Moonspun

When I started this blog five years ago, lil moonspun was just 7 and starting first grade. RP and I were not married and we were waiting for him to officially get divorced so we could get married. We were living briefly in the house he owned with his ex after she moved to Kentucky with his daughters, but had sold the house that FFO and I had owned together. We were in transition.

Lil m was, as she still is, a pretty happy, artistic, creative and fun kid. She loved to hear stories, but reading was never on top of her list of things to do. Until this past summer, when she discovered the Hunger Games. It was the first time, she actually sat down and read a book for days. Actually, if truth be told, we listened to the first one in the car on an audio tape. Just as we had all 7 of the Harry Potter books, which had taken us 13 months and through 3rd and 4th grade.

Then we bought the second book in the  Hunger Games series, Catching Fire. And she read it as if she was gobbling it up. Then we bought the third, Mocking Jay. It was a weekend in the spring and she finished the second, picked up the third while I grabbed the second and waited for her to finish Mocking Jay so I could read it. I am glad we read them when they were all available as I can’t imagine putting the second one down and then having to wait for goodness knows how long to read the third.

She’s read a couple books since…she is in 6th grade and it’s much more of a requirement and expectation now. But her love of the Hunger Games books is real. It was the spark. Today we are home because lil m’s tummy is upset. As much as I can be a total bitch about sending her to school when she isn’t feel great, I don’t believe in doing that when the words, “I think I might throw up” come out of her mouth. She’s a strong kid and no faker.

In any case, she picked up Mocking Jay last night and started reading it again. Now she is sitting on the couch, with ginger ale and soup reading. Spark indeed.

This morning, she was watching me check my work e-mail, check a couple blogs and post on Facebook. Then she surprised me by asking if she could start her own blog. I wanted to say no at first, because I couldn’t imagine. But then I thought, well why do I need to say no? I said we could talk about it, but there was alot to think about. What did she want to name it? What did she want to do with it? Who was she going to want to read it? That kind of thing. So she is thinking about it. And I’ll ultimately help her if she decides to do it.

It seems grown up to me, in a way I can’t explain. My 12 year old with her own blog. Then again, her world is different than mine was at 12. Very different. So maybe it’s not so bad. And maybe, once it’s up, she’ll be able to articulate herself why she loves the Hunger Games so much. And I can just link there….

Living in Vermont, you could imagine there are lots of country fairs in August and September. That would be pretty accurate. But there is one, the Tunbridge World’s Fair, that’s pretty special. It’s four days, starts with an agricultural education day and well, it’s not huge, but not small either. I’ve been twice before, once with just RP and once with lil m and RP.

I was talking to a friend of mine, KS, at work and she told me about what she and her husband have done for years, going on Friday, taking their daughter out of school early and getting down there to see the sights and get the wrist special on unlimited carnival rides. So RP and I decided to follow suit and try to meet up with them. Although he didn’t necessarily agree with me taking lil moonspun out of school early, I was ok with her missing gym and band for an afternoon.

My friend KS, is one of my newest friends. While I am definitely more social and more friendly as I get older, I actually don’t make friends easily. Like the kind of friend you go out to lunch with and invite to your house. But KS is really great and she actually at first reminded me of Mumma Boo and so she seemed familiar to me in an odd way. And as time goes on we become better friends, especially in Vermont. Most of the people I still feel close to live far away from me. It’s comforting to have a real friend in my daily life.

Anyway, I don’t know that I could do well to explain how much more fun the fair was this year being with other people. KS has a 12 year old stepdaughter who is friendly with lil moonspun and there was another school friend with her. We also ran into another one of lil m’s former classmates, now homeschooled, so there was a happy foursome of 12 year old girls giggling on rides and having a grand old time. We could not have asked for better weather, not too hot, but perfectly comfortable in short sleeves and my tevas.

We went on bumper cars, sampled fried oreos and watched pig races. RP and I had some time to wander through booths and I bought him a new, real leather belt, to fit his 500 mile belt buckle (more on that in another soon-to-come post). I got to hold hands with my handsome  hubby while we went around on the merry-go-round, my most favorite ride. The sun set, the lights of the fairway came on and the lines for the rides got longer.

And then it was time to go. Lil moonspun piled in the car with KS and her family for a sleepover, RP and I climbed in our AWD and we all climbed up and over mountains to our homes with fantastic memories and dreams of the fair again….

Birthdays are funny things. Some people really like to celebrate, some people could care less. Like my boss told me today the last time he had a birthday party he was 7, he’s 66 and simply doesn’t celebrate life that way.

I myself like mine in some level, but since i don’t like alot of attention focused on me, I prefer celebrations to be quiet.

If you really think about it, birthdays are amazing. Because it literally marks the day you were born. And being born, not that we remember it ourselves, is rarely a piece of cake for the body tasked with bringing  us into the world. Hey, maybe that’s why we have cake now….hmmmm…..?

Anyway, today is RP’s birthday. He is 44. When I met him, he was 37. He likes a quiet kind of birthday, like his personality, he doesn’t need much attention or want stuff. So I honor that and have not (to date) given him any kind of big celebration, although I do get tempted each year. This year he actually had some ideas of things he wanted, so I didn’t have to think so much about it. Although I do enjoy surprising him. This year I found some smoked hickory salt online which harkens back to some good childhood memories for him.

He did say quietly this morning that this was the first birthday without his mom being alive. That’s a sad milestone.

September weather can be gorgeous in Vermont and it started out cool and turned warm and sunny and just brilliant. Colors are starting to appear on the trees and it can be so vibrant. We had lunch at a local pizza place, went out to dinner with lil moonspun and in between Happy Birthday wishes worked and lived life as usual.

Maybe that’s the thing of birthdays. It’s a bit of celebration of the everyday. And if done right, make it seem special in the midst of the rest of it.

Happy Birthday, my handsome hubby. I am so blessed by you everyday.

It seems odd somehow to call her Lil Moonspun. After all, she is 12 and decidedly so. She is over 5 feet tall now, wears a size women’s 8 1/2, wears a bra (although she doesn’t really need one) and got her period this summer. She worries about how her hair looks and fashion is becoming important. She is, however, not losing her sense of style or creativity, which is refreshing to me.

Since last winter, there has been a debate going on in multiple circles, the most intense of which was between myself, FFO and lil moonspun, about where lil moons pun for go to school for 6th grade. I wanted her to stay at the Waldorf school she’d been at since kindergarden. She had a fabulous teacher, although she struggled socially in particular with some boys. Then her teacher announced she was not going to continue with the class, but go back to first grade. It broke my heart (and all the class kids and parents) and I realized my argument for her staying had lost its base.

It took me a long time  to be open to it, but it was lil moonspun’s therapist who said it best to me. She said that yes, lil moonspun could navigate the social situation in the school. But it took her so much emotional energy that she was essentially spent  by it.

I opened my mind a bit.

It seemed we look at many options, over and over. Two alternative schools, homeschooling and two public schools, since FFO and I live in different towns. I actually didn’t even consider the public school where RP and I live as it is not known to be a great school.

All of the places we visited wanted lil moonspun to be part of their community. None of them felt exactly right. We found out how lucky I had been for her school to let me pay 1/3 of the tuition without any money from FFO. We cried and fought over stupid things. At first we thought she’d settle in for 3 years and then go to a public high school.  Then she said in 7th grade she wanted to go to the local regional middle school/high school which FFO’s town feeds into. Fine. So we just needed one year.

Up until the middle of August we had resigned to homeschool for a  year, splitting duties. It was doable, it was intimidating, it was what we had.

Then I looked up the school in my town and discovered 6th grade was middle school, not elementary. And it clicked and suddenly seemed like an option. Even FFO was open to it. We had one last family meeting and it was decided, literally just a week before school started that lil moonspun would go to public school in my town for 6th grade.

And she is…and she’s doing fine.

It’s been an adjustment for all of us. In good ways and funny ways. Like school supply shopping. We’ve never done that, before I paid a fee and the school got the stuff. Like having school lunch as an option and how do you pay for it. Like the school bus. Today for the first time, lil moonspun got on a school bus and was driven to our house where she got off the bus, used her new key, came in the house and called me at work to tell me she was safe. She asked if she could watch tv, I said not until you finish your homework. She reluctantly said ok and when I got home 45 minutes later she was doing her math homework, snack next to her.

Lil m actually knew more than a handful of kids at the school, so she was not a complete stranger and I reminded her that everyone was new to the middle school, not just her. She is taking both chorus and band and will learn the flute in addition to the fiddle she has played for 3 years. Because I don’t pay $250/month anymore for her tuition, I can afford flute lessons without worrying.

An upside for me is that when it is FFO’s week, I still get to see  her. I drive 20 minutes to pick her up in our state capital, she takes the bus to my work, does her homework in my office and then we drive to meet FFO. It’s 1/2 the driving I did before and I get to see her more. It’s a win thus far.

I don’t expect the middle school years to be easy. It’s a really hard time for kids. We’ve had tears over math homework, tussles over eye makeup that’s not appropriate to wear to school, and many eye rolls. She’s already been asked out by two boys, but can’t explain to me what it means to ‘date’ someone in 6th grade.  I do love that she told them her mom won’t let her date and she is too busy anyway..

It’s a new road we are on…so far so good…

Here is a photo from her birthday…my girl with a sense of humor and style…

Dear Lois,

Nearly three years ago I wrote to you on mother’s day. I explained to you how much I wanted to have met you long before that cruel disease we call Alzhemier’s had taken its hold on you. I explained how much I loved your son.

The last few times we have visited you in Ohio, we have always thought it might be the last time as you succumbed more and more into darkness. It turns out that our time last Thanksgiving was indeed the last time.

This past Thursday, March 8, 2012 (on International Women’s Day of all days) you quietly passed away from this world.  You are already missed greatly and have been for many years. And although your passing was expected and, in some ways, a long time coming, the fact that you are no longer a physical presence is hard for your family.

Next week your friends and family with gather in a memorial service to honor you. The way that I see you honored is in your legacy. The love that you doled out to your family and the lessons you taught will live on daily. I know you would be proud of your daughters and sons. I know you would adore your three grandchildren. RP assures me that you would love me too. I certainly hope so, but I will never truly know.

Once again I need to thank you for the way you raised your first son. He is amazing–a hard working professor, a devoted husband, a wonderful father, a great role model. He speaks often of your influence and the lessons you taught him, that is incredibly meaningful. I loved so much last Thanksgiving when we visited you how he talked to you. He really talked to you. He did not pat you on the head in a dismissive way. He got right down on your level and told you things, he looked in your eyes and you had a conversation. This was the most natural things in the world for him to do. Even if a large part of you could not participate, could not hear him, I like to think a part of you did. That a part of you always does. Just like I like to think that somehow you know about me and how much I love your son. Maybe I need to think that. And that’s ok.

I wish you well in your journey and hope that you are now at peace and that wherever your are, you remember it all. It was wonderful and so were you.

Be well and rest in peace.

Much love from your daughter-in-law,

Moonspun

I have, for the 5+ years, that FFO and I been separated tried to be supportive of the time that my precious daughter is not with me and with her other mother. Some could argue that FFO is ‘better’ somehow because she is the birth mother. I think that’s bullshit. She has struggled her entire life to maintain a calm, organized and drama free life. She has failed miserably.

Now lil moonspun, if not necessarily an angel, but she is 11 and she struggles with the usual adolescent girl things, let alone the unique family life she has. I worry mightily lately about how chaotic lil m’s life is at FFO’s. FFO was recently diagnosed with lyme disease, which is terrible and while I have enormous empathy for her, I do not have sympathy for her using it as an excuse for a bad memory. She’s always had a bad memory and RP just looked up the symptoms and was not able to find memory in any of them. FFO also now has an 18 month old son with a speech delay and seems always to be sick. Lil m is a good big sister, but I can only imagine how chaotic life can be.

I could go on….but I am not here to trash FFO. I don’t really want to, although I could, but it seems a waste of my energy and not the point.

Tonight she called me all worked up because Lil m had just “hit her little brother really hard in the back” and she wanted to know if she took lil m’s iPod touch away (her beloved Christmas present) would that continue at my house. I did not answer affirmatively, but I did ask her if she would take it away for a whole week and she said yes. What I am bothered about it the scene I heard while on the phone. I realize, in hindsight, I deliberately asked to talk to lil m in order to keep engaged. I felt sick to my stomach at first when I could hear lil m upset and FFO speaking sharply to her. And of course lil brother making all kinds of noises in the background. Lil m finally agreed to talk to me and all I did was ask her about school and not the incident so she was calm.

Do I think that lil m hit her younger brother? Of course. I am sure when I was 11 and got frustrated I whacked my younger sister. Do I think it is right to blame it on “all that is going on at school?” and all the other inane comments that FFO said and will say about it? No. I think it is normal and a combination of a chaotic, not well run househould.

I want to do the right thing by lil moonspun, so I am becoming increasingly interested in having her live with me full time. I even offered that as a way to help FFO at the beginning of the school year and she tried to tell me that lil moonspun wanted just the opposite. Lil m kind of deferred the question when I talked to her about it and I had a distinct impression she was somehow trying to protect FFO. In any case, I let it go and we continued with the same schedule.

But I am not sure what to do. Is it really the best thing for lil m or will it make me worry less to try and pursue it? I do not know the answer. I do know that I want this kind of madness to stop and I am afraid it won’t be if I don’t do something creative.

Ah, the life of a parent…

Once Upon a Time there was a woman named Moonspun. She lived in Vermont and started a blog. She started her blog in the fall of 2007 for multiple reasons, for her own place on the big web. Because she was inspired by others. Because she wanted to write. Because she was in a new relationship, a new house, a new job and life was changing.

Big time.

Once upon a time this Moonspun blogged nearly every day, but at the very least 5 days a week. Often a work. Her new job, while fine, did not fill up the entire work week. Once upon a time there were so many new things to contemplate to write about. And there were so many others who, like Moonspun, blogged too. There was so much to read and write!

Over the years, she blogged about buying a house with her husband-t0-be, about what it was like to be divorced and trying to juggle co-parenting with her ex, about being bisexual and after being with a woman for 13 years finding herself with a man, about being a stepparent. Then there were marriage proposals, a wedding, first family trips to meet in-laws and the growing pains of living and creating this new life she was living.

And along the way she was blessed with people who came to her little corner of the web and read what she had to say. And she was blessed to meet a couple of these blogging friends in real life. They were as wonderful and as funny as they appeared online.

Gradually a shift happened and Moonspun would be hard pressed to know when it happened, but the writing faded. At least the writing on here. In daily life a master’s program produced many a writing project. It would be easy to blame juggling school work and life on why she didn’t blog as much. But that’s not quite it. Somehow it became harder, not easier to think of things to blog. Or maybe that same energy and excitement faded. In any case, the posts became fewer and farther in between.

The funny thing is that it seemed to happen to not just Moonspun, but a circle of her blogging friends as well. There were less posts, and yet suddenly friends requests appeared on Facebook and a new kind of keeping in touch started.

And so here I am on the 3rd day of 2012 writing on this neglected corner of the web explaining why I it has been so long since I have been here. Life has changed. And yet I miss this. I think about blogging nearly every day still. I miss going behind the curtain you see to write some words and wonder if anyone is still out there to read them. And finding I am ok either way.

This place–my space–is still vital to me. It is an important chronicle of the early part of my life with my beloved Running Professor. It is part of our history and a way in which I worked out some of the kinks of the life we were creating. We are still creating it, but it is different now. We have been together for 5 1/2 years. Not the 1+ as when I started the blog. So much has changed and yet, as in life, so much remains the same.

I am a mother. Lil moonspun is now 11 and wow, is she a tween. She is still so delightful and magical and yet the hints of dark moodiness of teenage years flash now and again. I am a wife and as I type this and watch RP on his computer across the room working on revisions for a book, my tummy still flutters with how handsome he is and how much I adore him. I am now a graduate with a master’s degree and still  unsure of what to do with my life. I am a friend, and blessed with genuine and quirky people to share this life journey with. I am a daughter, sister, cousin, committee chair, volunteer, admin and so much more.

I am me. And Once Upon a Time that was not always enough for me. From this, from here, from you, from him, from her…now it is enough. Now it is.

Happy New Year.

Dear Irene,

I am sorry to start this out with such a cranky statement. But you are a total bitch. It’s been more than four weeks since your fury unleashed itself upon our small state and every day I’ve thought of you. i wanted to say something kinder, but really? What is there to say? People lost their lives and their homes because you decided to dump an unholy amount of wind and water in the mountains of Vermont. You probably know this, but when you rain that much on the mountains, the water goes downhill. And fast.

Really, really fast.

In fact lthe ocal weather man said the night of the storm, when it was dark and stormy and there was no power in our house and luckily we had some batteries so we could listen to him, that five inches of water in the mountains equals 20 feet of water in the valleys. That is a hell of a lot of water. And it was.

Now RP and I were fine and lil moonspun was safe in Mass with my parents. Yea we didn’t have power, but we live at a high elevation. And while our babbling brook across the street roared with anger, it’s too far away from our house and too low to ever crest up here.

But 3 miles down the road, where a small concrete bridge sloped over a normally babbling river, things got a bit crazy. Your fury forced that water to rush and rise and in no time that bridge and half of the state road had caved in. And what happened there was a small microcosm of what was happening all over our state.

In a neighborhood near our downtown people were woken in the middle of the night and told to evacuate and in more than 50 homes water reached above the first floor windows took belongings with them, and left unseeming amounts of mud.  My GB (great boss) and his wife, in another town, watched as the river touched the ceiling of their first floor and waited to see if they needed to leave their house out a back door onto a hill from their second story, because it almost came to that.

Since that wild day and night, I have seen things I’d never thought I’d see in my small state and small town. Trash and mud beyond comprehension. A neighborhood that literally looked like a war zone as exhausted people threw out much of what they owned, burned some of it in giant bonfires in their backyards, and stripped their houses down to the studs because everything was just ruined. I’ve done a small part in helping some people, I’ve mucked mud, sorted through soaked photo albums, given out supplies, donated clothes and food. I’ve watched my beloved boss struggle to return to the university and a new academic year when I can tell he’d just rather be home fixing his house with his wife. And who can blame him.

I wonder often how long it will be before I don’t drive around here and not see evidence of your wrath. Giant trees that were uprooted and washed into fields by the river. Twisted guard rails half hanging on or put back in place, but not necessarily shape. Orange cones that mark places to avoid because the road is simply gone under it. The signs for the FEMA resource center that is established now in our local library. Pleas for donations of all kinds. Multiple discussion of flood insurance.

Yes, Irene you did a number on us.

But we in Vermont have done what most people do when confronted with a raging bitch. We fight back. We just don’t take that kind of crap from anyone. We dig and rebuild and help each other.  You don’t belong here, you just passed by and pissed on us. And while we may never forget that, it will only bring out the best in us.

So in the end, you lost, I think.

You better not come back, but if you do, we will be ready. We are Vermont Strong.

Moonspun

I realized as we were in the waiting room at the vet’s that while I had had more than my share of pets die on me, I had never witnessed one being put down. It was unfortunate that it was the end of the day and the vet was running behind. Damn dog was at our feet, eating up the attention of pats, hugs and kisses. Occasionally RP’s eyes would fill with tears, Lil RP#1 would start crying again, and lil moonspun would try to snuggle closer on my lap as we waited.

I could not help but wonder if damn dog knew. The appointment had been made for more than 2 weeks. RP had come to the inevitable, but painful decision that it was time to let his beloved dog of 16 years go. The benign lump on her side had grown so much that she could not always right herself. Sometimes she needed help up. Sometimes we would come home and she would have been stuck for what was obviously a long time because she was laying in her own pee. RP knew that once he and I were both gone full time, it was not going to be a safe environment for damn dog. So he talked about his decision with lrp1 who said she wanted to be there and so it had to be done before she left for the summer.

And so there we were, the four of us, finally huddled in the small room. Damn dog, for all her laziness at home, would not lay down on the table. Even two days before we had taken her on a camping trip and she had gotten out of her collar and wandered away to the beach in the middle of the night. Much further than we ever thought she could still walk.  Maybe it was her last hurrah.

The vet’s first attempt missed it’s mark on her front paw. I was the only one who saw because everyone else was sobbing too much. RP was holding her, LilRP1 could not look and lil moonspun was tucked into my arm. Damn dog was still standing on the table, and then the second shot worked and she went down, asleep. Everyone really lost it then. I watched the vet then checking her heart. And I realized damn dog was hanging on still. He reached for his electric razor again and said that she had a very strong heart. The third shot did was it was supposed to and her heart stopped after that. It was extraordinary to see life drain from her in that way.

The vet reverently wrapped her in the flannel sheet we had brought, the one that she has laid on in our bedroom for the past 5 years. Although they insisted on a plastic body bag, when we got home  RP ditched that one. He had made a hole in our backyard down the slope from our firepit and I had painted on a rock from our brook in a headstone of sorts. When RP was sure that the grave was deep enough, he laid damn dog in it and the four of us gathered around. We each said our piece and then RP filled in the hole. While he did that, the girls each gathered their own bouquets of wildflowers from our yard to lay on the grave.

It was a perfect summer night with a clear sky and comfortable temperatures. We made our first fire of the summer and enjoyed our outdoor space. We shared memories of Gizmo and just chatted in general. We toasted bread on sticks and had s’mores. Despite the agony of what had happened, letting go of a beloved pet, it was a sweet family time.

I know that wherever damn dog is now, her lump is gone, her energy is back and she is doing whatever she can to make sure her master is ok.

RIP, damn dog. I miss you.

What I read at our family ceremony:

You were the dog I never expected to meet, let alone to love.
You were the dog that came with my husband and all my friends and family knew it was true love because I accepted you, too.
You were the dog who I tripped over in the kitchen, reluctantly fed, and let outside in the middle of the night for a break no matter what the weather.
You were the dog who barked at us when we came home after work as if admonishing us for leaving you alone.
You were the dog who I initially labeled ‘damn dog’ out of frustration and it became an affectionate nickname.
You were the dog who accompanied me on 3 mile runs from the house a few years ago.
In the 5 years we have known each other, you were the dog who captured my heart unexpectedly and whom, if I am honest, I bonded with over devotion and love for a man…your master and my husband.
I feel honored to have shared the last few years of your life and wish your spirit well on its next journey. Be well.

My dearest daughter,

Today the calendar turns and you are now 11 years old. As I write this I am in my office more than 1000 miles from where you are on the shores of Lake Michigan at Camp of Our Dreams.  I will think about you all day and hope that the daily pictures from camp that I look at each evening contain a glimpse of your day so I can see your smiling face.

The camp drop-off was emotional for me. In ways I did not expect and am still processing. You, yourself were fine until we were about a half hour from camp.  While you had expressed no fear at all up until that point, I think the enormity of what you were about to do–go to camp for 3 weeks where you did not know anyone far away from home—really hit you.  Part of my job as you mom was to listen to your fears, but to assure you that what you felt was normal and that you were going to have a good time. I know they might have felt like hollow words coming from me, but I hope later, in a quite moment, you were able to appreciate them for what they were–simple and honest advice.

I so loved dropping you off at a place that is so special to my own life experience and to my heart.  In hindsight I am not sure that I have fully explained how much camp means to me, maybe I wanted you to have your own experience first and am hoping this is something we will always share.

It was really hard to walk away from you and leave. And it had nothing to do about worrying about you. I know you are in one of the safest places on earth. I know you are in good hands. After all, we talked to three people who I had worked with 20+ years ago who love camp so much they still go back. I think after mulling it over for a few days, that part of me wanted to stay.  It felt surreal being the one to talk to your cabin leader who saw me as a mom, it did not feel so long ago that I was on her side and yet here I was with my own rising 5th graders about to leave. Maybe someday I will find the job I want that gives me summer freedoms to do camp again and we can be there together.

In any case, today is about celebrating you and the 11 years  you have lived on this earth and graced my life with your presence. I am so proud of the talented young woman you are. And my biggest worry for you is that you do not see how wonderful you are. I was teary last week at Lakeside watching you in the concert, your heartfelt singing, hand chimes, xylophone and fiddle solo.

I know you do not always feel like this on the inside, but to the world you radiate joy. You are loved by so many people simply because of who you are. My biggest wish for you is that you never forget that.

Maybe Pink says it better…

Pretty, pretty please
Dont you ever, ever feel
Like you’re less than
Fucking perfect

Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like you’re nothing
You’re fucking perfect to me