Misheru

Martin is now like, a rock star. He really is a great storyteller. He’s also great because he hired me at the library. Can you imagine, I went in, expecting a stodgy librarian, and there was Martin, resplendent with beard and man-jewelry? Anyway, congratulations to Martin, a truly wonderful person as well as a great teller of stories.

In all the confusion of moving and such, Maya turned one. She is now a one year old, and although she is not yet walking (or talking, thank God), speed crawling is definitely one of her finer skills. I was inundated with memories of Ben’s first birthday — what a big deal we made, the party we had, the many, many pictures we took. We had two cakes, people. Two cakes.

Maya’s birthday passed with hardly a glance. Marti made a chocolate cake and we sang Happy Birthday. I worked until 8 p.m.

So, a few days later I went to Mrs. Tiggywinkles Toy Store, a fabulous specialty toy store here, with Maya and credit card at the ready. Why, you may ask? Why, guilt, of course! When you practically ignore your second child’s birthday, a fun way to appease guilt is to spend money. This is what drives the U.S. economy, I tell you — guilt.

Anyway, I got the manager all excited as I asked the prices for the imported children’s rugs from Germany ($280) or the European tricycles ($195 and up). I tried to get Maya to walk with one of those little wooden push toys ($149) but she brought out what Marti likes to call “the bitchy voice” and proceeded to speed crawl to the wooden stairs of the children’s jungle gym equipment. I was not paying $7500 for stairs, so I tried some other things…wooden stove with vegetables and fruit ($115). Or a rocking horse! A real, old-fashioned rocking horse, with leather saddle and reins ($250). Finally, a store employee handed Maya and little wand filled with water and sparklies ($3.50) and she waved it in glee.

I had found my gift.

I couldn’t only spend $3.50 for Maya’s birthday, because that would be far too practical, so I also bought her a little rubber bouncy horse and a rubber ball, and some fabulous new soft leather baby shoes. (Maya is displaying them below)

I got a wand for Ben, too, and even though I tried hard to spend money and be stupid about it, I spent less than $100. The manager waved me sadly away as I stepped over the $200 tricycle on my way out.

So, Maya got a bouncy horse that was immediately commandeered by Benjamin, and a ball and a sparkly wand. Our friends came over with another cake, which we ate but Maya pretty much ignored, and we actually had a candle to light. Luckily she got some practical gifts from them (clothing). And, because our camera is packed somewhere, we only have the pictures our friends took — not the dozens of pictures we had for Ben’s birthday.

Ah well. Sorry, Maya, for when you read this at 35. Maybe next year…

We’re still in moving hell. We are suspended in moving hell. I am sweating myself to death in a swamp-cooled house, living out of boxes, and it is Never. Going. To. End.

Ben got accepted to the premier private school here in Tucson, and now we have to figure out if we’re going to qualify for financial aid or if we need to come up with some cash.

We are looking at rentals…and rentals…and more rentals. And laughing at people who are trying to rent for $1400 a month when we could buy a new home for that. And some days I dream that we’ll just get the carpet ripped out of the old house and have the roof fixed and then we’ll just move back in, because I can’t take the stress anymore of being in flux and not know where I am going. I am territorial; I need to stake out my territory. It needs to be circled, its corners peed in, its orifices sniffed. Right now I am a cat without a territory, and I am trying to keep from peeing on the bed in pure frustration.

(For those who are worried, this is pure analogy. I DO NOT actually pee in corners or sniff orifices)

Must go chase neighbor kids out of house…

Ha! It’s a pun.

Okay, I’m really tired.

Marti and I just moved all of our furniture plus many, many boxes of things I’m not sure were worth the lifting. It’s amazing how the things that are worth so much to you (oh, look at this sweet card I got from a friend in 1996!) become less and less valuable as time goes on (Ben’s first baby shoes? Can’t fit another damn thing in this box of children’s clothing, sweetheart).

Right now my feet are excruciatingly painful (”Marti, could you just hammer a nail into the sole of my left foot to distract me from the pain in my right?” “Not being overdramatic are you?” “Of course not!”). My back — painful. Shoulders — painful. Legs — painful. In fact, the only thing not currently painful are my elbows and the bridge of my nose. Oh, and my earlobes.

This comes from the syndrome known as “doing nothing more than push the mouse around while playing WOW” until suddenly moving 50+ pound boxes for 12…straight…hours. And the next day, doing it again.

I am such a freaking wimp. I mean, I can run, that’s fine, but if I had to ever become, say, a farmgirl? I would fall over in a minute. This doesn’t seem right. I grew up in Idaho, for Pete’s sake.

Anyway, the good news is that we’ve moved. The bad news is Matt? After I clean my house, can you come over to really clean it? Because you’re the cleanest human I know next to my dear older brother, who is too far away to come scrutinize the underside of my kitchen table or check whether or not the couch is precisely 2 inches from the wall in the middle and on both the ends. Heaven forbid the couch not sit equidistant from the wall in all areas! Regardless, a flight for my brother would be too expensive, besides the fact that I might have to stick a sharp implement in my eye if I let him in my house. His anal retentiveness goes a little too far (”Hey, this wall was crooked so I just knocked it out and now the floor doesn’t fit flush so I just pulled it up…”).

We signed on with a realtor and must have the house ready in two weeks. Two weeks! I am calling on my plebian roots to give me the strength. I’m sure my ancestors pulled plows, and surely that kind of strength will surface soon.

Right?

While I’m waiting for it to surface, I plan to stretch by pushing the buttons of the remote. And looking up numbers for movers…for next time.