Bitter. And sweet.

Ahhhhhh. Hear that? Yeah, that. That great big SILENCE in my house. For the first time in days. Maybe weeks. My ears feel like soldiers grateful for the reprieve from battery. My brain is clearing, unclouding, slowing down, waking up. For this brief slice of time, I don't have to explain anything to anyone. And I especially don't have to explain the same thing to one person six times in a row because that one person either isn't really listening, is watching TV while attempting to listen, or just forgets the pertinent details (or actually, everything) immediately after the explanation is given.

Some days I feel like I need to be alone and quiet or the part of me that makes me, me is going to burst into a cloud of obliteration. Some days I feel guilty about this. Most days it just feels like survival.

Is it merely because I hate cleaning, and particularly cleaning up after children that I feel as though the mark of a good homemaker/stay at home mom/wife/woman is how clean her house is? Because I really hate cleaning. Especially when I know that there are three small people in my house whose main endeavor in this life is to follow me around and dirty whatever I've just cleaned. And when I say just cleaned, I mean the cleaner isn't even dry yet. Basically, the reason they coined the phrase "exercise in futility". Even so, I feel this pressure to have a clean house. Do I like my house to be clean? Of course. Do I want to live in a pigsty? No, not particularly, my love of pigs notwithstanding. Was I born in a barn? My mom will attest that I was not. Nevertheless, I go about my day resenting the fact that somewhere, pressure is being exerted on me to have a clean house, and yet maddened by the pointlessness of cleaning a house where kids live. In fact, the concept of a housekeeper is an unconquerable paradox for me. Pay someone to clean what will unavoidably get dirty right away? I just can't wrap my brain around that one.

There are times when I feel an overwhelming panic to crawl into some solitary den, just so I don't have to give an opinion, be the one to make a decision, encourage or approve or appreciate, nurture, tolerate, make small talk or act like I care, a powerful mania to let my mind, my consciousness rest, no concerns, no worries, no hopes or desires, to simply and plainly be.

I'm really not this bitter or cynical or whiny. Really, truly, I'm not. Some things you just have to let out. It could just be the effects of summer vacation, but I'm pretty sure I'm not alone here, either.

And on the flip side, there are moments when I look at my children and cannot conceive that such beautiful creatures exists, and moreover, that this beauty is mine and my responsibility to shape. Some days I cry when I think of the unutterable sweetness of motherhood. Once in a while, I laugh all day long. And every day, even the days when I must choose between solitude and sanity, every day, the thought of these little bodies growing big and going away makes me want to gather them up and stop time, never, ever let them go.

U2

I am eternally grateful and indebted to Brad Jones. I mean, I had led a full and happy life prior to that June night in 1997; I was content and excited about the future. And then Brad showed me what I was missing.

Pop Mart was probably U2's least successful tour, behind an album that confused most listeners. I didn't care.

It was magical.

I have never missed a tour since, and I swear I never will.

At the Elevation show in Anaheim, Justin became a convert. (I couldn't have married him otherwise.)

We were both giddy about this show, and even being at the top of the Staples Center was amazing. 

In 2010, this tour began:

I bought tickets (of course!), then realized that this show was three weeks after Calum would be born. With the determination and passionate stubborness of a die hard fan, I decided I didn't care that I would be less than a month post-natal and post-c-section. I would have gone, left my newborn and my other two children with a babysitter. This kind of experience only happens once every four or five years.

Well, unfortunately for him, and fortuitously for me, Bono sustained a back injury which forced a postponement of the second leg of the North American tour. Meaning that I would have to wait another year to see my boys. Mixed blessing is a phrase coined specifically for this situation.

Time passed, as it always does, and suddenly the day had arrived. As Justin and I joined the madness filing into the Oakland Coliseum (which, incidentally, I refuse to call by its new name, O.co Coliseum), I felt that exhilaration again. U2 fans are like no other fans in the world, and there most of the time you can't even hear Bono sing, because the audience has taken the lyrics over. It's like being a part of one huge musical organism.We walked onto the field, and then into the inside of the catwalk, less than 30 feet from the stage and right under one the moving bridges that surrounded it. The people near us were true fans, Irish on our left and right, and there were kids everywhere. We sang every song at the top of our lungs, and when Bono and The Edge walked past us on the bridge, I could have reached up and touched their hands.

This is the only photo I took, but yes, we were that close, and it was glorious. I wore my concert t-shirt yesterday.

Next time we're bringing Declan.

(Most of my cousins are also U2 die-hards, so next tour, I think there will be a whole new generation introduced to the boys from Dublin. Must be something in the blood.)

Thank you, Magic 8 Ball!

Declan told me that a friend of his brought a Magic 8 Ball to school today.

"I asked the Magic 8 Ball if I would be rich and have a robot, and it said very likely!" he related with great satisfaction.

My question is will the robot come before or after the financial independence? Either way, doesn't get any cooler than Declan.

Also, my idea of rich and a robot is always closely associated with Rocky IV, when Rocky and Adrienne give Pauly the singing robot for his birthday.

Down On The Farm

I have seen my vision realized.

Well, I have seen someone who is realizing their version of my vision. And I approve wholeheartedly.

Declan's grade went on a field trip today to a farm here in Aptos. Some of the second grade classes hatched duck and chicken eggs, and then gave them to the farmer. (Declan's class was grossly unsuccessful in their hatching endeavors, and ended up getting a few chicks on loan from the local feed store.) So the chicks and the ducks were briefly hailed as long lost companions and then ignored completely.

I had the choice to drive on this field trip or a visit to a bakery. I was torn until the bakery tour was cancelled. Farm it is.

I am so glad I went.

Abramson Farm is exactly what I would love to have someday. The family cultivates 4 of their 20 acres, they are certified organic, and their goal is to make the property pay for itself.

They raise blueberries, Meyer lemons, grapes, apples, oranges, avocados, herbs, chickens, ducks and pigs. Oh, and did I mention that they have beehives? My fondest dream ever?! Well, consider it mentioned.

Also, the farm is situated in a long valley called Blackberry Canyon, with lots of sun (unusual for most of Aptos), lots of trees (not unusual at all for Aptos), and the air smells like lavender and redwoods and ocean.

It will be mine. Oh, yes, it will be mine.

Why I can never leave my car unlocked...

A conversation between Greer and me, as we were getting into the car this morning:
Me, heavily sarcastic: Wow, Greer, do you think you could have smeared any more fingerprints on your window?
Greer, adorably innocent: Mom, it wasn't me, I promise!
Me, laughingly incredulous: Greer, no one else could have done it. You're the only person who sits by that window.
Greer, very logically: Well, Mom, you always leave your car unlocked. Maybe a raccoon got in and did it.

Also, she has been "drizzling" Declan's basketball all over the house today.

Chocolate Cake: A Love Affair in Pictures

Shout Hooray!

One year ago today, I was in the hospital. I couldn't get out of bed, and I was hooked up to all kinds of really irritating machines. I was in pain. Like, a lot of pain.

But I didn't really care about any of that.

My world was focused on one thing.

This:

 And now, on his first birthday, my vision has widened a bit, but he still looms pretty large.

 Happy birthday, Calum! You are so loved! Your silly laugh, your drunken zombie walk, your happy baby talk high-volume yells, and your adorable little body bring so much joy to our family!