I feel like I’m pulling out a rusty old bike from a storage unit.  The tires are flat.  The chain is broken.  The brakes are virtually non-existent.  But I need this bike and so I’ll put in the time and make the effort to fix it.

Translation – I haven’t written anything creatively in eight years.  I haven’t prioritized myself in eight years.  I am that rusty bike.  More accurately, my brain and soul are that rusty bike.

But I HAVE a bike.  I have a brain.  I have a soul.  (In real life, I have a fuckin’ awesome hot pink and turquoise cruiser bike with a basket and a cup holder).

The past three years of my life have been a roller coaster.  Edit – the past eight years have been a roller coaster.  But a roller coaster on which I am so fortunate to be riding.  We are healthy.  We are well.

Get this:

Mac is NINE.  NINE!  He’s lost his silky curls and apple cheeks and developed a keen sense of empathy and self-awareness.  He’s athletic and handsome and kind and funny and frankly, he’s the apple of my eye.  He’s also recently diagnosed with ADHD and anxiety so this third grade year has been harder and more tenuous for all of us.  More on him later.

Bridget is seven – nearly EIGHT.  She moved from a fussy infant to a happy baby to a very opinionated and creative young lady.  She’s got a punky brewster sense of style and a keen eye.  She’s VERY dramatic but VERY tough.

They are the best of friends which is so amazing and such an awesome thing to witness, particularly right now when friends are nothing but voices and images on devices – of which we have far too many in our world.

Over the past three years, I’ve had fits and starts of feeling fulfilled and happy and periods of discontent and disconnection.  Most of it has been due to my career and the shift I’ve experienced as a human being no longer aligning with my personal identity as a woman, a mother, a friend and an employee.  So I am relieved to share that my career has succumbed to the Coronavirus.  I am laying it to rest today.  And will begin again and build something truer and more representative of who I am today.

Who I am you ask?  Well… I’m Katie.  I’m in my 40s.  I’m a mother, a friend, an animal lover, a sister and just a girl who’s learning how to ride a rusty bike again.

Are you out there still?  Friends of yore?  Are you okay?

After 304 mind-numbing posts and over 2,800 comments, I’ve made the mindful decision to close down my blog.  I’ve been marinating in this idea for a while now and it was just this morning that I finally realized that for me, it is time to say goodbye.  I honestly believed that this day wouldn’t come, but alas, it has.  There are a few things that have led me to this place, the most obvious of which is a lack of time.  But coupled with that, I know I would make time for it if there was a fire in my belly to continue spewing forth word after word — retelling the tales of my simple life.

I’ve also found that I don’t particularly enjoy writing about parenting.  I take more joy from parenting than anything I’ve ever done before, but I don’t enjoy the atmosphere that inevitably comes with “mommy blogging” – the mommy wars, the parenting theory A vs B, the only one right way that so seems to invade the blogosphere.

There is not one right way.  There are hundreds of right ways and millions of different babies and thousands of amazing moms who are just like me or exactly the opposite of me.  And so, I just haven’t felt the need to blog about parenting.  I’ve felt the need to do some other things (like taking pictures and knitting hats and drinking beers).  I think, as my farewell, I’ll just give a glimpse of how I hope to move forward in my world with my husband, my kiddos and my life.

Be present.  Turn off the TV, put down the phone and shut my laptop.  I want to embrace my here and now as time is moving at an alarming pace.

Embrace independence.  Each day I try to remember that I’m growing adults not just raising children and there’s nothing that can serve them better than the ability to stand on their own two feet.  

Live joyfully.  Little things can always interrupt my world.  I’m moving forward with the singular goal of remembering my blessings.  I have everything I could want or need and that is an amazing gift.

Who knows, someday maybe I’ll come back to this place as I have met so many wonderful women and gotten such amazing support over the past three years that I am not sure I’ll ever be completely removed from it.  I plan to still read and comment as time allows and cheer you all on as you reach each goal and milestone.

If I leave you with nothing other than some shock and awe, I’ve done my job.  If I leave you with more, I’m honored to have been a part of your world for a short while.

Cheers Friends,

-Oak

The Boy is participating in Movember.  And oddly, someone recently asked me “What is Movember?” at which point I wondered if they were living under a rock, if you don’t know what Movember is – you can check it out here.

So, at first I thought that this was going to be an okay thing considering the alternative was a contest between The Boy and my brother to see who could grow the longest nipple hair.  Movember seemed like it might actually be the lesser of two evils.  But then I realized that Movember is taking over our country, one ill-grown mustache at a time.  Its not just in my home that I must endure the mustache, oh no!  I see men on the street, at the store and my local restaurants, all with ill-advised facial hair.  It’s everywhere.  99.9% of the time my first response is “EW!”.  I do not immediately think, “Nice job!  Its totally worth looking like a predator in support of Men’s Health!”

Seeing mustaches on everyone from my husband to normally adorable Aar.on Ro.dgers, has not raised MY awareness for men’s health.  It has raised my awareness about how much I adore Gillette and that their slogan is spot on, it truly is “The Best A Man Can Get”.  It makes me want to go and hand out disposable Bics and some travel-sized Barbasols to my bartender or the 17 year old bag boy at the grocery store.  I’m not in support of growing terrible facial hair to support cancer awareness.

Look guys, you’re not Tom Selleck.  No one’s Tom Selleck, he’s the aforementioned .1% that does not make me think “EW.”

Isn’t there another way?  Isn’t there something else you men can do to raise awareness for cancer?  (Ha, I wrote that like “men” actually read this blog.)

What about Sit-Uptember where the participants do sit-ups for the entire month instead? I can get behind that!  Or how about Dishcember where men do the dishes for the entire month of December?  Again, something I would whole-heartedly support.  But I realized then, that Movember is actually quite a tricky little thing they came up with.  Not shaving for a month is a lot less work.  They’re being lazy in the name of cancer awareness.

They’re geniuses.  Evil geniuses.  And so, rather than try to defeat Movember, I shall instead join them.

It is with joy in my heart that I’d like to introduce: JanuHAIRY.

Ladies, join me in the month of January during which we shall not shave our legs, our armpits or our pink parts in the name of cancer awareness!  Its for the greater good!  Let’s do it!  Who’s with me!?

Somehow, at some point, Bridget suddenly became five months old. And she is the happiest five month old I know.

So, apparently I’m the mom who doesn’t dress her kids up as animals.  I felt like psychoanalyzing myself about that whole gig because heavens-to-betsy there were more animals at the daycare Halloween parade than at the zoo.  B was the only non-animal in the infant room.  But I decided to just let bygones be superheroes and forget about it.   But if I DID let myself psychoanalyze it just a LITTLE, it reminds me of the years when all my friends dressed up for Halloween and looked CUTER and I showed up to the party dressed as a man.  And I just did that to my kids.  It may be possible some childhood insecurities are surfacing due the fact my kids were not cute, fuzzy animals.  Let’s just leave it at that.

Here’s the rundown of what’s shaking around this tree:

*Mac’s got the largest repertoire of animal noises I’ve ever heard on a kid.  My pediatrician confidently informed me that “Neigh” is a word so that’s excellent.  Unfortunately “Hiss, Moo, Cockadoodledoo” is a pretty piss poor method with which to communicate an actual need or desire so I’m still feeling the frustrations of the non-verbal toddler.  (Note: they can be demanding a-holes)

*Despite being non-verbal, he’s got strengths in other areas, example, puzzles.  He can do pretty much any toddler puzzle you put in front of him and he does them frighteningly well.  We have this one “fishing” puzzles where there are ten different colored fish with magnets that you use a “pole” to get.  The space under the fish is not colored like the fish piece is, it’s just plain wood.  The first time I had to replace the fish, it took me a while, I had to concentrate to find the right space for all the little swimmers.  My son on the other hand, simply puts them right back in without issue.  At first I was worried I was stupid, but then I realized how silly that was, obviously he’s simply a genius with spatial planning.

*In the last month there has been a singular word that everyone who comments about B uses.  And frankly, I’m shocked when I hear it and then I realize…after a brief moment when I want to correct them…that actually, they’re right.  The way EVERYONE describes her is “Happy”.  After three long and arduous months battling her cries, she’s spent the last two smiling like a damn fool.  She smiles constantly.  Her laughs are discriminatory but her smiles are doled out with abandon.  I still think to myself “Who is this happy baby?” and then I realize, its my girl and I say a little “thank you” under my breath to the makers of Sim.ilac Sensitive.

*Right now, I’m battling a little buyer’s remorse with the new job but I’m sure it’s just the process of learning something new and this too shall pass.  If it doesn’t and you start seeing ads pop up on my blog, well, you’ll know that it was probably coming anyways.  Just kidding – I’m pretty sure due to my NC-17 rating that the only ads that would go on here would drive my rating straight to XXX so we’ll just skip that step.  I promise, no ads.  (But really, if I could get ads for The Acc.omodator or The Fleshli.ght on here that would be freaking awesome, no?  Don’t google those from work, friends.  I won’t be held responsible for your breach of internet usage policies at your workplace.

*All the little birds are making their winter nests around here right now.  And I’m pretty sure that all of the nests in a mile radius or so are made in part using all of the goddamned hair I’ve lost in the past 2 months.  I’m talking gerbil-sized hairballs can be swept up after any shower or blow-dry session.  I’m amazed I haven’t had to get a hair piece yet.  I’m thinking this is actually the hair loss from TWO pregnancies since I’m a fertile whore.  So for all you other baby-hoarders out there – get ready for your own Great Hair Loss Extravaganza. Its super fun.

*GET OUT AND VOTE.  I don’t care who you vote for, just vote.  Make your voice heard.  And if you’re a Minnesotan, do me proud and Vote NO.  I will wither up and crawl in a hole (or alternately throw a hissy fit) if Minnesota bigots out and restricts gay marriage through a constitutional amendment.  And if I’m going to get on my high horse about anything it’s that.  I simply CAN NOT understand the human beings that spend time, energy and money preventing people from getting married, loving each other and getting the same legal rights as heterosexual couples.  In no way will I ever understand that particularly when its a governmental issue, not a religious one.  Believe what you want personally, your church can marry or not marry people for all I care, but keep it away from our state constitution for crying out loud.  I hope next time I’m here I’m still proud to be a Minnesotan.

*And APPARENTLY this is my 300th post.  300 posts of profanity and inane shit.  You are SO VERY welcome.  (I’m taking a bow)

I am just without words.  This is my 300th post, so saying that feels like saying “You’ve reached the end of the internet”

Not because I’m down or stressed or anything but because I’m wholly uninspired in writing.  I look at the screen, that damn blinking cursor, and feel as though its mocking me.  I don’t have words or stories itching to be released.

Instead, I’m feeling a pull from elsewhere…my camera.  I’m marinating some ideas on how I can continue to document life but by using pictures not words.  Or maybe by using both.  I’m toying with doing a Project 365.  I’m reinvesting my energies in my images because I feel like they benefit more than just me.  And they resonate on a completely different level.

Photos like this tell a story in a way my words can’t:

Maybe they do look alike after all…

*Sorry for the cliff hanger in the last post, its shockingly anti-climatic news after that.  I changed jobs so I was amidst interviews, offers, negotiations, two-week notice, etc.  I start the new job on Monday which is again, shockingly anti-climatic, due to the fact it’s almost exactly what I was doing before.

So, onto the meat of what I wanted to talk to you about today, and that’s that somehow, in the past year of my life, my son has grown up from a little beefy baby boy to a hilarious, adorable, bull-in-a-china-shop little boy.  And where he’s at right now is equal parts fantastic and frustrating as hell.  So I wanted to take some time to do something I rarely do here on this blog, talk about my kid, so that in the future I can look back and laugh and reminisce about the dude that he was.

From a verbal perspective he’s…a bit…underwhelming.  He has a few words none of which are actually useful in meaningful human communication.  Unless someone can figure out how “CAR!”  “BUS!”  “BALL!”  “MOO!” can help out with explaining his needs at any given moment.  He mostly just shouts out exclamations because he simply can’t contain himself.  While this lack of words is frustrating for him AND for us, it does also have its small joys as well.

Example, I’ve come to take much amusement from our daily “Bus Hunt”.  We go to and from daycare when the busses are abundant and so we both search and anytime I find one I say “Mac, look!  A Bus!”  and he SQUEALS with delight and yells out “AH HA!  BUS!” and laughs.  It is such a small simple thing but it makes my little Grinch heart swell to three times its size.

Physically, Mac is out of control.  He’s running everywhere, walking simply doesn’t get him from point A to point B in nearly an expedient enough fashion.  So run he does.  And crash he does, often and with gusto.  He’s like watching a tiny blond cherub who’s had far too much to drink, he bounces off walls and floors and furniture and people.  He’s a human bumper car.  Who, evidently, feels no pain as last night he got a large bruise in the center of his forehead and a bloody lip but shed nary a tear.  I am pushing down my mommy fear of “Does my child have that disease where he doesn’t feel pain!?!”  I figure he’s just a tough dude.

And, I’ll say it, I can’t help it, he’s beautiful you guys.  He’s the damned cutest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.  What?  You think I’m kidding, I’m totally not, check this kid out:

Who’s kid is that?  I’m not that good-looking, nor is The Boy.  Mac hit the jackpot…at least until he’s 9 or 10 which is when I hit my teeth-too-big, hair-too-short, glasses-too-big (and red) ugly duckling phase.  At least he’ll have photos like these to look back fondly upon.

His disposition is outstanding.  He’s just a happy kid with a genuinely good spirit about him.  This I know because he’s been bitten FOUR times at school by the same kid.  Bitten ON THE BACK. Not on the hand, or on the leg but that little shit gets him ON HIS BACK and he’s got teeth marks and bruises and yet somehow has managed not to pummel the kid.  Mac’s just all “Oh shit!  I got bit…again. Oh well.”  That takes a nice guy, I can’t say I’d respond so nonchalantly to being bitten so much.

Plus, he’s in love with his baby sister and kisses her and rocks her and gives her toys and bottles.  And she’s enamored with him as well.  Laughing and cooing whenever he’s near.  I figure we got about 6, maybe 12 more months of this before one of them realizes that this is NOT normal.

I can’t believe he’s almost 19 months old.  He is growing up so fast and making us laugh everyday and bringing so much JOY into our world.  I am one blessed lady.

Today is my 35th birthday.  My gift to myself is the knowledge that sometimes I am a real fuck-up when it comes to trying to get my point across correctly. 

Last night, I was out to dinner with The Boy and my bro and SIL and we were having a lovely time.  We had gotten a table at a very popular place that is hard to get into, we were eating and drinking well but regardless of the perfect evening, I managed to get myself into (yet another) verbal conundrum.  I apparently never got myself straightened out despite trying desperately.  Finally, everyone told me to just cut my losses and stop.   But I’m not one to give up so easily…let’s see if I can right my course here.

I told The Boy that I liked him more than I loved him.  Or something that could be construed in an equally bad way.  But here is what I meant to say:

Five years ago, on my 30th birthday, I was single after a fairly disappointing run of really rotten relationships.  Relationships full of drama and passion (not always good passion, frankly usually bad passion) and I was alone and had the impression that maybe I was going about this all wrong.  I knew something had to give.  I was old enough to know better now. 

And two months later, I met The Boy.  And precisely in the way I knew it had to be, it was different.  There wasn’t drama.  And before I fell in love with him, I knew that MAN, I really LIKED him.  I was a creature who liked her own time and space, very independent. And for the first time in my life, I was okay giving up my alone time to be with him.  The first compliment I ever paid him, and when I was saying it, it felt monumental was this, “I like being with you more than I like being alone” 

Much like my “I like you more than I love you” comment, it likely didn’t give the vibe I wanted it to. 

Now though, five years later, two kids later, one marriage later, one what-have-you, later…I can honestly say that my definition of love has been drastically altered.  In saying that, I finally realize that the most amazing love stories are not those that derive themselves from crazy, intense, drama-filled, passionate times but from the steady and ongoing partnership and bond you form with someone else. 

Being married to your best friend is the end goal. It may not be a roller coaster ride, but we get enough ups and downs from the life we have around us.  I am so lucky that my relationship doesn’t add to that.  He’s my constant companion, my partner in crime, my rock. 

So when I say that I like him more than I love him.  I think what I really meant to say was that my definition of love is so different than it used to be.  And that I now possess the knowledge that you can love someone you don’t really like.  I am so thankful I learned some hard lessons and was ready for something better and different.  Even while I like him immensely, I also love him deeply. 

I love him when he makes fun of me, when he kisses me good morning, when he kisses me good night.  I love watching him parent and proving every day our kids are the luckiest kids ever. 

I love him the most though, when he sets me straight in the middle of my most frustrated times and says simply, “Hey, Babe. Stop.  We’re on the same team.” 

And so with that, I say this to The Boy:

Happy Birthday to me.  I hope I righted my wrong.  I love you and I like you.

Friends,

Big things are afoot around Chez Oak.  And while they’re in flux, I am afraid post and jinx myself BUT I’m absorbed in the changes that I feel completely unable to write about anything else.  So in my absence, I present you with living proof that I live with Bam-Bam.  And living proof that I have the most agreeable feline ever.

Holy shit dudes, did you miss me or what?  I missed you too. Hugs and kisses all around.

So, I feel like I have so much to tell you. I don’t even know where to begin.  I know its far too soon to bless us all with another bullet-pointed post.  So maybe I’ll just verbally take advantage of everyone’s copious amounts of free time and write the world’s longest post. Wait, sorry, that honor already belongs to Nat.  Tee hee.

So here’s just a snippet of all the stuff that’s happened:

My daughter decided to become sweet the day she left the fold. 

My new gynecologist called me a “busy beaver”.

I had the shits in Dallas, TX.

8/30/12 – So you had a bad day?

I finally reigned victorious in the epic battle of our marriage. 

See?  Lots. And that’s just the stuff that my old brain can remember.  How can I include all of that in ONE post?

So B.  The long and short of it is she hated my tainted milk and thrived on formula, like a light switch went off in her little body.  I tried putting her back on the boob after I’d been off dairy for a week.  She regressed back so rather than changing my diet in various ways to try to make something work that just wasn’t…we stuck with formula.  She finally regulated to a happy child the week she started daycare.  Sigh. But! my tits are slowly shrinking back into my old bras and B’s happy as a clam.  Speaking of clams, whenever I change her diaper she just gets super happy and I sing “Jam out with your clam out! Yeah!”  I think this may be slightly off color but damn we laugh so whatever.

And continuing to speak of clams, I had my very first gynecologist appointment, no need for obstetrical care at all.  GO ME!  And honest to god when my doc heard I had two babies 15 months apart he said “Well, you’re a busy beaver.”  AWESOMESOCKS. First off he’s not 82 years old. And second, it didn’t even OCCUR to him that my immediate thought when someone says “beaver” is vagina. I mean, duh, right?  Mac has a book called “Animal Daddies and My Daddy” and the page that starts with “Beaver Daddy is a building daddy” cracks me up every single time.

I realize I’m 12.  Don’t worry about it.

So right, Beaver Doc installed an IUD dudes. I’m using this weird thing called “Birth Control”.  Because in case you forgot, I’m a fertile whore.

I had my work trip during my first week back. It was, for the most part, uneventful.  Although my gastrointestinal tract was all “I’m BORED.” so it wreaked some havoc.  During my full day of meetings, I realized early on that the cramping and grumbling would likely not end well but dudes, I’d been pregnant or breastfeeding for 25 months straight…constipation and I were besties, inseparable really. So I sorta was all “Whatever, GI tract, you’re all talk”.  WRONG.  It was so bad I actually started taking my phone into the bathroom with me so I could play games.  I realize this isn’t really kosher but whatever.  It was this very un-kosher activity that allowed to text real-time, the conundrum of having the shits in a stall with no toilet paper and wearing white pants (which in case you didn’t do the math, also require a white or nude thong).

I feel as though maybe I should leave you hanging and let you ponder how one overcomes such a situation but I won’t.  I MacGyvered my way to safety.  I tore the cardboard tubing from the dispenser, dabbed my ass, left my pants around my ankles and after peering around under the stall, said a little prayer while dashing madly from one stall to the other.  I made it without being seen and without getting shit anywhere.  WINNING!  TIGER BLOOD AND INSPECTOR GADGET DNA!

Onward.

So during the week we spent at our cabin before I went back to work this day happened:  My inlaws were up there spending a few days with us.  I was sorta on high alert as my FIL has Alzheimers and my MIL has rheumatoid arthritis and the cabin’s sorta…rustic.  Well, after an entire day of B fucking screaming at me and hating my satan milk, I finally went to the kitchen to start dinner and leave my devil child with my MIL.  All in the span of about an hour, my FIL fell off the dock (thankfully unhurt), the grill started on fire (this is its very own insane story) and the lettuce I had bought that day was rotten in the middle.  The entire chain of events really should be its own post but suffice it to say, I had never just stopped what I was doing and started sobbing before, but this felt like the perfect day to try it out.  It was quite therapeutic actually.

Last night, The Boy finally conceded to let us get a house cleaner once every other week. I have been trying and trying and trying to convince him of how much this would help us but had never managed to win this battle.  But last night all I needed to do was stomp around like a crazy bitch and talk like a madwoman about “Cleaning is NOT picking up, it requires solvents and tools!!” “That rug hasn’t been vacuumed in two months!”  “I just want to sit down for a minute (read: drink a beer) and not spend my free time cleaning!”  Apparently, in my marriage, I just need to act insane and my husband will comply.  Noted.

Phew.  I’m spent.

What?  Oh okay!  Here is a recent photo of my beasts…I figure its the least I can offer up if you managed to make it to the end of this post.

This photo falsely gives the impression of cooperative kids.