Update. (Every time I write the word “update,” I hear the “Unsolved Mysteries” Update music and Robert Stack saying, “Update.” Have I said this before? I think I have.)

(Aww. Robert Stack died in 2003. How did I miss this for eight years?)

We had the new place inspected Friday (my little Archer Gene’s second birthday :)). We let Kieran stay home from school because:

• he’s missed very few days this year,
• he doesn’t do so well with transitions and keeps telling me about all these houses for sale in our current neighborhood,
• I thought it would get him excited about the new house, especially to see it in an INSPECTION situation, and
• he had a well check scheduled for Friday afternoon, so we were going to have to pick him up from school for that anyway.

We went. I brought two different tape measures. I was ready to measure windows and walls and all kinds of good things.

And then one of the owners was there. For the entire inspection.

We ended up leaving and coming back to meet with the inspector for the last hour. Kieran very briefly got to see the living and dining rooms, kitchen, two bedrooms, and backyard.

The inspection revealed a bunch of little things not unexpected for the age of the house (55 years): a few nails sticking through shingles, some ungrounded outlets, a bunch of stuff that needs to be insulated, etc.

Mainly, though, we were told:

• the house needs preventive termite treatment (it was treated at some time in the past, but it’s been at least 10 years, and conditions are “optimal”);
• the renovations the current owners have done (opening up the living and dining, adding some windows, etc.) probably were not permitted (later confirmed);
• the house is definitely still settling (post foundation repair in 1998), and we should get a structural evaluation to make sure we won’t need to make additional repairs; and
• in light of the foundation concerns, we should have the plumbing lines under the house tested to make sure none of the pipes have disconnected, as that would involve replacing all the plumbing underneath the house.

So. That was heavy. Obviously.

The good news is that the inspector didn’t see any signs that any of these issues are actually currently PRESENT; he just advised us to do everything possible to avoid getting screwed.

Our option period ends tomorrow. This means we have to pull out tomorrow night if we don’t want to lose our $3,000 earnest money (we do not).

The owners have already agreed to knock $2,500 off our closing costs to cover many of the little things the inspector pointed out, and we had a pest control company come today and do a quote for preventive termite treatment. The owners likely will agree to cover that at somewhere between 50 and 100 percent. All good.

But tomorrow are the two big tests. The owners are paying for a structural engineer to come out and look at the foundation, and we’re paying for a plumbing company to come do a special (expensive) test on the sewer lines. If both those come out okay, we’re good. If not, we’re not. (And if we’re not, we will have sunk almost $1,000 into a house we end up backing out on.)

A lot is riding on tomorrow. Wish us luck.

Ten years ago Sunday, this baby made me a mother.

That baby is now this kid.

It’s unbelievable to me. I’m so lucky.

Today, I learned that my dear electronic friend, Whimsy, lost her biological father.

And I felt sad. And helpless.

This comes on the heels of the anniversary of the suicide of a good friend’s brother. (And also the anniversary of that same friend’s birth. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, FOOL!) (And also the anniversary of that last post I linked to… I am feeling recursive!) And because we have this suicide connection (it’s like the rainbow connection, only darker), our losses are a topic of conversation pretty often. Especially around anniversaries like this, which can be really difficult.

So… In therapy this week, one of the two things I talked about – and I want to tell you about the second, but it will have to be in a separate post – was how I wasn’t sure how to be a good friend in this situation. I mean, I know what my own major loss experience was like, but I don’t know anyone else’s. I don’t want to be presumptuous.

So, of course, in THE THERAPY, we started talking about my own experience. Like, details of the immediate time. Talking about it was strangely less sad than I thought it would be. Which is both a good and bad thing.

Anyway… Anniversaries.

Surrounding the anniversary of my dad’s death are these important days: Archer’s birthday (three weeks before), my birthday (10 days before), Griffon’s birthday (five days before), Anneke’s birthday (one day after), my dad’s birthday (eight days after), and Father’s Day (10ish days after).

What if…? Instead of putting myself back in June 1987 and re-feeling all those emotions (“re-triggering the trauma”) – or, worse in some ways, feeling immensely guilty when it happens to be easier for me, in those years when I’m too busy to really stop and think about it, and the day skates by with just a couple solemn glances from me – what if I tried to use the three or four weeks surrounding the one really difficult anniversary day as an extended period of thanksgiving? None of those other days would have been possible if my dad had never lived on this planet.

Hmm. The idea is not batshit crazy.

I can’t promise that I’ll be able to remain so emotionally balanced on the actual anniversary, but it’s not a terrible idea to try. I don’t even think it’d be that big a shift in my head (again, strange).

This week is the birthday of a dear friend.

Rebecca and I were thrown together as roommates our first year at Bard. The first time we met, she was wearing a towel.

I don’t think either of us particularly liked living with the other (which is CRAZY because I am SO PLEASANT), but we became friends somehow.

Things I remember about that year… You gave me a tarot reading that I still to this day credit with giving me the strength to get out of a bad relationship… You painted a fabulous picture of me (that I LOVED) while we sat on the porch of Sands listening to G. Love & Special Sauce… The mix-tape you made me that I listened to for years. (Dude. Ken Nordine.)… Being the poorest ass kids at that place and getting our pizza and calzones stolen from the refrigerator by the richies… The girl who left her underwear in the snow… That night we spent doing that thing talking about numbers where we always ended with the number of the beast… You and me and Noah passing Allen Ginsberg on the street in NYC and you saying, “Hello, sir”… Walking to dinner in October in the dark at 4:45… Sledding down the hill in front of Stone Row. Your mom involving me in some plot to give you a birthday cake (your mom’s LAUGH)…

You’re one of my favorite people, in part because you’re INSANE. You tell me stories about the giant girl at your work who wants to start a Hooters knockoff with cocktail weenies and meatballs, and I about piss my pants. (I know I can count on you for regular pants near-misses.)

But I’ve never told you how important you were in how I became a thinking person. When I came to Bard, I had no idea what I was getting into. I was totally out of my element, in every way. We became friends over time, but before that, you introduced me to ways of thinking that were new to me, something I so needed. Skepticism, questioning, curiosity, doubt, creativity, … You had some crazyass conspiracy theories I needed to hear and some realities I needed to consider even more. Thanks for that.

I love you, friend, and I’m happy I know you.

Sunday is my 12th wedding anniversary.

If I had digital photos from August 8, 1998, I’d post them. It was a pretty dreamy day.

The oldest scan I have of the two of us is this little bit of hilarity from Fall 1999.

(I thought I was getting fat. PFFFFTTT. And also: What is happening with MY HANDS?)

The photo documentation of our life together doesn’t really start until Teh Babbyz.

One of my favorite pictures of all time. Kieran and Brad on May 22, 2001. Kieran was two days shy of one month old; I was two days shy of 25 years.

November 29, 2002.

Christmas 2002.

September 13, 2003, one week before I got pregnant with Anneke.

Another May 22nd. Doctoral graduation 2004. Two days before my 28th birthday and 13 days before Anneke was born.

Leaving the hospital a family of four, June 6, 2004.

August 8, 2007. Nine years. Three kids.

December 29-30, 2007. First trip to Yermont.

Brad doing one of my favorite things. Now a family of six, June 28, 2009.

Family portrait, November 15, 2009.

February 28, 2010.

Three of my favorite boys at One Fest, May 8, 2010. Five days shy of Archie’s first birthday, three weeks shy of Griffon’s third.

I look at these pictures, and I think, How could I be any happier?

I need to learn to look for it in my life as it passes every day, of course.

But, really, it’s there.

I love you, my sweetie.

Dear Anneke,

Today, you are six.

I remember when you were new to us. Daddy and I were both bald babies, and Kieran had been bald, so we were totally shocked by your dark hair.

And you never stopped shocking me.

You’re the child who does what she wants. Break your finger jumping off an air conditioner? If you feel the need to jump again, it’s happening. 737th time-out for jumping on Momma’s and Daddy’s bed? I can count on you to do it again and plant your face right on the edge of the desk, leaving teeth marks a quarter of an inch deep.

You scare me. No matter how hard I try to protect you, everything is new to you. You’re willing to do or say anything to get what you want. The only thing that’s predictable about you is your unpredictability. And your disdain for rules.

You’ve taught me a lot. You’ve taught me that I didn’t deserve a whole lot of credit for Kieran’s perfect behavior or sleeping habits. You’ve taught me that kids with the same parents could share almost none of the same traits. You’ve taught me that I could enjoy having a girlie daughter. You’ve taught me that girlie and rule-breaker aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive.

You’re a daughter in a house of sons. You wanted a sister both of the times your younger brothers were born. When Archer was born, I was happy Griffy would have a little brother just two years younger, but I was also so sad that you’d never have a sister. I wish I could have given you that relationship.

In the last few months, you’ve backed off your art a little bit. You still lose yourself in it sometimes, but the times seem less frequent recently. Maybe it will ebb and flow. I hope so. I hope you’re not losing your passion. I try not to care because you’re simply perfect as you are, but that passion and talent were total surprises. I’d forgotten that art might be in my genes, passed from my dad, until you were born. It’s the one thing about him that still seems like it’s living, because of you.

You were due the day after his birthday, and you were born the day after the anniversary of his death. You remind me the most of him – or at least of how I imagine he might have been if I’d had the opportunity to know him longer.

We have the most complicated relationship, you and me. I don’t know why that is. I’m sure some of it has to do with gender and the complexities of mother-daughter relationships. I’m sure some of it has to do with our personalities.

I wish it were easier, but maybe the best relationships are complicated.

Either way, I love you so, so much. I hope you really know that, all the way to your soul. You’re my best, best girl.

Momma

P.S. At six, you like:

• reading books to yourself in your bed at bedtime
• hoarding unremarkable objects (like a washed tray from a frozen dinner)
• pretty things like jewelry
• Disney princesses
• taking care of Archer
• baths
• birthdays
• growing plants in the mini-greenhouse
• flowers
• school
• friends
• making cards for people
• cleaning
• school library books
• fruit
• sweets
• science
• pizza night

At six, you do NOT like:

• bedtime
• hiking
• bees

A different kind of joy today.

***
Dear Griffon,

Tomorrow, you will turn three.

And you’re sooooo stinkin’ cute.

Right now, you’re really into Spider-Man. You wear your costume and mask to school about once a week. Today, you wore it to a restaurant for dinner. You were very insistent that you be allowed to order “Spider-Man food,” but unfortunately, it was never clear what that was. You tried to convince us it was candy, but we were not swayed.

You are the only Spider-Man I know who loves his blankie bear more than fighting crime.

You’re also pretty cranky these days. You whine. A lot. You’re a contrarian. I say black; you say white. Daddy says corn-on-the-cob; you say popsicle. We can never, ever win. Part of it is the sleep deprivation that comes with school, and part of it is your desire to be totally independent in a three-year-old body.

It’s especially bad with food. You don’t want to eat anything, and you want to eat everything. You want yogurt. We give you yogurt. You DID NOT WANT YOGURT!! OMG WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?! I want CHEEEEEEEESE! No, not THAT cheeeeeeeeeeese! STRING cheese!!!! OMGOMGOMG!!!

But.

You still have a smile to melt hearts.

You talk nonstop. You play a lot. You love books and music and trucks. You sleep with your favorite big brother. You still dig on Yo Gabba Gabba, although you aren’t as enamored as you once were. You sometimes prefer Max and Ruby now, actually. Momma’s friend got her friend, DJ Lance, to sign a picture for you. You slept with it for a few days, but it hangs on the wall in your bedroom now.

Everyone loves you. Even with the cranky, you’re still sunshiney like no one else I know.

At three, you like:

• your blankie bear
• eating out at “restromps”
• CANDY
• Kieran
• Anneke, sometimes
• playing on the slide and in the water at school
• swim diapers
• “vitermins”
• going “downsters” in the morning
• sleeping with Momma and Daddy
• snuggling
• sitting on the potty
• GUM
• being carried

At three, you do NOT like:

• hair washes
• other kids sleeping next to you in Momma’s and Daddy’s bed
• naps and bedtime
• other kids playing with your toys

The other day, the morning of my birthday, actually, I woke up to your smooshy kiss on my mouth and “I love you too.”

You bring joy right to me every single day. I love you so much.

Momma

First, thanks to two great friends who inquired as to my mental fitness after that last post. I am fine. :)

Especially after yesterday evening.

Joy = singing “Happy Birthday” to an absolute childhood ICON

Joy = surprise birthday Twinkie with binary candles

When you look for it, there’s a lot of joy in this life.

Today is my 34th birthday.

There’s some joy in that, even if these days are more mundane than they used to be.

As of last Sunday, I am now older than my dad ever was.

But that’s another post altogether.

Yesterday, I bribed Anneke to go shopping for work clothes with me. She was generally really great, with the possible exception of yelling in the dressing room about how she hadn’t changed her underwear since Friday.

Afterward, we went to Yo So Cool, which is this frozen yogurt place we’ve been wanting to try.

I also offered to take her for a manicure/pedicure after, as an early birthday present (hers, not mine). I don’t really get into girlie things like that, but I knew she would.

And now my nails look like this.

That’s me on my keyboard at work.

So, not only do I have shiny nails, but I have a job. A J-O-B. That’s pretty fantastic, really, even if I don’t extract joy from it all the time.

Another bit of joy? I saw a parking pass today as I was walking to my building that started with the characters, “10POOT.”

More joy tomorrow.