.

And when I finally detoured to my house to check, I discovered his email was a .... clear cry for a break-up. Dumped, via email. It's not you, it's me. It's the kids. It's the cancer.

But I had to go grocery shopping and get the kids together for dinner and trick-or-treating and as much as I wanted to scrap it all and go kick Tom's ass, I restrained myself, he was still at work, and we made the rounds for Halloween, took my time, met new neighbors and BSed with those I have gotten to know.


I really enjoyed having an hour with my kids like that. I thought there were only about 20 houses in my neighborhood, but I found upon further inspection there are actually probably closer to 30, some tucked away, and it made me love it here even more. You can get lost in this little alcove.

There wasn't a huge turnout of trick-or-treaters. I know there are more kids here than tonight unveiled, but I heard most went up to the nearby "community" with the "golf course" directly behind us, up the hill. To visit the rich folks giving out full-size candy bars. The same folks responsible for all the Titleists embedded in my precious weed-ridden yard.

We were not so ambitious but got a lot of loot nonetheless.


I thought long and hard on that loop around the neighborhood, about Tom's email ("I'm not sure if I'm really ready") and all the health news he has been dealing with lately, and his kids are having such a hard time with everything, and I tried my best not to be selfish when I emailed him back, saying pretty much, I'm pissed, just go then....

I'll wash my hands of this if I have to, I have my kids and my finances to worry about... and though there's plenty of my worry to go around, it won't go where it's not accepted. I just can't spread myself that far.

I know it's a lot for him. It's a lot for me, too. But then he called tonight and rescinded his suggestion of not being ready, said he needed me to help get him through this.

And I'm totally a mess now.

Not because he is sick, but because I don't know when he'll push us away again.

The meaning of mortality

"I'm searching for something
Which can't be found,
But I'm hoping."

-- Everything Dies, Type O Negative


As I was standing at my closet the other night picking out clothes to wear to my grandfather's viewing today, not only was I disappointed in my lack of appropriate (re: stuff that I still fit into) funeral attire, but it suddenly occurred to me: I will have to take Zoe.

I rifled through her closet and found something acceptable. My sister called not very long after, as if reading my mind.

"What are you going to tell Zoe about the viewing?"

Hmmm. I dunno. Maybe that her great-grandfather had too much Halloween candy? Aunt Kelly suggested a much more forward-thinking view: "Tell her he was bad and Santa sent a lightning rod down for him."

But really, what to tell her? We thought over the realities and I decided that I would do it on the fly, and I did. Right before we were leaving tonight for the viewing, I handed her an outfit and said, "We have to go say goodbye to someone."

"Who?"

"My grandpap."

"PAP PAP?"

"No, MY grandpap. My... Pap Pap."

"Do I know him? Where is he going?"

I explained to her who he was, and then I had to break it to her, in case she wasn't quite getting me: "Zoe, he died."

"NOOOOOO! How?"

I told her that he was old, and that his heart was old and that it stopped beating, and trying my best not to use my best defense mechanism they call sarcasm, I tried to answer her questions and explained how the heart carries the blood that carries the oxygen to all the fingers and toes, and what happens when the heart stops working.

"So then he died? Like a dinosaur? Did his heart fall into his stomach?"

OK, I'm in over my head, I'm thinking. The talks about my mom go much better than this.

I took her to the funeral home and she was curious about the body once she realized it was lying there. She walked up to it several times, sometimes escorted by someone in the family; other times she just wandered over herself, getting a little too close at times for me.

It wasn't the big trauma for her that I thought it would be, and I kept checking to make sure she was OK with everything. At the end of the viewing, when everyone was saying goodbye to Grandpap, she stepped up on the kneeler and felt his hand. Like everyone else was doing.

And I was so touched. There was a compassion in her at that moment that was just a little bit past curiosity about touching a lifeless body. It was probably imperceptible to everyone else but her mom, but I could tell that in her own way, she understood there was some gravity to this, and that she cared.

And despite her previously bouncing like a pinball among all the people she hasn't seen in a while, I was very proud.

Another bumper sticker

"First one to die with the most clothes... WINS."

First frost

Everything was glistening this morning as the sun rose; delicate crystals of ice clung to what is left of the lush green of summer, a subtle hint of the beauty of winter yet to come.


AND DAMN, WAS IT FREAKIN' COLD!!

SpOoKy!

We had a busy weekend. It started out with daylight trick-or-treating in Tom's neighborhood. The kids were all having their own little issues, so it didn't get off to a great start.


Don't they look like they are about to have the time of their lives?

But it did turn out great, and the kids really enjoyed it. I was amazed by the enormity of the event. Kids lined up in hoards at some of the better houses; one guy was grilling free hot dogs for the neighborhood; fire trucks were circling the streets tossing candy from the cab. Four streets into it, most of the houses were already out of candy.

It didn't come close to anything I had ever seen, even as a kid.

I guess I waited too long to negotiate Halloween with Joe because I ended up not being allowed to take Jacob, and every baby dressed up like a ladybug or peapod made my heart ache. Through the grapevine, though, I heard that Joe took him to the zoo this weekend, which pleases me, since all he did when I lived with him was sit at home on his lazy ass when we tried to get him to come along for things like that.

The next day it was on to Lewis' birthday party. And another chance to get our money's worth out of the princess costume.

Oh, the DRAMA

Zoe was ripping into a Happy Meal toy on the way to my dad's house tonight when she started screaming hysterically. I glanced in the rearview mirror to find her mouth was covered in blood.

I pulled over and hopped out... her tooth was gone. My first clue that this was the problem was Zoe screaming, "My toooooth is gooooone!"

While I searched frantically for this first concrete sign that she really -- REALLY -- wasn't a toddler anymore, as if her reading skills and ability to recognize swear words wasn't enough, she was more concerned about the indications that she must have suffered a major injury.

And so it went. For hours. Hysterical, inconsolable. My dad came rushing when we showed up, probably thinking these wails meant her arm had come off or something. The tooth fairy (a.k.a. Jen's mom) called, and Zoe seemed to settle down enough after that, but it didn't take long before her focus changed from her massive blood loss to the loss of a beloved body part.

"I want my toooooooooooooth back in my mooooooooooouth!"

So, we agreed that we wouldn't cash in with the tooth fairy just yet. If she wanted to keep the tooth for a while, make peace with it, the tooth fairy would understand, I told her.

In fact, the tooth fairy doesn't know what the going rate is for teeth these days, so it will give me a little time to research.

In loving memory

Grandpap, say hi to Mom.

Very funny

I thought these would taste like cardboard, but topped with cold cuts and Cheez Whiz, I couldn't tell the difference. Amazing!

So who's the baby daddy?

A friend of mine named Jeff who maybe wishes to remain anonymous but who lives in Chicago and was born with Pittsburgh in his blood but was raised in Florida where he lived until he was in his 30s (and who visited us relatively recently) was an audience member at Jerry Springer on Monday, October 22, 2007.

"I'm not ashamed of seeing Springer!" he told me via email, though I corrected all his capitalization and whatnot.


"Springer was awesome. That shit is so staged!"

"Do they pause for commercial breaks?"

"Yes they pause for commecial breaks! They send the two parties out of the room for a couple minutes. Jerry makes small talk with the audience sometimes. Then they bring them out and make them fight again. There was much nudity. We got mooned by 2 guys on stage (there was way too much sack showing from behind), flashed by some chick in the crowd and by another guy in the crowd. It was not a pleasant experience."

"So it's not like NFL, where they just stand around on the field and then get the signal to go at it again. Do you think they are real people??"

"I think they're actors. There was nothing that looked remotely authentic about the entire show."

"Now I can sleep well. It's like when I found out the truth about WWF."

For the record, I suspected it all along. Really.

The saddest part of the story? Oprah also tapes in Chicago. You'd think Jeff would choose something a L I T T L E M O R E cultural.

Why my house is spotless right now

"You would cry too
If it happened to you."

-- It's My Party, Lesley Gore


I had a dream last night that my dad threw me a block party, and I didn't want it. I kept avoiding everyone, and he kept nagging me to spend time with the guests because they were all there for me. I kept excusing myself and kept trying to find my boyfriend (some lanky kid I knew in grade school, and the party was in my childhood neighborhood), but the lanky kid kept saying he'd be back, and I kept chasing after him each time I saw him.

But he kept walking away, calling over his shoulder that he'd be back.

I remember being so upset in the dream, that I told my family that no one was ever to have a party for me again until my funeral. I was never the kind of person who wanted to be the center of attention, never wanted a big wedding, never even wanted a birthday party.

There were all kinds of games going on at the block party, so I'd pretend to join a game, but my heart wasn't in it, so I'd just wander off. Actually, no one was really paying attention to me anyway. Even my dad stopped nagging me after a while.

At the end of the dream, I was calling for my dogs. They were running around the neighborhood, and strangers who heard there was a party in the neighborhood began showing up to crash. I could see my dogs near the edge of the woods up the street when I began calling for them, and when I saw a few young people in a speeding car, I stopped calling them, for fear they would get hit. But the dogs looked up and spotted me anyway, and came running.

Very quickly, Sarah got caught in the back wheel of one of the cars, and her head came off. The car stopped, and I stumbled over, I couldn't look, and I just dropped to my knees at the front of the car and began wailing.

All this party crap that I didn't want, and now my dog was gone. The driver of the car had gotten out and was kneeling and crying next to my dog, but I couldn't go over and see her. I couldn't. I just wailed, but no sound was coming out of me.


It was a very weird dream, and it stuck with me all day.


Tom told me Friday that he might have cancer.

Again.

And he's been pulling away ever since.


I clean a LOT when I'm upset.

We're all professionals

At times.

Tell me if this doesn't suck...

...when you're trying like hell to get to work on time.


...when you have to pee.

...if you are on your way to an early appointment and you hit snooze a few too many times.

...when the gas needle has clearly declared residence in the red zone.

...on Monday.


I thought Port Authority cut back their rides, but one manages to find its way in front of me on a fairly regular basis.

Boo!!!

We are gearing up for Halloween. This week, decorations and pumpkins. Next week, picking a costume.

While we were hanging around at Tom's house, someone asked Zoe what she was going to be this year.

"A princess!" she said.

"And Zoe," I said, "What were you the year before?"

"A princess!"

"And the year before that?"

"A PRINCESS!!"

It never gets old.


We took a hayride to the pumpkin patch.


It was a, ah, long ride.


The rule was everyone had to be able to carry his or her own pumpkin to the hayride back.


Zoe feeds a hungry pig.


Catty!


Pony rides.


We closed down the farm.


The Halloween decorations are fantastic!

A sensible solution

Leaving day care after work tonight, I found a lovely note tucked on my car, admonishing me for not having a jacket for Jacob at the day care. The temp outside must have dropped a good 15 degrees throughout the day.

Zoe plucked it off my car and read it. "Mommy, what does B-R-I-L-L-I-A-N-T spell?"

I took the note from her and crumbled it up.

"Why did you do that, Mommy?"

"It's a note from Joe. I don't want any notes from Joe."

"Why is he being so mean to you, Mommy?"

"I don't know, kiddo. Let's not worry about it. I'm thinking we should go to Walmart and spend your gift card?"

She was quiet as we drove, and then out of the blue, "Mommy, I wish I had a real magic wand. Do they have those at the Walmart in this town?"

"Zoe, you have TONS of magic wands at home. Don't you want to get something different?"

"But I want a REAL one. I would wave it over Joe and make him nice."

Time to get ill

Jacob started throwing up Sunday morning, and it went into Monday. Zoe threatened to throw up all day Monday, but went back and forth between, "MOMMY MY BELLY HUUUUUUUUUUURTS!!!" to, "Mommy, can I have a lollipop?"

She never did get the lollipop, and she never did throw up.

But she woke up shortly after falling asleep tonight with a barking cough that is unmistakable croup. I couldn't believe it -- she is 6 years old and should be out of the magical age of getting it -- so I called my sister and as soon as she heard that cough over the phone she knew it too.

After getting over my initial reaction to go down to the garage, start my car and lock myself in the trunk, I laid on the living room floor and let Zoe writhe and moan and bark. There's nothing like a kid pulling out the German ancestry when she's sick.

She finally fell asleep, but I have a feeling this night is long from being over.


On Saturday, I cut Jacob's hair. I have agonized about this for weeks, because I know it is one of his firsts, and I've been split on involving Joe or just waiting for him to do it. Or going for it.

Much of my decision was based on a lot of input. Joe wouldn't do the same for me. It's just a haircut, Joe won't care. Jacob is constantly scratching his ears because of the wisps of hair tickling them. It's practically in his eyes!

It didn't help that Joe took the baby to the doctor on Friday, never told me about the visit, the diagnosis, the prognosis, nothing. I had to hear it from the day care: Another diaper rash.

It's just a haircut, I told myself. He needs it. Joe will pick him up from day care Monday, get mad, get even, and it will be over.

Then Jacob got sick, I took Monday off, and I had to hand him over to Joe at the bottom of the driveway in the evening. It was then Joe set eyes on the amazingly great job I did with a squirming baby and a jar of baby squash.

But he didn't exactly see it that way. After swearing and cursing at me -- in front of both of my children -- he marched his way back to his car, claiming he had a police escort he was going to report to. (I looked up the street, and there was no such police escort.)

But it didn't stop there. He went home and stewed about it -- A FUCKING HAIRCUT -- and delivered to my inbox one of his best insults ever:

Only an insignificant, filthy piece of human flotsam would do what you did to that baby's head of beautiful hair.

I'm ashamed I called you a "fucking cunt." Not because it's inaccurate, but because it's too banal a description for the hideous and hateful creature you are.

Art by Z.O.E.

Using Photo Booth on our laptop. She set up the lighting and position.

First haircut

Before



After

Pens' first game

Jacob objects to Carolina's FOURTH goal.

And in unrelated news, THANK GOODNESS Isaac Hanson is OK. Now I can have a peaceful weekend.

Our emotional family

"I miss you
Like the deserts miss the rain."

-- Missing, Everything But the Girl



Tom and his kids came over for dinner tonight... the kids played and we ate and Tom and I sat and shot the shit and it felt like I had an old friend over.

It's hard to believe sometimes that we've only been dating for a few months.

I have to remember that when he loads my dishwasher all wrong and my OCD kicks in.

Everyone had lots of homework, so we had to part at a respectable hour. Zoe is normally upset when we all have to leave, and tonight was no different. Except that she seemed to get unusually withdrawn. I have understood her objection to her playmates leaving, or the fact that it's actually time to get down to the business of the nighttime ritual, but tonight she was particularly forlorn. She paced around and then started bawling before I even told her it was time to apply soap to her skin.

I was sitting on the living room floor with Jacob when her crying began. And I recognized that cry.

And it all came flooding back: The night Joe told me to leave, one of the few times he had the guts to actually say it to my face instead of over the phone or through email. One of the nights we were going to bed and he hadn't spoken to me for a week. The Night I went and sat on the steps and cried until I couldn't cry anymore and held my belly all full of Jacob and wished I might get even a little sick so I could be hospitalized and get away, get a relative to take care of Zoe and get her out of that mess.

And Joe just let me cry. Alone. Slept through it, probably.

Her cry tonight, that was my cry then. Sitting on the steps. Not knowing what was going to happen next. Desperate.

Normally I let her cry it out in her own way, or I try to distract her or otherwise nip it in the bud, but this time she crawled into my lap, shuddering, and Jacob climbed up and embraced us, and we just let her cry. And we held her tight. I know she hates when Jacob is not with us, and that this is an extension of that fear that the next night he won't be with us.

I don't know what is next. I didn't know what to tell her. Normally I have all the answers, but tonight, I just let her get it all out of her system. And we just loved her through it, held her and let her sob.

Because that's all I ever wanted.

That, and knowing what's next.

Basketti!

The dogs had a treat before this was all over.

Tuesday's crisis

A conversation at work:

"Why is she so crabby today?"

"I think she broke a nail."

"Oh. My. Gawd."

A fucking joke

Joe STILL has not given me the court-ordered money he's supposed to give me for day care for August. It's now onto October, and I'm supposed to be all nice and sweet and give him the bill for September.

Sometimes I think, what's the point? Why subject myself to 300 reasons why he shouldn't give me the money to help pay for his son's care?

His latest reason is that I took off days in August and he doesn't want to pay for them.

They are days he PHYSICALLY PUT HIM IN DAY CARE. Two days of which we both attended legal proceedings together.

While we are sorting this shit out, I've been putting day care on my credit card. We're talking almost $800 a month. While I'm paying interest on this shit now, he gets to pay it back to me at $100 a month.

NICE GIG.

I wonder what he will come up with for not helping to pay September's bill. Because I'm not in bankruptcy yet? That I smell so bad I deserve to rot in hell? That the day care is personally responsible for the mess in Darfur?

I got a great link today from someone who seems to get just when I need a little comic relief. Let this be over soon.