Sassafrass

An excuse to escape all kinds of turkeys this weekend

The idea of trading in your leftovers and in-laws for a night brightened by expensive put-your-eye-out glow-up plastic whirly white tiger toys and pretzels slathered in nacho cheese might not be your idea of how the holiday should be spent. OR...it could be the Best. Thanksgiving. Weekend. Ever. At the circus, which has moved over to the United Center and the Chicago tour stretches through this holiday weekend. 

Still not convinced? Consider this:

It's too dark to see a football game and too loud to listen to that one great-aunt tell that one story again. Those inadequate paper hot dog holders don't need to be hand-washed. No matter how much you dole out on souvenir toys that the kids will leave in the car and forget all about hours later, you will be spending far less money than you would if you were standing in line at Toys R Us.

We saw this season's show, ZING ZANG ZOOM at the beginning of the Chicago tour. Lil E adored the funny, little trained dogs and played "tiger tamer" for days and days. Just as last year, I loved the amazing aerial acrobats, who gracefully maneuvered themselves in, out, climbing up and sliding down beautiful floor-to-ceiling fabrics. It lacked the "oh!" moments that last year's show had, which my parents and I agreed was more cohesive, even glamorous. But really, this is the circus, people. It's fun, crazy, and all about the silly. It's a good time, and a bigger show that, all tallied costs the same or less than seeing a movie this weekend.

A note to parents of sensitive kiddos: ZING ZANG ZOOM has many loud booms and flashes. I would have packed ear plugs to soothe my own boy's ears and fears had I known.

There are plenty of shows playing this weekend in Chicago (click here to find one that fits in your schedule). If you live outside this fair and freezing city, get tickets before the train pulls into your town. Best of all, Sassafrass readers can purchase tickets at a special rate of $44 for a 4-pack of tickets (valid Monday-Thursday and Friday Matinees, excluding holidays) and can save $4 on all weekend shows by logging onto Ticketmaster and entering the coupon code: MOM.

Have you seen ZING ZANG ZOOM? What did you think?

We were given tickets to see and review ZING ZANG ZOOM. If you and your family would like to see the show, please do take advantage of the reduced Sassafrass rate.

A pause before the parent-teacher conference

Before the in-depth discussion of gross motor skills, code-switching, class leadership and imbuing a sense of responsibility for caring for others, letter shapes and sounds, independent play, and the sad goodbye to regular weekday naps, I paused at one of my favorite cafes.

I had a list of things to do on my brand new bad ass iPhone (which I am sure sounds more like "EeeeeeeeeePhone!" when I squeal about it), but there wasn't time to get too deeply involved in calls and follow-up messages and digging back through my inbox for those nagging, unanswered emails. I'd already used up most of my time to be productive running back home for a forgotten backpack and lunchbox. And because I stopped there to do a few little distracting tasks, I raced back to the school once again without the backpack and lunchbox. At that point, with just shy of a half-hour left, there wasn't ample time to make one more trip or worry about much else than a few articles in a paper from yesterday left behind and a random text from a friend.

I took that time to sip a very strong latte, have a few bites of one of my very favorite sandwiches -- brie, prosciutto and fig jam -- and let my sore legs and buzzing mind rest.

Not too much time passed before I headed off to Lil E's parent-teacher conference, where his teacher told me all is happy and well and on target for him in the classroom. I was at ease to hear what I knew but still was reassuring to hear and, for the first time, to enjoy that time alone, without the tension of having The Ex sitting beside me.

We covered a lot in twenty minutes, and after that, there was still one final trip home and back to be sure my boy had a sandwich of his own to eat for lunch. It was a busy morning, but the deep breath of that time for coffee and a bit of breakfast lingered.

I wonder what my days would be like if I pushed pause, if only for fifteen minutes, on more of my mornings.

Linkety dinkety doo: I used to send crapmail forwards, now I just put it all here

I ran 11 minutes in a row today, lovelies. ELEVEN MINUTES! This is nothing to all of you who are seasoned runners and those of you who don't spend a majority of your life elevated in five-inch heels. But for me, it is big. Eleven minutes is a little bit longer than the block of commercials in between each really important, intellectual, action-charged segment of "The Hills". It's way longer than I can be on a dating site without doing a screen grab of some poor sucker's profile and emailing it with snarky comments to all of my grrrlfriends. Hell, it's even longer than I can stand to sit still on the couch before I grab my laptop. Far more impressive to think of it that way.

While I'm busy sweating and sprawling myself out on my dining room floor  rehydrating and stretching, here are a few bits for you to ponder. As soon as I can speak again, let's discuss thoroughly. We will also discuss how in the name of all things gloriously rack-related, Lynda Carter kept it all in the bustier, even if she only ran a few feet for each take. Until then, this stuff:

• When he turned five, Lil E graduated from the big Duplo block to itty bitty Lego. It's pretty incredible to see what he can already put together. It's also pretty maddening to search the entire interior of the car in the dark to find the tiniest plastic light saber of all time (Lego Anakin needs some serious grip strength rehab). Maybe one day, if the passion and the playing continue (and if a good portion of the pieces steer clear of the seat cushion cracks), my boy will graduate to this level of Lego awesomeness. How cool is that?

• When I saw that Single Mom Survives created videos for Follow Friday on Twitter, I had to check her out. I can barely get a list together of the people who write tweets that make me go from skim to laugh in 140 characters, so I was all kinds of impressed by her. I immediately followed every single person she recommended. How could I not. And then, something magical happened. She featured me in her next round of Follow Friday videos. I was so excited, I messaged her to say she was bringing me to tears. She promptly told me to shut up or she would come steal my shoes and make me cry for real. I am a little in love with her now. Check it out here. I am #FFfamous, y'all! And in fabulous company, too.

• While you're at it, do visit me on Twitter. My tweets are protected (like my heart, my shoes, and the 4,000 random facts about Clone Troopers passed on to me in confidence during the morning commute) but if you ring the bell, I will very likely let you in to the party.

• Speaking of what happens in my car...why, yes, lots and lots of jamming out. As much of a vehicular rock star as I am, there is a reason I will never ever turn a camera on while I am shaking and singing on the stage of my C-RV. And if I ever waiver, I will let this be a reminder of why it's good to just live in the moment rather than archive it online for all time.

Sweetness, cubed

My patience was tested cropping and printing and cutting photos for a class project Lil E brought home last week. The kids had to create a cube, and on each side, place or draw a picture of some aspect of their family life. They are in the middle of a big unit on families, which is important to both Lil E and me, as he learns about all the ways these kids he knows live differently and similarly to our own.

That meant a small project had big meaning. I dug and dig for recent pictures of him with his dad, only coming up with a few that we've already used for other class projects. We narrowed down which parts of our life were important and which he wanted to share on this piece of construction paper folded into too few spaces. He made thoughtful choices and I tried -- hard -- to minimize my irritation with a tempermental printer and ink that smears easily to put together this mosaic with my boy.

The first photo to finally be glued on the cube was in the "favorite family vacation" spot, and shows a very happy and relaxed Lil E and me on the fine, white sand of Anna Maria Island, Florida, with the blue, blue sky and bluer water behind us. We sat silently for a moment, staring at ourselves in that photo.

In the end, it wasn't an easy trip, but it is one we will take again early next year. I felt a wave of comfort wash over me just thinking that, in a few months we will be back there, that we have these plans in place. As a family.

Lil E chose to use a side of his cube to draw a picture of he and his dad swimming in a pool in Portland, alongside the photos from his Star Wars party and steering the boat at the lake and the two of us sitting on the porch of my parents house. It was work getting those individual pictures to fit just right. But after some shifting and editing and trimming and negotiating, it all came together. It looked just like it should.

I loved seeing him turn that cube over and over in his hands on our way to school. Watching from the rear view mirror, it almost looked like a flip book -- Mommy and Lil E, Daddy and Lil E in the pool, Florida, Lake, Star Wars party, holidays.

And yes, while it all and we all do meld in some way, I selfishly love that this is the picture he chose to replicate in a follow-up to the cube class project.

I love the ocean and the half-sun and the grains of sand. I love our hands holding on to one another, his spiky hair, sunglasses and the detailed surf shirt. I even love my googly eyes behind big glasses and the strange appearance of a coconut swimsuit (swimsuit! swimsuit! that's what we're choosing to believe it is). There we are, floating silently and still for a very brief moment, one turn away from everything and everyone else.

Coming to town

Whenever I think of the circus, I can almost immediately smell the warm cotton candy and my eyes get all hazy with the thought of glittery costumes and bedazzled horses and acrobats hanging from trapeze swings and rings suspended from the rafters and each other.

I love the circus, and last year I loved watching Lil E light up in the same ways I did as a kid. And honestly, I had more fun watching it than I ever dreamed way back then that adults could have if they weren't swinging flashing light-up wands and clown noses.

So when I was offered tickets to take Lil E and my parents back to the circus when it comes to town this week, I quickly shuffled our schedule to make sure we would be there to see a new show that I imagine will stir up all those same nostalgic feelings.

Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey's ZING, ZANG, ZOOM tour lands in Chicago tomorrow night and runs through Thanksgiving weekend. This show promises to include magic and illusionists alongside classic acts like human cannonballs. After our visit this weekend, I will be putting up an honest review of the show that I promise will only be biased if there are baby Bengals or I get a full stick of pink cotton candy to myself.

Ringling Bros and Barnum & Bailey has kindly offered a reduced ticket rate to Sassafrass readers. If you'd like to slide into the holiday season by getting your own ringside seats, simply click here for more information. Sassafrass readers can purchase tickets at a special rate of $44 for a 4-pack of tickets (valid Monday-Thursday and Friday Matinees, excluding holidays) and can save $4 on all weekend shows by logging onto Ticketmaster and entering the coupon code: MOM.

Clawed

While Lil E is off on Halloween adventures with his dad before coming home to trick-or-treat with one of his buddies and scare up a special pizza dinner, I will be on NBC's "Weekend Morning Show" talking about cutting back on sugar for your kiddos this holiday weekend. Please do not judge me if I leave the studios and let my kid O.D. on high-fructose corn syrup and whipped-up orange lard. (I kid. We really did and will follow the five tips I will offer up -- my dad's fingers are crossed for this anchor -- to Nesita Kwan.)

I imagine Lil E's tossing and turning with dreams of sugar-free plums and spider rings in his head. I'm not in bed yet because I'm too busy staring at my pumpk-spired piggies and fingers. Lil E so cutely obligingly squealed, "Oooh! Your little fingers are so fancy, Mommy!" that I made him say it three times fast. (Not kidding about that.

I'll see you from the airwaves tomorrow. And if you miss it, worry not. I will surely shove the clip down your throat since the Milky Ways and Blo-Pops will not be there.

Exactly the kind of autumn I can handle

It was cold this morning, so cold I made Lil E grab a fleece hat on our way out the door. So cold that we've been waffling between wearing our winter coats and adding an extra layer underneath our fall jackets.

It is too chilly for this time of year, I keep saying and thinking as the heat kicks on and I crawl underneath my comforter or turn the faucet so the water in the tub is just a little steamier. And this morning, as I stepped out on to the balcony to test if we would need those hats and coats, I did want to turn right around and go back to bed or at least into the warm comfort of the bath.

But the morning wore on, and later, when I stepped back out on to the balcony, I found the sunshine there. It was warmer and I could see all of the signs of fall that I love emerge. A smattering of red oak leaves seemed to reach out to me from the tree in the yard. The mums on the neighbor's porch below seemed brilliant among the dark green and brown and gold grass and shrubs. It was pleasant, peaceful, even pretty.

I got a cup of coffee, left my coat inside, and sat on my balcony, soaking it all in for a few perfect minutes. This won't last much longer. In fact, the sun is already fading behind gray clouds. And this autumn will become winter all too soon.

But today, I got to stretch my legs and feel a little of the fall I love, caught on my balcony, my bare arms, and right in front of me.

Pumpkin with pumpkins

We took a day this weekend and drove to Wisconsin to see some dear friends who we haven't seen in far too long -- since the day after our family changed forever, to be precise. We pulled in to their driveway as very different people and still, once we exchanged hellos and hugs and reintroduced the kids, it was really very much the same as it always was.

Lil E got to geek out on Star Wars with the boys, playing, dueling light sabers, and watching "Return of the Jedi" on a projection screen. I got to spend a long time catching up with one of my favorite friends, Katie, about little details and major life transitions.

As we talked, I kept having flashes of all the moments Katie and I had, beginning as coworkers and quickly becoming friends. There were many escapes from our offices to eat chicken dumpling soup and whisper about the conservative old men we worked with. There were Halloween parties with cauldrons of sangria and crazy suburban scrapbooking get-togethers and secret meet-ups to edit resumes. There was the moment that I believe defined our friendship, when Katie called during my first attempt at letting Lil E cry it out during nap time. I picked up the phone sobbing almost as much as my baby was in the other room.

"Jessica, listen to me carefully," she said. "Go in to your bedroom, close the door, and talk to me. Trust me. He will be OK."

Every ten minutes or so, she would pause our conversation and ask if I could still hear cries. Finally, 47 minutes in, he'd stopped.

"You did it," she said calmly, sweetly. "You survived. I'm proud of you. Now call me at nap time tomorrow and we will do it again. And again and again until he goes down without crying."

I will never forget the care and the guidance she gave me that day, how she helped me carry out the choice I'd made and how concerned she was that I was as safe, sound, and OK as my boy.

Today, Katie and her husband and boys took Lil E and me to a pumpkin farm, where the kids climbed bails of hay, did somersaults in the bouncy house, squeamishly fed llamas and goats from their own wiggly hands, and picked out pumpkins to take home. As we tromped through a corn maze with our silly, leggy, talkative boys, I asked Katie if we would have ever believed the scene if we'd been shown it on fast forward ten years ago when we met.

"Oh no!", she laughed, and I tried to imagine what we looked back then in our suits and with our Franklin Covey day planners, what was important to us, what we dreamed lay ahead of us.

It wasn't this. But this...this is so much better.

The only change I'd make is seeing Katie and her family more often.  But even if it is another two years before we meet in person again -- and I am going to do my best to make sure it isn't -- I know we will be back up in Wisconsin, picking out pumpkins and picking up right where we left off with each other, no matter how much our lives may changed.

Under foot

I saw this little leaf while I lapped the park on my walk today and for the next four minutes, I found myself hoping over and over again that it would be there when I got back around.

Instead of finding it, the leaf blew toward me and stopped just short of where I might have stepped. I bent down to it, snapped a picture with my phone, cranked up my music and walked on. It was sunny and I couldn't even really see what image landed on my phone screen.

When I got home, I realized the shape that the shadow cupping the leaf made and it made me pause again.

It reminds me of Ruth Kaiser, the photographer who now makes her living collecting photos of unintentional smiles. She takes pictures of smiles in cigarette butts, mac and cheese, trees, wherever they appear to her. She considers it her mission, her way of seeking and spreading goodwill.

Maybe it could be mine to take a break when I'm breezing by, to find those little signs, not of smiles but of love. Maybe seeing it, really seeing how it emerges in the world around me, will help me capture a bit more for myself.

Or maybe it was just a divine moment that I was lucky enough to fall upon today.

Smoke signals

Last night as I finally finished my post on Lil E's birthday party and was trying to wrap up an IM conversation that my tired brain was struggling to keep up with, I heard the wail of sirens creep into my thoughts.

I've spent most of my life hearing these city sounds and am so accustomed to them that they rarely grasp my full attention. Last night, though, the sirens and lights were followed by yelling and doors slamming, and I couldn't ignore what seemed to be happening very close to home.

I pulled back the curtain to find emergency vehicles lining my street and a swarm of first responders making their way down the block. A two-flat three doors down from me was on fire and my snoozy night was now frightening close to the epicenter of a trauma scene.

I never saw flames. But there was lots of smoke and the sounds of glass breaking and water flooding the building. It was cold and as the elderly people were being escorted and wheeled from the burning building, I wrapped myself in a blanket and watched anxiously from my porch. Who doesn't have a fear of fire? Who doesn't freeze up thinking about how everything you own and maybe the people you love could be swept up and way so quickly?

The 1 a.m. darkness was punctuated by red and yellow lights, the stillness of my block was drenched in tension as neighbors emerged in pajamas and coats to see what was going on and to rush over to help.

Our building and the other homes surrounding the one that is now gutted and soot-stained, is safe. My son and the other children living here slept soundly and safely while another family's life fell apart. Prayers ran continuously through my mind while I checked on Lil E in his bed, while I stood outside with shaking knees, while I tried to ease the adrenaline so I could finally go to bed just before 3 a.m.

I prayed for that family, who I do not know but have seen in what might have been one of their most awful moments. I prayed for the old man who did not survive the fire that seems to have started and engulfed his bedroom. I prayed for the firefighters and paramedics and pastors and police officers on the street below me, moving and working steadily through the chaos that a fire is. I prayed for us, in the home that we are blessed to have, with our health and togetherness and late-night calmness.

All the tiny irritations and issues I had during the day seemed even smaller. When I finally crawled deep into my covers, I said a last prayer of gratitude for that frightening feeling of vulnerability. I could do that because we were safe, I know, but the reminder was an important one. We are fragile, this is all precarious and momentary.

Last night, that brought me clarity and deep breaths. Deep and cleansing breaths that drowned out the sounds of radio calls and ambulances pulling away toward the hospital, of neighbors heading inside and closing doors, of ladders being lifted back on to trucks.

Today, everything could change. And one day, it will. For better or worse or somewhere in between, it will change. Last night, we were just outside of fire, but we were OK. We were completely OK.

An update: There is always a lot of controversy about how this city is run. It is the nature of Chicago politics and is emphasized by the hype of potentially hosting the 2016 Olympics. Whatever criticism you have, however, is met by what I saw last night and this morning as firefighters distributed smoke alarms to the houses on my block. Incidentally, reports from the scene say that there were no working smoke detectors found in the building that caught on fire.

I'm told the fire was a "one-roomer" and not very big. Still, it was right there. So close. So, so close.

We say goodbye to Kiddieland

I didn't realize how sad I am that Kiddieland is closing next week until we pulled into the parking lot and I saw the sign. The same sign that welcomed my brother and me for special birthday visits and summer excursions for years and years when we were kids.

Once upon a time, my brother and I clamored for the small Ferris wheel with cages to keep small children safely inside. We rode the carousel. We cranked away on the push-cars. We rode and rode and rode the roller coaster, even if it was (just a little) scary.

Now we were back at Kiddieland just days away from Lil E's birthday, riding many of the same rides I remembered and some new(ish) ones. The long line was not what I remembered but shelling out a small fortune for tickets and hot dogs in stale buns seemed very much the same.

It was all blue skies and sunshine and squeals and just a fabulous day. And because I am the mommy this time around, I did something my parents rarely agreed to -- I splurged on some deliciously warm and fresh cotton candy as we left the park. 

It saddens me that this place that brimming full of simple, memory-making, child-centered fun will soon vanish into thin air, and that the space (as we've heard) will rise up again as one more Costco in a long stretch of suburbia.

We had our day in the sun and now more than every, you will be missed, Kiddieland.

[Lots of photos after the jump.]

When Monday finally fell

My Monday began at 1 a.m. I intended to be in bed much earlier. To have a long bath, maybe even really read the words in Real Simple magazine rather than just rub my fingers over the pretty, pretty pictures. Instead, I was making a ham sandwich on a mini bagel for Lil E's lunch, filling a snack bag with fishy crackers, trying desperately to think through the cloud of exhaustion rising up in my brain to come up with a poem and drawings to decorate the daily note I tuck in his "Attack of the Clones" lunchbox.

I couldn't do it. I was too tired and the note would have to wait until morning.

Ahhh, morning. Six short hours away. Five, by the time I straightened up, washed up, crawled into bed. It was not the restful sleep I needed, and it was my own fault for staying up to do more work and talking than I really needed to. Rather than dwell on what I could've/should've/blahblahblah, I put on a dress and red lipstick. My 4-inch heels didn't hide my tired eyes, but they helped me walk -- or run -- through my morning.

I sped through breakfast, coffee, traffic, preschool drop-off. From there, I headed downtown for a blogging event. I hunted for parking while on the phone with my mom, devising a list of party supplies for Lil E's birthday. I rushed into the event, drank more coffee, caught up with mama bloggers I haven't seen in a long time.

Although I had lovely mini-massage and a de-stressing cool stone eye treatment, I couldn't shake the tired-hyped feeling. I listened carefully during the presentation, asked questions, tried only to peek under the table a few times to survey the shoes of the women sitting around me. But my attempts to be quiet and still were disrupted when I knocked over my champagne glass, slashed my thumb, made everyone turn and look, and a few run for tissues, a bandage, a trash basket.

As the event wound down, my parting conversations took on a happy but high energy. I pulled myself away, rushed out the door, rounded the corner, and looked up to see the meter maid placing a ticket under the windshield wipers on my car. I was hurrying. I was too late.

The rest of the day had this pace. I felt pulled to get away from my laptop, turn off the noise, go for a long walk to stretch my legs and quiet my thoughts. But there was too much to do, and pretty soon, there was preschool pick-up and a trip to the park, dinner, laundry, a bath for the boy, and bedtime.

I only stopped when I had to.

Then, the stillness came as it often does, curled up with my boy in a single bed, with a book and kisses on damp hair, prayers of thanks for whatever kind of day it was, the same songs I sing every single night. Wrapped in each other, time unwinds, worries ease, everything seems to float out of the room. Nothing is left but the shallow breath of this child against my chest, the darkness, hours ahead to let everything else go.

There are some nights when I wish I had a partner to turn to, to ask to please go in and see why the kid is still not asleep. There are early morning hours when I have cursed the world that I am cleaning up wet sheets or tending to a sick child all alone. There are times when I wish there was someone listening adoringly on the other side of the wall while I am singing lullabies. 

Most nights, though -- this Monday night -- I wanted that bedtime all to myself. I wanted to soothe my son to sleep with the safe, happy routine that share nearly every night. I also wanted it to soothe me. Just for me. I wanted it to make the $50 parking ticket and big Band-Aid on my bloody thumb and blogging mania all disappear while we read about Henry and Ribsy, while I pulled him close to me, while I drifted off for a little while.

The work would wait another ten minutes. All of my choices aren't exactly right and I know I don't control very much anyway. No matter the mayhem, I can choose to end the first day of my work week in exactly the way I wanted to begin it. I can do that.

On this September 11th

Today, I walked and walked and walked. I have route that is familiar now, looping around the park near my house so I can peer in at the commuters sitting in still cars on the busy street while I breeze past, and then cutting through so I can watch the kids on the playground, the mothers nursing babies from benches nearby, the homeless people watching the world from blankets on the grass, the dogs and bikers and softball players and other walkers.

I watch as I walk, taking it all in. But I drown out the sounds of laughter, barking, honking, and parents yelling for kids that it's time to go home with music, usually loud, always with a beat that keeps my feet moving.

Today, the music was calmer, contemplative. I was enveloped in sun, I was surrounded my people and I was listening to this song by Iron & Wine.

It's "The Trapeze Swinger" and it is one of my favorite songs of all time -- up there with "Diamonds in the Soles of Her Shoes" by Paul Simon, "Polaroids" by Shawn Colvin, "Hallelujah" as sung by Jeff Buckley and "32 Flavors" by Ani DiFranco. The rhythm is hypnotic, the lyrics are exquisite and it speaks right to my soul.

Please, remember me
Happily
By the rosebush laughing
With bruises on my chin

it begins, and comes nearly to a close with

Please, remember me
Seldomly
In the car behind the carnival
My hand between your knees
You turn from me
And said 'The trapeze act was wonderful
But never meant to last'

I played it twice, and as it began the second time, the thought came to me that I hope someone knows to play this at my funeral. It wasn't a sad or mournful thought. It was an affirmation, an overwhelming sense of peace.

There's a lot up in the air for me right now. I am slowly mending my heart, carefully tending to how well I take care of myself, while maintaining a life that is often set to fast forward.

But today is September 11th, eight years from the day I evacuated my downtown office and later sat affixed to the television. That September 11th, I could not take my eyes off of the news, the stories, the panic, the reports, the pictures that silenced our nation. But much of the noise of that day was drowned out by streaming prayers and tears and fear.

This September 11th, I understand even more what it means to survive, both national disaster and life-altering trauma much closer to home. No matter how many years pass, no matter how much I am able to plan the details of my own funeral, the thankful feeling does not fade.

This day, I am grateful to be walking, warm, filled up music that moves me, surrounded by people I love and many I do not even know. I am grateful -- as I am sure you are -- to be alive.

Two years ago, this is what preoccupied my September 11th.

Last year, I meditated on moving through all tough times.

This year, I am centering on changing the world by finding peace within.

Nailed (and not the fun way)

My honed-in, on-top-of-it, fully-in-control efforts to take good care this weekend came to a screeching halt only seconds after I pulled out of the parking space, the car full of shorts and swimsuits, floaties and trashy magazines.

I had a flat. Not the kind of flat tire you can (ahem) ignore until your dad looks at you like you have absolutely no knowledge of the intricacies of the machine you operate multiple times a day (more ahems). No, the kind of flat tire you can hear flap-flap-flapping, even above the cranked up Jackson 5 and child with the incessant questions about why we can't have saltwater taffy for dinner if we are technically on a holiday weekend.

Did I mention I was wearing a dress? And heels?

By some lovely fortuitousness or fate, my downstairs neighbor pulled up just as I hopped out to investigate my tire. He asked what was wrong. I tried not to burst into tears. What in the world was I going to do?

If I pull back the camera, if I take a deep breath, I know that a flat tire is a very small obstacle. I also know that I can change a tire myself (right?!...right?...maybe?...probably?...I think so).

But there I was with a car full of kid and bags and just wanting to get on the road so I could take care of myself already and I was completely halted by nothing more than (I would later find out) a nail crammed into my tire. I felt like I was on the brink of irrationality, tears, and some internal rant about how this was surely The Ex's fault for some reason or another when the neighbor asked me if I'd like his help.

I felt a Rolodex of skills I am sorely lacking, things I really should know, stuff I've never learned flip through my brain. How could I be the only adult in a household and not know how to change a tire? Or an air conditioning filter? Or the stubborn lightbulb over the shower? What in the hell am I doing? Would this qualify me to have my feminist card confiscated? How in the world am I going to thrive as a single mom if my household knowledge is at the elementary level. It was a fast and furious downslide of questions and confidence. It was a sudden and sharp feeling I know surfaces often for many single parents -- one of being in it completely alone.

I have not been very good at asking for help, although I have gotten better since I've become a single mom. And I am not even that good at accepting help, although I need it more than I have at other points in my life. Even in this moment, standing there in pink ruffles and patent leather, I hesitated.

But then it dawned on me -- really in just milliseconds, in a message that seemingly fell from the trees -- that saying yes to help is an act of self-care as well. I nodded.

He came back a few minutes later, still wearing a tie and dress shoes, carrying a something called a Super Jack. Even though I insisted on loosening the lug nuts myself so I contributed at least a little bit, my neighbor completely changed the tire for me. No big deal, no complaints, no worries.

We talked about our kids going back to school and the conservative healthcare crazies and whether we'd be renewing our leases in the building where we live. All the while, he cranked and cranked and fit and re-fit my tires.

A half-hour and many thanks later, we were on the expressway headed out of town. I had a grease spot on the front of my dress and we were already anxious to make a dinner stop. But we were OK. We were on our way.

Even better, I felt grateful, assured, calm. I was already a few miles down the road of taking care of myself.

P.S. Just so we're all a bit more prepared: Here's a step-by-step video by a young woman in a janky tank top of how to change a flat tire. Not that YOU need it. Mostly, it's just for me.

Sometimes, self-care is quiet and still. Other times, it is silky and on sale.

When I told you I was going to seize this time to take better care of myself, I wasn't kidding. The other 4,321 times?  Yeahhhh, mildly serious. This time? I am truly putting forth the best effort I can in the moment. In the past, I've told myself I need to take better care, I should take better care. Now, I am just choosing to, and that has made all the difference.

It has made so much difference, in fact, that I happily packed my running shoes and workout clothes for our trip to my parents' lake house this weekend. While we are there, I am choosing not to stress out about the God-awful cell reception and nonexistent Internet connection and have told all my friends I will be out of touch until we are back in the swing of school and schedules next week.

Of course, I will only be out of touch with my 2.0 life. I will be sitting in the sand while Lil E plays in the water, taking cocktail cruises on the pontoon boat with my parents at sunset, and maybe even taking in a third-run movie in town or a bad sitcom in syndication at the house. I may do something radical, like read a whole magazine. I'm crossing my fingers for good estate juju that creates the good stress of shoving a 1950s red-vinyl-and-chrome kitchen table set into the back of my car or choosing between gawdy-awful old lady jewelry.

And if it gets to be too much or I get antsy being unplugged, then we may come home early and take care of laundry and grocery shopping and other details. We shall see.

Just to balance all this om-like behavior, do know that my better-cared-for self is also screaming for this silky number. I am pretty sure it will soothe my spirit as much as the walking and quiet time. And since I don't have any dinner dates lined up for the near future, maybe someone can partner with me in my efforts to choose me and plan a wedding that I can wear it to. Anyone? Anyone willing to help a sister out?

Some people write strongly worded letters: My own little way of flipping off Mother Nature

I had a thought this morning at 8:17 when the thermometer on my porch read 57-degrees: I hope that I haven't jinxed away the last drops of summer by ordering cold-weather boots.

As tempting as it is to think that my shoes have the power to bend the meteorological happenings of the planet, I really do recognize that I only react to the weather.

Even after those boots arrive on my doorstep, I will be reacting by wearing my sandals and peep toes until snow makes my little toes numb (as opposed to the normal numbness that comes with the height of the heel and squeezey point of the toe). My feet need to feel the breeze, even if it is frigid. Look at them today. My feet think it is Fourth of July and I'm out scrambling for back-to-school supplies and fleece jackets.

Taking the stance that I will be wearing my summer shoe wardrobe absolutely as long as possible also means I can procrastinate hunting around in my basement for my winter wardrobe. I adore every one of the sweaters and wool dresses and pairs of closed-toes in the big box marked "COLD WEATHER HELL GEAR" but the thought of just makes me feel whiny and stifled now.

Of course, it is only the first of September. And, who knows? It could be 90-degrees tomorrow. We could have a heat index of a gazillion after Labor Day. Sure, it's a tad too hopeful, but it has happened before. There could also be a blizzard (knock wood platforms). Either way, I won't be hunting around for my clicky-clicky summer shoes. Oh no. Regardless, they will already be on.

Just about the only thing that's going to make me OK with it being fall during summer

It's the end of August and for days, it has been the middle of October. I'm not OK with it. I want sticky, hot humidity that outwits hair straighteners and car air conditioners. I want sunburns and mid-day clothing changes. I want blissful, blissful sunshine blazing at a heat index of 412-degrees.

Instead, it is raining. A lot. We are freezing in our central air and I refuse to give up my sunglasses, even if it there is a 10 p.m. overcast darkness at noon. 

So what is keeping me going when the last before-back-to-school hoorahs of hours at the park and walks by the lake and trips to the nearly closed Kiddieland are foiled and we just end up watching a lot of crap "Phinneas & Pherb" or playing endless games of Clone Troopers vs. whatever lady Star Wars character I plead with Lil E gets to use a light saber just this once? I'm not going to lie -- it's shoes.

Specifically, it is a pair of boots. This pair of boots. A pair of boots I tried on in Portland, walked around in at a cute little store while wearing a sundress and heat rash. In the moment, I was too lazy to carry one more thing on the plane ride home with me and too frugal to give a commission to the eager sales woman who hastily scraped the hell out of my calf insisting on zipping them up for me, and so I didn't buy them. But when a gorgeous 84-degree day in Chicago suddenly turned into a thunderstorm, I got online and finally tracked them down here.

Sweet relief.

Oh, friends. Look at these the lovely, lovely leather beauts. Not only are they tall, sleek, and bad ass, they are waterproof -- perfect for my rigorous commutes from my front door to the car across the preschool playground and back again. Won't those 4- and 5-year-olds think I am something? OK, no. But it will make me feel better about not having a proper summer after a winter that hellishly lasted until June 17th.

Just don't judge me if I am wearing them with a sundress and some aviators. Or if I still am carrying my flip-flops around in my bag, just in case.

A word to the shoe whore wise: These boots are not for the full of calf. And according to the fascists who design boots these days, anyone with calves bigger than their wrists are considered full of calf. I detest this. Not enough to stop buying leather boots, but I detest it. These do adjust a bit at the top and the sales lady who ripped up my legs assured me that she has a pair and they stretched to accommodate jeans. I have absolutely no information about the thickness of her jeans, but I am going to give that 22-year old stylista the benefit of the doubt.

Postcards from the Oregon coast: We dipped our toes in the ocean

To a Midwestern city grrrl like me, there is nothing closer to heaven than feeling the tide rise up to meet your ankles, seeing the stars clear and bright in a dark sky, and hearing any natural sound above the screech of cars and sirens and skateboards. 

I love my home in the city and it us truly where we belong. But my heart is at ease at the ocean, on a hiking trail, and where the foul smell of patchouli almost is over-powered by the aroma of good coffee and much better microbrews.

We left the patchouli stench of Corvallis in the last weekend of our first solo vacation for the coast of Oregon. We weren't solo at that point. My good friend Paula accompanied us, and made arrangements for us to stay at a lovely little hotel right on Nye Beach, just outside of Newport.

Any anxieties of work or anything else left my body the moment I saw the blue of the ocean. As I always do when I hear the waves clamor against the sand, I felt small, insignificant, at ease. There is nothing like that feeling, nothing like a reminder of the speck of sand you are in the universe to make it easy to put off (maybe even forget) deadlines, dating, dealing with an ex.

Lil E wanted to surf in the Pacific (I love him). But once he felt the water on his toes, he conceded to just running along the tide line in the sand. We did eat great seafood and shopped in lovely little boutiques. We woke up the sea lions who lazed at the Newport piers by barking at them. We went for a tour of one of the best aquariums in the country, petted the starfish and rays, stared at the tanks of amazingly beautiful jellyfish, and clapped as the seals and sea lions performed tricks during feeding time.

One day, though, I promised him we'd be back in wetsuits to ride some of those waves.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Postcards from Corvallis: And he ran, he ran so far away

Ten years ago, I couldn't wait to drive out of Corvallis, Oregon for good. I left with a wad of cash The Ex and I combined from our closed bank accounts, driving a UHaul, pulling a 1981 green Volvo station wagon. I was delirious and in a tradition my college roommate and I started when we screeched out of the small Missouri town for breaks, I flipped off the whole city as I drove away.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck you, Corvallis!" I screamed. Rebellious, I know.

I thought of that last week when I drove over the bridge where I once flailed expletives. This time, I was driving into town. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and let the happiness to be back fill me up.

I never imagined I'd return to Corvallis this way, with a boy in the backseat clinging to a light saber, visiting friends I haven't seen since I was married, relieved to reclaim this part of my past.

I went to grad school in Corvallis, laughed often at being a Women Studies major at a school that chanted "I'm a Beaver Believer." While I lived there, I was an adjunct professor, a nanny, a waitress. I lusted after a surfer, put up with a bartender, fell in love with an engineer, and found the person I thought was the one. I returned over the years to visit friends, eat my favorite dishes at the bistro where I worked, defend my thesis and claim my degree, and hope I'd run into the baby girl who I once helped raise during her first year.

Now we were back to see one friend, the fabulous Paula, who runs a blueberry farm with her husband on the outskirts of town. We came to Corvallis to wander around and just enjoy the town for what it is -- pretty, smallish, very Oregon. 

I also wanted to show Lil E the places where I lived, where his father and I met and shared a home, where that history was forged. It felt important for him to see if he will ever understand the whole story of our family, so that neither of us gets stuck in the transition or or pain drama or last couple of years.

We took refuge on the blueberry farm. We only ventured out to tour all those old apartments and a bit of Oregon State University. We stopped in for pizza and salad at an old favorite, American Dream, and find another bartender friend at a new restaurant, Aqua. Most of our time was spent walking in between aisles and aisles of blueberry bushes, cuddling up to our friends' many pets, and relaxing under twinkly lights in the hot tub Lil E kept calling the "warm pool."

The most precious postcard from this part of our trip took place in our first few hours there. After driving out to the edge of the farm and collecting buckets of blackberries and blueberries, our hands stained with the evidence of all we ate while we were out there, we climbed in the golf cart to head back to the house. Lil E asked politely if he could run along side with the dogs rather than run. It was a long way back to the house, but we agreed, cheering him on as he ran and ran and ran and ran all the way home.

We laughed when he did double-takes when the road forked through different rows of bushes and as he pumped his little arms hard to keep up with the dogs and outrace our cart.

He was so determined. And still, a sense of peace and freedom emanated from him.

I loved watching him, loved that I captured a bit of it. If it is possible, I loved him even more in those minutes.

We're back, I kept thinking. I am here with my boy and we're back.

Yes, we rode the Beaver. Shush it.

 

 

 

Casey, the not-always-friendly horse, loved Lil E.

 

Cooling off in the shed with an ice-cream sandwich and dogs Porter and Rex.

 

On the river walk just outside the restaurant where his dad and I met. I rode my bike on this path and pushed another mother's child in a stroller along the river on many summer days. So lovely to share it with my son.

 

 

Postcards from Portland: The first bit

It was time for me to go back to Oregon. I missed it terribly, needed to see two of my best grrrlfriends who live there, wanted to use the time Lil E and I had to travel in some simple and sweet way. So I booked our tickets and we headed to the Pacific Northwest for my first time in almost three years.

I went to graduate school in Oregon, and it was there that I met The Ex. When I was ready to move, he chose to join me, and we U-Hauled toward my hometown. That was ten years ago. Before our divorce, we returned to Portland several times a year, spending most of our time with his family and trying to make room in the schedule for friends, side trips, reminiscing little dinners at favorite restaurants. That seems like was a lifetime ago.

This trip, I decided, I would see Oregon on my terms, in my own way. Lil E didn't argue. He was just happy to have a backpack full of tiny toys and puzzle books for the airplane ride.

The ride is long and boring but when the plane dips down toward the mountains, the hours of unfiltered air and (someone else's) screaming babies are worth it. Once in our rental car, driving and up- and downhill into Portland, my heart opened up in my chest and tears welled in my eyes.

I felt like part of me -- a part that has been quietly tucked away for too long -- was home.

 

Ladies, black shirts, boobs. It's how it's always been with us. You can't mess with a 14-year formula like that.

We began our week with my friend, Lulu (no introduction needed; I'm sure you already love her from this and this). Lulu's has a thriving pet business, taking dogs on adventure hikes and jaunts to the park, and hosting animals at her house most days. Lulu and Lil E immediately hit it off, not only enamored with each other but with each dog she introduced us to. Lil E became her apprentice, racing off to get treats for the pups from her doggie cookie jar, petting them, whispering to them, and coaxing them into chasing a ball or Frisbee or him through the yard.

 

Boy, dog, both smiling.

[Click on through to continue reading, lovelies. Or at least make it through these pics. And not just because it took me four years to upload them. Because I am pleading because they took four years to upload.]