Update to the Update of the weird day: And then we had an earthquake. Because that is life on this coast.

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I have had one of those days in which you switch hats so many times that you start to think you have a multiple personality disorder.

As I have spouted off about before, estate planning is so incredibly important if you give a rats ass about anyone left on Earth when the comet/ mothership/ universal being/ mother goddess/ grim reaper comes to claim you. A legacy is a heavy load to drop on anyone, but it doesn’t have to be a heavy load PLUS a trainwreck. A few semi-awkward conversations, some paperwork and voila: estate planning. I think people must be nervous to talk about death. Well, since it seems that it has encompassed my life and all I ever talk about is death these days – I am all for having some control over my own legacy.

Aside: The Victorians loved death, loved it right down to the minutia. Every detail had ritual and mourning and norms associated. Hair lockets, covered mirrors, death masks. Sex, however, was a big taboo. Here we are in 2012 and we all love to talk about sex, but death is a big taboo. Cycles of history. Shrug. 

Victorian / Georgian Hair Jewelry. Creepy? Yes. But also kinda cool. Photo credit: Morning Glory Jewelry (click photo for link)

So our lawyer walked us through the establishment of our trust, our wills and our power of atty. I feel a weight lift off my chest just knowing that the draft of the paperwork now exists. And I am seriously considering pre-paying for my own cremation because it is a ghastly thing to ask a shell-shocked daughter to cough up cash for cremation at the death of a parent. Morbid? Maybe. Practical? Hells yes.

Then I took off the “Future Planner” hat and ran over to a bank to put on my “Executor” hat. That was a fun 45 minutes that achieved nothing. I was attempting to close out my dad’s checking account so I can start paying his bills with HIS checking acct instead of my own. Yeah, the stupid bank did not like the color of my court document seal, so I was sent packing … now I need to find a purple seal somewhere in the paperwork.

Then I ran off to my daughter’s school to put on my IEP (Individualized Education Plan) “Mom” hat. I am so thankful for my daughter’s school. She has the most brilliant amazing team of people pulling for her. I hear horror stories of parents and IEPs gone awry and lawyers and lawsuits and constant struggles. I realize we are so lucky to be in the school district we landed, but beyond that – we are lucky to have such great people looking out for our daughter. She is above average in many topics and at grade level in the rest. Academically, we are better than on track. She still has some social struggles, but they are working with her and celebrate how far she has come. They see her potential and know when to coddle and when to push.

Then off to rescue my dear friend M who graciously offered to take my wild herd and blend it with her wild herd for the afternoon so I could attend the IEP with my husband. And we all went to dinner. And there was much rejoicing.

In the midst of all of this, there has been a sad pit in my stomach. Someone I love very much has been diagnosed with the big bad C. Another instance of lung cancer hitting too close to home. I hate how familiar the pit in my stomach feels. I hate that she has to go through this. It makes me so mad. Once again:  Fuck. You. Cancer.

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My daughter (heading towards age 8) is one of the pickiest eaters you will ever encounter. She has some gastro-intestinal issues common to kids on spectrum. She is under-weight at 48lbs but still functioning, so no doctors have gone bonkers. Plus, the last time a doc put her on pediasure I thought she was going to have a seizure, she hated that stuff and said it tasted like metal. It does. Awful stuff.

So what do you feed an extra-beyond picky kid? The cookbooks out there are all about slipping veggies into foods and I have a child that won’t eat food, period.

I was a really skinny kid too  - all legs. I try to remember my mom telling stories of me living on air and occasional bread products. A lifelong carb lover.

Here is an update on some of Red’s household norms that might throw people in a neurotraditional household for a loop:

• Socks cannot be worn without shoes.
• Socks must be put on only after putting on pants (the fabric rubbing together is too overwhelming).
• Socks cannot be put on unless there are shoes visible and within arms reach.

• The bed must be made exactly one way and one way only. Any wrinkles or changes in order of stuffed animals results in a major meltdown and accusations.
• Showing signs of pica (very disturbing) and has recently admitted to consuming a lot of paper. Will squirrel away paper and eat it. Tissue paper, paper napkins, computer paper – all types.
• Sometimes announces: ”I gotta run” and will just start running in circles. This can both entertain and confuse people.
• Stands while eating. Sitting and eating makes her very uncomfortable. Prefers to stand. Seems okay with knowing that it is expected to sit when going out to eat or eating at other people’s homes.
• Cannot handle seeing anyone chew with their mouth open. Will ruin entire dinner, refuses to eat, causes meltdown (has been this way since she was 3).
• Refuses all foods without warning, Will go to bed hungry rather than tell us what she really wants to eat. Regularly skips eating lunch at school.
• Thinks in firm absolutes (this leads to many conflicts with us and her sibling)

In other news, she is standing up for herself and speaking up more than we have ever seen. She is reading, voraciously … and reading comic books! I am beaming at my fan-girl in the making. She has been making friends, but not the same way that NTs make friends. At this age, the little girls are all hugs and hand-holding and my girl will act like a pterodactyl and flee from anyone who tries to hug her.

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I failed to point out the highlight of my child’s rite of passage “bead up the nose” visit to the ER. The doctors scrambled about for a while trying to locate a pediatric nasal kit (hook, etc..). Apparently, they were flush with adult nose kits. Yep. Think about that. How many grown people come into the ER with something wedged up their nose? Clearly enough to warrant a fully stocked arsenal of nose tools for the adult proboscis. This says so much about our gene pool and the future of mankind.

Also, the most incredible overwhelming need to call my dad and tell him about it. He would totally get my fascination with the abundance of adult nose tools.

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Back to Mother’s Day.

• When recently asked to write a note to the most important woman in their lives, my youngest chose my mother-in-law and my eldest chose our cat.

• My youngest was so proud of the portrait she drew of me. At first glance, it is exactly what you would expect. Blue eyes, blonde (extra long lashes, thanks kid). But then, what is that? My moles? Really? Okay…and those red things? “Those are ouchies.” YOU DREW BLEMISHES ON MY PORTRAIT? I love it sweetie. It is great. Ima gonna go cry in my coffee now.

• The card my eldest gave me did say that she loves me more than cats in general. So that is something. Even if our damn cat is the most influential woman in her life.

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I stopped drinking alcohol about a month ago. That sounds more drastic than intended. I stopped because (a) I am on a detox program and I have lost 15 lbs and (b) I really was plowing through 5-6 bottles a week solo for a few months after my dad died and while I feel totally justified in spending my fog in a fog, I felt so unhealthy. So here is what I have discovered: I am a lightweight. One month off the sauce and I imbibed a bit with a friend the other night. Hello cheap date. I am now the girl who gets tipsy on a wine cooler.

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So … this happened:

Hey … so I was making this Mother’s Day present and somehow a giant plastic bead wedged itself way up inside my left nostril. It happens.

I got to spend a portion of my day in the ER. That was exciting. I love those phone calls from school that start with “So, your child is okay … but …”

Children everywhere: There is nothing okay about stuffing things up your nose. Especially way up your nose. Go apologize to your mom for even thinking about putting a finger in your nose.

Happy Mother’s Day.

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• 1 Lack Table from IKEA: Under $8
• 4 LEGO 10×10 base plates: Approx $5 each
• Liquid Nails: Approx $7

(1) Assemble (2) Glue (3) Use LEGO blocks to hold 4 plates together in place (4) Let dry overnight.

I put a large bin underneath for the extra LEGO parts. My daughter is thrilled with her building platform.

Ta-Da!

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• I need to stop being baited in to politically charged arguments on Facebook. Sometimes my jaw hits the floor and I feel so compelled to speak, but you can’t argue with someone who can’t argue.

• Jeep therapy works (squeeeeel!):

• Blondie coined a new household term: “Meatball Duckface” and it is surprisingly versatile. It can replace an expletive (emphatically said after stubbing one’s toe) or used as a term of endearment. It looks something like this:

]]> http://jessoutwest.com/2012/05/05/stuff-i-gone-done-and-learned/feed/ 0 jessgates 532983_10150776055094840_529604839_9374625_1677540851_n 398843_10150814741234840_529604839_9423422_1321322241_n http://jessoutwest.com/2012/05/04/let-the-beat-pause-drop/ http://jessoutwest.com/2012/05/04/let-the-beat-pause-drop/#comments Fri, 04 May 2012 17:57:11 +0000 Jess Out West http://jessoutwest.com/?p=1283 Continue reading →]]> “Now my name is M.C.A., I’ve got a license to kill
I think you know what time it is, it’s time to get ill
Now what do we have here, an outlaw and his beer
I run this land, you understand, I make myself clear.”

The Beastie Boys were such a huge part of my musical consciousness. That summer of Licensed to Ill was one of my “Wonder Years” summers. I burned and permanently scarred Rachel with a curling iron (at camp, yes, it was the 80s). A boy that wore Ray Bans and had a huge smile liked me. But he wasn’t the boy that looked like Mike-D. THAT boy had my unrequited thumpy heart. That was the summer I decided to take off and move from Oregon to Texas without anyone’s actual approval to do so.

Photo credit: LastFM

MCA was the King of Gravelly-Voiced Cool.

Beasties were a bond you could share between siblings and even generations. Here I am, approaching 40, and I can belt out almost any BBL2I lyric on command. Try me.

And Paul’s Boutique? Freakin’ brilliant. That record could not be made now. The sampling alone would bankrupt any artists. But they made it and we all ate it up.

It is sad. 47. Cancer is stupid and cruel.

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This is why the ladies loved my dad…

Circa 1978.
I especially love how it appears that there is not a person in the room paying attention to this serious feat of dare-devilry. Except the photographer.

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I thought I could do it.

I couldn’t.

He is so much a part of that space, taking it apart still feels too raw. He is going to come home and be really pissed that I moved stuff around. I still put pillows back where he had them and straighten things as he would want them … even though it is technically my house now. Being a steward of a life lived is a effing heavy job.  I am honored to have the task of completing my father’s story and seeing things through to a neat end. Even so, I am incredibly paranoid about doing it right.

I changed his voicemail. That was about the hardest thing I could handle doing. I did not want to record over his voice. I was frozen. But then I remembered that dad has given countless interviews and I can watch him on video if I miss his voice (rather than obsess about him repeating his telephone number).*

I will go back and start again.

I hate appearing needy or weak as it is not a role I relish or find any comfort in. I hate asking for help. I find comfort in competence. I am of sturdy stock and hearty disposition – we don’t lie down and die when things get tough. We attack.

I have just not been feeling very attack-y.

I was recently told that I “project competence” and it makes people forget that I am a mushy wreck of barely-holding-it-together sad girl. It is nice to have so many folks snowed in to thinking I have it all figured out.

I keep telling myself that if I trespass in to crazytown once in a while, it does not mean I plan take up residence there. So, I project my confidence and competence. I kick ass. I laugh and smile.

Then there are times where I sob uncontrollably, behave inappropriately, drink frequently and sensory seek like a frat boy in Vegas.

And to be honest, it is probably a really good balance. Now I have a sudden urge to go to Vegas.

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*[Note: All I could think about was the creeper that stole my voice tape from my answering machine before setting my apartment on fire so he could listen to me say my number over and over and over again for eternity...ewww. Lesson: Don't go to college if you are blonde or even mildly attractive, just get married and fat as soon as possible. It is for your own safety.]

That was not to be taken seriously. Better yet, teach your daughters to be dead-eye shots and train them in hand-to-hand combat. Black belt that waist a few times. Then send them to college with a vow that you will bail them out of jail for any damage they cause to someone who tries to harm them. THAT is how it is done

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• We took a lizard from the wild and gave him a home and fed him crickets
• He loved us (you could see the love in his beady lizard eyes)
• We gave him too many crickets. Some hid under the terrarium lining. I am not sayin’ they propagated but there might have been some freaky cricket action under there.
• They bit at Eddie.
• Eddie developed a food aversion and stopped eating the bitey mean crickets, but we kept feeding him the bitey mean crickets. “Hey little lizard, here is another bitey bastard to join the hoards living under your cage lining!”
• He got sad (you could see the sadness in his beady lizard eyes).

So today, we are giving Eddie back to the world that gave him to us. It is a nice overcast day. We will find a spot to let him be free… to run in to a neighborhood cat’s mouth, be picked up by a large bird or perhaps just fail to thrive under a bush. Shhh. Don’t tell the kids.

Now you're just a lizard that we used to know...

On crickets: Those things are nasty and I am going to have nightmares about them for years. They are violent little things that tear each other limb from limb. Buy 30? In the morning you will be lucky to have 25. Nasty. Shudder.

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Actual conversation in our house today:

Preacher: So lets talk about a snake or a tortoise!

Me: Eddie is not even being digested by the neighborhood cat and you are already filling his terrarium with something new?

Red: (chiming in) Snake? Turtle? Snake?

Me: Well you know I would prefer a snake, but people have visceral reactions to snakes. You rarely find someone petrified of turtles. Plus, if we get a snake my mother will never set foot in this house again.

Preacher: Snake it is!!

Me: Haha. And I suggest turtle over tortoise since don’t tortoises live something like 500 years and have to be written into estate planning? We need something that will eventually die. 

Red: Yay! We are getting a turtle!

See how I got suckered in to that? Lesson here: Never speak to your family.

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