Redefining our nation’s future (a message of hope)

On April 28, 2015April 28, 2015 By aftheadIn Uncategorized1 Comment

This week one of my co-workers is getting married to her partner. She is so excited. They’ve been together forever, but finally they can have a real wedding. She’s excited and giddy and cute in a totally not-her kind of way. I’m not one for weddings. My husband and I eloped. But this wedding, this one feels special to me: fragile and new and filled with hope that things are changing.

We’ll be in her performance review together when my phone will buzz. I’ll check, because I always check. My kid might be sick. There might be an emergency at work. This time the message will be from the Washington Post. It will announce that the Supreme Court has decided that marriage between two adults who love each other is A-Okay whether you are a man and a woman, a woman and a woman, or a man and a man. (The message will be much more professional in it’s phrasing.) I will tear up. I will show her the note. She will tear up.

We will celebrate together that for the first time there isn’t a question if her relationship or my relationship is more official. We will both know that if our spouse is sick we will be able to visit him/her in any emergency room in any state because she/he will be recognized as our spouse. We will know that when our spouse dies or we die our assets will go to our partner automagically. We will have the same hard choices if our marriage doesn’t work out.

I hope that the Supreme Court makes law what I know in my heart to be true. Adults who love each other and are willing to commit their lives to each other deserve the same rights and recognition regardless of the individual’s genders. I hope I can tell my daughter someday about this week with pride and joy. We are at a crossroads and I hope we go the right way.

Dinner, the final frontier.

On April 28, 2015April 28, 2015 By aftheadIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Life gets busy with two working parents. Deadlines call and school demands. Bedtime routine is followed by dueling laptops at the dining room table. Regardless of how chaotic things get, one thing never changes at our house. Mommy is in charge of dinner.

Don’t get me wrong, my husband is amazing around the house. He does his laundry. He does my daughter’s laundry. He does towels and sheets. He washes everything but my clothes, and sometimes he even takes those out of the drier and stacks them on chairs and couches in a semi-non-wrinkly way to keep the laundry train going. He does the dishes. He picks up. He does not do dinner. When 6:30 hits and I am not home he will never come up with the independent idea that food needs to be produced to nourish our bodies.

I attribute this to several things.

My husband does not have the genetic tie between hunger and anger that my daughter and I have. If he doesn’t eat there are no repercussions. He just gets skinnier. Oh darn. My daughter and I turn into grouchy demons without food. Somehow the presence of two grouchy demons doesn’t even trigger dinner ideas in my husband’s head.
I like to cook. I’m not a gourmet or even a scratch cooker, but I enjoy preparing meals. Most days I’m happy to perform the little ritual that puts food on the table, but some days I come home after working 5 hours on a Sunday and the lack of dinner smells waiting for me when I walk in makes me crazy.
We don’t pick up food. We cook. Somehow the idea that food can be prepared by others and brought home isn’t a viable option at the Afthead house. Occasionally if I am leaving the office after 7:00 or if volleyball season has started and we can eat at the park I will get sandwiches, but mostly we eat at home. This means we cook at home. This means mommy cooks.

It’s not that I mind our gender roles, but as I was driving home at 6:45 this evening I had a fleeting thought that maybe dinner would be waiting. It wasn’t. Some gender barriers just can’t be overcome. Like dinner. Oh and trash. I’m sure every Wednesday night when Mr. Afthead comes home from guitar lessons, or volleyball, or a night out he thinks that maybe the trash will be out by the curb. It’s not. The trashcans are always still sitting by the house. I don’t do trash.

Okay, two things never change at our house.

Baby Names

On April 10, 2015April 10, 2015 By aftheadIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

32 weeks along and the baby girl growing inside me had no name. I was searching everywhere for a sign for what we would call this new life. I went to the bathroom and while negotiating my huge body in the stall something in the toilet bowl caught my eye. It was a tiny slip of paper: pink with green letters. It said “Amanda.” My pregnant bladder couldn’t wait, so I pondered while sitting. “Amanda?” It wasn’t on any list we had.

Was this the name of our little girl? I wiped, dropped the tissue and flushed. Nope. I didn’t like “Amanda.”

My Happy Place

On April 7, 2015January 30, 2016 By aftheadIn stories6 Comments

The log house sits at the end of a long gravel driveway. After four hours of driving I welcome the colorful flags of Colorado, Minnesota, Kansas, and Mardi Gras fluttering hello as we drive past. I park between the garage and the bunkhouse and open the car door to breathe in the humid fresh air.

The simple house blocks our view of the lake, as my daughter and I unpack the car, but the mosquitoes and horse flies nibbling our DEET free ankles remind us where we are. We rush in to hello kisses and hugs and then down the stairs to the walkout basement where our bunk bed waits in the middle of the family room. We open our suitcases and strip down to nothing and then shimmy into our stiff clean swimsuits. No matter what time we show up the first thing we must do is jump in the lake. Traditionally it is evening. The setting sun makes long back lit tree shadows stretch up the hill. Minnows dart around our feet and bald eagles soar overhead. Laughing we look for the three loons that inhabit the lake every year. Loons mate for life, so why are there three? Two wives and one husband? One wife and two husbands or something even more exotic? Three husbands?

Every year, and it has been five now, the passage of time is clarified. My two year old daughter with her sand filled diaper has grown to a long lean girl on the edge of bravery. Each year she stretches farther and risks more because at the lake parent worries are leeches and ticks between toes and not the unspecific fears of city life. Wonders await: berries are plump waiting to be picked; frogs are hiding in the twilight waiting to be grabbed; sunfish after sunfish fly out of the lake on shimmering lines waiting to be fried up for dinner by grandpa.

Some traditions are made, Easter brunches, Passover senders, Christmas Eve and Day all have their arbitrary flow. Other traditions just happen when the “if we are going to the lake this year” becomes a foregone conclusion of when. When will we pick berries? When will we picnic on the pontoon boat? When are the turtle races? When are we going to light the bonfire and have s’mores? The magic is new every year as the kids grow and the families change and the tradition morphs to a new fun. Every year we stay a little longer and every year we wish we had just one more day.

Loving People with Mental Illness

On April 2, 2015 By aftheadIn Uncategorized3 Comments

Last week was a rough week for mental health. Up the road from where I live a woman cut a fetus out of a pregnant mother. In Europe a pilot with a history of depression crashed a plane. There are many obvious victims here: the mom who never met her baby, her unborn child, the passengers of the plane, and the pilot of the plane. I empathize with other people in the shadow of these stories.

The pilot had a girlfriend and parents. They probably know a bigger story than the one horrible decision he made. They have seen his struggles. They have talked endlessly with him about his fears, his problems and his dreams. They may have wished his suffering would end at times, but they never wanted this ending. If he was a good actor and hid his feelings they are hurt and sad and furious that such a thing could happen to him, and to them. Their lives are forever changed because he is gone, hundreds died, and they are left with the loss and the burden of what he did, and the question about what they could have done to change it.

The woman who cut the baby out had a husband. He took her and the fetus to the hospital. What mentally healthy person would do what she did? He is likely pouring over every detail of his life with her and wondering what he could have done to stop the tragedy, and his life is tainted by the ramifications of what his wife did.

Mental illness runs rampant and there is so little you can do if you love someone who is sick. The stigma of mental illness is real and asking for help is a series of hard choices. Medicate and risk losing the person you love to a haze of drugs. Hospitalize and risk the person’s job, livelihood and reputation. Do nothing and risk your loved one injuring himself or others. While all this is going on you are stuck with a person who resembles your loved one but is hidden behind a cloud of anger, sadness and fear. You can’t get to him/her to ask what they need from you, what they want from you or what you should do. It is a horrible place to be.

I don’t personally know the people involved in either of these news stories, but I have been personally involved in depression, and I cannot fathom what these poor families are going through. It makes my heart sick.

Afthead Mardi Gras – Best Day Ever

On March 3, 2015March 16, 2015 By aftheadIn Best Day EverLeave a comment

I missed posting for a week. Well, I can’t say I missed posting, because I was at Mardi Gras with my husband and my daughter. Yes, we took our daughter to Mardi Gras, for the second time. Now before you call child protective services and have her taken away from me, let me tell you, Mardi Gras isn’t how you are imagining it in your head. We saw no boobs. Yeah, we saw some drinking, some public affection, some R-rated costumes, but we didn’t see the stereotypical Mardi Gras.

If you have never been you should find a friend who grew up in New Orleans, or went to college in New Orleans, or lives in New Orleans and schedule a trip. It is the closest thing to pure fun I have ever experienced. It’s marching bands, and dance troops, and old guy dance troops, and floats. The floats are like nothing you have ever experienced. They are huge and satirical and filled with men and women throwing presents at you. Yes they throw beads, but also stuffed animals, footballs, Frisbees, toys, hats, costumes and instruments. There are little kids sitting safely in these awesome ladder seats. There are bigger kids on their parents shoulders reaching right up to the float, and there are slightly bigger kids running after the float cheering, yelling and screaming, “Throw me something mister!” and normally the mister (or misses) throws something.

Yeah, the crap is made in China. Yeah, the guys on the floats look a little like KKK members. Yeah, there is a very obvious class separation. While I can recognize those unsavory details today, when I am at the parade I just don’t care, because it is so much fun. Do I really want that white feather boa my daughter begged for? No, and neither does she. It is itchy and sheds feathers. But at that moment it was the best catch of the day. It was glamorous and envied. Right now I look at the giant beads hanging in my studio, and I marvel that a 40 year old woman (and her 42 year old friend) could have received such attention. (I did not bear my breasts for them, thanks for wondering.)

At Mardi Gras we stood side by side with strangers and we had fun together. A lady I’d never met and never saw again picked up a special bracelet thrown to me, because I had a 45 pound kid on my shoulders. A family who had been holding their spot at Bacchus for ten hours welcomed us to their tent. We caught beads for their kids and they gave us frosty cold beers. We shook our heads together when the twenty year old threw up in their tent. I laughed with the woman next to me when someone threw beads onto her outstretched arms. She was dancing not asking for beads, but it was a great shot. We had a spaghetti dinner at our friend’s church for $10 (which also gave us the use of their bathroom all night) and then they sold us $3 wine and beer to enjoy while watching the parade. Having fun with strangers is even better than having fun with people you know.

There is magic at Mardi Gras. We had a dragon breathe fire at us, causing a white out in our vision, but not burning us. Our kids ran up to huge floats blind to their tiny frames and they didn’t get run over. Doubloons are thrown, and those gold, red, purple and silver coins are more valuable to my 6-year-old than the real dollars the tooth fairy brings. If I hold them now their clinking and glinting brings back the magic and the fun.

The Tooth Fairy Correspondence – Tooth Seven

On February 23, 2015February 23, 2015 By aftheadIn Uncategorized1 Comment

Our family has a running correspondence with The Tooth Fairy (TTF). Ever since the first tooth fell out on a family vacation my daughter has needed to write to Ms. Fairy. She’s made presents and asked questions. Every time, Ms. Fairy is kind enough to respond. The seventh tooth was lost this weekend and as I was reading the first solo-child-written note and the response from Fidget, our Tooth Fairy’s name, I thought it would be fun to share our correspondence. So without further ado…

Tooth Fairy Note — Letter to The Tooth Fairy for the seventh lost tooth.

In case you can’t read first-grader here is a translation:

Dear Tooth Fairy,

I made this necklace for you and this picture for you because I love you.

P.S. Will you put 2 extra $1 and my friends pillow? Thank you.

In case you don’t understand the above translation, let me translate. My daughter made a tiny rubber band necklace for TTF, and drew a picture of a bloody tooth (so sweet) for her. We happened to have friends spending the night, so she also secretly asked for TTF to bring additional $1 coins for her two friends. She wanted to surprise her friends (so sweet). The note, tooth and bloody picture all went under her pillow and she and her two friends went to sleep hoping for a visitor overnight.

The next morning we found the following note from TTF:

The girls were delighted to all get gold coins from TTF and, as always, TTF was great at telling my daughter what she really needs to hear right now: she’s brave, she’s doing great at school, and she’s thoughtful. We are so lucky to have such a great Tooth Fairy at the Afthead house!

Bookshelves

On February 5, 2015 By aftheadIn Uncategorized2 Comments

As I was perusing Longreads I clicked through to “The Books” by Alexander Chee. While reading, I was struck by a need to jump up and examine our household Harry Potter collection and all the doubles, triples and quintuples contained therein. My husband and I read all of the books, listened to all of the books and saw all of the movies numerous times. Away to the shelves I flew to start counting.

First to my collection. The top shelf? All the hardbound first editions of the collection. (Yes, I know EVERYONE has a first edition of all the books. Amazon brought them to your door at midnight in Harry Potter cardboard for goodness sake.) Note the books are neither in chronological, size or color order. That’s how I roll folks. The collection is guarded by my hippo bookend.

Shelf two contains the real collection. Book one and two from countries around the world. It started when I was in Italy with my husband’s aunt. The Chamber of Secrets was out and I wanted a memento from the trip, so I purchased the Italian version. Next my husband purchased the German version for me when he was on a work trip, and a collection was born. There are copies from Brazil, Japan, Korea, the UK (multiple copies of the same book) and Hungary. They are not all purchased by us, but by friends and family as they traveled. My favorite is the Chinese copy. It’s the one in the paper bag. Apparently there are black market copies of that book all over China and the only way to know it is authentic is if you buy it in the bag sealed with the special tape. At least that’s what my dear friend who bought it told me, so it authentically remains in the paper bag with the tape hanging on for dear life.

Harry Potter from around the world — Afthead’s Harry Potter Collection

Oh, that thing on the left? It’s a slide rule. Never know when you’ll need one.

Next, to my husband’s collection. It’s on his most special bookcase surrounded by sports memorabilia and his favorite series: The Dark Tower, Lord of the Rings, and Calvin and Hobbes. His books are paperback, of course, because he hates reading hardcover books. I honestly don’t know if he waited to read each book until the paperback came out. How could anyone have that kind of patience?

Dark Tower, Lord of the Rings, Calvin and Hobbes and Harry Potter — Mr. Afthead’s favorite series.

Finally to the archives, where dusty cassette tapes of the early audio books are stored. Yes, you read that right, cassette tapes. I listened to the first five books using the tape deck in my 1999 red Subaru. It does appear that for book six I moved over to CDs. Someday I hope that the digital audiobooks will show up somewhere on a device I support. Jim Dale’s rendition of the series is even better than reading it in my own head.

The movies? We have most of them too. I loved the books more, but the movies have strong memories associated with them. I was struggling with losing pregnancies and I remember sitting in the theater sobbing during the fourth Harry Potter movie because I was never going to have a child who would enjoy these movies with me. Our first date after our daughter was born was to see the first half of “Deathly Hallows.” My husband and I are patiently, patiently waiting for our her to be ready for Harry Potter. She shuns them now as “too scary” but the day will come when she sits down on my lap and we go to Hogwarts together, or we road trip and Jim Dale tells her about Quiddich, or she sits next to me and we enjoy watching the “Goblet of Fire.” I’ll bet you anything that when she does finally read the books herself, she’ll need her own copy, because mommy and daddy will be reading right alongside her.

Final Tally:

Sorcerers/Philosophers Stone :: 6 copies
Chamber of Secrets :: 15 copies
Prisoner of Azkaban :: 4 copies
Goblet of Fire :: 4 copies
Order of the Phoenix :: 4 copies
Half-Blood Price :: 3 copies
Deathly Hallows :: 4 copies (if you count each movie half as one)

A mom is born

On February 5, 2015February 5, 2015 By aftheadIn Uncategorized1 Comment

I remember being a new mom. Not in a sharp focused kind of way but in a hazy overwhelmed kind of way. It was the scariest thing that ever happened to me. This tiny, tiny, tiny person I had been growing in my belly was now one hundred percent dependent on me to live. I mean, it had been that way from the get go, but all I had to do was eat and sleep and, let’s face it, take care of myself and she grew and did all the development things she was supposed to do. Then she came out and the tide shifted. Her entire existence was dependent on me being able to figure things out: how to get her to take nourishment from my body; how to wake her up to take nourishment, and how to keep stuffed animals out of her crib (because they would surely suffocate her). I had no idea what I was doing, but I felt the importance of figuring it out every moment.

Not only did I have no idea what I was doing, but upon the birth of my baby, no one cared about me anymore. The metaphor for this was the doctor appointments. At the end of my pregnancy I went to the doctor every week. They’d weigh me and make me pee in a cup and listen to the baby’s heart and tell me how dilated I was and how well baby was growing. Then she was born and it was “we’ll see you in 8 weeks,” but the baby, oh the baby had to go to the doctor all the time. She wasn’t growing. She was failing to thrive. We went to lactation clinics at the hospital. She got a birthmark at four weeks: a horrible raised blood red blotch that I thought I caused and knew would make “them” take her away from me. (I still don’t know who “they” are, these baby-taker-awayers.) At my 8 week appointment I was told I could have sex again, how to check my IUD, and “See you in a year!” I did not want sex. I wanted a shower and a hug and a daily recognition of the amazing work I was doing because my daughter was still alive.

I remember walking into my in-laws house and having my mother-in-law swoop up my baby girl to adore her and not even say hello to me. I remember my dad, my dad who loves me more than anything, turning to my daughter first when he visited. Thank goodness for my mom who loved my baby girl, but I know loved me more in those early days. Without her adoration and attention my loss of self and my daughter’s birthmark would have driven me over the edge. I was so inexperienced and so ignored.

Now when a new baby comes into my world I head straight to the hospital. I bring a gift bag filled with “People” magazine, chocolate, Skittles, the new mom’s favorite beverage (yes, I have brought wine and beer) and maybe a little something for the baby. I walk in and go right to the dazed woman in the bed, who is desperately checking to make sure her pained and engorged breasts aren’t showing, and I ask her, “How are you?” I don’t even bother to look at the baby. Besides, the infant is surrounded by a phalanx of grandparents, friends and relatives, because everyone wants to see the baby that’s been born. Me? I want to see the mom that’s been born, because that is a miracle too and she should be celebrated.

Mornings are Not My Thing

On January 22, 2015January 22, 2015 By aftheadIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

I am not a morning person. I have friends who are morning people and I have coworkers who proudly show up at the office every day at 6:00, or so they tell me. I have never witnessed them at this horrible time of day, because I am still sleeping, almost always. Occasionally a friend can coerce me to meet her for a run at that time of day, and I am usually surprised about 6:15 that I am dressed and moving outside at a quicker than walking pace. Once I enjoyed such a run wearing two different running shoes. Mornings are dark and shoes look similar before dawn breaks. Lesson learned.

I harshly judge myself for my morning choices. A litany of self reproach runs through my head each morning when I wake up realizing I have turned off my alarm in my sleep and once again it’s 7:30. “You’d be skinny if you got up earlier and worked out.” “Your book would be done if you’d just get up and write.” “Good people, smart people, worthwhile people are morning people and they probably delivered papers when they were kids and what did you do? Oh sleep, just like you do now. Loser.” Being mean to yourself is not a great way to start your day, but five days out of seven it’s my first item of business. Well second item, after turning off my alarm set for 6:00. “Loser.”

This evening on the way home I finished listening too 10% Happier by Dan Harris. I really liked that book. I liked his message. I have been enchanted by Buddhism for much of my life and the real world, scientific perspective he gave to meditation, mindfulness and that asshole in my head spoke to me. He made me want to get up in the morning and meditate, but I’m trying to be realistic here. Am I going to do that when running (which I love), writing (also love), and work (pays for my house) don’t provide enough motivation? Will meditation just become one more thing I beat myself up about, or will meditation replace the loser-talk? One way or another, the mean person in my head must be replaced by a better morning habit. She’s annoying.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Two Right Feet.”