When your heart not only walks around outside your body but alternately totters unsteadily and sprints in 57 different directions and wears cutie pie hats

You know, sometimes I need a reminder that I have it really, really good.

Yesterday I was home with both kids, and it was a grey, muggy, rainy, steamy day. We walked to the park and it started to pour. We headed home, to the chagrin of India.

But before the rain, I snapped this photo. My sweet boy, taking his sister's hand, excited to head to the playground.

India has the cutest hats - multiple hats, because we keep misplacing hers - and Jordan always likes them better than his (even though his is camouflage and pretty awesome). So when I bought him the pink butterfly hat in Denver, he was delighted.

He's still young enough to love the purple Crocs he chose himself. To love the fun-colored hat. To not realize that there are stereotypically boy and girl colors.

I know this will change, and one day he'll likely be embarrassed that I let him go out in public like that. And one day they won't want to hold each other's hands, or mine, or Nick's, or Nana's, for that matter.

But I need to remind myself that these days are beautiful. And this is where my heart lives.

We're the kids in America

Last week Nick had a conference in Denver.

We were there for five days. We flew direct out of National. Denver is a lovely city. We stayed in a nice hotel. The tap water tasted great. We ate all our meals in restaurants of one sort or another.

It was the hardest trip of my life.

I say this without exaggeration. I say this as someone who has ridden on sketchy buses in the Andes, buses with drivers desperate to pass the next bus on a blind turn, buses with questionable brakes. I say this as someone who has ridden on the top of those buses, figuring that if the bus went over the side of the eroding road, straight down the mountain, I might be able to leap to my salvation.

I say this as someone who has spent a month trekking in Nepal, from where the road ends to the top of Kala Pattar, just before Base Camp, at 18,192 feet, and back. We slept in tea houses heated by yak dung, which, FYI, is a not-awesome heat source. It's hard to breathe at altitude such as that. We were so cold I didn't take off my clothes - any of them, including my hat - for an entire week.

And still, travel with my daughter, my love, my hurricane, was more exhausting, more challenging.

That said, this trip was also fantastic.

For one thing, Jordan has become a wonderful traveler. He was delightful. He was delighted.

We got to see Maude and Wendy and their families, and Jordan and Maude's son totally hit it off. That was such a joy. Really, the trip for him was magic.

Because, oh, because so many things.

The incredible Denver Children's Museum, which has a whole fire engine and so many amazing rooms of activities and why why oh why, why don't we have one of those here in DC?

The MONSTER TRUCK parked right outside our hotel. A MONSTER TRUCK. A REAL LIVE MONSTER TRUCK, WHICH CAN DRIVE OVER OTHER CARS AND SMASH THEM!

Balloons! Dear Lord do we love balloons!

The pool! Which was cold! So we hung out in towels with our friends!

 Hiding in the lobby. Annoying other patrons. Generally acting like Eloise at the Plaza.

 Sunglasses. And toy monster truck.

Lunch at the Old Spaghetti Factory, which used to be a train station, and where you can sit and have lunch with your new pal Benji in an actual old trolley car!

And last but not least, the airplane! The window seat! THE AIRPLANE THE RUNWAY THE TAKEOFF THE AIRPLANE, MAMA!

Magic, I tell you.

And all should cry, Beware! Beware! Her flashing eyes, her floating hair! *

Dear India,

While this is less than flattering, I feel like your 14th month is most characterized by your SHRILL SCREAMING.

You are lovely and joyful and hilarious, yes, and you have such a strong and charming personality, but this month I dedicate to your screaminess. Oh, and your hair. Your hair!

Your hair refuses to be tamed, and I love it. It stands straight up and waves in the breeze and it's just delightful.

But the screaming. The endless screaming.


I don't even know quite how to describe the sound. It's a combination of nails on chalk and sheets of metal being wrenched and a fork scraping on glass with some shrieking eels thrown in for giggles.

It is a noise that you pull out at the slightest indication that we are not hopping to meet your needs fast enough. I know you are frustrated because you know what you want and can't communicate it and this comes out in this song of Satan.

It is a noise that causes my blood pressure to rise, my shoulders to tense up, my temper to shorten, my ovaries to clench, my hand to reach for the wine glass.

It is the very noise that I am afraid will make every single person on the plane to Denver tomorrow loathe us for the entire four-hour flight.

Because yes! We are going to Denver! Daddy is going to a conference and we are going to see so many friends and family and yay it is going to be awesome!

Jordan is so excited. Every night we tell a story in bed, and Goldilocks and the Three Bears has slowly evolved and expanded to Goldilocks and Her Brother Jordan, Who Go to the Airport and Fly on an Airplane to Denver, Colorado.

Last night the story included Goldilocks, her brother Jordan, baby India, their mommy and daddy, their nana, their Lucy, and Molly and her daddy. All going to Denver.

If we add many more people we're going to have to charter a flight.

But this is about you. You have no idea what we're about to do, and while I think you're going to have a blast hanging out with friends, I am pretty terrified about flying with you. And shifting your time zone. And getting you to sleep in a hotel room.

Basically, the whole trip. I'm afraid you will scream and not sleep and we will not sleep and then we will all be crabby and there you have it.

You and your brother are just so different.  I was told by so many people that girls are easier, less busy. You are far more busy, and you always have an agenda. You are always headed somewhere, walking with a purpose.

Your preference during meals is to have one foot on the table, and it is enough of a struggle that at this point I just let you. So after meals I wipe your face, your hands, and your right foot.

You and Jordan are my joy, and we run around like lunatics and snuggle and giggle and have so many delightful moments. I love that you are strong, and I want to foster your strength, particularly because you are a girl.

But dear Lord, the screaming.

Love,

Mama


*Apologies to Coleridge

Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be this hard.

Whenever people say things like "oh, everything happens for a reason" or "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" or whatever those adages are, I want to punch them in the teeth.

So I don't think that we got and then let go of Lincoln Jones for a reason, and I do still feel very bad about how things went with him. I will, however, say that he was a catalyst, and that without him, Nick and I would probably still have gone on living with a dynamic that was causing both of us more and more resentment.

I think it was ultimately the right choice not to keep him, but the way the decision was made - by Nick, firmly, without trying to persuade me to agree - sent me into a tremendous crisis.

Had I married my dad? And was I my mom? Was I just a cooperative party in a marriage like that of my parents, where my dad had all the power?

Am I just playing the role of cooperative wife - quirky and artsy and funny and attractive - but not an equal? A wife expected to go along?

Nick is more opinionated in many ways, and a lot of the time, the things he wants either accord with what I want, or it doesn't matter that much to me one way or the other. I'm strong, but he's stronger; I can be mean, but he can be meaner. He bulldozes when the need arises.

So last week I hit this crisis point, where I wondered about...everything. These big decisions and commitments I'd made. This life we'd built. Everything.

Finally, after days of anger - which I didn't initially realize was, in fact, anger - I said to Nick that we so clearly have this huge power disparity in our relationship. It's not equal. It's not anywhere near equal.

And Nick, to his credit, replied that no, it's not 50-50, but life is so much more nuanced than that. Look - we live in DC because I wanted to. He wanted to stay in Virginia. This was a huge decision, dictating so many things in our lives, and he deferred to me.

(At which point I was all, oh, well, yah, that was a big one.)

He tends to make more decisions, and the bigger decisions, and he decides quickly, and is always confident that he's made the right choice.

Whereas I can spent 15 minutes in the soda aisle, trying to figure out what I'd like to drink.

Because people are complex, and because relationships are so layered, there are so many more pieces to this story. And so many more details that I cannot delve into.

But we can admit that there are some fundamental things that each of us would change about the other if we could. But you cannot change the other person. You can only change how you react. And talk about how you feel. It helps to recognize that there's no malice in our actions.

But you don't begin to change yourself until you have a reason to.

We have a lot of work to do on our relationship. And we now both recognize it and are willing to work. This is a significant hurdle to get past.

And it turns out that I am funny and quirky and stuff, but not necessarily all that cooperative. So, you know, not so much in danger of being the wifey.

Relief!

Me and Mr. Jones

I've been in a very bad no good pretty terrible place since Sunday night.

We got Lincoln Jones at noon on Saturday.  On Monday Nick took him back to the rescue place.

At 120 pounds, Lincoln's weight is not far off mine, but he's all muscle. Nick weighs closer to 300 pounds than he would like to, and Lincoln was able to pull him on the leash. 

On Sunday evening he had a huge freakout and scared Nick, who said that was it, he had to go.

Lincoln heard the elevator, and started barking and running around. Jordan and I were just about to walk out the door to pick up his poop, as Nick had forgotten to bring a bag on their walk. Apparently right after we left, he bounded across the living room vaulted onto a chest in front of one of our three large windows, and flung himself repeatedly against the window.

Thank God he didn't go through the glass, but Nick was worried he would, and grabbed his harness to pull him back. Lincoln opened his mouth as if to bite, but stopped himself. He's not a biter. He's a very sweet guy. He was just in a panic.

I feel like, fuck. Why didn't Nick take a fucking bag with him when he walked him in the first place? Why did I leave when he was already worked up? Why why why why? It's all moot, but why?

Obviously, I wasn't there. I don't know how bad it was, except for Nick's description. But when we got back, Nick was clearly shaken.

Lincoln is so big - almost too big for Nick, who is one of the biggest humans I know.

He said that was it, he had to go. He had anticipated a number of things, but nothing like running frantically around the living room and leaping repeatedly at the window in utter hysteria. Such a big dog, so out of control. And we have two small children.

Nick called the trainer we'd met with Saturday, and the head of the rescue operation. He said he was bringing Lincoln back first thing in the morning.

I spent Sunday night crying, drinking gin on our front stoop and maligning Nick to the neighbors.

It was Father's Day, which isn't my best holiday. And then he took my dog away.

On Monday morning, Nick took him back to the rescue organization.

I spent the last two days devastated. I couldn't talk to Nick until last night. Not in a punishing way, I just...didn't feel like talking to him.

When we fight, we fight angry and fast, and we get over it. That I'm used to. This wasn't a fight. This was absence of desire, absence of interest, absence of will.

He took my dog back. I felt betrayed. I felt bulldozed into agreeing. Or rather, I said I didn't agree, but I couldn't keep the dog without him. You cannot have a dog, particularly a dog the size of a horse, that one person is not willing to keep.

And he felt confident in moving forward with his decision - more confident than I felt in trying to stop him.

Lincoln is an awesome dog - and I choose that word deliberately. I wanted so badly for him to be ours. He's sweet and lovely and just a really, really nice guy. With some abandonment issues and some anxiety. (But fuck, who doesn't have those?)

I hope someone wonderful, kind, loving, and strong adopts him. I thought that was us.

You can say any of the following:

That we were crazy to want such a big dog when we had such little kids. That we didn't know what we were getting ourselves into. That we made a commitment and we broke it. That we were unfair, that we didn't give him enough of a chance. That I should've refused to let him go, and fought with Nick to keep him. That we did the right thing, that we have to put our kids first. That if he wasn't going to work out, it was better that it happened quickly, rather than in a few months when he had settled in.

I think all of these things are true. I feel terrible about the entire situation on so many levels.

I was so excited about Lincoln, and told the entire world that we were getting him. So people have been asking, in person and in email, how it's going.

So here you have it: it's not. I had a dog for a day and a half and now I don't. And I don't think we will get another one.

I still get all teary when I talk about him. I've got a lot to work through.

So I think this is all I have to say.