November 8, 2017

Christmas 2017 and the question of Santa

Christmas 2017: Did you believe in Santa? We walked past some two foot tall Santas at Michael’s the other heat, loaded down with our fifty cent Halloween sticker packs, and JuggerBaby pointed at them. “Is short, mama!”

That got me thinking.

Did you believe in Santa?

Our parents, as relatively recent immigrants, celebrated Christmas when we were young, complete with the gifts from a “Santa”. It’s not clear why, maybe it was fun enough to do at the time because kids are cute when they’re little. It’d track with Christmas not being celebrated anymore after I was about 9 or 10 – we were a whole lot less cute once we hit the double digits. Or it could be because that’s when my parents launched their small business and were so wiped out that we stopped spending time together as a family.


October 18, 2017

My sibling, my nightmare

Looking back at life decisions and my sibling Othalafehu’s old post about a problematic sibling surfaced on my radar recently, reminding me of a memory that struck me a few weeks ago.

I think I was 18 at the time this happened. I had been working at my post-high school job for over a year and had become one of the most reliable staff. The power of youth, by the way, is one of the few reasons I could power through my chronic pain. It’s heady stuff!

The office manager sat me down one day, asking me to weigh in on an application. This being totally out of the norm, I was puzzled. Then I was horrified. She revealed that it was my brother who had applied, and would I have a problem working with my sibling?



April 26, 2017

Seamus: the dog who’s practically perfect 

Veterinary issues aside, and we have had MANY, Seamus is as near to perfect a dog as we could ask for. He often tricks me into thinking we could have another dog – if only we could duplicate what makes him so perfect!

This month has been a roller coaster of trying to treat an eye problem that stubbornly refuses to respond to the normal medication regimen. If he doesn’t improve by the end of this week, we may have to take him to an eye specialist. This doesn’t come at a good time for our money, of course, nor is it a good thing for him because if it gets worse, it gets a lot worse.  I don’t think he or I could take any more misery – he’s sad enough that he won’t even destroy his new plush toy! As a canary in the mine goes, the canary is mostly dead.

I spent days on Seamus Don’t-Rub-Your-Eyes!-Watch until I found this KONG Cloud E-Collar. It’s the first version of an e-collar that hasn’t made Seamus go gorilla-mode and rip it to pieces. Apparently the Cone of Shame is one humiliation too many for the otherwise perfect pupper.

Don’t get me wrong – this looks ridiculous too, enough so that JuggerBaby insists that we take it off for his walks: “No pee-yo!” But it’s soft and he doesn’t hate it with every fiber of his being. It also doesn’t catch on things and serves as a useful bumper when he veers too close to walls and furniture with his rheumy eyes. When the Velcro is loose, he knows that he can take it off and use it for a pillow if I’m sure he won’t rub his eyes. All in all, the best $14 spent this month. In addition to the $450 in exams and medications. :/

Meanwhile! Rather than fret myself to pieces waiting for healing to happen all week, I’m choosing to focus on why I adore him.

Endless patience, plus boundaries

He allows JuggerBaby to festoon him with necklaces, or blankets, or lean on him affectionately. He puts up with a certain amount of rudeness, that ze is immediately reprimanded for by the adults, without more than a blink or two. But in all of his tolerance, he doesn’t stick around long enough for zir push him to the point of being angry, or even irritated. When it’s clear that his fur might be ruffled, he simply and calmly gets up and leaves.

Snap your fingers obedience…

If he understands your command or intent, he obeys immediately. Try shouting stop to him at his most focused on something else moments. I field tested this the other day when he threw his own ball into the middle of the street, as I held back a flailing JuggerBaby from chasing it too. I hollered STOP NOW and boy if that dog didn’t skid to a stop like he hit an invisible brick wall! It was better than a crash test dummy situation, and for my blood pressure. I’ve seen dogs chase their balls into the street and right under the wheels of an oncoming vehicle, it’s the worst sound in the world.

You can trust him with your food at all times – he doesn’t touch your food when he’s told to “leave it.” I’ve literally put his food in front of him, told him to wait and stay, left the room, and come back later to find him standing in the exact same position, gently wagging his tail with a smile. Just waiting, as told! This is

… and helpful to boot

When I was pregnant and half mobile, he learned to come over to lend me the strength of his steady back, so I could lever myself up. The habit’s stuck with him. When he thinks I’m too sick to get up, he comes over, sniffs my head and offers his back for me to get up.

Sweetest of dispositions…

There’s not a thing that could make Seamus do more than rumble at me when he’s grouchy that I refuse to feed him three meals in an hour. I’ve clipped his nails, cleaned his ears, wiped his bum, examined every inch of his body right side up and upside down, bathed him 4 times a week battling his allergies, and brought home a surprise infant. He’s never fazed or anything but loving and loyal.

In the course of his tenure here, he deferred to Doggle with the greatest respect, and never ventured to do more than snuggle by his side since Doggle didn’t know how to dog.

Despite constant little provocations, Seamus has never reacted poorly to any of JuggerBaby’s pokes, prods, or licking. The most he’s done is rolled his eyes at me in a mute appeal for help, with his ears slightly flattened. Part of this is because he knows I’m alpha and will intervene so he doesn’t have to lash out but really, getting my toes pinched or my ear tweaked would irritate me more than he’s ever shown. It DOES, in fact, since ze does that to me too.

… and protective as anything

Don’t come near his sibling, though, being loud or raucous. Ze might be an obnoxious little twerp sibling but ze is HIS sibling.

And don’t come to our house being rowdy, banging on the door, that’s completely unacceptable behavior and his booming barks let you know without a doubt that he doesn’t tolerate that nonsense. His booms surprise me, even, it’s rare to hear them!

I love my dog.

:: Regale me with tales of your favorite beloved pets, would you?

March 22, 2017

Life plus baby: what’s changed?

Just add baby: How our lives have changed since welcoming JuggerBaby homeParents typically gush that having babies is a life-changer. They’re not wrong, but it’s a toss-up whether they mean in a good way or a bad way. Might depend on the day(s) they’ve had. 

Two years on, I’m still happy that we made the choice to try for our kidlet and confirm that it’s transformed our lives in many unpredictable ways, and a few predictable ways though I wouldn’t have admitted it was possible years ago. 


I’ve frumped around, making do with my existing closet minus a few pieces of generously gifted maternity clothes, since getting pregnant in 2014.

This isn’t out of the norm for me. I tend to stick to the tried-and-true even when it stops working, sartorially, so it’s a self improvement project to do better at this. It doesn’t mean cycle through the latest trends with every season, nor become a wasteful consumer. Never that. Just making an effort to form a more classic and therefore all seasons wardrobe, as an adult might do. 

The past 6 months, I started adding some essentials: 2 pairs of flats, replacing 3 pairs that have worn out or hurt my feet, 2 tops, and PiC replaced a couple pairs of trousers that were too dreadful.

I’ve focused on removing things first. After that, I’ll hunt down some basics that will work for my combo career and mom roles.

I look for high quality, now. I can stand the thought of spending more knowing that it will truly last me years of good wear. Of course, the same can be said for that handful of shirts bought cheaply 15 years ago that just won’t die. I can’t just toss clothes that still have wear in them, but they’re so old and don’t quite fit right anymore!

Social life

Never a partier before, I’ve morphed into even more of a homebody since JuggerBaby. It’s a lot of energy conservation and a little bit of disinterest. I’d LIKE to go out for a show or a spontaneous overnight trip sometimes, but it’s never appealing enough to try and find a sitter, or prep another meal in advance. I’m too easily entertained at home, and much more easily tired out by week’s end.

Some of this shift had already started between aging and with dog ownership. With a senior dog, you can’t just take off spontaneously if you don’t have reliable friends or family you regularly trade favors with. Back in the SoCal days, I could. My family could feed and walk the dogs if I took off to NYC for a week, but here it’d be boarding Seamus for $400 plus prepping all his food and his medications. Life was simpler in my 20s, though certainly poorer.

We have become friends with the parents of JuggerBaby’s bestie, though, and that was a nice surprise. My parents were never friends with the parents of my friends, and we only spent time with family during holidays and weekends, so this is new to me but it’s a good way to build a new network of support when all our family lives hundreds of miles away.

When pregnant, I refused to make friends with other moms solely because we were gravid together on the grounds that I didn’t want to, but also because I wasn’t prepared to invest time and energy into caring for a relationship that didn’t have staying power. I need to observe a person around their family and friends, and see how they care for them, to see what kind of person they are.

Eating habits

We trend towards healthy eating but I continue to have my vices, in small doses. I demolished PiC’s bag of Micro Snickers today, and every couple of weeks we get a box of delicious buttered, sugared pastries that I have to force myself to share. Chocolate lasts much longer in our fridge than it used to, though. This is clear evidence that I’m simply nowhere near the stress levels I used to marinate in.

Time Management

This has to be the biggest change of all. Before JuggerBaby arrived, I was pretty convinced that we could stay homebodies and introverts, even with kids. WRONG.

Our weekends are now centered around keeping JuggerBaby busy, for survival. Ze has ten times our energy so we have to keep the kid running. We take zir grocery shopping, to the park, to the errands that ze can help us with. Adult-only things like medical appointments or work are done during the last remaining afternoon nap. PiC always feels awful about ditching me for the gym when ze is awake, even when I say it’s totally ok, so any work I have to do, and any working out he wants to do, has to happen during zir nap.

I do miss the two-nap schedule sometimes.

With the two-nap schedule, I could have a nap and get work done, one per nap.


Even with a toddler on the rampage trying to eat the dog’s treats, and a senior dog with periodic health surprises, my life is more pleasant and rage-free than twelve years ago. Surprise! I have found some Zen.

:: Did you grow up in a children- or family-centric community? Did your parents welcome the changes you wrought in their lives? 

February 15, 2017

Figuring out family and asking for support

When helping family turns into a thorny mess The story of my money and my family goes back to the very start of this blog. I wanted to be independent for my own sake, but also wanted to take care of them as they had me. I wanted to support them until they got back on their feet.

More than ten long years of striving later, the truth of today is hard to swallow. My dad isn’t who he once was. He’s not the person I dedicated half my life to helping. He’s become, maybe as a result of my taking on so much responsibility, someone who lies to me, and takes from me. Because he’s not working with me, for his own benefit, but rather working against me, I have to step away from this relationship even more. He’s not just undermining my efforts, he’s damaging my ability to trust people, all over again.

This truth has lain heavy on my heart for months, for years. It hasn’t set me free, I didn’t know what I could do with this revelation.

In all these years, I’ve kept this a secret from the rest of the family. I didn’t share my challenges, or discuss Dad’s actions, I just took care of business. It was my other way of protecting them – I didn’t want them to look bad in front of their siblings. It wasn’t something they asked me to do but it felt, much like writing anonymously, it was just the right thing to do. Take care of your business and don’t share that with people outside the family. Heck, I barely learned to let PiC in on the secret, in no small part, due to the scars it left.

Walking Seamus in the dusk, ground wet from the (drought-breaking?) rain last week, I finally felt overwhelmed. After all the struggle, when confronted with a need to move, I find that honoring my responsibilities has left us with the choice of no choice at all. To change living situations, we have to make financial commitments that eliminate even the possibility of asking whether I want more kids. We can’t afford to have that answer be yes. We can’t afford to take on foster kids, we can’t adopt more dogs, we can’t afford to add to our family in any way.

With that frustrating realization, something in me dissolved. That last bit of pride fell right out of me and I called my aunt.

Not my rich aunt, I don’t have one of those. My poor aunt, the one who still knows what it’s like to struggle because she still works every day plus weekends to provide for her family, putting off retirement for another couple of years so she can be sure her kids make it through their internship years.

I asked her if she had a minute. I asked if she might talk to my dad about his housing situation, and convince him to apply for housing assistance. He should be eligible. For more than five years, he’d been telling me that he always intended to move out now that Mom’s gone but he’s done nothing. We think that he doesn’t want to move to a more affordable place because he’s tied to Mom’s memories there. It’s the only way I can see us squeezing any more money out of our budget – we’re currently footing the bill for his rent and utilities, all of which add up to well over a thousand dollars a month but I can’t very well push him again without coming off like a total jerk.

What she had to say shocked me.

Not only did she already know what I’ve been doing all this time, she’s talked to (at) Dad in the past already. She and the other aunts have always helped a bit as they can – bringing by food, or clothes when they spot a great bargain, but they can’t tackle his living expenses. This I knew.

What I didn’t know was that while doing so, she’s told him that grieving Mom is one thing, and his right, but he has to attend to the living as well. If he loves me, as he should, he shouldn’t let his grief for someone who is gone override his love for the person who’s still here working her tuchus off. He should be looking for ways to ease the burden on me. She and her family love me, unconditionally, and it’s clear to them that he needs to be making better choices, my support notwithstanding. He’s not, she says, “realistic.” That’s a very accurate assessment. He’s never had to learn to live with our poverty, not really. He’s always had me to cushion the financial hits, to pinch the pennies, and Mom did it before me. It’s past time that he starts making better choices, and nothing I’ve said has ever made a difference. She’s agreed to try to talk to him about it.

I don’t expect results immediately, maybe not at all, but the confession, and hearing someone in the family agree with me and offer to support me, was unexpectedly hard. You’d think it’d be harder to go solo – but I’m used to that. I’m NOT used to being vulnerable enough for someone to offer help.

Choked up, I confessed, I’m not sure that he loves me, judging by his choices. It’s a hard thing to say out loud and I thought it didn’t matter, but it does. The knowledge makes it much harder to continue to give and sacrifice freely, even if money wasn’t an issue.

While I can’t (won’t) put him out on the street, I must pull back on some of the bills we pay. With someone, another elder, willing to push him to live more prudently, and make changes, I can take steps to minimize the financial harm. He’s more likely to give into that pressure.

Whether it’s because of the shaming fact of my going to his sibling, or that he’s more willing to listen to her, it appears that he already has given in.

For 5 years, he’s said my sibling refused to apply for disability assistance which would include housing support to pay for the rent that I’ve been footing. I don’t disbelieve that, but I don’t necessarily believe he’d done all he could, either. Mere days after my aunt said she would step in, they started the application and approval process. I can’t know if the magic was my aunt stepping in, for certain, but the timing is certainly telling.

We need to save every bit that we can now, and he needs to make ends meet on his own eventually, with or without sibling. It’ll take months for the process to be completed. Then we’ll see if I see a penny of that housing assistance without becoming a bill collector but this is the first step toward that goal.

Wish me luck?

:: Have you ever had to make a tough love decision? Tell me about it?

December 14, 2016

Update on JuggerBaby and our health

JuggerBaby has been transformed partly into the Unstoppable JuggerBaby with the addition of a cast. It’s a club that’s bashed about with great vigor, never mind who gets in the way. It’s made zir approximately 15% more reckless. It’d be worse but ze hasn’t discovered the extent to which ze can take advantage yet. Cross your fingers that ze doesn’t catch on before it comes off.

We just hope that amid all zir fun, ze is also healing up well.

The really annoying thing is that ze has been congested for about two months now, and so have I, and I don’t know what it’ll take to kick this dratted thing. Ze is taking Zarbee’s for the resulting cough because there’s nothing you can really safely give a kid zir age, but it’s not that effective. We still have reports from daycare that ze is coughing a lot during zir naps, and every night, it wrenches my heart to hear the hacking cough issuing from zir crib.

Since the cold set in, I’ve been doing remarkably well. I was pretty sure I’d adjusted to San Francisco type weather. Then I wasn’t. This Sunday’s temps were exactly the same as they had been for the last two weeks but this chill went straight to my bones, then from there zapped my muscles so that nothing from neck to toe didn’t ache. Literally down to my very toes and the tiny bones in there – ache ache ache ACHE.

It was a point of pride that I’d only had to bundle up to endure the ever-so-frigid days and nights that drop as low as (horror! gasp!) the 40s and 50s. I know, I know. But look, I’m from the tropics, genetically, this is unnatural for my people. I’d adjusted mostly but my fibro gets eccentric at times. All this wind-up means we had to run the heater for more than ten minutes. We had taken to running it for a little while to take the chill off since JuggerBaby can’t wear sleeves, and then leaving it off for the night, and it makes me grumpy to know that we had to run it longer just so that I could feel mostly human again. I know it’s not a big deal really in the grand scheme of things but there’s that knee-jerk frugal reaction of no! don’t waste money like that!

Meanwhile, PiC’s got a thing going on with his back, and his vision (unrelated). I’m hoping that it’s nothing serious, although I think it’s safer to say I hope it’s something that will resolve itself and go far far away soon, because we have trouble enough on our hands. Also he’s not used to being in pain for prolonged periods of time and it makes him grumpy.

Under the mental health column, I hit a glacier of Zen this month. Lots of things could irritate me but with the exception of one Friday, it hasn’t bothered me enough to even shout at the computer. That’s new. Also it’s appreciated by Seamus who is not at all convinced by my “it’s not you” reassurances. He’s a smart dog but I don’t think he quite grasps how the box I stare at all day could be getting itself in trouble.

I don’t know if the weird calm comes from having maxed out my stress receptors after November, or maybe I have gone numb from the three month long series of working more than twice my usual hours, but it’s kind of nice. Bizarre, but nice.

:: How long can you go before you have to run the heater when winter sets in? How’s everyone doing at home?


December 7, 2016

Tradition and mourning rituals

Visiting the graves of our loved ones, and honoring their memoryThere’s something about the cold, real cold for a Californian, the kind where you can see your breath, and stop feeling fingers and nose. Whenever that winter feels truly here, my bone deep memories surface.

It’s 40 degrees outside, and I needed socks inside, so I’m remembering other nippy mornings, going way back to when I ventured out into that cold because adults made me. Some memories are of junior high, 50 cent cups of hot chocolate to ward off the chill, shivering in too thin jackets. 

Some are about recalling my ancestors.

My entire extended family, aunts, uncles, cousins, lived by the Lunar calendar. I myself had no idea how it worked. All I knew was that when the cold settled down in California, it would be time. The one day a year that was designated for families to go to the graves of our family with food, symbolic money and clothes.  Each family would bring a dish made potluck-style, and we’d light incense in remembrance of our loved ones, burning paper money and clothing for their use in the afterlife. We’d have one-sided chats with our deceased loved ones, telling Grandma about what we’d been up to that year, who was sick, who was doing well, who had grown three inches. We’d ask them to remember us, too, and send us their blessings.

After the incense burned out, indicating the end of the spirits’ meal, we would eat the meal together as a family, picnic-style.

This was part of the Buddhist culture I was raised in, though it wasn’t really shared as a religion or a belief system. It was a familial custom to honor and respect our loved ones’ memory, much as others might leave flowers at the cemetery, keeping them alive in our hearts and teaching the next generation the wisdom that would have been passed down from the deceased elders.

I remember this from when I was very young, too young to know that running around the graveyard playing wasn’t respectful, and I remember a cousin jokingly restraining us by saying that if we ran over people’s resting places, they would reach up and grab our ankles to make us stop. It was effective. To this day I still instinctively walk in very specific lines above headstones. He’d probably think that was funny.

We were exposed to the idea of death very early on, making it a normal part of life, without making it rule our daily lives. That distance I learned to be comfortable with became so ingrained that it’s difficult to follow any mourning rituals that dictate weekly and monthly visits to graves or temples or churches. More frequently than once a year is overwhelming.

I think my cousins still carry on the tradition because they’re still local to the graves, but we’re not, and so I can’t share it with JuggerBaby as I would like to. As a poor alternative, I started a journal after ze was born where I share memories of my mom and others whom I would have honored on that day and why I remember and grieve their loss.

:: When did you learn about death? Do you have any family traditions to handle loss?

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