Pretty Boys

 This story has a happy ending, so stay with me.
There is just one side note and the rest of it is all happy. I'm only sharing the side note with you because it was incremental to the crash of my weekend I think. We arrived and took the first set of pictures.
I had become less stressed when the banner was finished and I felt that things were falling into place. We had company the night before and we stayed up late playing games rather than fretting over sewing.

I did get up early the morning of Opening Day to check the seams though and I did swing the iron a couple times of what could have been construed to be looser parts of the hem than others. Remember I chose hem tape and I did, unabashedly use a long arm stapler to staple the shirt on rather than sew it.

I did also decide I was afraid the foam letters would come off (the foam letters were an artist liberty taken by my husband who decided cutting out black felt was too time intensive and also ugly). I worried about the wind we've been having, and the foam on fabric. I decided to secure it with some fabric to fabric craft glue I had. I labored over the coloring of the letters and I still feel badly for not having a variety of colors for Julian's name. I'm not even sure which kid is Julian.
Brian said, no one will notice, no one will care, it will look great, stop freaking out. My friend who hemmed for me said the same thing.
So, I agonizingly quit fretting over sequence and on the day I admitted to you all that I had to have it ready for the next morning I set to gluing the foam.
Okay, it wasn't a joke. It glued to the carpet. I had thought about taking it outside but I worried the wind would get it. I thought, it won't glue to my carpet, I'll try just this one letter. I felt behind the letter, nothing happened after I glued it, so I let loose and glued it all. It took hours, hours. Like half an hour a name. I pressed down on them (probably my mistake) to make sure all the glue made contact with the fabric.
When I realized I didn't have room on the floor on one wall to get to those names I picked up the fabric - wait, no I didn't - it was glued to the floor. Now, adding to the Jackson Pollack finger paint stains I now have clear fabric paint markings of all the names on the team. I pulled the banner up, convinced I'd ruined it and lined the back with foil - ask me some other time about getting the foil off the next morning.

The next morning - Opening Day- I met at the field a dad who had brought me poles he thought would fit. Bless him because they did fit, perfectly, and I was spared using my only broom and mop handles.
This isn't a huge note to the story, just that I had a huge banner in one hand during the entire next sequence.
I looked for the teams and I didn't see them. I found Leif's team and left him with them with a kiss, insisting I needed to find Queak's team. I couldn't believe I was early, so I thought I had the wrong spot.
The place was filling up quickly and I wondered if I would get spots on the bleachers in front of the field.
I grabbed Queak, and I had him grab Buttercup. On the other side of Buttercup was Celia.
That is a main point. Buttercup reached up for Celia's hand and I set-off. I started walking us around the field, around the fence, looking for the other team for Queak.
We got exactly across from where we started. Brian had left to get cash.

I had bought wrist bands days before for the kids when they were on sale, I did not want to count money or tickets in what I visualized as mayhem (if it was anything like that first meeting). Still, Brian was sure that we'd need money for something. He had walked to a bank (that didn't have an atm- weirdos) and two gas stations. He finally decided he'd risk losing our parking spot and drive someplace. Which is what he did.
That left me alone with 3 children, that is not normally an issue.

We were in a large crowd but my children are good in crowds.

I pased the huge crowd who were vying for spots on the main bleachers. I passed the concession stands and I passed the ticket tents and I passed the next most main bleachers.

Then, I stopped and said, let's sit here, it is in the shade. Celia you take Buttercup and save us seats, make sure no one takes them.
Okay, she said but "Daddy has Buttercup."
No he doesn't I said, where is she?
"She went with Daddy"
No She Didn't. We had her, she had YOUR hand, where is she?
"I'm sure she went with Daddy"
Child! He left in the CAR. I saw her after that, on the side of YOU! I start swirling around, at first in slow motion, checking spot by spot.
No Buttercup.

I start shouting, "find her."
but, she went with Daddy, I'm sure!
Right then, I started thinking - I'm not crazy, I know we had her, I know we did.
I'm stood there with this huge banner in one hand, now terrified to let go of Queak or leave him with Celia so I can search. I am now spinning in circles and I scream
"stop saying that, she's not with Daddy - she's gone! Find her!"
Celia looked at me like I was mental. This would go down in history as the worst thing that ever happened between us had fate not intervened.
I thought, this is like in movies where you know everyone is an alien but no one else will believe you. Buttercup was lost and I was the only one moving.
I had to scream at Celia now. FIND HER, I'M NOT KIDDING - DO THIS NOW.
Finally, she went ambling off in the direction we had just left.

I stopped at the concessions and ticket stands, everyone was really good. Very calm - what does she look like, describe what she's wearing. Somewhere in the back of my head I thought, please don't let me be repeating this to the police soon. Somewhere in my head I'm going 20 seconds, 90 seconds, 4 minutes. Because you always hear how vital every second is in missing child cases.
I'm not seeing her. I'm scanning the crowd, feeling like I can't scan fast enough.

I get a message from Brian, he's back from the bank and parked, where am I.
I said, I know where I am, I don't know where Buttercup is. I started wheezing a little as I typed "help, please help me, honey" failed to send. I thought of dropping my phone it was slowing me up. I got a message out finally "lost Buttercup". I couldn't type more, or faster. Every time I typed 'help' my phone choked - bastard. I sometimes do think higher and malevolent forces are at hand when things like that happen.
Then, suddenly my phone shot back with "I have her, where are you?"

Now, before you too think I'm nuts and no one is an alien - he didn't have her. He'd found her, just then, in the crowd.
He said it was utterly fate, as he was just walking to find me, when he saw a child, off on its own that looked remarkably like Buttercup. Even dressed like her. He said he couldn't process that she wasn't with me (he trusts me - which made me sad for a minute) so he discounted it. But the child looked lost and the child was contemplating crossing the major intersection, the child was following the trajectory his car had taken when he went looking for an atm. At which point he ran and grabbed the child and whisked it up, to discover it was Buttercup and she was standing in traffic and I was no where to be seen.

He didn't let me have it. He didn't rub my face in it. He didn't blame me. He didn't even let me think for two seconds that everything was not okay. He said he's too long in the parenting game to have not known exactly what was going through my head and exactly the breakdown I was surely facing had she not materialized. He figured that punished me enough. I appreciated that. I also appreciated, intensely, the feeling of total let-down and relief I felt surge through me as I ran to the car and saw her in his arms. I realized I trust him too. He's always been my savior. I had a relationship before this, with another father and another little girl. A little girl that once got lost by her father at the mall, the state fair, the middle of a street and a restaurant to name a few. I remember the distinct panic I felt when she was alone with that father. That little girl is also genetically the same older girl who lost her little sister that day, during the opening ceremonies.

I said to Brian as I took him and Buttercup into my arms "I need to cry now." He said "I can well imagine." He never even asked me what happened. I just stood there shaking for a few minutes. Then I said, OK - I'm drawing a line under this. We're out to have a good day and if I spend more than 30 seconds thinking about what just happened I'll go insane. Which is why I put it away, which is also part of why I woke up feeling so foul today, because I needed to deal with what I had not dealt with yesterday. As punishment I made Celia go around to every single authority I had alerted and tell them we'd found the missing child.

She was actually quite melancholy for several hours afterwards, she chastised me a few times saying "I didn't lose you, Mommee, you lost me." Sums it up, would stand up in court. Sigh.

Now for the fun - Part 3

This year, what reminded me there was little league  was the ad that came home from the school. Also, then, signs up at the school advertising little league.
We're all friends here so I'll admit I am not a Lobos fan. I think the team sucks, I think their team mentality sucks. So there, I said it. The little league team associated with the boys' school was the lobos. Little lobos, or lobos little league or some such. I was not enchanted with the idea immediately. However, I had told the boys I'd put them in baseball and this seemed somehow a more organized idea than the after-school baseball class offered through the after-hours care people at the school.
When I started the process though I was immediately set back. Nothing I choose to do comes easily. That seems to be a common thread in my life. Firstly, they weren't great at returning phone calls and I was fretting over the small print that said 2 proofs of address required. Well that made no sense, if they cared where I lived we were screwed because my kids were transfers. Call after call, email after email and no answer on how to proceed. The deadline looming up. The second daunting factor was the price, $155 a child, no refunds. Yikes.

My oldest son was adamant he wanted to join. My younger was insecure.

Hmmm.

So I scavenged the web, looking for answers. I finally found a local little league team with a good website, only one of the 40 some in town, only one of the at least 40 some I'd already looked at or tried to contact. They had a gadget that you would type in your address and it would show you your team. It also had a neat map with the boundaries for each team clearly highlighted in a color. Indeed we were well out of the Lobos league area. I fretted over that some more, thinking of putting the boys in with strangers, and none of the kids from their school. I tried calling again to the Lobos. No answer. Typical Lobos. I was getting frustrated now and we were running out of money and I was thinking - do I bother? A friend of mine said she loved little league, she offered to help. I didn't take her help but I held it up in my head as a reason to go on. Sometimes that is actually the real help, talking me off ledges.
I went back on the website of the little league team and typed in our address. Hey - guess what - that was our team. The one with the functional website and complete contact list and phone numbers and emails of more than one person. That was our team. I had a vague sick feeling of hope. Hope and I aren't friends.
I realized we'd missed the deadline.
I gave it my one 'this is my last shot' effort. I emailed the entire board of directors. You might think I'm joking but no, not me, I was going to be sure I was going to fail so I could rest my conscience when I told the boys we'd try again next year.
The board of directors emailed me back. Two of them even called me. I had missed the deadline but they were running 2 late registrations, I could come to either. The second child was less than half price.
I went and registered one son with the promise that I could register the other if he felt he wanted to join.
He did not want to join that moment but I wanted him to. This team offered t-ball, not all the leagues seemed to have t-ball, so that excited me. I thought it was a good place to start.
We said we'd come to the big general meeting to meet our coaches.
The big general meeting freaked me out a bit. There were no fewer than fifty million people there, in one room, at a local school cafeteria. They were eating enchiladas, they all - all 50 million of them, knew each other. I walked up to the table and said "Hi, you don't know me, I'm new to this - just what the hell is going on here?" At which point one of the people burst into laughter and said "I'm on the board of directors, you're the one that emailed us aren't you?"
Wow, am I that obvious?
I was told who my team would be and I decided that since the meeting was intimidating me that's ALL I needed to know.
We left.
Soon our coach called us and said he couldn't wait to meet us. At the first practice we were given a full practice schedule and told everything we needed to do, what forms we had left to fill out and that we could call, text (yay) or email the coach, his girlfriend or his mother at any time with questions.
Who are these people and how did they land up in New Mexico? I mean this level of organization is nearly illegal here, I assure you.


Then, just because she felt like being super awesome the player's agent met my tiny-shy-boy and told me she was going to put him on a team that met his personality half way. To which end he ended up on a team of tiny, tiny, super shy, super worried looking 5 year olds. Something about this process was so endearing that I'll never forget it. Something about him not being the most freaked out kid on the field or the only kid to need 5 more minutes of Mommee-time before hitting the field really cheered me up. Somehow, just this once, fate intervened to make things better for me after giving me an unreasonably hard start.
We were thwarted in putting the boys on teams with their friends. However, we ended up with even better teams and even better coaches and surely an even better experience. Thus making Little League my new favorite thing ever to take part in as a parent.

This is an impromptu survey.
I would feel much more comfortable about posting this blog into public 'real life' if I used pseudo-names for us. Those of you following me now are close to me, and you know me and the family very well. So I'm asking for suggestions.
I need to re-name the husband
the oldest daughter
the oldest son
the youngest son
the youngest daughter
and possibly myself.
I'd like to do this now before the archives get too big to troll back through and fix.
I would like to make this blog available to the general public but I'm paranoid.
So work with me, help me, humor my neurosis, whatever you want to call it.
I'm sorely tempted to call my oldest son the drama king and sorely tempted to call my oldest daughter blind to plain sight. That's because we're having a miffy day. I'm sure there are days those won't fit.
Right? Right? Leave your suggestions as comments or email me, six of one. I read both -

Yesterday was great and maybe I can post about it later. Today, I'm run down and exhausted and I'm feeling very down.

Maybe it was the fire on the ridge (we live in the foothills and this fire was almost too close for comfort). The fire wasn't that big a deal and once again it was just a weird note to the childhood I'm severely out of touch with. I told Brian it's not a fire until it has taken some 16,000 acres with it.
Still, the kids were riled up and they even refused  to look at it. This is part of our fire-safety thing. I've gone over what to do in case of fire so many times that this fire just flew in the face of all of that. What if the fire comes from OUTSIDE the house, Mommee? What then? I explained that you get evacuated and it is not a deal. We have all the various types of house insurance, contents insurance and so forth, so at this point, you grab the irreplaceable, get in the car with your family and mentally let go. That was a tough concept and it really bothered them. They refused to see the fire as it came over the hill. The fire was still a mile or more away but it was enough to bother small children.

From behind our neighbor's house, this was a ways away and they said the flames were around 8ft. Tiny from where we were. I was just surprised to see them from my driveway.

From our driveway before I went to bed, you can almost see our neighbor's house in dark relief.

The fire was out by around mid-night, there were 2 helicopters and a lot of people on the ground. I think the fire ran about 6 hours all together.

So last night, with the smoke wafting towards our house I had a million mini-nightmares. I'd wake up every 5 minutes in a fit of nerves and go back to sleep. I wasn't actually worried.  I think the dreams were a hang-over from smelling the smoke and having to walk the kids through the protocol over and over.
I had some kind of sad but sure faith in the local authorities. I live in a neighborhood, they'd come and get us if there was an issue. I'm also a very leave it in G-d's hands kinda person. There comes a point when there is nothing you can do, so you just let go. I don't fixate on the uncontrollable - though I admit fully to over-fixating on the controllable.
The kids all woke up today telling me they had bad dreams. Fire is very atavistic, I wasn't surprised. There must have been some low lying tension in the house even though Brian was completely un-impressed by the fire and I was admittedly less than worried.
I'd texted my friend saying I'd evacuate to her house. She said the chickens could stay in the garage. We were technically taken care of.

In the meantime, yesterday, we'd had a good day (albeit with one side note - not relating to fire) and by the time we got home I realized I was physically and mentally exhausted. I had too much sun and too much sugar (not good for someone with blood sugar issues) and I fell asleep for a nap to wake to the fire. When Brian started texting me from the park I knew he was serious about seeing flames on the hill, however, I was too tired to care or take much notice of what he was saying. I told him if Fire on the Mountain were his pathetic attempts at song lyrics I was going back to sleep.

I didn't wake up much better today. 4 out of 6 of us are sporting sun burns. My husband teasing me that he thought brown people don't burn. I'm a brown person who stays pretty much religiously out of the sun and I'm half not brown - so I too am susceptible. Though he seems to think my cute little tiny sun burn on my cheeks is hugely amusing - I'm still thoroughly miffed.  I have no idea how people do this sort of thing all over their body - let alone to the point of peeling. Buttercup woke up dreaming the fire had got her, screaming her brains out, and making me put water on her shoulders. I tried to explain sun burns and while she acknowledged she was burned to this moment she thinks it happened in her dreams and just carried over to reality.

So - I will post on the opening day ceremony. I will put pictures up. I will. Just not right this moment.
I'm too bummed about losing an entire weekend to fatigue and moodiness. I need to sleep some more I think and drink some green tea and get the last of the sugar out of my system. Look, it was cotton candy - what was I supposed to do? Oh, and we got free tickets for pizza and I so rarely eat pizza that isn't homemade I confess I ate both crusts. Pizza crust is my arch enemy and that is surely where I got the the aches I have today. That and 6 solid hours of bouncy castles and dunk tanks and sun and cake walks and clowns and sun and bouncy castles and sun and wait, did I mention the sun?
This is probably why I won't go to State Fairs anymore.

The first topic up for grabs is my front bathroom soap dispenser. One of you either has it or knows where it is and none of you are talking. I've been looking for weeks now. Where is it? Did one of the kids flush it down the toilet? Did I throw it out rather than clean it? Did someone mistake it for a disposable one?
I've had 2 guests call me into my bathroom and announce I didn't have soap to wash their hands. I'd say something trite here but with my luck they are reading this. For the record there was bar soap in the bar soap "dispenser" but in these modern times that is just not what people expect to see. I'm surprised I am so last century I mean they sell those touchless ones at BBandB. So very international airport, not touching my soap dispenser. Did you know that according to the add I got in the mail offering 15% off, touching soap dispensers is where you pick up like half your daily germs? And in your own house too!

I can totally get with that when I'm cutting up chicken. Though it has been a long time since I cut up meat without rubber gloves. Ah, if only they could see me now. I went from Texas ranch living to being afraid of raw meat.

I'm not going to brag about being productive today because I woke up tired. I'm not productive. I feel over-whelmed and furthermore I did something hugely stupid and I offered to sew something. I thought worse case scenario I've got a needle and thread, right? I didn't think it would be hard because we have this little  The "thing" in question is a banner for the opening day ceremonies of Little League - TOMORROW MORNING.
The banner will be used once, so why should I care if I just staple it together?
I distinctly remember my mother teaching me to sew. I distinctly remember home-ec class. Though after trying to thread our sewing machine (one I got for Celia over the holidays year before  last - so she could make herself a quilt - I even bought her a quilt kit) I realized I had apparently over-fixated on stitching myself to death with the scary sewing machine needle and under-fixated on where the thread goes.
The under thread was actually what was throwing me. Why do I not remember under-thread in any of my mother's lectures?
Celia threaded the damn thing last night (that's right, I'm the older generation, relying on my younger daughter to walk and talk me through all this bright and fizzy modern technology) but it turns out it wasn't her fault it was something to do with a broken tension rod. This is why you take things out of the box and use them straight away, because nearly 18 months later you probably don't know how to return it for one with a not broken tension rod. Thingy.

So my usual savior came over and showed me how to use hem-tape. Stitchwitch. Because it was rocket-SCIENCE and the whole 3 steps of it utterly confused me. Hey look, I never claimed to be a domestic-type. People make that mistake about me a lot. They confuse staying at home with a lot of kids with being somehow house/sewing/craft savvy.

So there. I don't care if you're laughing, I don't see you hemming anything.
Now, because I've decided to continue with this whole high tech thing, I'm going to staple the decoration on it. Staple. I might use duct-tape too. Hey, I grew up in Texas, by the end of this we'll be lucky if there isn't baling wire in there somewhere. Actually, I was thinking I could string some baling wire across the top to make the frame of it a little stronger.


In the meantime, doing the laundry every day turns out to be a mistake because I forgot that to do that you have to commit to putting it away every day too!
I'm feeling over-whelmed because it wasn't spring and then it was, and now I'm feeling really rushed about getting the garden sorted. I mean at least it is the desert and it isn't like I'm going to be choked with weeds any second now. However, the forsythia bloomed last week and everyone knows what that means and I actually woke up in the middle of the night to wonder if I'd waited too long to sew the marigold seeds. Part of that is because I've been vacillating between marigold and cactus. I'm not a fan of cactus as a decorator. If pressed I'd claim that the cactus was there in my random effort to xeriscape and not at all because I feel passive-aggressive angst towards the idiots who park on my curb, trample my flowers and let their dogs pee on my mailbox. (we live across the street from a park, and the weekend party crowd as well as the soccer Moms can be less than caring about my pathetic landscaping attempts). "Wouldn't the cactus look a wee out of place with all that grass you insist on growing in the front - wouldn't it?" You ask. Well, yes, yes it would.

I'm also feeling over-whelmed because it feels like the dust is stalking me and the stains on the carpet are actually turning me against owning carpet again ever. Yet we can't afford to do away with the carpet (though I'm seriously toying with just pulling it up and painting the concrete) and put in laminate or tile or something less attractive to red finger paint. I'm bemused by the fact that every time I notice the red, finger painted carpet stain I think of my friend who told me they had a "red popsicle rule" in her house and rather than making me think, - what could I ban my children from having that would save time on cleaning and or living like my entire house is a Jackson Pollock painting I think to myself "mmmmm red popsicles...."
Pathetic, seriously. I have some in the freezer too.


I bought caulk (caulk is cheap, it turns out it is some thousand dollars cheaper than re-tiling - damn!) and I fully intend on re-caulking the bathroom because it was spotty with mold when we bought the house and I'm terrified of mold growing behind the tiles.

Oh and I'm feeling over-whelmed because I opened the garage yesterday. Really, in reality, what was I thinking? Why did I do that? My plan was to never go in the garage again and just have Brian bring me one or two things at a time to sort. Because every time I open the garage I go into a full blown state of shock and my hard-wired Jewish neurotic brain strangles my strong Texas woman brain in the night (so much for the baling wire) and I find myself on the couch - with the blog - staring at a long-arm stapler and Little League banner and thinking to myself -


Hey - did you know there's cheesecake in the fridge?