Cold Spaghetti

(Hint: “Ixsitit” = Excited.  I needed help with that one, too.)

Step One.

Step Two.

Step Three…

FAIL.

So.  Plan B.

Nice how Plan B involves the pressing of the widest parts of my thighs from not one, but TWO sides.  Lovely.

I love the kids faces here.  And the fact that Will took my sunglasses off and put them on his head.

The original idea was for us to have family time together in that in-between week: the lapse between end of camp and start of school.  In practice, we juggled kids around appointments for travel shots and dental cleanings, while working 8-10 hour days.  On Wednesday, we met my parents in Mississippi and they took the kids to Sandestin, Florida.  Thursday, I submitted grades for my summer course and sent the requested edits back to my committee chair (with hopes of finally getting a defense date).  Thoroughly exhausted, we met them all there 2 days later, spending a beautiful day and a half at the beach.

Eyes: Oh yes, they are that blue.

Hair: Worn, preferably, spiked in the center.

Skills: Fluent in French.  Good at all athletics.  Likes to dance.

Extra special: He loves his Mama.

We take the kids to school, together, on most mornings.  We have breakfast or lunch together a few times a week.  On many days, we pick the kids up together, too.  We play games a few times a week and sit down to the same table for dinner.  In the edges, there are a lot of trading: dinner duties, one of us at the cafe working early morning hours or into the night.  There are things that we could do better, but that’s how it goes — we’re always working on being better.

We didn’t get to this place because we planned it.  I’m not even exactly sure how it all happened.  We took a lot of risks; life is a lot of ups and downs.  Job insecurity.  Liquidation of savings.  Inability to plan in advance.  More than a year of repeated denials for health care.  Uncertainty.  Working crazy hours, on different schedules, for weeks at a time.

But being in this crazy place is the best thing in our lives.  The thing for which we’re the most proud.  We have time with our kids, flexibility in our lives, and fulfilling careers.  Both of us.  On our own terms.  It’s not that we just got here — it’s what we do everyday.  It’s never been about working to a point or reaching a goal, it’s about living right now and doing it the best way that we can.  Somehow, the rest just manages to work out.

My new job is less risk and more defined, but has the common hallmarks of something that fits me: it’s flexible, has many opportunities that can go in whatever direction I take them, and involves domestic and international projects.  It’s got an “interim” prefix for now, as I didn’t apply for it and have to go through a formal process of Provost approval and interviews before the role begins straight off with the Director title.  Plus, since I’m officially a student until the PhD diploma is in my hand, I have wait until December before getting to the next step.  Which is perfect as it means I can try things out for awhile to see how everything fits.  Meanwhile, it puts me into a supportive academic school Uptown, within biking distance through some of the prettiest parts of our city, where I can sit in my corner office on the top floor and see the bell tower, gracious oaks, and green quad of the main campus.  One of my colleagues is completing the site visits to the African continent, which will allow me to focus on fall travel to Belize and India.  The India trip will be more extensive.  We’ll all go, visiting with friends and staying for Diwali, the Indian festival of lights.

It’s very, very exciting — and right now, as I transition from one position into another (and get my defense draft through committee for a September defense), very, very busy.

The ex-hippie indigenous studies teacher I had in my first term of college gave me the single best advice I’ve ever heard:

“Don’t worry about what you should do,” he told me as I fretted over what I was going to do with my life, “work hard at what you like and doors will open for you.”

At the time, it was what I needed to hear to calm me down and focus on just getting through college.  Now I look back at that advice as a reminder to be open and flexible.  Life isn’t about getting to an end point.  It’s about the process.  So I’ve put faith in the process — of doing what feels right.  It has meant taking risks, walking away from sure-things  in favor of the unknown, and sometimes just doing whatever it is that makes the least amount of sense.


Eight days ago, I was finishing teaching class when an opportunity fell from the sky and landed smack-dab on my head.

Even if I had been paying attention, I don’t think I would have seen it coming.  It means a lot of changes (and short-term, a lot more to balance) but opens up seemingly endless possibilities for incredible projects and work opportunities.  The door was open.  There was no way to say no.

Sam is Kate’s special friend.  For the most part, Sam is a boy.  He lives on “I Love You Street,” which is in California.  Sometimes California is a place far away, sometimes it’s a house a few blocks away, and sometimes it’s a secret spot known only to Kate and Sam.

Lots of people — friends, strangers, family members — have connections to Sam.   Like when we met our friend, Bryan, at Disney World a few months back?  Bryan was Sam’s Daddy.  The girl at the pool who played with Kate yesterday during swim break is Sam’s sister.  Sam’s Mom and I also share some similarities.  For example, we both have a Diva Cup.  Except that mine is plain; Sam’s Mom’s has princesses on it.

It’s not strange for a kid to have an imaginary friend, so we haven’t paid Sam a whole lot of mind.

Except.

Kate is the kid who comes into our bed everynight, often because “the ghosts won’t let her sleep.” Part of her bedtime routine of tucking her in is announcing to various monsters and ghosts (most of which are named “Georgia” or “Frederick”) that it’s bedtime and Kate is done with playtime.  On some nights, they are can be very persistent.

And Sam?

Sam, she’s told us, used to live in our house.  I didn’t really pay much attention to this, as I’m quite certain our house isn’t in California.  Maybe Kate was making a continuity error.

Oh, but also?  Sam’s dead.

“What do you mean, Sam’s dead?”

“He’s not alive anymore.”

oh.

So.  Someone tell me.  At what point does developmental appropriateness cross into contact with The Beyond?

Is this something she’ll outgrow without exorcism?

Paul has been wonderfully supportive of the final stages of birth on our most recent baby.  Beyond the help with meals and laundry and cleaning (because did I mention I’m teaching and doing research interviews and presenting at conferences and oh, running a nonprofit, too?) he has also been taking the kids on outings over the weekends, leaving me long 12 hour days to work uninterrupted.

On Sunday, he took the kids to the Global Wildlife Center in Folsom.  He also took these pictures of them.

Hearts?  Get ready for a beating.

Pearl River Blues Berry Farm, in Pearl River, Mississippi — the same organic farm that we gave our cast iron tub to years ago when we started renovating the back of the house.  (The tub is in the back.)  Beautiful farm, wide space for running and jumping, friendly people and animals, and lots and lots of blueberry plants.  No chemicals in the growth process — which means that you can eat them fresh off the vine.

Which means, a lot (a LOT) of blue-tinted kid poops in your future.

One of the great things about New Orleans is how nicely the city has promoted tourism interests to remain neatly tucked away from the rest of the city.  Bourbon Street, as I’ve been told, was created to keep tourists out of the rest of the city and as far as my experience has shown, it’s done a fantastic job.  In general, the frat boys, the wanna-be-frat-boys, the remembering-the-days-of-being-a-frat-boy, and the associated hangers-on stay in a few blocks within the French Quarter and leave the rest of us alone.

But occasionally we get a visitor who wants to get New Orleans.  And man, oh man.  Showing someone from another part of our lives just why we live here?  This is one of our favorite things in the world.  The only thing better than that Reconcile Bananas Foster Bread Pudding is having someone new to share it with.

We were thrilled to share these past five days with a good friend of mine from college — a guy who gave me my most lasting nickname (Hosh), studied with me in Switzerland and Italy, and who I hadn’t seen in more than a decade.  We went out, hung out at the pool, hung out in the park, played with the kids, ate good food, explored random parts of the city, and just generally enjoyed the awesomeness of having someone so open and positive about all the things we love about our home.

On Saturday afternoon, Jeb and I, along with a friend of his who had recently moved to the area, went to Commander’s Palace for the Jazz Brunch.  Commander’s Palace is the long-standing launching pad of culinary royalty; Paul Prudhomme and Emeril Lagasse are among its dignitaries.  While there, enjoying the music and company and food and all that comes with it, I mentioned the odd fact that every time Paul has eaten at Commander’s, he’s been ill within 24 hours.  No, it is never because of the food… just really bad timing.  Paul enjoys a completely fantastic meal and four hours later it’s floating down the Mississippi.  Bad timing.

Of course I had to tempt the fates by telling Jeb all about it.

The next morning, we didn’t hear from Jeb.  We thought maybe he’d gone jogging in Audubon Park, or perhaps needed some extra sleep to compensate for late night music at Les Bon Temps.  So we went blueberry picking in Mississippi in the morning.  On the way back, we spoke to him for the first time that day: it had been a rough night.

No, it wasn’t the food.  It was just bad timing.

And completely my fault.

Thankfully, he bounced back in the afternoon and enjoyed the rest of the blissful weekend.  Then Sunday night, last night, the fates rolled over to Kate.

She had eaten her body weight in blueberries at the farm so we expected a certain amount of tummy disturbance.  But it wasn’t until 3 am that the disturbances truly made their intentions clear.

Yikes.

The weekend then was like any other time in New Orleans — incredible highs and miserable lows.  We accept both and appreciate the need of each.  It is just that sometimes, we’re surprised at just how they materialize.  And in Kate’s case, the incredible monochromatic palate that results.

In honor of Jeb, quoting NOLA’s beloved John Goodman… Strikes and gutters.  Strikes and gutters.