Look What the Cat Dragged In

So, we've got this cat. And like most cats, she doesn't think of herself as a cat, but has crowned herself  'Queen of The House.' Besides milk for breakfast every morning, the Queen has strict rules for her subjects:

1. Only touch her when invited to do so. Failing to follow this rule can look a little something like this:

No Caption Needed.

2. Her majesty expects full and complete attention when any one of her minions is sitting on the toilet. This rule is strictly enforced and if not adhered to can look a lot like the photo above.

3. Appreciate and fawn over every gift her highness bestows upon her lowly subjects. If not...well, you get the picture.

The Queen of the House runs a tight ship around here. I can live with rule number one, mostly because I find her a tad bit mangy and I kind of get grossed out touching her (it's best not to mention this one to her).  Rule number two I find odd and disturbing but I work around it. Buuuuut, when it comes to rule number three, the queen and I have some, shall we say, issues.

Listen, I'm sure that there are people in the world who don't mind sliding through a mouse carcass in bare feet first thing in the morning. I'm sure that there are people who find it quaint to be sitting in their living room, enjoying some peace and quiet and a nice cup of tea only to be dive-bombed repeatedly by a crazed kamikaze bird (insert scenes from The Birds here) who had, only moments before, been playing dead in the jaws of her highness and looking for the perfect moment to flee. And I'm sure that there are people who looooove opening the door to a snake laying on the front porch.

Let me be clear: I am not one of those people. 

I have been known to violate rules number 1 and 3 in one fail swoop, throwing her majesty out of the house and tossing some four letter words out the door with her. Let's just say, that I'm not always a fan of her gifts and she's not a fan of my attitude.

Given our history, imagine my surprise to open the door to find this:

 A little peace offering! A happy medium! Or maybe I planted a little too much catnip in pots in the backyard.

From Breitenbush, with Love

Breitenbush Hotsprings is a revered niche to Oregonians. When you say the name 'Breitenbush' people usually let out a little sigh of love with a little nod of the head and a dreamy, faraway look in their eye. I've noticed this curious reaction many, many times over the years and had often wondered what all the fuss was about. I've also silently wondered if all of these Breitenbush fanatics hadn't inadvertently hijacked any sort of great experience for me; sort of like when person after person talks up a movie or a restaurant and you expect to come away with your hair blown back, your life figured out, and some ecstasy to boot, only to be sorely disappointed by your own high expectations and other people's bad taste. (I'm lookin' at you, 'The Hangover, Parts I and II'.)

Anyway, Hubby Tim whisked me off to Breitenbush over the weekend for a romantic getaway. And although his earliest romantic overture involved rolling my finger up in the car window, only to be  skillfully followed up by kicking me square in the face, a'la WWE Smackdown, while getting himself comfortable during a group meditation (ohhh yeah, he's a smoooooooth operator), it actually ended up being an absurdly enchanting weekend.

Breitenbush (and all that happens there) just might be a little glimpse into heaven. If you like (respectfully) soaking naked in hot springs with complete strangers, then it definitely is.

I won't spoil the many surprises that Breitenbush holds, but I will say that if someone told me that the food they serve there was really made by cherubs and elves, I'd totally believe it.

Kindred Spirits

You're the strangest person

I ever met, she said

& I said you too

& we decided 

we'd know each other

a long time.

'Kindred Spirits' by Brian Andreas

Although they live scattered here and there, I'm grateful to have gotten to spend time with so many of my favorite people in the world already this summer. I love you all so very much! (And yes, I am buttering you all up to keep you from telling people our adventurous stories from this summer.)

Julie

Amy

Dee

Jimmer

Neil

A Generation of Trouble

My Big Fat Czech Family

Dee and Jen (I wish this photo was bigger. I also wish I'd seen Jen more than just when this picture was taken)

Farewell, Patty

As many of you know, Tim's mother, Patty, lost her battle with cancer a little over a week ago. She walked through her illness with a sobering amount of grace and her poise over her condition, for me, served as a testament to the awe-inspiring strength of the spirit. I am grateful to have been witness to such dignity.

We spent last week in Wisconsin celebrating Patty in all of her favorite ways: through laughter, stories, time with family and friends, ridiculous amounts of food and drinks, and, of course, polka. (I have a special place in my heart for a gal who loves polka.) I can't help but think she would've been happy with the way things transpired there. (Even when people started bringing up the stories that they couldn't share at the church...)

As I've reminisced over the last several days, this poem has been weaving through my thoughts; verses I haven't recalled in years. As I share it, my soul waves a bittersweet farewell to Patty Larson. May your spirit be free to dance on the wind.

I am standing by the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze
and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength,
and I stand and watch
until at last she hangs like a speck of white cloud
just where the sun and sky come down to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says, ' There she goes!
Gone where? Gone from my sight - that is all.

She is just as large in mast and hull and spar
as she was when she left my side
and just as able to bear her load of living freight
to the places of destination.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her.

And just at the moment when someone at my side says,
'There she goes! ' ,
there are other eyes watching her coming,
and other voices ready to take up the glad shout :
'Here she comes!' 

- Henry Van Dyke

Down the Rabbit Hole

'Tis the middle of April and that can only mean one thing in our household....iiiiitttt's show time!

From January to April every year, our family is eyeballs deep in preparation for April dance performances. It's a huge time commitment that only people who love this sort of thing or who want to severely punish themselves, would ever consider committing to.
We are in a constant loop of the rehearsal cycle....especially with three people in one show.  When we're not driving to rehearsal, we're rehearsing. If we're not rehearsing, we're waiting for someone else in our family who is rehearsing...so, basically we've just moved into the dance studio and are calling it home.  If we aren't rehearsing, we're busy sewing costumes or building sets. If we manage to get home before 10 o'clock, we're rolling around in bed trying to get the damn performance music out of our heads....it really is an all-encompassing experience (and why I'm so tired that I haven't been able to put together an intelligible thought for over a week).
But, the moment has finally arrived, and I am proud to share that Sydney, Alex and I will be performing in Alice in Wonderland at the beautiful Newmark Theater this weekend.

And after this weekend, sleep. Lots and lots of sleep.

One of 20ish card costumes we helped sew

Alex getting fawned over by a Tweedle

Puppet Brawl

A life lesson from 'The World According to Alex':

and I quote....

"Mom, puppet fights are good for the soul."

Hmmm. I kind of like that one...

Spies Like Us

One thing became crystal clear to me today:

If I want to have anything that resembles mental health after my children leave the nest, then I need to get a grip. Pronto.

Here's the thing, philosophically, I know that my kids are getting older and with age comes increments of independence. As one wise parent once told me, "The years go by so fast, but the days go by sooooo slow." And so it's been: I've gone about life with the days creeping and the years flying, and like any other parent I've gotten caught up in the minutia of parenthood. All of the lovely, daunting, moving parts. Yesterday, I took a moment and looked up, and to my unpleasant shock, Sydney is suddenly two months away from turning 13.

Apparently, I'm not taking this news well.

Exerting her almost-thirteen-year-old independence, Sydney and her friend decided that they wanted to go to the mall and then see a movie. Alone. Which is a new thing. Very new. Painfully new. I compromised with her by telling her that I would be at the mall if she needed me, but she could do her own thing, which she was thrilled about. Soooo, off she went giggling through the mall....with my heart and my sanity dangling helplessly along in her back pocket.

In a fit of sheer lunacy, I spent an entire afternoon tailing her. Stalking her, really. Using surprisingly super ninja skills,  I stealthily ducked into nearby stores, cautiously peeked over banisters, all the while being completely and unapologetically ready to spring out from behind one of those huge potted plants to tackle and flatten the first boy who might try to swoop in and flirt with her.

When we finally made it home (her giddy and none-the-wiser and me silently wondering if locking her in the house for the rest of her life really might be an option), I spent the evening in a deep state of melancholy, thinking that it would be nice to put the song "Time in A Bottle" on repeat, lay on the floor with the lights out and drink whiskey.

God, help me. The fierce love and vulnerability of motherhood has, once again, proven that it can turn me into a maniac. (And God help the first boy to break my daughter's heart. I feel like I should apologize in advance for shoving his face in the dirt.)