I just had the sweetest moment.  Irv is in the kitchen "popping the drumsticks" which is what we call the process of severing the huge tendons in a chicken drumsticks, so that they're tender bites of chicken, and resemble lollipops when cooked.  Anyway, he's in there doing that, and I wanted to keep him company, because I love keeping him company in the kitchen. Sometimes, I just sit there taking in the sounds and vibe. It's relaxing, I feel loving and loved, in those moments.  The smell of chicken was a little too overwhelming though. Since pregnancy, the smell of raw chicken has always tap danced across my gag reflex.  That, and watching him sever tendon after tendon was giving me empathetic chills.  Anyway, I begged off, and returned to my chair the living room.  Soon after, I became mesmerized with the gentle whackthump of the knife hitting the cutting board, and the soft reggae.  I sat back in my chair just sort of floating my psyche into the kitchen, and I gained the same sense of peace and solidarity that I would if I were sitting right there with him.

So, it's official, plans are in place.  We're going camping on Thursday, through Sunday.  It's funny, because camping is the done thing, usually twice during the fall.  It's funny, because I can't make concrete plans, or mention it too much, or beg, or be decisive, because it drives Irv against a wall, and he becomes reactionary.  So, there's this dance that we do, every year. About a month before, I say "camping" a lot. I bring it up in casual conversation.  I reminisce, I find recipes, and say things like "I can't wait to try this, when we're camping", or "today is totally camping weather".  Then, I bring up how bad I want to go.  That makes it a bit less nebulous.  Then I say "It's September (or October) can we firm up a weekend?".  Then, I start to tell people "no, I don't want to make plans for that weekend, I want to keep it open for camping maybe"  Then, maybe a week, or four days in advance, Irv goes "let's go camping this weekend".  Any other process makes him feel pushed into it, and there's negativity.  If we do go, and he feels pushed, then fights are more likely to break out over petty stuff.  It's also, I think, because he's extra difficult during October. All these years, and it's still a sore month.  He's way better than when we got married, but we're still careful. As long as I know how to help him through these few rough weeks, than we do well.

Anyway, we're going. Now I get to have fun and make menus, and plan.  Luiz opted to go, which was a surprise   He typically enjoys his alone time when we're out of the house, and till this morning, I thought he kinda hated camping. Last year, he had a hard time reconciling "vacation" with "still gotta do some kinda work" and strained at the idea of camping chores.  We all look forward to the camp life, the little things, like cooking outdoors, and heating up water to wash dishes, chop wood, carry water. Luiz, last year, was having a tough time getting in line with that. He envisioned camping as a week long reading fest, he brought volumes of books, and sat around all day reading.  Which is fun, and a large part of it, but there's things that we all do, together.  I suppose it was partially our fault, too, because when Irv and I camp, after long years of learning a system, we work together like a well oiled machine.  Alden is now part of it, and we expected Luiz just to pick up and learn.  He's looking forward to it this time, and he said outright "I go without ego, I want to be a part of the family and help out as much as possible."  It'll be a lot of fun.  It's my therapy.

Since I'm in the boot, Irv was like "we're going to keep everything super easy, and just quick food for dinners" I was like "WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME"  Cooking while camping is as much a part of the experience as the fire, or sleeping on the ground. I need to cook at least a little.  I've got plans for making beef stew, with dark beer, and barley, and serving it in bread bowls.  That's my one new recipe for the weekend. Then burgers, grilled chicken or steak, Italian roast beef, and a few delicious breakfasts.

It's a nice Saturday.  The kind with no plans, tonight.  I'm very sleepy from lack of sleep last night and an early morning at bowling.  Alden learned some magical things, this morning, and his score was way more consistent.  It was pleasant, even if I was dozing off by the third game.  Now I'm listening to Peter Murphy, waiting for Alden and Gianna to come home.  They're out walking around town, hand in hand, like a real boyfriend and girlfriend.  It's a joy, for me, as a mother.  He's got a lot of issues, but he has a girl that's devoted to him, and he to her, and it's wonderful.

My anxiety was for naught, last night.  Just to alleviate it, Irv hied me away to Joe Canal's, for a beer run.  We got there in time for a tapping of a keg of Pumking, which was fortuitous.  We also picked up a great 2007 vintage of Monster Ale, a barleywine, a few other random brews.  The thing that made my week was a bottle of Founder's CBS in spite of the rarity and controversy surrounding this heavenly nectar.  Not only did we get it, but we got five bucks off...  We've developed what I hope is a good rapport with the beer manager at JC's, and through talking with him and asking good questions, he's learned that we're definitely "beer people", and managed to snag a bottle for us.  To non beer folks, this means nothing.  To beer folks, this is roughly the equivalent to all the good gift giving holidays, your first orgasm, and your birthday, all rolled into one.

The game went well last night. Luiz found a happy place in his leadership style, the combat was excellent, there were many player-made twists, and what I call "golden moments"  The kind of humor and historical gaming moments that are spoken about for years to come.  Lots of laughter, too, which is my favorite.  If everyone's laughing/chatting while simultaneously fixated and engaged in the story, than that's success, in my book.

Chris seemed adversarial to quote Ian, at first.  Once things got rolling he settled down.  Shelby is great with people, and she went far, through role playing, to make things good.  It's not Chris, but sometimes he arrives flustered.  He brings his demon named Leah into the game, and it takes awhile to banish that.  The demon comes back towards the end of the night.  I joked that the demon is our real boss mob.  I say the demon's name is Leah, because it's all the ugly things accumulated in his head, that she put there, or he collects from her throughout the day and surrounding gaming.  She's a good person, but she has a lot of issues to work out. Instead of actively working on herself, she's actively trying to control his life.  He struggles with it. Gaming here is a weird sore place.  I hope that over time, as we get into a groove with this, it'll fade.  Luiz is definitely coming into his own, as a DM.  It's lovely to watch.

The only thing that might make this day better is a nice nap.  The sun is shining, there's an exquisite chilly breeze, perfect nappy weather.  Maybe when the kids come home, I'll mosey upstairs with my book, and see about napping.

I'm tired.  I haven't slept more than three hours a night since Saturday.  It's Friday.  I'm anxious.  I'm anxious for many reasons, but I'm not handling it well because I'm so tired.  The insomnia has extended into nap time, I can't even nap.

Tonight, we're playing D&D here, Luiz's game. I'm anxious about it.  I worry about personality clashes. I don't have the energy to wrangle everyone's baggage into some line, so that we all get along.  I *barely* have the energy to simply play.  Ian sent a message saying they'd be coming over at FOUR.  Luiz had to shut that down. That's when everyone walks in the door, for fucks sake.  I'm barely ok with 6.  I'm more ok with like 8-9 pm, that's when I feel relaxed and ready to tackle a game.  Ugh.  The house smells. I'm hungry, but too anxious to eat or think of what to eat.

I don't ever want to be one of those parents that says "I had no idea what was going on..."

All this stuff came to me, in the shower.  Let's see if typing will stroke the stream of consciousness that I was grooving on.

I finished Crazy Cock.  It was a totally unique experience. The writing went from patchy narrative,  -

Ok, while I was writing this, the bastard fuckers that have been hassling Alden since first grade, threw a bunch of rocks at the house.  This, on the heels of the eggs, and the rocks from earlier today, and the fact that they've been circling around almost daily now, catching him out, and calling him names.  I heard the impact, CHUNK CHUNK CHUNK hitting all around the living room window that I sit closest to.  I called out, "they're hitting the house again." and Irv ran out the door, and caught them. He chased them down the street.  He saw them, Kenny Harrigan and Corey Thompson, leaving on their bikes.  They hit the house earlier today, but we didn't catch them.  They were outside our yard at 9:30 pm, yesterday, while Jake and Janae were over, and they harassed Alden as he was walking the dogs.  Ugh.  I'm husked out. A police officer came, took a report.  Supposedly they're bringing the kids into custody.  All my well composed thoughts pewfed out of my head at the sound of those rocks hitting the house.

I was writing about the book.

I planned on addressing the vibe in the house.

I felt pained at owing everyone stuff because they're doing me favors by coddling me with this foot thing.



My stomach is in knots, big soft revolving lumpy knots.  Our pizza arrived while the officer was here taking our statement, and we sat down to eat after everything was over. I couldn't eat.  I feel like shit.  I have been running around, while the cop was here, without my boot on, and I actually walked around the house barefoot, in the rain.  It's never hurt worse than it has tonight.  I took a Tylenol 3.  Maybe I'll salvage those thoughts.

I used to long for a block of time to just play whatever game, or do nothing at all.  The idea of it always played in the back of my head, like a reel.  I felt like because that's what I wanted, in reality, it meant I was so gosh darn lazy.   I went to work, shopped, cleaned the house, helped Alden with homework, cooked dinner, cleaned more... all the while thinking "I just wish I was sitting, I must be the laziest person alive, all I want to do is play that game or read my book."  Looking back with that 20/20 hindsight, I realize it was my mother's daily litany echoing through my adult mind, as singsongy as she ever used to be-  "L is for Lisa and L is for Lazy.  LazylazyLisa."  Which, as I'm beginning to understand is patently untrue.  Shut the fuck up, demons.

I long for the ability to run around and do stuff like I used to.  I think...deep down, I long for choice.  When I was always busy taking care of my daily domestic duties, I wished I could choose to throw it all off and pursue my pursuits...which sometimes, meant planting my ass and playing some mindless game for hours at a clip, since that was the foreign thing.  Now, I really ache to run around, fucking clean the house, walk the dogs around the block, drive to the grocery store, and instead, I'm forced onto my ass.  It's also woken me up, to my true nature.  Now, when "LazyLisa", to coin my mother's endearing phrase, is really and truly being inactive, I. Go. Insane.  This forced inactivity is way more crazymaking than my old routine "crazy" days.