Flapjack Jam for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation

Alright local peeps, this Saturday, you have the chance to come to the Lakemont Club in our neighborhood, and attend the second annual Flapjack Jam for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation.

Between walks and fundraisers like this one, our neighborhood, lovingly nicknamed, Super Dylan Nation, raises tens of thousands of dollars that go straight to research to end Cystic Fibrosis.

We have a personal reason for this. His name is Dylan, and he is the six year old fireball behind all of this. We do it because Dylan has Cystic Fibrosis, and we want a cure for him. For Dylan and the other 69,999 people in the world with this disease.

The pancakes will be scrumptious. The company will be divine. The silent auction will be amazing (you can check out the big ticket items in this catalog, and the little shirts I made are pictured below). The entertainment will be, well, entertaining.

Kevin and I will be taking the stage together for the first time. Yep. Married five years, and we had yet to start a band. Hush. We've been busy. Our good friend Walt Hensey will be joining us on bass, and we're borrowing a lovely drummer who I've yet to meet. But I'm certain that he's lovely, because he said "yes."

So. If you can, come by on Saturday. Come early for pancakes and the auction. Mule Kickers (Kevin named us. I kinda love it.) starts at 6:00. We really want you to be there.

I love you, but I hate your dog

All in all, we are pretty fortunate. We have some fabulous neighbors.

There is the couple across the street who take care of our dogs when we go out of town. They save us hundreds of dollars and allow us to visit family when we might not be able to afford it otherwise.

There is the family across the street who ushered us into the social circle of young families in the neighborhood. They have been supportive and fun, sharing birthdays and holidays and lots of laughs with us.

Then there is the family next door to us. We love them too. The wife is from the Ukraine and the husband is from Mexico. They met in an English as a second language class, which I think is really cool. They have a beautiful teenage daughter whose best friend is their German Shepherd, Dutch.

When we moved in, there was a little chatter about Dutch and what an annoyance he was. But we are dog people, and appreciate a little understanding when our dogs are annoying, so we afforded the same tolerance towards Dutch.

He barks when someone walks past.

He barks when you pull in the driveway.

He barks when the mailman comes.

He barks when our dogs go outside.

He barks when a leaf falls off the tree.

Occasionally it has bothered me. In years past, it was just a "HEY! Look at me! I'm a dog! HEY HEY HEY!" bark. I can totally tune that out unless I'm doing something in the driveway, in which case, after about a half hour, it's really annoying, and I'll yell at him until someone comes to bring him inside.

Lately though, the barking has been more of a, "HEY! I hate you and your children! I'm going to take your fingers off if you stick them through that fence! HEY HEY HEY!" bark.

I don't like it at all.

Worse than the aggression though, is the timing of the barking.

Ever since we moved Christopher into his new room down the hall from us, he has been waking up around 5:00 in the morning. It's killing us. He used to sleep until about 8:00, and losing three hours of sleep seems to have turned him into Mr. Crankypants from hell.

He needs more sleep.

We've tried longer naps. We've tried putting him down earlier. It's not working.

Unfortunately, what we need is for Dutch to not be in our neighbor's backyard BARKING INCESSANTLY AT 5:00 FREAKING A.M.

I really like our neighbors. I do. But the dog is turning my child into a sleepless monster.

The neighbor behind us just calls the police to report the dog as a nuisance. I think that's a little over the top and incredibly passive aggressive. However, I'm not relishing the idea of having to go talk to them about it. I know they are sensitive to the issue (having had the cops called and all), and we've tried to be very understanding of it.

Maybe I should just start sending Christopher over to their house at 5:00 A.M. when Dutch starts in. Or better yet, I could send him at 8:00 when he turns into the most evil, sleepy two year old on the planet.

What would you do?

No, actually, it's not alright

This is our anniversary cake. Each year, I order a small cake that was like our only slightly larger wedding cake. It is a lemon cake with a raspberry filling and simply has our monogram on the top.

It is supposed to be a plain white buttercream frosting, giving it an embossed look.

This year, the girl on the phone at the Square Rabbit said, "Oh, well I'll put the monogram in yellow so it shows up better."

I simply said, "Alright."

It wasn't what I meant. It wasn't alright. I wanted it to be all white, just like it has in years past. Because I've gone soft, I just acquiesced to her and said, "alright."

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Last night, we were at a neighborhood party; a lovely monthly event that our neighbors so kindly host during the summer. The kids run themselves until they pass out on the lawn, the babies get passed around and smooched, and the adults chat with neighbors who they don't get to see often enough. It's always a good time.

As I stood chatting with another baby holding mama, a third woman came up to us. I don't really know her other than her name and a little of the latest gossip. We might not have even been introduced ever - I can't remember.

There wasn't an earth shattering conversation going on when she approached us; just some catching up between friends.

Here's the thing.

She walked up, said nothing to me, and started a totally new conversation with my friend. She took my friend's baby to hold and then angled her back towards me. Where a triangle could have been created, she cut me off, leaving me just standing there like a moron. They talked about the night before, a bunco gathering that I had declined to attend because I still am where Colin is. I smiled politely, not that she could see me with her back turned to me, and waited for the tide of conversation to shift again to a threesome.

Instead, this woman who had interrupted us, leaned closer to my friend and started talking about some super secretive something. It was like sitting at the damn lunch table in 7th grade again.

She leaned into the woman I had been talking to and said something like, "So when are we going to finish up that thing? You know, that thing we have to finish." In a freaking talk-whisper.

My friend looked slightly uncomfortable, and I just snapped.

"Why don't I just leave so you can talk freely?" I said.

The woman's jaw hit the driveway. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said. As if she hadn't seen me there in the first place. Like I hadn't been STANDING THERE THE WHOLE TIME.

I was already gone.

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Much to my surprise, I feel better about the second story. There was a time in my life when I spoke up for myself. There was a time when I felt things passionately and acted on that passion. I could be impulsive and opinionated.

There is too much "alright" coming out of my mouth these days. Too much censoring myself because I want to be liked or accepted when really, I like myself better when I don't give a shit.

I'm not talking about being rude to people. I still like the part of myself that goes out of my way to make someone else feel comfortable. In fact, that's the part of me that has such little tolerance for the rude and immature behavior of that woman last night. I would never have done that to someone. And people that I like? People who are my friends? Don't act like that. So really, why should I care if she now thinks I'm a bitch?

That's what I have to work on. The consequences of standing up for myself, what I believe, and the opinions that matter to me.

I've gone soft. I would like to get some of my edge back. You know, if you don't mind.

Unfiltered

The birth center called. My thyroid test came back normal. I'm thinking I'm supposed to be glad about that, and I am in regards to no drugs and baby is okay. However, the flip side to that is that if everything is normal, then I'm just a little bit crazy. Awesome.

I suppose if my dear family can hang with me until about June of next year, I'll be leveling out again by then. I'm pretty sure Kevin can hang that long. Poor Papa may not make it though. He is so lucky that I'm comfortable enough around him that I don't feel like I have to fake things. Yes, that was sarcasm.

If I could just get a filter, things would be better. Things that actually are annoying, I tend to just call as they are instead of filtering a socially acceptable response. As in, the neighbor who was talking to another neighbor and her two dogs IN my driveway AT naptime. True, it was annoying to have them choose my driveway to stand in with the dogs, thereby driving my dogs insane and waking up Little Bird. However, I wish I could have thought of something to say other than, "Hey, y'all. I'm trying to get my child to sleep and you are driving my dogs insane. Could you please move?" Something nicer. I can only think of meaner things, not nicer ones.

I'm harsh. I know it. No filters. It makes for the crazy to come across even crazier. Awesome.

Here comes Santa Claus

It's December 1st. All neighborhood pumpkins are on notice. Starting with these.

The Christmas season is upon us, and I have plenty of felt. Loads of it.

Ho.

Ho.

Ho.

Right now. Right where I am.

I'm crossing the line of another "I never" tonight. I'm going to play bunko. Although I have no idea what bunko actually is, I do know that until now, no one I have ever wanted to hang out with has played it.

Things change.

Kevin and I have decided to stay in the neighborhood where we are now. The house isn't as big as he would like. It isn't as new as he thinks I would like. It isn't as close to his work as either of us would like. However, it's ours. We remodeled it together to be just as we wanted it, and we love it. Well, I love it anyway. I love this house.

When we made the decision to stay, I made the decision to try and become part of the community that we live in. Here, wrapped safely in my words, I have no problem becoming a part of the community. I may flit from branch to branch within the community, but I do feel a part of it all.

Tonight I will have to wear something other than my written words.

My doula said to me last week after a reiki session that I needed to talk. That writing was fine, but there was a certain power given to words when they physically come out of the mouth. I'm paraphrasing, but that was the gist. She is so right.

Me don't talk so good.

But these are the women who are raising their children around mine. They are the women who play at the park. They are the women who will be at the neighborhood pool this summer. I want to know them and be a part of their community, and I want for my child to be a part as well. I think that it's important. Besides, I really like the women I have met so far, and at the very least we have motherhood in common. I find that motherhood can be a huge common ground.

I shouldn't forget to mention that having the coolest across the street neighbor to usher me into the community doesn't hurt. Maybe I'll change clothes 18 times before I leave tonight, but I'll leave with a little more confidence because I've already made a friend.

Now I must go stand and stare blankly at the content of my closet, hoping to find something that has less peanut butter on it than the jar I am wearing at the moment.