2009 Year-End Balance Sheet

Maximum Lincoln Safari Stops in a Single Day: 6

Trips to Colorado: 3 (Setting an All-Time Record)

Most Unexpected Holiday Guest: A blizzard.

Favorite Read (nonfiction): The Woman Behind the New Deal: The Life of Frances Perkins, FDR'S Secretary of Labor and His Moral Conscience By Kristin Downey

Favorite Read (fiction): The Senator’s Wife by Sue Miller

Naomi’s Least Favorite Realization: The existence of the Ku Klux Klan. Editor’s note: Yesh, try explaining that one to an empathetic, fair-minded, open-hearted seven year old!

Injustice Naomi Expects Me to Fix Immediately: She insists I single-handedly abolish any legislative measures which preclude gay marriage.

Favorite “Twilight Zone” Moment of the Year: Realizing my lucky life that inspires friends to travel from a great distance to Lincoln, Nebraska for the holidays. My friend, Melissa Akin, for instance flew in from Moscow. Becki Roberts descended from Morocco. (sigh) I know such interesting people with fascinating travel dockets!

2009 Resolution Realized: Running more often and a little faster.

2009 Resolution Kicked-to-the-Curb: Penning the McKibbin family holiday letter. It just didn’t happen this year. Sorry, folks.

Favorite New Recipe: Mulligatawny Soup

Favorite Race of My 2009 Season: The Colder Boulder (5K)

Linguistic Crutch of the Year: The word landscape.

Number of Babies Welcomed into the World by Family/Friends: 5 (It was like the Baby ka-Boom around here!)

Favorite Advancement of a “Green Energy” Agenda: Prioritizing Clean Energy Projects Applying for Federal Stimulus Monies.

A Shortlist of Local Enviro-Outcomes of the Stimulus Funds:
1. Lincoln-Lancaster County Health Department received $1 million to retrofit diesel engines with oxidation catalysts, and install other equipment that is designed to reduce pollution from diesel engines.
2. Lincoln shares in the state's allocation of $5 million to upgrade wastewater treatment facilities.
3.The District Energy Corporation received $5 million to construct a geothermal facility.
4.The City of Lincoln was awarded $261,985 to hire 24 AmeriCorps members heading up a Recovery Go Green initiative tasked with advancing environmental projects in the community.

All-in-all its been a good year, I think.

It Helps Me Remember Just, You Know, Who I Am

Eighteen inches of snow. Fifty mile an hour winds. Everybody stayed home for Christmas this year. The news fell hardest to the under 10 years of age cohort at our house. No cousins. No grandparents.

But after her tears dried we had a dance marathon in the living room, strung some popcorn, played board games, watched movies and ate breakfast food for dinner. By Saturday my folks were game to host a get together. McK delivered homemade cookies & candies to his mom and sister. Sunday brought a small brunch gathering at my Aunt Carol’s house. Naomi got to wear her holiday dress.

Last night I was outside shoveling (hopefully) the last of the snow and considered my grandmother. The image of her at the dining room table for brunch. Even with the small group of six she was often confused as to who everybody was. Who’s married to whom? Who are your parents? Do you have kids? At one moment though Gracele teared-up and said it's so nice to see all of you here. It helps me remember just, you know, who I am.

I’m not often moved by merriment during the holiday season. The busy schedule, the shortened daylight, cold weather, expectations, the crush of consumerism…it all makes me pretty moody. But something about the snow storm, how everybody’s plans got jumbled up and the trimmings of the season fell down with the snow. It lightened my stance. Helped me enjoy the faces of my familiars.

Under the streetlamp shoveling snow I felt an unfamiliar urge to sing. Christmas carols. To no one in particular. So I did.

Mid-December

The snow piles outside have all grown gray and gross. My front porch steps have iced over. So Naomi & her grandparents kicked this cold climate to the curb and flew off to Florida.

With finals complete I packed her up for Florida last night and they flew out this morning. As I pulled out of the airport I realized I still have a tree to trim, presents to wrap, a holiday letter to (hopefully) pen. The holidays have a lot of accouterments. Some I appreciate. Some not so much. The bright spot on the horizon, though, is to consider my weekend calendar which filled with friends I don’t have the occasion to see often.

It’s a nice time of year to live in my hometown. I enjoy the spillover effect of seeing friends and families as they are in town over the holidays. I like having a wide sense of people we’ve grown into, the lives we lead.

The occasional coffee or late night conversation with some of my familiars makes it less difficult to embrace the trimmings and cold weather that come with the season. My hope is that your calendar is similarly filled with those you love.

What the McKibbins Did With Our Snow Day Vacation

1. Cleaned House
2. Lingered in Pajamas
3. Walked Three Blocks to Meadowlark Coffee & the South Street Shops
4. Hot Chocolate
5. Scrabble Apple
6. Read Books
7. Grocery Run
8. Haircut
9. Taught Naomi How to Sew Buttons onto Her Coat
10. Spun Tall-Tales Playing "Pretend Second Grade" with Granddave
11. Became Instantly Obsessed with a TRON-eque Computer Game
12. Snowball Fight
13. Home Pedicures
14. Shoveled 10 Inches of Snow
15. Cooked a Decadent Dinner
16. Watched a Movie
    

Hopefully Lincoln Public Schools will resume classes soon. We're exhausted.

Earache

Naomi woke up Monday night with a screaming earache.

The shock of acute pain. The fog in my brain left over from the pillow. Hot tears. McKibbin and I around bumbling around the medicine cabinet. The cold air. The unwelcome sting of bright lights.

Once the Motrin kicked in Naomi crashed back to sleep with the same ferocity with which she had awakened. Her parents were not so lucky. I don’t know how long we laid in bed, staring at the ceiling.

McK and I have an anniversary this week. Nine years. So I’ve been feeling maudlin generally. While this screaming earache episode was far from a celebration of us, I can't remember the last time I drifted off to sleep quite so grateful for his company.

Like A Star

The Majority

The other night we had a difficult conversation at our dinner table. Not what one would consider a fight. No raised voices or anything. Just a genuine topic of disagreement between the three of us.

I try to be mindful that Naomi is still a newcomer to these disagreements. Especially with those we love. The next day I thought I'd check in with her about it. See how the events had sorted out in her mind.

Me: So last night we had a difficult talk at the dinner table didn't we?

N: Yep. (pause) There for a minute I thought I was going to have to eat in the kitchen.

Me: Eat in the kitchen?

N: Yep.
Me: Naomi, nobody was in trouble last night. We just disagreed. Being sent from the table only happens when we're not respectful of each other. There's a big difference between disagreeing with someone and being ugly or disrespectful to them.

N: I know. I didn't think I was in trouble.

Me: Whew, ok, that's a relief.

N: I thought I'd eat in the kitchen because I was in the depths of despair.

Me: Really?

N: Yep.

Me: The depths of despair?

N: Yep.
Me: Woah.
N: But then I remembered the cats were probably on my side. So I felt a little better.

Double Knots

I have a test this week as part of my degree program. The exam schedule has preoccupied my brain. I've spent several late nights studying, nursed large cups of coffee all day long. Eraser dregs litter the surface of every shirt I've worn in the last three days.

Yesterday morning, though, N and I were sitting on the steps. One of those mornings where I was slow to move but getting there. N checked her lunchbox, I was putting VISINE drops into my bloodshot eyes. I sniffed and blinked back the VISINE as N put her hand on my knee. She had double-knotted my shoelaces so I wouldn't trip and fall.

And, I'll be darned if, those double-knots didn't stay in all day. I didn't trip once.

At The End of All Our Wanderings

"At the end of all our wanderings, we return to the place of our very beginning, and see it, as if for the first time." T.S. Eliot

Each year I put together an Annual Summary document for work. It's a justification of my job, and proof I earn my keep. My supervisor then uses this Annual Summary as part of a performance evaluation. The write up is a lengthy undertaking, but one I don't mind. It helps me focus less on what I haven't accomplished and take a moment to appreciate what I have.

The write up landing on my supervisor's desk this morning was seventeen pages long. All in all, it has been a big year. Not just at work. Without deciding to I took up the habit of pushing against the edges of the comfortable skin I've occupied.

Did I tell you I took a personal finance course this spring? My checkbook is in no better shape but it seriously broadened my grasp investments and banking vocabulary. I kicked my running pace up a notch, and took a six-week progressive yoga class. I started this wacky on-line engineering program. Made a habit of reading more, listening to my kid more often than advising her, and casting around for new recipe ideas.

I'd call it a transformational year. One in which, my husband could attest, I've been moody and cranky most of the time. The learning curve comes more slowly than I'd like. Any sensation of progress or forward motion is fleeting. And, let's face it, I'm a bit of a drama queen to begin with...so you can imagine.

It isn't that I've morphed into someone else, cured my long laundry list of flaws, or mastered a new field of study. It's that I decided to be unafraid and un-embarrassed by my shortcomings. I dug into a fresh landscape of study. Found new slants on my familiars. Piped up when I struggled, had questions or didn't understand something.

It's the undercurrent of these events I like so much. Not the struggle or the slow progress, but, the sense that my life and mind are not so rigid that I couldn't still become someone. It's an optimistic lens on the familiar landscape of my life. I welcome this new sense that I am still growing into the person I had once hoped or intended to be.

Indubitably

McK's unfortunate work schedule persists. I know, I've complained about it so much even I'm tired of my whining. Rest assured, though, his rotten schedule isn't my point...not today anyway.

N and I were cooking dinner last night. With the daylight fading, I glanced outside. Noticed as McK's white car rolled into his usual parking spot.

Me: Looks like your dad's home.
N: Yeh?
Me: Yeh.

She bolted from my side, opened the heavy back door, and met him in the grassy yard. Neither of them wearing coats. They both came inside beaming. She was still kind of clutching his leg which offset his usual stride. McK cracked his eyes into mine. He looked at me a little longer than usual.

McK: Rumor has it two humans and two cats are glad to see me.
Me: That's more than a rumor, McK, it's the absolute truth.

Just Another Friday Night...

Naomi allows me to refer to our Friday Night line up as slumber-party-palooza. Though she did clip my ambition to title this picture: Slumber-Partying Like We're Rockstars.

We got to hang out with the Tucker-Donaldson crew and had a great time. We went swimming, ate pizza, played UNO, watched movies and read books. I've heard rumors of some secret handshake coined during the evening, though, I can neither confirm or deny those reports. It's too secret to even talk about.

Bringing My Work Home With Me

Naomi accompanied me to my calculus tutor’s house on Sunday. Generally my daughter opts to stay with my mom while I’m studying with Lucinda. Last Sunday, however, my mom was otherwise occupied and my appointment with Lucinda was right after Naomi’s Chinese language lesson.

So Naomi had her Chinese workbooks, I had my graphing calculator, we both sported backpacks and rang Luncinda’s doorbell. Once situated with a juice-box Naomi sat down on the sofa. Lucinda has a daughter, Sonja, close to Naomi’s age with similar interests. While Sonja was not home, Naomi welcomed Lucinda’s invitation to play with any available toys or books.

After about thirty minutes of number crunching with my textbook Lucinda and I walk into the living room to check on Naomi. My girl was pleased to showcase her latest Keva plank creation.

Naomi so admired a tower Sonja built out of planks she had spent her time building a railroad system for “coal trains” to serve the structure's occupants. The nearby green and black marbles served as the coal pieces loaded into rail-cars which ran straight into the basement of Sonja’s tower.

“That’s so the coal can make electricity or else, you know, Sonja can just burn it in an oven to keep warm,” Naomi said.

Live Honestly, Eat Slowly...

My Grandmother Gracele McPherson turns ninety years old today. I woke up this morning and considered this picture of Gracele at sixteen. I wondered how unfamiliar the world would seem to that sixteen year old girl now. A world with indoor plumbing, penicillin, rural electrification, ATM machines, microwave ovens, integrated schools, television, Lazy Boy recliners, and air conditioning.

In the wake of World War I Gracele grew up not only in a post-war era, but a post-war-to-end-all-wars era. She was born the same year Congress passed the Eighteenth Amendment prohibiting the sale of "intoxicating liquors" and the Nineteenth Amendment which, at long last, granted women the right to vote.

I found a quote by Lucille Ball today, and figured my grandmother lived by her advice when told "[t]he secret of staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and lie about your age." Please join me in wishing my Grandmother a Happy Birthday.

Mass Transit

I was a StarTran kid. The Havelock bus route was my summertime staple. It ran right past my house, made a tight loop around a two block radius before heading back downtown. The first squeal of the disc brakes was my ten minute warning signal. It gave me time to grab bus fare, scribble mom a note about where I was headed and when I'd be back, and bolt toward the bus stop.

As a parent I never wondered whether Naomi would learn to ride the bus. It was a given. We started fostering the habit late this summer. Saturday morning she dreams up a local destination like the library, the swimming pool, or Grandma Mel's house. We check the StarTran maps and head out the door.

Don't get me wrong, StarTran isn't the end all be all of mass transit systems. The schedules and routes are often inconvenient. But it's a manageable and relatively kid-friendly. It gives her a good primer on how to get around though Naomi has yet to take a trip solo. Probably sometime after she turns eight, we've agreed.

In the mean time, I rather enjoy teaching her how it works. We read books and make up word puzzles as we wait at the curb. Sometimes we'll daydream outloud. Naomi quickly tired of my Havelock bus stories. She's more curious about the buses serving Edinburgh. She likes the thought of the red double-decker bus. The luxury liner I took from Mexico City to Oaxaca de Juarez also sounds interesting since it screened a Jim Carey movie enroute. She thinks the campus shuttles sound less exotic but more functional.

Mobility is pretty potent and powerful stuff when you get right down to it. And to a seven-year-old getting her feet wet with this StarTran system well, it just opens up a whole world of possibilities now doesn't it?

______________
Currently Reading : Bright-Sided: How The Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking Has Undermined America by Barbara Ehrenreich
Reading with Naomi: Prince Caspian by C.S. Lewis
Personal Soundtrack: Hat Full of Stars by Cyndi Lauper
Dinner Line Up: Thai curry, spinach/cream cheese rangoon & steamed rice.

Biking Home

Me: So, N rode her bike home from school again today.
McK: Yeh, how'd that go?
Me: Pretty well. She was scared at the start. It's been a while since she was on the bike and she was convinced this couldn't possibly go well.
McK: Did you tell her not to worry...
Me: Yeh.
McK: ...that it's just like riding a bike?

Colorado Trip Random Observations

1. I am a glutton for free wi-fi.

2. It never fails: walking by the bottle of Avian water in the hotel room I feel suddenly parched. Then convince myself not to drink it by muttering some choice words over the insane, INSANE price tag.

3. Occasionally I will speak up in a large group of my utility-enviro peers and I won't sound as dumb as I feel. Sometimes I'll even speak in complete sentences. Yay, me!

4.Whenever asked to orient myself amidst the Denver Metro area, dance clubs serve as my primary landmarks.

6. Awkward and clumsy as I am I can't stand to impose upon my cab driver to schlep around my luggage.

7. My friend, Ashlee, has a 13 month old girl who bites, kicks, and tackles kids twice her size. As a (formerly) small kid myself it was all I could do not to high-five her with congratulations.

8. Anytime I gaze upon a bed that's made, or a hotel room that's suddenly tidied I consider my lucky and glamorous life.

9. The sight of the Colorado sky-line still takes my breath away.

------------------------
Brush with Greatness: As many of you know I have a clutch of Colorado girlfriends. Whenever I travel to Denver they are gracious enough to make the time to see me. On this latest trip my friend Lisa mentioned her brother (A.J.) won the 2008 Popular Science Best of What's New Award. He invented a "smart-fabric" for self-heating gloves. No joke! How cool is that? Though, personally, I'm holding out for the self-heating socks.

The Gross Part

Driving in the car and listening to this song by Tristan Prettyman.

Naomi: What does she mean when she sings that?
Me: Sings what?
Naomi: Madly, madly, madly...
Me: Oh, she's singing about being both madly in love with someone and mad at them too.
Naomi: Like when you're mad at Dad but you still love him?
Me: Yep. And also loving someone so much it makes you silly and crazy.
Naomi: Because, you're mad at Dad sometimes.
Me: I am mad at Dad sometimes.
Naomi: I know.
Me: I also love him so much it makes me silly.
Naomi: Uh-huh (pause) that part's just a little gross though.
_________________

An Unlikely Coupling

My car radio dial landed on KZUM this noon and found the weekly polka show in full swing. Living so close to the Czech capital of Nebraska, I'm quick to identify a good polka riff when I hear it. If pressed I could even dance the polka. Don't press me on this, because I won't actually do it I'm just saying I could.

I was about to switch the dial, this noon, to another station when I recognized the polka tune. Deep In the Heart of Texas. Want to, or not, you know some version of this song "...the stars and night...are big and bright...deep in the heart of Texas..."

The juxtaposition made me laugh out loud. When I think of polka music it's a thought unrelated to Texas. When considering Texas my mind doesn't wander off to polka. Playing musical matchmaker, I considered the musical genre and tune a sort of an odd coupling. Kind of like a blind date. One that doesn't work out that well.

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Currently Watching: This American Life (Season 2)
Shameless Plug: A Novel Idea Bookstore has agreed to donate a percentage of the Oct. 2nd sales receipts to Naomi's Prescott School. This is my favorite used bookstore in town, run by some of my favorite people on the planet, so I need no excuse to browse their collection. Save the date: Oct. 2nd. Buy books. 'Nuff said.

My Inner Ethel

I've enrolled in a six-week series called Progressive Yoga through the downtown Y. A small class of six. The instructor spends most of her time coming around to help correct your position in the various poses. We got started this past Saturday.

In one session I learned how to better manage my elbows. Being double jointed, those elbows can twist or tug me off course. And I found out that my body favors its left-hand side. The left leg in particular.

I've been a closet yoga practitioner for years. I'm not particularly skilled but I stick to it and advance in small steps. I'm bendy enough and all. The struggle is finding that peaceful mind or bodily space that gives rise to yoga practice. I'm a loud, chatty sort of person. The sort of yoga-faker who lays still, breathes deeply during the relaxation session all the while making a mental list of ingredients for Bombay Potatoes, because I'm in an Indian Food mood. I'll consider whether or not to swing by the store for some ingredients. I like to put it this way: if yoga is the cool, melodious sound of Billie Holiday then I'm Ethel Merman at heart. Always have been.

This class was quite nice. A collection of people interested, for whatever reason, in advancing their practice. As far as classroom settings go, I liked it. Incense, moody music. I walked into a room completely washed in earth tones and had to chuckle at my Ethel sense of sporting a vibrant-lime-green. Next time I'll opt for OSHA safety orange, I think.

The Open Road

Naomi has graduated from the world of training wheels. All summer long we’ve given this two-wheeler thing a go but it’s been in fits and spurts. With our summer routine, and McKibbin still working odd hours, we never really found a block of time to stick with it. Naomi would get frustrated or I’d have to get dinner started, and the whole effort would unravel.

The turning point came last week when Naomi set her sights on a purchase from the Scholastic Catalog that exceeded what she has in her piggy bank. After dinner she urged me to list some of her earning potential. I cast out a couple of ideas: extra chores around the house, memorize Sojourner Truth’s “Ain’t I A Woman?” speech, ride her two-wheeler home from school every day for a whole week…

She took a shine to this bike ride idea. By comparison to folding laundry, or memorizing the words of some dead person, I’m sure the bike ride sounded like a snap but, elieve me, the week proved to be harder than she expected. At times she’d crumple into my arms, frustrated and mad at that stupid bike. Other times she’d beg me to let go of the handle bars confident she could do it.

Living about eight blocks from Prescott Elementary school the trip proved a reasonable distance. But it was a long enough jaunt that she had to tough it out when she got stuck or skinned up. One way or another the three of us (her, me, and the stupid bike) had to get home.

Its official, though, as of last as night she got it. Even Naomi would have to say she’s a two-wheelin’ sort of a gal. She mounted the bike and took off for a two-block stretch. The sunlight spilled out on the pavement ahead of her. She bobbled to a stop well before the busy intersection, turned back to me and whooped with glee.

Math Tutor

Naomi: How come Granddave tucks me in tonight?
Me: Because it's a school night and you need to sleep in your own bed.
Naomi: Dad's at work?
Me: Dad's at work.
Naomi: Where are you going?
Me: I'm getting together with a person named Lucinda. She's helping me with my calculus homework.
Naomi: You get together and do hard math problems, then?
Me: Yep.
Naomi: So it's like a math date?
Me: Kind of.

Naomi stares at me, here, for a long time. Finally she sighs, and rolls her eyes with envy.

Naomi: Lucky.
__________
Recent Mistake: The color of hair dye I selected from Walgreens. It looked so flattering on the box, but, oy!
Daily Soundtrack: Crazy by Nelly Furtado
Quote of My Day: "You've just got to put it into perspective. Calculus never did anything useful like mow the lawn or anything."

Summertime Blues

My daughter, the second grader, started back to school this week. This picture is from that first day of school. She's waiting while I scrambled up the eggs for breakfast.

Note to Self

When suffering from insomnia, find a more enjoyable way to pass the time than washing the shelves of your refrigerator.

Rhapsody in Blue

I was in the middle of a perfectly mediocre book. Nice characters. Small story. Page-long moments describing the cakes this narrator liked to bake. The text cursorily touched on the issues of any inter-generational household, but the main attraction was the cakes. The book wasn't bad, it wasn't great. Just right for curling up with in bed each night as my brain circles the idea of sleep.

But I hit a moment about half-way through the text that has stuck with me. An eighty-something year old grandmother, life-long elementary school accompanist, sits down to the piano to settle a good-natured bet with her ex-husband. The ex-husband has placed some wager that the woman cannot play without sheet music. She dusts off the piano bench and plays an expressive, tumbling, sultry, jazzy rendition of Rhapsody in Blue that leaves the whole family gobsmacked.

The characters are no strangers to the sight of the woman's knobby hands at the piano. But her playing was always in the context of private piano lessons or accompanying the fourth grade chorus. Her posture impeccable, her sheet music neatly organized, and the music was always supportive and efficient. The depths of her talent and passion as a musician had eluded them. By the end of the chapter I felt a little drunk with a sense of glee.

It's one of those moments I deeply hope for. Late in my life to still be a bit of a mystery, hear someone utter the phrase "I never knew you had it in you..." at least once. To inspire a sense of surprise, no matter how small or fleeting, in myself or a room of my familiars. Hoping I won't grow brittle inside my own skin with age. Some part of my brain, or spirit, or living would still be malleable.

If I could walk away twenty bucks richer from the wager we had riding on it...well...all the better.

___________________________
Reading with Naomi: Flush by Carl Hiaasen
Currently Listening To: Feminism and The Future of Women by Estelle Freedman
Potential Overshare: I got a promotion at work and was overcome by a Sally Fields moment where I felt valued and well liked. Good stuff.

Acceptance Ltr

A college acceptance letter landed in my mailbox yesterday. Seeing the University of North Dakota letterhead, scanning the congratulatory text, my eyes dropped to the bottom of the page and I felt little woozy with the sudden rise of panic.

Some people hyperventilate with fear and, in all seriousness, I envy such composure. Because I’m a plop-down-on-the-floor-can’t -catch-my-breath nervous crier.

UND sent the one-page letter of congratulations and attached the civil engineering degree requirements. That was the kicker: the degree requirements. I scanned the list which included three semesters of calculus, fluid mechanics, a course in reinforced concrete. The class titles hit the back of my brain and crumpled me up with a feeling of dread. Given the drama of falling to the floor to cry, I can’t say this was a small moment exactly. I felt wildly ill-prepared, and was gonna’ need a minute here...you know...on the floor. Maybe two.

I sat there wondering what could possibly compel me to do this sort of thing? Suddenly lurch toward aspects of this world, fields of study, I know so little of. Embrace the likelihood of failure on my part, for what? Why, on earth, would University of North Dakota look at my application, my academic history, and then say "OK"? Who reads these applications anyway?

I tried to quell my woozy brain with phrases like earning potential, and career advancement. But the words just flopped down on the floor next to me. It takes a minute, or two, before I can remember . It has to do with seeing more of the world around me. The quiet sense of surprise that comes along for the academic ride. Being introduced to new ideas and thoughts I haven’t considered before. Reading a textbook or scribbling notes during a lecture and thinking: huh, is that right?

Eventually the screen door closed itself. I quit crying. Remembered to breathe then chuckled at the irony of falling to the floor to cry over being accepted to the degree program. Dusted my butt as I got up off the floor and went into the kitchen to get dinner ready.

It’s hard to mention that moment in my entry way and in the next breath say I’m excited. Brace your neck for whiplash, though, because I am. I’m excited. My academic adviser calls sometime next week, and classes start at the end of this month. I have a lot to learn.

Long Day

3 a.m. - Naomi climbs into my bed. Lays down directly on top of me. Cheek to my chest. Her curly hair in my mouth. No explanation. Not even a mumble.

Eventually she rolls over. I vacate the bed. Tuck her under the covers next to McKibbin. I tip-toe into her room and climb between the sheets of her twin bed.

4:55 a.m. Naomi wanders around upstairs until she find me. She reclaims her own pillow. Exhales that heavy, rhythmic sigh of sleep directly on my face.

7 a.m. Already awake, Naomi has a whispered conversation with her stuffed bear in the bed next to me. Oh, she says with genuine surprise. Are you awake?

9 a.m. Pancakes.

11 a.m. Serve as tour guide for what is packed where in Naomi's suitcase. Some last minute revisions, noted omissions.

12 p.m. Target store. Random purchases.

1:45 p.m. McKibbin drives us to South Bend, NE.

2:30 p.m. Camp Kitaki check-in. Naomi meticulously makes her bunk-bed. She nervously situates and re-situates the contents of her suitcase.

2:50 p.m. My kid, who has perfected the art of good-byes after years of departures for outings, overnights, field-trips, play-dates and classroom environment...suddenly looks at her shoes, her arms limp by her sides, as we hug good-bye.

3:30 p.m. McKibbin pulls into the parking lot of a bar outside South Bend. He offers to buy me a shot of bourbon.

The Furry News

Ten days ago the McKibbin family adopted two kittens from the Cat House. It was a surprisingly extensive process to adopt these two, more reminiscent of a match.com experience than I expected. McKibbin indicates this is customary. Each kitten came with a three page application, family interview, microchip implant, and a diligent, friendly, cat-loving case worker.

Pictured above is Ms. Maggie. Her brother, Miles, bats at the wrist strap of my camera every time I try to take his picture. Photo sessions are more of a game than anything else. I have yet to get a good mug shot of him but I have fun trying.

They're both delightful and mischievous, so, they fit right in. I guess the match.com approach really works.
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Reading with Naomi: A Wrinkle In Time by Madeleine L'Engle
Dinner Line Up: Rice Noodles with Thai Peanut Sauce & Veggies.
Quote of My Day: "Mommy, soon the kittens won't be little anymore. They won't want to play with us because they'll have big cat things going on."

Driveway Discussion

N: I really like the summertime.
Me: I'm glad.
N: How come you're glad?
M: I'm glad you're the sort of person who finds a lot of things to enjoy. Not everybody finds such joy in this world.
N: Maybe those people are waiting for us to live on Mars.
M: Maybe.

Under Construction

Months ago McKibbin and I scheduled time off from our respective jobs this week. We had visions of traveling to the northern center of the state for the Nebraska Star Party.

Our vacation plans, however, were crushed by the construction zone of our cabin, and various odds 'n' ends around our house needing attention. Essentially we traded in a week-long road trip with canoes, campfires, a three-man tent and two telescopes for manual labor.

It sounds like a raw deal, I know, and someday I would like to attend one of these Star Parties. To be honest, though, I rather enjoy working with my husband. I like reading books outloud in the car together. I like the forward motion of working as a team. The way he jokes around in the aisles of Home Depot, or completely dismisses ill advice from hardware store clerks. He has a knack for these things. Diving into the project list gives me the chance to follow McKibbin's lead, or try to anyway.

Instead of packing up the car this weekend, and icing up food in the cooler for a week at Merritt Reservoir...I located my work gloves, and purchased the mega-sized bottle of ibuprophen. Though I would consider my purchase of cold beer to have stayed relatively constant.

___________________________
Recent Happening: Submitted an Admissions Application to UND Engineering College. Pending their acceptance, I'll start an online Civil Engineering degree program this fall. The duration of panic between filing out and sending in the application only lasted 2 days. Not bad.

Her Girlz

We have the final gathering of Naomi's American Girl book club tonight at the Public Library. Yes, I'm that mom. The one who organizes the group photo and shows up to the last gathering with copies for everyone. But it's a sweet group, and my camera-happy habit can't come as that big of a surprise.

Color-By-Salads Weekend

Being vegetarians McKibbin & I occupy a specific and quirky space throughout the BBQ and grilling weekend of July 4th. It's called the side-dish. This weekend our kitchen was "cold salad" central. Cashew-Broccoli salad with a lime vinaigrette. Roasted potato salad with honey dijon & rosemary dressing. Tortellini salad with garden tomatoes and parsley.

Naomi was thrilled to eat among other omnivores. She will often consider our household to be cruel and unusual vegetarian punishment.

She also set off her first fireworks this year. McKibbin was thrilled to finally, finally have company with the 'splosions. I try my best, but prove a lousy audience for the smokey, noisy byproducts of fireworks.

Swimming. Sunlight. Bug-spray. Thrilling pyrotechnics. Friends. Family. Sigh. We had a great weekend.
____________________
Currently Reading: Apollo's Fire: Igniting America's Clean Energy Economy by Jay Inslee & Bracken Hendricks
Naomi Reading Outloud: Jess by Mary Casanova
Recent Undertaking: Teaching myself to make chocolate covered pralines.

Burning Question

We've all fielded some version of the burning building question, right? Let's assume your house is on fire. What do you grab as you rush away from the flames? Naomi's book club was posed this question by their instructor last night. One by one the kids listed the thing they would grab and transport to safety.

The list was your usual suspects: the Hannah Montana movie, various Nintendo Wii games, a baby blanket, a beloved book, the Barbie deluxe dream house, Hot Wheels, etc.

We circle around the table finally arriving at Naomi's turn. Loud and clear my girl pipes up, "I would grab my mom and dad, because, the rest of it is just stuff."

Kinetic Energy

This morning I rolled out of bed and laced up my running shoes. It was a gorgeous, gorgeous morning for a lap around my neighborhood. Clear sky. The laundromat vented a hot smell of dyer sheets. Somebody's sprinkler-system kicked on -- the cold water nipped at my legs.

I'm an incurable morning-person. This has always been true. If there is a moment I'll feel peaceful, or well-assembled during any day it occurs before 9AM. I like being part of the hush of each morning as it falls, slowly, to the noise of moving things.

Years ago I studied poetry. Took a class where the instructor challenged us to understand the silence that preceded the text. The idea being that words rise out of some moment of acute pain, ecstasy, awe, anger, desire...without the acute sensation, the author has no reason to speak or write.

We used the same tools any poetry class would: scrutinizing the rhyme scheme, assonance, and imagery but for a completely different end-goal.

I was embarrassingly clumsy with the setting. Ask me (at nineteen) to kick into intellectual one-ups-man-ship and I was good to go. Similarly, I circular loop poetry to other poetry with the best of a freshman class. This professor, though, made a compelling case that the essential task of studying words is to understand the silence that precedes them. The notion blew my mind. It still does.

As I hit my stride this morning, I thought of that college classroom. My life now. How seldom I try to connect any past or present versions of myself. I smiled, thinking, the connection is murky water to explain without a significant re-write. Just then the sprinkler kicked on and I gasped at the sting of cold water.

______

Personal Soundtrack: So Pure (Alanis Morisette)
Dinner Line-Up:Lemon-Garlic Risotto with Parmesean, Mushrooms, Pine Nuts, & Black Pepper

Introduction

Naomi attends a book club every Thursday evening. It's a group of second graders that sit around talking about books. Pretty cool.

Last night, we had introductions and each kid was asked to list five things about themselves. Here was Naomi's list:

1. My name is Naomi.
2. I don't have any brothers.
3. I don't have any sisters.
4. I don't even have any pets.
5. I have to clean my own room.

Invention-Suggestion Box

I must not have been looking when the summer weather toggled with its master on-off switch.

Spending the majority of my life in the Midwest, I'm no stranger to humidity. Since turning thirty I have also resolved to generally complain less about my life and circumstance. I'm hoping to mature into one of those suffer-in-silence types of people.

Trouble is, when you're good at silencing complaints nobody seems to recognize you're suffering. Overall the martyr role has only worked out marginally well for me thus far. I'll have to refine the long-suffering sigh to prompt respectful praise for my "silence." In the meantime I let out an involuntary groan as I read today's forecasted heat index of 114 degrees.

It's one of those summer days I fight the urge to crawl into my refrigerator's icebox and stay there until October. So, allow me to couch my gripes in the form of a money-making-invention-idea.

Might I suggest someone out there, somebody a whole lot handier than myself, invent an icebox big enough for a person to camp out in during days like this? The bare-box would be good and I'd be willing to pay for little extras like a computer, i-Pod, or pillowy cot so I could actually grab some restful sleep.

Just a thought.







__________
Currently Reading: Blessed Are the Cheesemakers by Sarah-Kate Lynch
Currently Watching: Original Star Trek Episodes
Recently Enjoyed: The Visitor (2007)
Anxiously Awaiting: Eureka (Season 3.5, I think)

Productivity

The pages of my day-planner are filed with lists. Dated at the top of each page. Prioritized lists of things I want-to, hope-to, or must complete within the week. The long and the short of it is: I’m a task-completing-junkie. Sometimes I’ll list a ridiculously minuscule task, penning the words after it’s already done, just so I can cross it off.

Last Monday I found my favorite pen, opened up my day-planner, and started the week’s list. Synchronized the tasks with McKibbin’s work schedule, Naomi’s Summer Reading program, projects at work, and the calendar in our kitchen. The list is like my roadmap for the week. After sizing up the route I'm propelled to gas up the car, grab some iced tea, and go. I sat, staring at the list and waited for its familiar forward push. I grabbed a cup of coffee, sat back down at the table, stared at the page and waited some more. I checked my watch, glanced out the window...nothing...I crumpled up the page, and went back upstairs to take a nap.

Heavier Than Sadness

cleave /kleev/:to adhere firmly and closely or loyally and unwaveringly
__________________
It was bound to happen. Careful and discrete as McKibbin is, at some point, Naomi was bound to catch on to his habit of smoking cigarettes. While playing jungle-people in our backyard the neighbor-girl made a small mention of the habit.

No, no, my dad doesn’t smoke. Mom used to smoke when she was in Colorado – boy, wasn’t that dumb?- but she quit.

Neither girl raised her voice or got upset. These two, when well rested, are often delicate with each other’s feelings. Naomi's companion danced her toe around in the dusty soil.

“What’s that clay pot next to your deck for?”
Cigarettes, Naomi answered.
“Where did the cigarettes come from?” The neighbor-girl was still looking at her toes, her soft voice wrapped around the question.

Naomi stopped talking about it. Moved on to something else. I sank down into my seat on the deck. Tried my invisibility act. The afternoon rolled on and the sun slanted in the sky. The other shoe dropped, hours later, at our dinner table. McKibbin was still at work so it was just the two of us.

“Mom, does dad smoke cigarettes?”
I think that’s a question you’ll have to ask your dad.
“Do you think he smokes cigarettes?

Yes. I think he does.

The sudden weight of knowing something so complicated fell quickly from her brain. Its outward expression is something like sadness. She realizes her dad would do something unhealthy. Feels a little foolish for being misled. Mad at us, probably, for keeping things from her. None of it falls so hard until you realize the space McKibbin occupies. An essential part of Naomi cleaves to him. This has always been true. Even the slightest shift in that space between them would require a massive amount of force.

The fork slipped from Naomi's fingers and clanged against her plate. “I bet he was too embarrassed, you know, to tell me about the smoking," she mumbled.

The part that surprises me more than any other is this: in the days since, Naomi has never mentioned this conversation to her dad.

The Work Around

Me: So, what's the password on your computer?
McKibbin: What?
Me: The password on your computer. I don't know, I just wondered about some of the stuff I don't know about you. Figured you were more likely to respond to a question like "What's the password on your computer..." rather than "So, how are you feeling recently..." or "Tell me about your childhood...".
McK: You want to know my password?
Me: Some couples share this stuff.
McK: Passwords, or feelings about their childhood?
Me: Both. But I'd feel pretty good if I knew your password. You know, baby steps.
McK: I could teach you how to log on without my password.
Me: Not the point.
McK: But basically it's the same thing.
Me: So, how are you feeling right now?
McK: See, the work around lets you have access to the computer.
Me: A little nervous, maybe? Vulnerable? Frustrated?
McK: (turning to the computer screen) From this screen you press control-alt-delete...

Barbie Campaign

Years ago I remember Naomi’s voice from the backseat of my car. She wondered out loud whether we might purchase a Barbie doll? An innocent enough question. Naomi was, maybe, two or three years old. Somebody at daycare played Barbie a lot. Sooner or later I had assumed I’d face the Barbie question so I was ready. Nope, no Barbies at our house.

Why? Naomi asked.

Again, I was ready with a response: I don’t like Barbie. My mental road-map of this conversation, however, stopped there. I hadn’t anticipated the follow-up “Why?”

To put it bluntly, I choked on the question…then I lied. Like a Persian rug I lied. Made up the “Barbie isn’t very nice” argument on the fly. I told the most salacious series of mean-Barbie stories I could conjure. She doesn’t let other people drive her T-bird. She built the Barbie pool such that there is only room for one. Does Barbie have a job? How did she get that big, Barbie-dream-house if she doesn’t have a job? I hear she’s selfish. She screams and cries when opening birthday she dislikes.

I got on such a roll that Naomi chimed-in. She fabricated stories of Barbie pushing and shoving her friends, not sharing well with Ken or Skipper…I patted myself on the back. I thought of the future body-image issues we avoided by quashing my daughter’s desire to own a Barbie doll. And, after that moment in the car, I didn't think much about it.

Weeks later, though, the lead teacher at daycare pulled me into the hallway. She was concerned that Naomi had some unusual narratives regarding the other girl’s Barbie dolls. I blinked up my doe-eyes and mmm-hmmmed my way through these concerns. Thanked her for mentioning it. Then proceeded to high-five my kid on the way home. Promptly, though, I dialed back the Barbie smear campaign. Obviously, I had made my point.

Barbie still comes up in conversation around our house from time-to-time. Friends or playmates will still occasionally play with Barbie dolls. If asked Naomi joins in. Five years since muzzling my Barbie-slam-fest, however, my girl makes sure each Barbie character is gainfully employed and quite generous with sharing her things.

All-Access Bracelet

Four days into Summer Vacation. Naomi has hit the pool every single day. Sporting goggles, beach towels, and a ridiculously ambitious level of SPF protection we were among the mass of families attending the Cooper Y’s Outdoor Water World Grand Opening Pool Party.

Naomi marched right over to the teeny-bopper lifeguard, insisted on taking the swim test and was promptly awarded a red bracelet which serves as an all-access pass. It enables her to swim anywhere in the pool, and to utilize the water-slide at the deep end.

Poolside social dynamics, I was surprised to realize, are relatively intact from the days my brother and I would ride dirt-bikes over to Ballard Pool.

A gang of pretty girls sprawled on beach towels appearing unimpressed by everything. Underwater hand-stands were met by gasps and squeals of praise. A pair of teen-aged boys made terrific use of their snorkeling set. I think some narrative about submarines was at work there, but I’m not sure, they spent a lot of time sub-surface. Life-guards twirled their whistle strings. The war-paint white nose was missing. Maybe it’s too early in the year, maybe there are better sun screen products now.

Safety Check was met, universally, by kids groaning about the injustice of it all as they clamored out of the water. Naomi told me I could swim laps (I was “big enough”). She gangled over to spend Safety Check with some of her friends. Hadn't seen them since school let out last Thursday, you know. One of the girls noticed Naomi’s red bracelet.

"Oh, yeah, that." Naomi shrugged and held out her wrist, "You know, there's a lot that's happened this summer."

Summer Starting Line

Standing at the bathroom sink, brushing my teeth, I asked Naomi how we could make the last day of school special?
She proposed walking to school.
Sure, I said, no problem.
By myself, she clarified.
A spring, deep in my chest, that kind of holds me together yelped.
I-I think that would be o.k.
Coooooool! Naomi giggled.

This is a picture of my girl walking down Harwood Street by herself. Actually, she's running full clip. Because, when you're seven and life is this thrilling, who could walk?
____________
Weekend Soundtrack: There She Goes (The La's)
Currently Reading: Martian Time-Slip by Phillip K. Dick
Recent Cause For Celebration: McKibbin and I celebrated four years of marriage this past week. Four years and nobody's gouged their eyes out. I must say, I think this is going rather well.
Dinner Line Up: Grilled Black Bean Burgers, Potato-Mustard Salad with Tarragon, Fresh Strawberries
Currently Craving: Fresh Lemonade with Mint

Wheels Up

I love this time of year. Green things rising up from the wet soil. That light and liberated feeling you get in your clothes. Coats and sweaters a distant memory. Feeling more ambitious with the long daylight.

While Naomi was at the playground for a friend's birthday McKibbin and I took my new bike (I've christened her Lulu) out for a spin. McKibbin always leads in the tall grass. Sunlight dappled across our path. The ride had an upward feel. Like I was skimming above the surface rather than bound to it.



We looped out and around, then back to the playground. The birthday party was wrapping up. Balloons and streamers. Cake frosting on my kid's cheeks. Makenna's mom with a garbage bag of wrapping paper and plates. Naomi looked up from a gaggle of her friends to see us. Her face a mix of disappointment that we were back, and envy for the hour we spent on two-wheels.

She clutched her friend in a big, big hug. Happy Birthday, she said, thanks for inviting me.

Rushed over to the bike rack, gave one last wave to her peeps, and pulled out her own ride home. Naomi's bold nature insists on pedaling hard. She's like her dad that way. Head down. The wheels fight their way across the grass to the bike path. McKibbin and I watch as she advances toward us.

Those training wheels, McKibbin says, should come off this summer. Chin to chest Naomi shifted her gaze and abruptly stopped, almost toppled over. I flinch and close my eyes. Waiting for the crash or the sound of her cry. I remind myself I'm not cut out to teach my kid modes of transit.

She's O.K., McKibbin says. Bird. Stopped so the bird wouldn't get hurt.

I open my eyes as Naomi, unphased, re-mounts her bike and trudged toward us. The bird circled higher. We all head home.

Running The Numbers

Having recently returned from Colorado I thought I'd run the numbers on my trip....

Frequent Flier Miles Logged to My Account: 1,000
Flight Delays: 0
Small World Experiences on Departure Flight: 1. Shared the flight to Denver with Jim Bleed & Family. Jim was McKibbin's best-friend for the longest time and we all went to High School together. I haven't seen or talked to him in at least 13 years - it was nice to catch up.
Children of Colorado Friends I Met For the First Time: 6
Median Age of Children: 4
Occasions Where I Got To Catch Up with Old Friends: 3
Hours Spent Listening to KBCO: 4
Times I Got Drenched In The Rain: 4 (just Sunday's count)
Occasions I Had My Umbrella With Me: 1
Favorite Purchase of the Trip: Thermal Pedicure Foot-Scrub
Hours of Restful Sleep: Not Enough
Fellow Bolder-Boulder Runners: 1,000,000
Runners on Mile 4 Who Collapsed 5 Paces Ahead of Me: 1
Huddle of Runners Stopped to Help Collapsed Guy: 3
EMT Bike Guy Response Time to Collapsed Runner: 90 seconds
Race Time: 1hr 9 min.

Name That Tune

Me: So what's that song by The Who?
McK: Which one?
Me: The one where the title is different than you'd expect.
McK: You're kidding me right?
Me: No, it's one of their radio-play songs...but the main riff isn't the title.
McK: How does it go?
Me: I don't know...but...it's by The Who.
McK: ...and... the title is different than I think it should be.
Me: Right. How about "t-t-t-talkin' 'bout my generation..." what's that song called?
McK: My Generation.
Me: Well, that's not it. (pause) Why do I think it has something to do with hummus?
McK: The Who wrote a song about hummus?
Me: No, I think it's related to the title. Hummus...like pita or something...rita maybe.
McK: ...baba ganoush?
Me: Oooo, that's it! It's something like baba-
McK: Baba O'Rielly?
Me: Ok, that you knew the song based on those clues...that's creepy.

Mother's Day

I had a great Mother's Day.

Brunch with my grandma, daughter, mother, aunts, and uncle Jack. Dinner with my parents and brother's family. I was miracled by a rain-barrel from my husband, a pink potted plant from my daughter, a Wonder Woman coffee mug from my brother. Chocolate dessert. Greeting cards. Ample hugs. Naomi insisted we play a silly parlor game after dinner. Everyone joined in and laughed long and hard. Who could ask for more? Well, the last Mother's Day gift was a freebie facial I got through email from Origins on Monday.

Wow-zah!

Cleanser, hot towel, toner, moisturizer (part one), hot towel, tea bag treatment, mud masque, hot towel, moisturizer (part two)...I was in heaven. Tingly, clean-feeling, lemony smelling heaven. Years ago McKibbin rightfully pegged me as a moisturizer-aholic. I prefer to consider myself a moisturizer connoisseur. In either case, I got up from the Origins "spa" chair and wanted to hug my beautician.

Grabbed my purse, turned to go, and she called me over to the make-up table. Oh, I said. I just don't wear a whole lot of make up. Mascara and lip gloss, sometimes, but that's about it.

The beautician psyched me out pretty well. Made sure the finished product looked natural enough. If I could bring myself to appreciate make up, I would have adored everything my face wore. Call me lazy, though, I like sleeping-in more than I like primping.

The upshot, though, of sticking around to get powdered up was my parting gift: a mint gumball. I love gum, love gum. Mint gum in particular. I walked away, swinging my paper bagged purchase (lemony moisturizing cleanser), and smacking my mint gum loudly. Fought the adolescent urge to blow a bubble inside the store. Chuckled at my visage in the rear-view mirror of my car, and blew a big minty bubble at my reflection. Happy Mother's Day to me.
________________________
Currently Watching: Eureka (reruns) with Naomi
Dinner Line-Up: Grilled Portabella Mushrooms, Cilantro Lime Marinade, Sweet Potatoes & Spinach Salad
Recently Enjoyed: Star Trek
Personal Soundtrack: Ray of Light (Madonna)
Found Interesting: A Feminist Discussion of Michelle Obama

Speak Tiger

"Mommy, wouldn't it be cool if we lived in the jungle? And we were rich somehow so we could have all the stuff we get at home; like, you know, chocolate milk and stuff. I could make a bunk-bed out of sticks so my friends could visit and sleep over. We could climb trees and dry out the leaves for paper. We could go swimming in the water. Paint our faces with mud. Dad could bring his telescope. It would have to be a pretend jungle not a real one so we could speak tiger and monkey languages. Make friends with the birds and bugs. That way they could help us out, you know, and teach us about jungle stuff. Wouldn't that be cool? Shouldn't we do that sometime?"

-Naomi

Out For A Spin

...I've gone crazy on this road with all of this travelin' alone but the asphalt is burnin' tonight... - Nanci Griffith (Spin On A Red Brick Floor)

File this one under Random Observations, but, recently we've spent a fair amount of time riding bikes. Built before we all were enslaved to our cars, the Near South Neighborhood sports schools, libraries, parks, grocery stores, churches, a neighborhood bar and a post office drop box within walking distance. Quicker by bike.

This time of year McKibbin, Naomi and I spend a fair amount of our travel time on two-wheels. Naomi gets an itch to go somewhere, I suggest we bike, and McKibbin slips outside to get the gear.

I scramble around to house to assemble a few essentials. You know: house keys, water, snacks, sunscreen...when I'm really Type A I grab the First Aid Kit. Naomi flits around me like a butterfly with a zillion ideas for our outing. We kind of stumble our way outside. I'm still stuffing essentials into my backpack, and she's about to burst with the anticipation of forward motion.

This past Saturday followed our usual script, but, as Naomi and I spilled outside from the patio door I actually noticed my husband. Know somebody long enough, or fall into enough routines, and I stop really noticing them so much as anticipating them.

McKibbin was standing next to the garage, putting on his customary bike-ride-red-bandanna. Next to him were the three bikes propped up along the sidewall of the garage. Helmets hanging from the handle-bars. Without asking I knew he'd dusted off the seats and checked the tire pressure.

I've always been a good assembler of the essential backpack. Once I lay eyes on the bike, though, my instinct is to skip straight to the pedaling. I probably spent twenty years, in my pre-McKibbin existence, riding around various college towns with cobwebs and dust on my seat. When I was flush with cash (which wasn't often) I'd take my bike to the shop once a year and have it tuned up. But I can not recall a single instance where I actually checked the tire pressure.

Naomi rushed from my side to grab hold of her Dazzle-Jazz bike handlebars. McKibbin turned to help her with the bike helmet. He caught me staring at him...at our lives on a random Saturday...the sun high...the sky blue...and he fidgeted a little.

You ready? He asked.
Yep, I winked and gave him a buss on the cheek. I'm ready.