envisioning a terrible tomorrow

Although there is a small chance that I'm biased, I'm sure you'll agree that Youngest Son was an adorable little peanut.

A few days after Oldest Son graduates high school in two weeks, Youngest Son will turn 14. And while I’ve had time to get used to Oldest Son’s transition, the realization that my “baby” is entering high school next year hit hard.

“I feel so…sad,” I told Shawn. “Like deep-down sad.”

“But why?” he asked. “I don’t understand. Youngest Son wants to grow up, he’s ready. Why wouldn’t you want that for him?”

Good question.

Sounds rather needy of me to want him to stay my little guy. I remember how hard it was his last day at Longfellow Elementary School when the school secretary shook her head and said, “Last of the Ault boys to leave Longfellow...” I dragged that reminder with me like a pile of dictionaries to his classroom where his class was performing patriotic and cheesy songs like, “I’m Proud to be and American,” and “You’re a Grand Old Flag.” I’m fairly certain I was the only parent watching with tears streaming down my face and a thoroughly mortified son in the front row.

Where does this resistance to Youngest Son’s growing up come from and what is it about? I wondered. I honestly don’t know. So I did what I often do when I’m trying to understand something — I interviewed myself.

Q & A

Me: Why does Youngest Son growing up make you feel so blue?

Myself: As the youngest of my three boys, his crossing over to middle school and now high school means I’m heading into a new chapter, and I don’t have any real say in the timeline — their crossing over has nothing to do with when I’m ready.

Me: Is that maybe a little selfish?

Myself: Next question, please.

Me: You’ve loved every chapter with your boys, what makes you think the next one won’t be equally awesome?

Myself: Because the next chapter is just a precursor to the Awful Chapters where there are no kids at home anymore; I’m menopausal and avoid mirrors; I make lame jokes about colonoscopies; all that I have and haven't accomplished is laid bare (no more excuses); and I have phone conversations with my grown sons like, “I know you have to work, but it’s really important to me to have all three of you boys here together this Christmas…” Then I die.

Me: Wow. You’re quite the visionary. But I think what’s really going on is you’re scared.

Myself: I guess. I’m scared I won’t be their mom anymore.

Me: But you will still be their mom.

Myself: I know, but not the same mom that they rely on every day.

Me: No, you won’t be the same mom as today, or yesterday.

Myself: So maybe I’m just scared of change and losing this good life to something else that might not be nearly as good.

Me: Right. But maybe it will be as good — just different. You have some control in this, you know.

Myself: I know, but sometimes I see little kids — in the gym, at the store, with friends — and it pinches that I don’t get to do that anymore. It’s not in front of me anymore, it’s mostly behind, and I hate that. I don’t get to hold my babies ever again.

Me: Nope.

Myself: Nope? Just nope? I thought this neurotic little therapy-session-disguised-as-an-interview was supposed to make me feel better.

Me: It’s been a good gig for you, this parenting thing. But you’re transitioning to something else these next few years, and if you believe that something else will be bad, that’s what you’ll find (and create). See?

Myself: I’m trying. But sometimes I still feel down about all this — especially now with Oldest Son graduating and Youngest Son going to high school next year…Then I feel bad about feeling bad. Sort of like my own special recipe for Loser Soup.

Me: I know. It’s OK. You’re going to be OK.

Myself: Can you pet my head for a few minutes while collapse on the couch?

Me: Probably not. I’m you, so that might look a little weird.

Eunice: What a bunch of nonsense this is! Don’t you two have something better to do with your time than document how unstable you are for the Internet?

Me/Myself: Go clean toilets, Eunice.

good thing we brought food with us

Custer National Forest

Where was I? Oh yes. Turkey hunting. (I just accidentally wrote turdey hunting and corrected myself, as we did not go on a special search for excrement.)

The great thing about living in a state as large as Montana is that if you drive several hours in any given direction, chances are you’ll land somewhere you’ve never been before. So when Shawn and the boys decided to go to southeast Montana to turkey hunt in the Custer National Forest — four hours from home — I joined them with a big pile of books, some good food, my running shoes, and the want to see new country.

We’re sort of “time optimists” in our family, thinking we can fit more life inside 24 hours than most. It never really works. So the plan was to work half of Friday, and leave for our trip at 2 or 3 p.m., and set up our tent in the lovely last breaths of daylight.

As it was, we didn’t get on the road until 4:30 p.m., hit Subway in Billings for dinner and ended up driving old, bumpy dirt roads several hours later in inky darkness. By the time Shawn turned off the headlights and declared “camp” in the middle of who-knows-where around 9 p.m., it was pouring rain.

Of course it was.

So we set up our tents, and went to bed.

A few hours after I’d fallen asleep, I felt tiny drops on my head, like cold fairy dust. Shawn was awake too, and synched down the rain fly. We fell back asleep, but then I awoke to a frantic kicking.

It was Shawn, and he was kicking in a way that was not at all a manly sort of kick, but rather one that brings to mind a small, frantic child with a spider in their bed.

“What? What is it?!” I said, wide awake.

“It’s a mouse,” he replied. “It was nibbling on my feet, then it ran up my leg.”

“Well get it out!” I said (I might have screeched).

“I’m pretty sure it’s gone now,” he said, rolling over.

“What do you mean, it’s GONE?” I said, alarmed. “The tent is zipped shut. If a mouse just crawled up your leg, then it’s in the tent with us still. You need to do something.”

“No,” he said. “It’s gone,” and fell asleep.

The next morning the guys were up and off hunting before I woke. I sipped coffee alone and took in the bluffs and ponderosa pine-covered hills surrounding our camp. This area, very different from where we live in southwest Montana but equally striking in its own way, borders an Indian reservation and towns with names like Lame Deer and Crow Agency.

The guys returned to camp later that day looking glum. Not only did they not claim a turkey, but they didn’t even see signs of turkeys.

That afternoon we went on a turkey-scouting drive, and Shawn let Youngest Son take the wheel for a spell along the remote back roads to cheer him up a bit. Once again no turkeys, but we did spot a snake — a green racer — in the road, which Oldest Son (our snake lover) jumped out and wrangled.

Also, did I mention the ticks? There was a stupendous amount of ticks in this turkey-barren country. In fact at one point I snuck inside the tent for a little afternoon snooze, only to spot several sunlit ticks making their way across the outside of our tent, trapped beneath the rain fly, which turned out to be a very non-drowsy sort of sight.

That evening as I prepared pesto tortellini with smoked salmon for dinner the boys played “baseball” with sticks and rocks, then chased each other around trying to harm each other, adorable overgrown tykes that they are. Then they debated whose wiener was larger.

See?

No turkeys, but nice family memories, that’s what we have.

END NOTE: I've missed this space and feeling the presence of reader-friends! But life feels a little crazy right now. Maybe it's the return of light and longer days performing some sort of manic, bio-chemical voo-doo on my spirit? Anyway, there's been work, lots of gardening, swarming bees, trail runs and preparation for Oldest Son graduating...So I'm thinking I may show up here just once a week for a spell, on Thursdays perhaps.

your turn: funny by deadline

Meet my friend Denise Malloy. She has a smile, southern drawl and genuine charm that lights up a room. And when you notice her perfectly straight white teeth, dimples and fashionably badass hairdo and think maybe she’s the type of lady who hangs with people above your ilk, well, she’ll say something to tip you off that you’ve got it all wrong.

“My hair?” Denise laughed when I complimented her short ‘do years ago and asked her where she’d had it done. “Umm, my house? My husband uses the clippers on me — has for years.”

I first met Denise years ago as a freelance writer writing for a local monthly women’s publication I edit called Balance magazine. She presented herself as a stay at-home mom raising two sons; it was years until I discovered she’d spent two years in Samoa as a Peace Corps volunteer, had a whole other career as a school teacher mixed in with law school and some years working as a lawyer. (Oops, slipped my mind!) Besides being humble, Denise has a self-deprecating sense of humor that saves her bacon from everybody hating her for her shining awesomeness. Witness how she describes herself on her website:

“After working as a lifeguard, a Peace Corps Volunteer, a middle school teacher, a Hickory Farms girl, a switchboard operator, a front desk clerk at a hotel featuring the Fashion Don’t uniform consisting of a turd brown, three-piece polyester suit with a bow tie, and finally, an attorney (but don’t hold that against me), I am uniquely qualified to do absolutely nothing. Recent job interviews confirm this sad but true fact. That’s why I write.”

These days Denise writes a popular humor column about her family and popular culture for the Bozeman Daily Chronicle and just released her first book, A Real Mother, which is a compilation of those columns. (Last month instead of writing for Balance, she was the cover story.) I never read her columns without marveling at her cleverness, loving that her voice is so true on the page that I swear I can hear Kentucky from here.

Denise and the man she refers to as "The Husband."What is the process of writing a column like for you?

It has evolved. I used to spend hours fretting over what I was going to write about (and then fret about not having it written already). I started keeping a list of stuff that makes me laugh or say WTF?  I trust the process more now and let it flow more than trying to control it. It’s a lot more fun that way. Sometimes the process itself surprises me and the writing takes me in a direction I didn’t expect, which I absolutely love.

You’re known as a humorous columnist — does that ever feel like a lot of pressure?

I’m always worried about whether it’s funny or not. Especially when a column gets a big response, I worry about the next one. I guess worry a lot for someone who is supposed to be funny.

You’ve recently hit the big 5-0. How has that been for you?  What is one goal you’ve set for yourself this year?

I had to combine these two questions because for me, they go together.  I’d say 50 is great because it’s motivating as hell.  Approaching the half-century mark is monumental — it’s a reminder that time is limited.  And it forces you to make an honest assessment of your goals.  One of mine for as long as I can remember was to write a book. So this seemed like the year to quit making excuses and do it. 

One part of the 50-thang is not so amusing. When did the Andy Rooney eyebrows and a soul patch turn up on the peri-menopausal menu?  

What’s your best advice for happiness?

1. I think there’d be a lot fewer Zoloft and Paxil prescriptions if there were adult-sized playgrounds. I’m totally serious. Think about it — swings, slides, teeter totters and those spinny things that make me puke since I had kids.  It’s hard to be in a bad mood when you’re on a swing. Try it.  

2. Stop taking yourself so seriously.

You always seem so darn sunny and spunky.  Do you ever get down?

I am one of those annoying, pathologically cheerful people. I’m a pain in the ass to be around due to my perpetually optimistic outlook. I guess you could say my glass has always been half full, the secret is to make sure that sometimes it’s with gin and tonic. 

Because Denise was an only child, she says she knew nothing about parenting and had always refused to hold babies "until their necks worked." So at first, The Husband did all the diapering and bathing of their boys. Somehow her sons (photographed here a few years ago) have survived her.

How did you meet your husband?

After 4 years of teaching cute elementary students, I got bumped to a middle school where I taught twitchy, walking hormones known as 7^th graders. That spring, I saw THE cutest guy — ever — walking around our school. Suddenly I became one of the walking hormones. He was rumored to be the new teacher coming over from the high school. I decided he was the guy I was going to marry.

Are there some things you’ve learned about publishing a book that you didn’t know before?

I’ve learned that whether you do it through a traditional publisher or on your own, you basically do everything yourself anyway. In 2007, Arcadia Publishing approached me about doing a Bozeman history book. I thought it would be a great learning experience and loved the chance to hang out at the Pioneer Museum and look through old pictures and documents. The publishers said they’d take care of all the details, marketing and advertising. While I’m proud of that book, I ended up doing a lot more than just the writing. So I guess I could chalk it up to that learning experience I was looking for.

While in the planning stages, I shopped around for publishers for A Real Mother trying to figure it all out. After doing months of research, I decided to start my own publishing company, One Red Dog Press and go with a Print-on-Demand company.  So from start to finish, every aspect of A Real Mother was a true do-it-yourself project. I learned everything from formatting and cover design to marketing and advertising. I also learned if I had to sell stuff for a living, I’d starve to death. I really hate that part.

Writing a book was a lot like pregnancy — both of mine lasted about 9 months and made me crazy in the process. It’s all you think about and talk about. And when you finally show it to the world, you hope the world loves it as much as you do.  Which is why I nearly had a stroke when I saw the first shipment of my new baby — the baby on the cover looked like Gorbachev with big purple splotches all over it — all 500 copies. Once I regained consciousness, customer service took care of it.

Tell us a bit about how you got started writing.  Do you have any advice for aspiring writers? 

I believe Flannery O’Conner’s theory about writers — if you survive childhood, you have enough material to write the rest of your life. But when your childhood looks like this, clearly the Humor Writing gods have smiled upon you.

When I asked Denise who was in this photo she said, "That's me and my mom. The cool looking lady is not related to me."

I would tell every aspiring writer — run, don’t walk to the bookstore and get a copy of Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. Read the chapters called Shitty First Drafts and   Perfectionism. When you’re on the outside looking in, writing is so shrouded in mystery. I used to think all great writers sat down at the keyboard, cracked their knuckles and just began writing pages of perfect literary copy. 

Not so. All writers write shitty first drafts. 

I would also tell them to be fearless. Don’t be afraid to ask — like when I asked you if I could write a column for Balance magazine. I’m proud of that set of cojones. Don’t be afraid of rejection — it won’t kill you. It will piss you off. But who cares? Go for it. 

END NOTE: I'm off to southeastern Montana this weekend to go turkey hunting with my guys. Because I am so into that shit. (I'm hoping you know that's ridiculous. I never go hunting with the guys.) Maybe it's due to Oldest Son graduating and Youngest Son entering high school next year, but I'm feeling this sense of time with my dudes slipping away. So I called their bluff and am going with.

I'm also going to take a few weeks off from blogging. Denise and Anne Lamott are inspiring me to get some outside-the-blog writing done. So I'll see you on May 14 or so, maybe with dead turkeys and such. Be well!

operating instructions

My first-born is graduating from high school less than seven weeks from now. This photo of us was taken just five years ago and now he towers over everyone in our family…Oldest Son's plan is to fly to Alaska after graduation and work for a remote hunting/fishing lodge for several months. So we’ll be saying goodbye to him for a while. This transition has left me questioning. Have I taught him everything he needs to know to be a good man in the world? Does he know my beliefs? Have I given him the skills to become all he can? It was while asking myself these questions that I began writing down my best advice for him on how to live:

We all make mistakes. Sometimes big, train-wreck mistakes. It’s how we handle those mistakes that define our integrity as a person.

If you’re going to assume things about others, make them positive assumptions.

Don’t pick a partner who seemingly likes/creates drama. Such people will suck the energy out of you.

Relationships are hard, but they are also meant to add to your life. If you’re in a relationship that is taking more than adding, pay attention.

Try not to be mean when you’re cranky. Just admit you’re cranky and ask others to cut you some slack.

A girl will break your heart someday (and mine, when that happens). You will survive. Never let a person reduce your heart’s potential for loving again.

The person you choose to marry should be your best friend and most enthusiastic cheerleader, and vice versa.

Look for opportunities to help and be good to others — it will help you more than you know.

Be more afraid of staying stuck in a rut than failure.

You will never regret traveling and experiencing the world.

Really think through anything that will saddle you with a large amount of debt. Live debt-free as much as possible.

Develop your own beliefs by setting aside quiet time for reflection each day.

Take care not to make alcohol a habit, and stay away from drugs. The line between recreation and addiction is blurry. Find healthy addictions.

NEVER drive drunk. Never let a friend drive drunk.

When you’re sick and rundown, ask yourself: Am I sleeping enough? Am I putting good food in my body? Am I fit?

Sit down with others to eat whenever you can. Eat slowly. Say thank you for your food.

Never take family or friendships for granted. Be especially kind to those who matter to you; you’ll be glad you were when you fall down and have all those hands to help you up.

Ask people about themselves. Look at conversations as an opportunity for meaningful connection with another.

Asking for help is not a sign of weakness. Ask for help when you’re struggling.

Apologize when you’re wrong or when you’ve hurt someone’s feelings. Letting an apology go unsaid will cost you more than you know.

Don’t stay in a job with negative/angry people. If you work with good people, even mopping floors isn’t so bad.

You’ll sometimes have to perform tasks you don’t want to tackle as an adult. That's life. Sometimes “incentivizing” or bribing myself can help me get these things done.

Come up with a five-year plan for yourself. That plan will likely change and that’s OK, but it’s helpful to focus your energy.

Life isn’t fair. There will always be others with more assets or opportunities than you. Count your blessings rather than focusing on what you don’t have — you’ll bring more abundance your way when you operate from this place.

Help those who have less than you.

Try to deal with difficult people with compassion and/or patience. Everyone has their story and they might be dealing with more than you can imagine.

Speak up against injustice.

Spend time outside often.

Wear sunscreen, you’ll thank yourself later.

When you have extra money, save it. When you want to spend money, use it to buy experiences more than stuff.

Show up for others’ important events in life.

Wean your mother off of your daily presence slowly by calling and emailing several times a week.

Oldest Son, senior photo by erikpetersenphotography.com.

 END NOTE: Any suggestions for what I might amend or add to my list before presenting it to him?

hearing aid decoys

Toilet paper earrings found on beadedambition.wordpress.com.I’ve had my hearing aids for a week now, and wow, what a noisy-ass world we live in. How do you all stand it?

There’s apparently a whole menu of sounds I haven’t been hearing. Also? Not hearing maybe wasn’t so bad. Getting used to hearing so much has left me completely fried by the end of each day — ready to rip the little computers out of my ears and stomp them like poisonous spiders.

Maybe not quite that bad, but going to work in a high-traffic, open newsroom with hearing aids is tiring. There’s the noise from the police scanner and its constant play-by-play of calls, conversations between co-workers, people walking for heaven’s sake (I swear people are now walking like they’re dinosaurs just to mess with me), the unbearable mouth sounds of people eating, and perhaps the most mortifying: I can now hear phone conversations going on across a very large room.

And if I can hear my co-workers on the phone then maybe that means they’ve always been able to hear me on the phone as well? That little realization has left me in a tizzy trying to recall all the marginal sorts of things I’ve discussed on the phone at work over the past years while assuming that if I couldn’t hear others, they certainly couldn’t hear me. Lord knows you have a big mouth, Eunice likes to remind me.

The day after I got my hearing aids a woman who makes jewelry in our office had a jewelry sale by her desk. And while I’ve always been a small earring sort of girl, for some reason I bought an uncharacteristically large pair of earrings.

I purposely bought small hearing aids that mostly hide inside my ears, but have still had people ask, "What's going on with your ears?" Perhaps I need even larger earrings?

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Eunice hissed as I tried on my new earrings in the bathroom mirror at work, “trying to distract people from noticing your hearing aids. How about just getting used to admitting you’re deaf as an old dog and quit with the hussy jewels?!”

I’ve worn the earrings pretty much non-stop now, and am considering asking one of my crafty friends to make me some condom wrapper earrings just to spite Eunice and keep the attention below my ears...Much cheaper and less painful than a boob job.

When I went for a check-up with the audiologist yesterday and told him all this stuff, he said it’s to be expected. (Although he says he’s never the seen condom earrings worn by a patient before, he has seen a boob job shortly after hearing aids.) The mentally pummeled feeling will subside in about six months he explained, after my brain fully reprograms and gets used to hearing and blocking out sensory overload like a normal person.

Pasta earrings? Apparently these were all the rage at a Dolce and Gabanna fashion show...

Myself, I'm partial to these handmade Chuck Norris earrings seen on blippit.com.

These are the absolute best, though. I WANT goldfish earrings like this cute Japanese man on odditycentral.com. You don't think they're too busy, do you?

In the meantime, there are several settings in my bionic ears that I can switch up, and one of them = quiet. I heart this setting. I have discovered that I am highly distractible, and hearing things now only increases the challenge of focusing.

Speaking of focusing, I just read a fabulous essay by writer Annie Lammott about shutting out the noise, distractions and excuses, and finding time to accomplish those things (writing, creating, cultivating/promoting a talent, learning something new, etc.) that we all have on our someday list but believe we just can’t get to because we're too busy.