Not the least of which, is that my friends house burned down.
Completely... to the ground.  
Heartbreaking, sigh.

They weren't home.  They were away for the holidays.  All of them. Safe and sound in another location... initially unaware of the tragedy that awaited them.
The tragedy that would engulf them in grief and take with it all the *things* they loved..... 

I know a thing or two about that.

I'm not sure, in the grand scheme of things, that is matters whether or not your tragedy is the vacuous snatch of a 22 year old co-ed  or a fire accidentally started by a worker which came down from the roof incinerating everything in it's path.

And even though my friend wasn't there... didn't bear witness to the smoke and the flames... the pain is just as real, just as awful.  His home was gorgeous... the kind of home you might have seen in the days prior to MTV Cribs when it was all "Lifestyles of The Rich and Famous" and you could hear Robin Leach saying, "just off the designer kitchen, around the large leather couches.... we escape to the infinity pool where the view is almost as amazing as the heated water that surrounds you......"

It was elegant and beautiful.  It housed all their memories and photos and tickets stubs to first dates and baby books.... and everything.
All of it:  gone.  
It's a tragedy even I have a hard time trying to grasp the entire gravity of.

It got me thinking about my house... it wasn't grand.  It certainly wasn't regal and I only possessed a $100 water slide that El Capitan never cleaned and put away... so we ended up throwing it out. 

It wasn't fancy.... it was simple... but it was mine.  And I miss it.
Mostly... I miss The Girl's room.  It was the most perfect shade of pink.  I had filled it with all the things I thought a little girl would want.

A magic mirror.... so she could see how beautiful she was.
A vintage metal kitchen... where we dined on plastic grapes and avocado's for hours.
Her bed.... a hand-me-down from a friend because I couldn't afford to buy a new one.

Her quilt.... all my friends had trendy Potty Barn sets for their cribs and toddlers beds and whatnot.... but that was just so far out of my price range.... so instead, I spent a few weeks going from Goodwill to Goodwill collecting up fabric and then I instructed The Bubbie to make a butterfly quilt with the fabric... it was gorgeous.  It was retro and fit her room perfectly.

That room is gone.  
Painted over by the new owners... they did a lovely job... but that room is gone.
The kitchen, the quilt, the mirror... all wrapped up in storage.
The bed.... gone to another friend who needed it because it was just going to sit in storage.

That's the thing about a home:  it's more than a foundation with walls.
It's every piece of you and every piece of your life that tells a story about who you are and where you've been and what you love.... it's your personality and your joy and .... your everything.

Losing everything.... it's hard.
Harder than I could have ever imagined.
Lucky me... *some* of my pieces are in storage... though that stash get's smaller every year as I can afford the storage unit less and less..... but.  I still have some and some is better than none.

My friend: has none.
That's just heart breaking.

I actually haven't looked at these photos in well over a year.... it's just too hard.  They take me right back to that place where I'm treading water, frantically trying to keep my head just above the incoming emotional tide.
That's what it still feels like.... emotionally frantic.

That picture of The Boy playing in his little spot in the front window..... that one pulls me under fast.... because I can't tell you how many days and hours I just *assumed* that I would always see that... him playing there... watching TV there... reading there.... 
But that's not there anymore either.
Sigh.

The last few years have been spent living inside the kindness of others.... family who let us move in, and then with Hail Mary... but even then, I didn't have a say in the things.  I didn't change the curtains, I didn't get to make the house "my home" with my things.... we've been living in others people's spaces.... and that's actually very hard to do.

So I try not to think about what I've lost.... but instead, I always try to think about what will be.
I will never, as long as I live, own a home where the likes of Robin Leach would walk through talking about a grand staircase or the barn just outside housing my horses.... fuck:  I'd be grateful just to be living in the actual barn at this point. lolol.
True story.

However.... one day, I will be done with school and we will get our own place.
I think about how I will paint the walls.  It will probably be a small apartment, or *may be* a town home if I'm super lucky.... three bedrooms will probably be a stretch.

So, it will be two bedrooms, one for The Boy, which will have an appropriate Spirit Halloween theme.  I will let him get out all of his animatronics from storage.  Freddie Kruger, Electrocution Guy, Insane Clown, Frankenstein... all of them..... out so he can enjoy them all year long.

The Girl will have (may be) her vintage kitchen if it's not too late and she's outgrown it..... a new bed and her quilt (unless she insists on a Frozen theme... which is likely... sigh.) I will hang shelves to house all her dolls and put up her doll house.... BUT, it will be pink:  I saved the paint chip.

I will likely be living in the main room.... which is why I bought myself a $140 day-bed frame from Wal-Mart for Christmas (The Bubbie and Papa helped).  I have been hauling/storing a double bed mattress that El Capitan and I inherited from his Grandmother when she passed away.....

At 39 years old:  I have never bought myself a bed. I never seem to have a few thousand dollars on hand for a fancy, comfy mattress and whatever..... I'm all Seely and Simmons circa' 1980's style. 
True story.

So this bed frame was kind of a big deal for me.... and I bought something that would lend itself to be a "couch" of sorts later down the road... so that when we have our own place, the kids and I can use it as a couch for watching movies and stuff.....because my room will likely be the living room. lol
It won't be perfect, it won't be a lovely two story home that most of the people at my age with kids are living in... it will be small and cramped and yet.... I can't wait.
I really, really look forward to it.

That idea.... of what I *will* create out of what we have collectively lost... that is what keeps me going.
When it's after midnight and I'm still struggling to nail down the judicial opinion of a case brief and I have to be up in 6 hours.... I just keep going.  Every time I have to tell The Girl, "No, Mommy can't come play dolls... she has a Table of Washington State RCW's to build for Criminal Law..."  all of which sails right over The Girl's head and all she hears .... is Mommy saying no.
It sucks..... but I have to hold onto hope that it will be worth it.

I wasn't going to BE THAT PARENT.  Too busy for playing dolls. 
Too busy for my kids.... but alas.  The greatest loss that my 'inferno' took from me... was my ability to truly be the mother I wanted to be.... stay-at-home, homeschooling... MOM.

And that's all I really want my friend to know.
While the things are gone... and fuck me do I EVER understand how great and horrific and painful that loss is.... and how you will NEVER EVER truly get over it.
It's too great.... it's emotional cost is just too gigantic for you to ever full move past......

You're still you.  You have the resources to build anew.... and what a joy that will be.
You will sit down and create a whole new place... this time with the knowledge of all the "this would nice" and "that would be cool to have".... alllllll added to the new house.

You will paint walls and create new memories and new bedrooms.... build another grand staircase and by this time next year.... the heartache of this loss will have been pushed out... pushed to the side - by the memories of a summer spent splashing around in a new pool with your kids.....

Because that's what life does..... it's crashes and burns.
It's like a computer.... you have all these things and files and memories.... and then the bad shit comes down and overwhelms you... you can over it or around it or through it..... your only choice is to move through it one  awful heartbreaking fucking day at a time.

And.... the amazing thing is that while you're going that... inching along over the broken glass of your own emotions and pain.... life is still writing your new memories for you.  Etching them alongside the hurt and the loss and the anger..... and over time, as each day passes.... you suddenly find yourself with a heart still full of love, a family still full of life, a life full of hope.... and all of that will have become greater in size than the pain you currently feel.  It will subside to the hope and the newness and the life you are living.... *now*.

I know it's hard to get there.... and there won't be a day you aren't thinking about your Girl's "perfectly pink room.... gone".... but - you'll be so busy living life it just won't hurt as much.

So... I wish you hope my friend.... it's going to be the bridge over the broken glass and the strength of the walls you now build around your family.  

Those walls are going to be the brick and mortar kind... strong and holding up a room.
Those 'walls' are also something you already have.... in the arms that comfort your wife and toss your children in the air with glee.....the 'walls' that encircle your family and love them and keep them truly safe.... the inferno, the tragedy.... it didn't take those.

How do I know?.... 'cause I have the same 'walls'..... :)
Trust me.... you are made of greater things than I am.... and I'm still here. 
Still happy (ish).
Kids still very happy.... life... still full of hope.  heart still full of love.... 
Living.  

There are days lately where I open my eyes and all I really want to do is grab my purple bike with the giant black banana seat and head on over to Angie's house.  Whereupon we will sneak cards from her mother's poker set and use wooden close-line pins to attach the playing cards to the frame so that they would slap against the spokes of our tires.... that way when we rode around the neighbourhood our bikes would make cool "motorcycle" type noises.
We were cool.

Well... cool for a couple of 9 year olds circa 1985.  

Angie, Mary, Amy and I would ride our bikes around for hours and hours.  
We would head down to Bear Creek and wade in the water.  Sometimes we would ride, one hand on the handle-bars and one arm laced through the center of a giant inner tube... and we'd just float down the creek and walk back up... and then ride home.
In the summer we would chase the ice-cream man and scarf down ice-cream sandwiches, or a Trumpette or a Rainbow Rocket.
Most days we would start out Angie's house and then to go to Mary's and then (if we were soooooo daring) we would ride our bikes all the way to the other side of the grade school to where Geoff XXXXXXX lived in the hopes that he might be outside and we could gawk at his coolness.
That kid was hot.... seriously.  H.O.T.

But almost everyday... you would see us riding around our neighbourhood, past Shane Shaeffers house, playing cards flapping and arms folded across our chests .... "look MOM:  no hands!!!!....."
Because we were cool like that.

Some days we sat around Susan's house listening to Motley Crue or playing "school" with her life size home-made Leif Garrett doll.  For the record... some of us may or may not have learned to "kiss" a boy by molesting that poor, floppy, stripped shirt doll..... just sayin.

Some days we were all piled into Cheryl's Mom's VW camper van, the kind with the pop-up roof, where we'd pretend we were a family going camping... just piled into that van and playing for hours and hours.  No one was worried about anyone suffocating in a closed up vehicle or whether or not a parking brake was on... no one.

Almost every day we rode past Mr. & Mrs. Schilling's where we all dumped our bikes on their front lawn, knocked on the door to say hello and collected our free cookies that the Schilling's always seemed to have on hand.  My parents never went and met The Schillings.  

We were getting FREE COOKIES from TOTAL STRANGERS.... and yet:  no one died.  
No one got sick.
And every single day, this lovely old couple would get visited by a gaggle of little girls who told funny stories and were polite and scarfed-up cookies......
It sounds utterly un-safe and yet.... perfect all at the same time.

It was somewhere between The Goonies and Stand By Me... only sans a super hot Keifer Sutherland chasing us or robbers and pirate ships.  But, we were young and wild and free..... 

And by wild, I mean to say that none of us wore, let alone owned, a helmet of any kind.
And by free, I mean to say that the only "rules" we had were to be home before dark.

Carefree days of childhood look ... almost unrecognizable to me these days.
I can't trust that my children are safe just playing on their own in the front yard without an adult sitting out their watching them.... let alone let them ride around a two or three mile radius on their bikes.  Sh*t... I don't let them the ride past the house three doors down without making them turn around and come right back.
Frankly, I don't even know the names of any of the kids in my neighbourhood and .... The Boy and The Girl don't either because they never play outside after school. 

Gah.... 9 year old me would be sooooo disappointed in the kind of Mother I am.

Instead, these day's I'm more pre-occupied with the scores of homework they have to do (common core for the win: not), or after-school gymnastics, or choir practice for The Boy.  There is so much pressure on them and on me.... honestly - too much pressure.

Benchmarks and testing and scores galore... that's what school and childhood have become.  
Finely tuned and planned play-dates are the only "adventures" the kids have... isn't that sad?

Goonies might never say die.... but it doesn't feel like there *are* Goonies anymore.... Instead, everyone is stuck in their house doing yet more reading and trying to figure out a common core Math problem that is so convoluted and ass-backwards that Pythagoras himself wouldn't be able to solve basic fourth-grade Math homework these days.
True story.

My kids are not wild or free.... 
Sigh.

I worry about this... .and frankly:  we should ALL be worried about this.

Bill Gates and Steve Jobs and Einstein... they didn't have mother's with flash cards in their faces from birth and highly structure pre-schools and daily tests that start in third grade monitoring their "progress"... and yet:  they turned out pretty f*cking smart.

We no longer learn how to solve our own problems, because now we have 'zero-tolerance' policies and parents who have meetings with principles because some girl chased down our son on the playground and kissed him on the cheek.  
KISSED HIM ON THE CHEEK:  that's sexual harassment you know.
Sigh.

When I was a kid there was this girl Laura and she... she was a bully.  She had a horrible bowl cut (clearly her Mother didn't like her very much) - and she was just plain mean.... one day she hit me and pushed me off my bike.  That night I re-told the story, bruised pride and arm on display, and The Papa showed me how to "box" her ear and said that the next time she went to hit me, to strike out and box her ear first and that would solve the problem.

Not too many wild, bike riding days later.... Little Bowl Cut Bully Laura ran home with her left ear ringing and a headache.
And that.... was that.

Cool for 9 year olds these day's looks a little different....
Now there are programs in schools to encourage being kind and caring and a 'good citizen'.... ideals that I have attempted to instill in my children since birth.  LIT.ER.ALLY.  Before The Boy could talk, I have tried to teach him to choose kindness.

But... let's be honest, I've been trying to teach/accomplish/do *lots* of things that haven't worked out so most days I'm just grateful when I can tread water long enough to keep our heads above the rising tide of chaos and life just long enough to get us back into our beds safely at night without any kind of sh*ttastic catastrophe taking place. Clearly... that doesn't happen that often.

Yesterday, however.... I was standing firmly in the shallow end high-fiving The Boy:  and it felt good.

Yesterday, The Boy came home from school wearing a t-shirt I had not sent him to school in.  This would usually lead me to ask a series of questions that would end in something not awesome.... BUT NOT THAT DAY!

He gets into the car and informs us that his class voted on which kid was the "Most Caring" kid in class.  He say's.... "yup, and I voted for my friend Gunner.... but you know what?  I guess other people voted for me.... I mean - I really think Gunner should have gotten it, Mom.... but hey - it was me!"

So there he was....with his sweet toothy grin and his t-shirt and he was so proud of himself....
So. FREAKING. PROUD.
So UTTERLY COOL.

And.... it might be sans flapping playing card bikes cool or incredibly dangerous creek floating type of cool.... instead, The Boy was recognized by his class and the ENTIRE. SCHOOL. at an assembly where his name was announced and he stood up and people clapped.....

"The kids were allllll clapping, MOM!"  he told me.
So. Totally. Cool.

So I have to hold on to the hope that for The Boy and The Girl, the Goonies take a different shape.... one where they can *may be* be a part of a generation that understands that racism and discrimination are wrong and that *really* the way to deal with Little Bowl Cut Bully Laura isn't by boxing her ear... but with kindness and caring and being a good friend to everyone......

It's a pipe dream, this I know... but I have to keeping believing and raising the kids to believe the same.  I mean, just imagine if alllll kids were raised in tolerance and understanding.... I mean, I know it seems so far away when we read about the horrible episodes of cyber bullying and whatnot... but - I still feel like we are so much closer to accepting each other than we were 20 years ago.

If nothing else.... I can take this small piece of Cool Croc awesomeness as a mothertrucking win for this single Mom..... it isn't often that I feel like I'm actually winning at this thing called life and motherhood... so today I WIN.

Today I ride... arms folded, smile on my face, playing cards flapping and handle bars-hands free.....

I managed (somehow) to pull off taking the kids to the Great Wolf Lodge in December (our annual family tradition if you remember).... and we even had our time booked to eat lunch in the Ginger Bread House.
Woofreakin'Hoo.

We arrived on our first day, running a bit late because I'm always trying to squeeze out one more client job before the holidays... but we made it!  We checked into our room and hit the slides asap.  It's crazy to think about, because the first year GWL was open and we went, The Girl was only 9 months old and I mostly floated around the Basketball Pool singing to her and stuff.... and now she's all:  I wanna' go on the BIG SLIDE!

Oh... and aside from public bathrooms, amusement parks are a single parents *worst* nightmare.  There are two of them and ONE of me.  So rides that take multiple riders - someone has to sit out... but I can't very well leave my 5 year old alone and unattended.... sigh.
So it's complicated.

Also, I'm insanely afraid of heights and going fast.... so these super high up and twisty and fast and scary water slides are a no bueno for me.... and to my GREAT SURPRISE:  The Boy and The Girl went on them ALONE!

YES! ALONE!  There were my kids going on their biggest and wildest and scariest water slides:  
BY. THEM. SELVES!!!!!

So... it was all water slides and good times and snacks and arcade games....

Until The Girl sh*ts on the floor.
True story.
Allow me to explain.

You can't bring food into the park.  You check in on day one, do the slides and dinner and then they have a story time and this animatronic tree that sings (the kids love it) - and then you go to bed.  You wake up, eat breakfast and check out of your room but you can stay at the park until 9 pm.  Clearly, with wet kids in bathing suits, you just stay there onsite and eat whatever food they have, you don't leave.

Day one went great... I was SO PROUD of the my kids:  unafraid and brave and having a good time.
After sooooooo many personal failures of the last few years, I always try to hold onto these moments of parenting success because the feeling of being "on top" is all too fleeting for me.... 
(foreshadowing here).

Day two we got up *early* and hit the park by 9am.  We swam and played and hung around until it was time to get out to have lunch in the Ginger Bread House.  The kids were ecstatic.  I usually put them in dressy(ish) clothes, but this year I let the girl wear her sacred Frozen Dress.
I got my usual, The Boy got his usual (grilled cheese sandwich) and The Girl got her usual (mac and cheese).

This time though.... three bites in, The Girl say's:  Mommy... this doesn't taste very good, it's rubbery.

We send it back but The Girl doesn't want something else to eat.. which I find a bit odd because we haven't had food since breakfast but we had plans to get ice-cream upstairs on our way back in and so I don't worry about it.
Yes, yes... ice-cream *can* be a meal:  don't judge.

So, we finish up lunch and pictures and the kids play some games in the lobby and then we head upstairs for The Boy to play some arcade games.... it's all going well... and suddenly The Girl HAS to go the bathroom.
No biggie.  We're almost *6* - The Girl has actually *never* had an accident in public, so at first I'm not too worried... The Boy is playing some Batman driving game and suddenly The Girl is like... in a panic?

I make The Boy jump off his game (he's none too pleased) and I go running after The Girl who is now dashing for the bathroom.  The bathroom... is across the park, down a flight of stairs and then alllll the way back across the water park to the locker rooms.
It's not close.

As we are running past the ice-cream shop, I'm like - "Hey, didn't you want to get ice-cream?"
Because let's face facts:  sometimes I'm just plain stupid. lololol

The Girl looks at me like I'm the dumbest person on the earth because at this point I realize that she's jogging for the doors and using one hand to hold her butt closed....... 
Hmm.... that's odd.

We get inside the park and usually the first thing that hits you is the steam and the humidity... but instead there's this smell.... like a really bad sh*t smell.

As we crest the top of the stairs I'm thinking....."man... did someone take a crap around here?  It reeks like poop in here now..... that's odd"

The Boy is running after The Girl and I'm running to keep up with them both and we make it to the bathroom.  I tell The Boy to stay outside and he's questioning why we ran past the ice-cream shop and didn't get any..... 

The Girl and I enter the bathroom and all of a sudden I hear:  MY PANTIES!!!! MY PANTIES!!!!!!

And there it is:  sh*t on the bathroom floor.
FROM. MY. CHILD.  DEAR. GOD..... what just happened????

Oh... and fun fact:  human poop coils up like dog poop when launched from mid-air.
Who knew?

I'm instantly horrified for The Girl AND for the fact that this is a WATER PARK. 
NO ONE IS WEARING SHOES!!!!!  ugh.

So, The Girl jumps on the toilet and I'm trying to help her, meanwhile I'm yelling:  "PLEASE WATCH OUT FOR THE POOP!!! THERE IS POOP ON THE FLOOR!!!!"

The Girl is sobbing and sh*t is EVERY.WHERE.
It's in her hair.  On her face.  On her hands.
Up her back and down her front.... the Frozen dress is COVERED.
I'm begging her to keep her hands away from her face, but she's crying and keeps reaching up with sh*t covered hands to wipe away her tears.
Awe.some.

Now I can hear women talking and steering their children around the big pile of steaming sh*t on the floor.
Good. TIMES.

So I pull the dress off The Girl and she's filling bowl after bowl, flush after flush and it smells so awful.
And she's crying and at this point I'm crying....

And The Boy is outside the door yelling... Mom - is everything ok?  Why does the bathroom smell so bad?
And alll the while a big pile of steaming sh*t sits front and center on the bathroom floor.

So I leave the stall and I'm trying to clean up the sh*t on the floor... which is a task because it's NO small pile.... and I'm there:

Waive hand.
Wait for five inches of paper towel to dispense.
Tear.
Waive hand.
Wait again....
Tear again.....

F*ck me.  
I'm practically dancing with this machine and I have barely enough towel to dry wet hands let alone clean up a pile of poo from the floor.
Sigh.

I get the poop cleaned up - but it's in the tile groove... so I cover the entire area in paper towels (more waiving and dancing commences to make this happen) and I go flying outside to find a worker to help me....

Trying to explain to some teenage kid that your child just took a giant sh*t on their floor and has also re-decorated an entire stall and that I'm going to need someone with proper cleaning supplies to come and disinfect is utterly pointless... but eventually they agree to send someone.

This poor sweet little girl shows up and is pretty nice about the whole thing... until I open the stall door and she nearly throws up in her own mouth.

Again.  COVERED.  The Girl was COVERED.
Sigh.

So The GWL lost a few towels in that experience....and The Girl has a shower of sh*t shame... then I dressed her in my pajamas, I grabbed our stuff, The Boy and I headed for the door....

Trip over.
The Boy was crushed.  The Girl couldn't wait to leave.... and me....?
Well, it's just one more example of how life continues to be sh*t-tastic.

Two hours later we arrive home and The Girl.... is fine.  
Traumatized... but fine.

Isn't that really a theme for me..... Traumatized but fine.
Sigh.