go charlotte, it's yo berfday

last weekend we had a "destination birthday party" for colby jean in beautiful and exotic sacramento, the capitol and crown jewel of the great state of california. i mean, is any further explanation required? ;) (we originally planned to have the party at my dad's house up north because my grandfather was ill and we wanted to see as much of him as possible while he was still around, but then he joined that great naked hot tub party in the sky. party planning was already well in the works though so we just rolled with it.)

whenever we travel with the kids, i expect a blog post is in the making. but this past weekend was shockingly uneventful. the kids traveled like champs, and the birthday party was a big hit.

first of all, hosting a party at someone else's house? genius. why have i never thought of this before?! normally before a party i'm up all night cleaning like that cracked out grandma from Something about Mary, decorating and doing ridiculous crafty shit by hand, making themed cupcakes and oreo pops, and cutting fruit and vegetables into choke-proof quarter-inch cubes. but not this time. i'm not going to ruffle any tail-feathers by trying to crazy-clean my future step-mother's home, so that was out. food? i outsourced everything. pizza delivered for lunch. delicious desserts from a local bakery. store-bought snacks and fruit plates. decorations? i ordered every pink giraffe-themed thing i could find on etsy and shipped it to my pop's house. bought some garlands and tissue poofs. wham bam thank you baby jesus, etsy, and Martha Stewart! i can't even get over how much less work it was?!

one funny thing about my dad's house though. he and his significant other and her daughter are basically vegan. there was no milk. my dad had to go on a scavenger hunt to find sugar for my coffee. and perhaps most importantly, no cheese, which to me is a glaring sign that you have lost the will to live. my kids were also totally thrown by the lack of ranch dressing. almond milk on their cereal? whatevs. no ranch in which to dip all of the things? *error. error. cannot. compute.* ;) i was commiserating with my sister about the status of our dairy addictions at dad's house and she was like, "yeah, every time i'm there i'm starving. last time i went i stocked up on airplane peanuts and silently scarfed them in my bed at night." that killed me. still laughing.

anyway. the birthday was a success. colby had the best time EVER. she was entertained by a single helium balloon for four hours, and while it took her about a month to get through her christmas presents, she ripped through her birthday swag in ten minutes flat. it was also really great to see family and friends that we don't often have the chance to see. good times were had by all.

heading home on sunday was relatively painless. my little frequent flyers handled it like pros. all was well until we lost colby's "spawkly do-wah the explo-wah" backpack at the airport. i look across the way to see a small swarm of TSA agents going through its contents in confusion. minky blankie? hot pink iPad and headphones? neon glitter sweatshirt? CUTEST BOMB EVER!!!

then we let the kids run around at the edge of the food court for a little bit to get their ya-yas out before the flight. they were playing a more or less quiet game of pretend along a big glass wall of windows overlooking the runway when Jack yells "LOOKOUT EVEYBODY!!! AN ENOWMOUS SOUFWEST AIOWPWANE JUST CWASHED ON DA WUNWAY!!!" colby: "NORMOUS CWASH!!!" omg. apparently now is the time to have the talk about yelling fire in a crowded theater. i'll let daddy handle that since he's the constitutional lawyer and all ;)

also? forget about the mile high club. that shit's for pansies. the real award goes to anyone who has taken a preschooler to poop in an airplane bathroom.

but the critters were angels and there were no meltdowns and no pissy passengers and life was good. at least until the next day ;)

Giraffe Gift Tags from Katie's Scrap N Supplies on Etsy
Popcorn Boxes, Paper Straws and Muffin Cups from Party Garden on Etsy
Princess Cake and Cake Pops from Ettore's European Bakery in Sacramento, California (SO GOOD)
Cake Bunting from Simply Scissors on Etsy
Giraffe Cake Topper from Party Pop Pop on Etsy
Tissue Paper Poofs and Garlands by Martha Stewart
Amazing Tassle Garland that I want in every room of my house by Studio Mucci on Etsy
Freaking Adorable "Two" Giraffe Balloon Tee from Lil Threadz on Etsy
Cold Bubbly, from someone who knows what Mama Likey ;)

suck by suck west

i wanted to enter a submission for the domestic enemies series on rants from mommyland-dot-com - "the domestic enemies of a lawyer mom." but those are all numbered lists and i only got this far:

The Domestic Enemies of a Lawyer Mom 

1. The Law*

*Including, but not limited to, lawyers, and also every other part of the legal profession.

it's been a rough week. or month. or year. i've lost track. last week colby's daycare gal ended up in the hospital for three days, which required a lot of juggling and covering and testing the outer limits of our respective employers' patience. it also required the grace of my dear, wonderful sister, who saved our asses yet again (and again, and again). i am so far in the karmic hole i can't even see the light of day.

march has been a doozy so far, with birthdays (colby's, mine), holidays (persian new year, steak and BJ day), and travel (a destination birthday party last weekend in loverly sack-o-tomatoes, califor-ni-A). meanwhile the shit is hitting the proverbial fan at work for both DM and me, so we tried to hit the ground running on monday morning, in an increasingly futile attempt to keep our heads above water in this raging river called Life. naturally, Life laughed in our fat faces. about 33 minutes after DM drops colby off i get a call from daycare for the fourth time in six days. now colby is sick. possibly pink eye. she also has a fever so she has to stay out tomorrow regardless. SUPER!

while we were at my dad's house over the weekend, his girlfriend ("fiancée," ew, that word hurts my teeth) told me that kaiser (her employer) has a policy that you don't get any "unexcused absences," which includes sick days. after three absences, you get a verbal warning. three more, a written warning. three more, a suspension. three more and you are terminated. she said the policy encourages people to come to work sick, which is not ideal, seeing as it's a hospital, but on the other hand it's kind of a necessary evil because people "take advantage" of the system and ask for, like, a day off a month. gasp! ummmm, yeaaaaah. i've needed to take all or part of a day off PER DAY lately. i'm almost serious. it's INSANE. and that is with regular child care, a sister who is a saint, a husband who picks half the sick-baby short-straws, and fairly flexible employers. what's your average joe (or joe-anne) supposed to do? i just don't get it. i've said it before. being a lawyer mom sucks. dealing with sick kids sucks. but you know what sucks even worse? when you CAN'T be there for your little snot rods because your lawyerness gets in the way. it seriously hurts my heart.

of course it doesn't help that most of the people i work with don't have kids, or else they have full-time supermom wives and/or live-in nannies so when their kids are sick it's really not their problem. the notion of not putting work first? not even on their radar. my old boss used to say "the law is a jealous mistress," but eff that man. The Law is a First Wife and she ain't havin' none of this shit.

also the part about how working bangladeshi sweatshop hours is par for the course. last night my supervising attorney said to me, "you don't have to stay up all night doing this or anything." ummm, the thought hadn't even crossed my mind but thanks!

then the part about how we have "regularly scheduled" meetings every week that go forward as planned approximately 13% of the time. the other ... 87(?)% of the time, they are rescheduled to literally the most inconvenient time you could possibly find on my calendar. also, all work emergencies are seven times more likely to occur at 4:59 pm than any other minute of the day.

oh, and what about the pathophysiology of the common cold:

day 1 (most likely a monday to ensure maximum career fuck-up-ery): Thing 1 is infected. slight chance of extra snuggles which makes it worth it, but moderate possibility that husband will contract the dreaded Man Cold which will ruin life for 5-7 business days.
day 2: Thing 1 feels well enough to use your stomach as a trampoline, but had a fever 23 hours ago so has to stay home again. decides to utilize the time during which you are on a conference call to practice the art of plate spinning with your grandmother's china. you can only engage in an insane display of semaphore and watch in silent horror.
day 3: Thing 1 is right as rain. (or not. 1/3 chance s/he is infected with some sort of feces-based disease that is highly contagious for 7-10 days. good luck with that.) Thing 2 seems fine at drop-off, but displays sudden-onset flu-like symptoms at the exact moment that you settle in with a hot cup of coffee 29 miles away.
day 4: repeat day 1 with Thing 2.
day 5: repeat day 2 with Thing 2.
day 6: saturday ruined by resurgence of snot faucets and/or man cold.
day 7: buying a new house seems easier than doing all that laundry and disinfecting current abode.
day 8: monday again? are you $@#%&*#$ kidding me?

okay, then there's "backup childcare." so. jack is in preschool and colby's in an in-home daycare. USUALLY, barring freak ER visits like last week or pre-arranged vacation and inservice days, the only reason the kids need to stay home is because they are sick. this occurs with little to no warning, and with alarming frequency between the months of november and ... october. so the conversation with our short-list of backups goes something like this: "are you available to sit for the kids?" "possibly, when?" "well... sort of... right now? also, i hope it's not a problem that they are sticky cesspools of contagion?" needless to say, our backups are often otherwise engaged. enter saintly sister from stage left. thank you dear lord. but she is starting nursing school in may and THEN WHAT?!

oh yeah and blogging. i had no idea. this shit takes serious WORK, man. like, you have to pimp out your blog and play the game and learn the politics and... ain't nobody got time for dat! at least, i don't. i am expected to actually work at work, and when i get home for second-shift, the little slave-drivers do NOT take kindly to their mama giving them anything other than her undivided attention. and rightly so. but it just doesn't leave a lot of time to talk at length at people who may or may not be listening. i am recalibrating my expectations to be content with two followers as opposed to instant literary fame and world domination. #firstworldproblems. seriously though. life is hard.

i was whining to a girlfriend about how one is supposed to survive and she said: "don't have kids." thanks for the pearls of wisdom, friend! just one slight snag. make that two. and make that greater than slight.

oh. THEN. last night i go to pick J up from school? LICE INFESTATION. F. M. L. seriously. if he gets lice, i am going to fake my own death and disappear to mexico. shhhhh. don't tell. i just can't. that has to be somebody else's problem.

update - march 27, 2014: drop Jack off at school and, while they were checking for lice, undergo intense scrutiny for a little scab on his face that he keeps messing with. another kid was sent home the day before for impetigo. i am admonished that if it does not look better by tomorrow morning we will have to take him to the doctor. (honestly, they should have those punch cards so you can get your tenth visit free.) then, when i pick Colby up from daycare (after her first full day in a week) i am informed that they sent another little girl home earlier with hand, foot and mouth disease. (ps what in the EFF is that?! every time i hear it i think of that foot-and-mouth disease that kills livestock.) i could not make this shit up. praying to the gods of infections disease that we will dodge these bullets.

maiwiage

settle a bet for me.

i believe in "True Love." i believe in "The One." i believe there's a lid for every pot. i mean. okay. there are 7+ billion people in the world. maybe there are a few lids that would fit really well. but my point is, i believe that it's out there. for everyone. that everyone can be, and deserves to be, madly in love with their partner. that does not mean that love is a fairytale, that you don't sometimes want to punch that special someone in their stubborn face or run away to mexico for a few days weeks months, that you never fight or he never makes you cry. but, i believe there is someone who, excuse the jerry maguire reference, completes you. who can make your heart race and your knees weak and make you laugh and make you think. someone who makes you happy at the very center of your soul.

my husband says i'm wrong.

he says we are lucky. that marriage is sometimes, maybe even a lot of the time, about convenience, about fear of being alone, about fear of the unknown, about settling, about preferring what you have to nothing. he also thinks that not everyone is equipped for that head-over-heels kind of love. he thinks some people just aren't "the marrying kind." that we aren't an inherently monogamous species. i think all of that is BS. i think they just haven't found the right person (yet).

DM is not alone in his thoughts, though. a good friend of mine calls it "Big Love," and views it as the exception, not the rule. she and i were talking more about it and she said maybe Big Love is when you get everything you need from one person. she said everyone she knows with The Big Love would, without hesitation, name their significant other as their best friend. i don't know. maybe Big Love is just a euphemism for codependence. but it works for me.

another friend, when asked about proposing to his now-wife, responded "well, at some point, you just gotta shit or get off the pot, you know?"

just.... please. for future reference. if i ever learn that my significant other said this about me, direct me to the nearest divorce lawyer.

also. in that metaphor. what am i? the shit? or the pot?

ugh.

i worked for this professor. (the one who made me a mix-tape. more about that later.) he once asked me: "who is the person you love the most and who is the person you have been the most in love with? are they the same person?" me: "is this a trick question? of course. why. it isn't for you?" him: "no."

i just don't get that. wouldn't you want both? a friend of mine was recently in a long-term relationship. he stayed with the girl for too long, out of some ill-conceived sense of obligation. he loved her but he was not in love. but she thought he was The One, and he felt like he owed it to her to try to make that true. i'm sorry, but, eff that, man. i hate to sound like a smug biatch, but i've been lots of people's The One (okay maybe three people's. ;)). and that sucks for them. but at the end of the day, that's not really my problem. and anyway, if they think i'm The One but i don't think they're The One, then i'm probably not actually The One. you dig? i can only hope that the universe will right the wrongs along the way. the bottom line is, just because you love someone doesn't mean they can make you happy. there's a difference. sometimes, love isn't enough. (< have you seen this movie with julia roberts and brad pitt and a gay james gandolfini? cinema gold.)

along those lines, i just read this post - "Why Finding 'The One' Is Nearly Impossible But We Do It Anyway." he makes a good point - that lots of times you think you found "The One," until you find out they are not, in fact, The One. so it's really sort of about finding Mr. Right Now instead of Mr. Right?

and i guess all of this begs the question - what if there is The One, but you don't find The One, and your uterus is quickly approaching it's expiration date (or maybe you're just tired of cooking for one. in the latter case, i think i can help you out ;)) but, then what? i guess this is a major flaw in my reasoning. because some of the best people i know are still single, and not necessarily because they want to be. one of my favorite friends recently said "i think it's time to start thinking about settling," and i was like "NOOOOOOOO, you can't! you are too great to settle!" (also her dates provide too much entertainment for her to stop going on them ;)) in the early days when we talked a lot about lurve, DM and i always agreed that we would rather be alone than "settle." but, i guess that's really easy for me to say since i found "the one" when i was 22 years old. who knows what i would be thinking 12 or 20 years later. maybe something, anything, is better than nothing. but from my happily married high horse i just can't see that being true.

an old friend of mine (who is going through a divorce) posted this depressing ode to the mediocre state of marriage: "Good Enough? That's Great." am i nuts for thinking that "good enough" isn't? this: don't date a girl who reads. "you will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied." that's what i want. that's what i believe we all deserve. am i high? (editor's note: no. i am not. unless you mean high on life. then yes. yes i am. sometimes. other times life is a very bad trip.)

this whole train of thought reminds me of that viral post by seth adam smith - "marriage isn't for you." he discusses some guidance he received from his father on the eve of his marriage to his childhood sweetheart: "You don’t marry to make yourself happy, you marry to make someone else happy." okay. maybe i'm just selfish, and i'm no therapist, but... that seems like spectacularly bad marriage advice. isn't this the type of situation where you will plug along through the business of making and raising human beings, and then said humans go off to college, and you look at your partner and say, "why did i marry you? oh yeah. because marriage was for you. because you were going to be a great dad. and you were. but the kids are gone and it's just us... and... now what?"

and hey. who knows? maybe, someday, i'll find myself there too. and maybe, at that point, you start from scratch and learn to love eachother all over again with a new set of rules. or get divorced and adopt a bunch of cats. i do not know these things. i have no crystal ball. i cannot see the future. but i'm not in the future. i'm here. now. and i can't imagine doing what i'm doing every day (wrangling babies, referee-ing peewee WWF matches, cooking for implacable food critics of small stature, cleaning shit i just cleaned, again, laundry that never, ever ends, bills that annoyingly require payment each and every month, etc. etc. etc.) with someone who did not make this endless stream of quotidia bearable...

[on learning to love someone - i thought this post was interesting: I Didn't Love My Wife When We Got Married, on PopChassid.com. i respect where he's coming from, but then i'm like, i really just don't think you should have to work that hard to love someone. at what point does it turn from the effort that all relationships require to trying to fit a square peg into a round hole?]

this also reminds me of some people i know who stayed together in an unhappy marriage "for the children." that's so backwards to me. i can guarantee you if my mom and dad had stayed together i would be 113% more fucked up than i am right now. i mean, there's nothing better for kids to see than a happy, healthy marriage, but i believe the converse is also true.

don't get me wrong. my marriage is not all unicorns and rainbows. we've had our ups and downs. and it's not like it doesn't take effort. some days it takes a great deal more effort than others. our love has grown and changed and looks very, very different than it did over a decade ago, before marriage and mortgage and minis and full time jobs and too-long commutes and the Groundhog's Day repetition of bedtime battles and toddler tantrums and festive fetes every other freakin' weekend. but if i had to do all of that without him i would lose my ever lovin' mind. seriously. sometimes my husband and grilled cheese sandwiches and looking at pictures of my kids after they are sound asleep are the only things in the world that make me happy. i love that man. he keeps me sane. he's my partner and my sounding board and my best friend. and i feel so sad thinking that this is just due to some stroke of luck or rare divine intervention or alignment of the stars.

on the tangential topic of "the bad-assedness of married sex," i saw this post recently and the title scared the bejesus out of me but the message is really rather spot on: "I Didn't Have Sex for a Year, and I'm Still Married," by Natalie Singer Velush on the Huffington Post Blog.

sorry that this sort of reads like a schizophrenic book report. i have many thoughts on the subject and a lesser ability to weave them into a coherent message. mainly i just want to win the bet. tell me, is there such a thing as true love?

p.s., i had a dream last night that i posted this and then promptly found out DM was sleeping with his secretary. stranger things have happened. let's just hope if that is how our story ends, he chooses something a little less cliched. actually, i often joke with DM that divorce would be awesome. every other weekend off? hollaaaaaah!!! but i'm (93%) kidding. just wanted to clarify that with the universe ;)

quotes from the perks of being a wallflower by stephen chbosky

to blave...

big boys don't cry. just kidding.

sometimes i hate the internet. it's too big and too loud and too mean. it sucks my energy and my time. it tells me i'm not that funny. it tells me i have bladder cancer and a brain tumor. it tells me i should be able to work full time, parent full time, have sex with my husband for 30 consecutive days, read award-winning novels, keep up with world news, bake delicious organic meals, pack food diorama bento boxes for my kids' lunches, clean my house per daily schedule, remove any stain (even grass, blood, and ketchup!) from my grubby kids' clothing, clean my grout with a toothbrush, baking soda and vinegar, throw outrageous and expensive themed parties for every occasion, entertain my children with an endless stream of educational activities, and craft handmade gifts for neighbors, teachers, babysitters, coworkers, and friends (with coordinated hand-stamped hemp wrapping paper and locally spun glitter and twine, obv).

but sometimes i love the internet. it tells me i'm not crazy. it tells me my kids aren't crazy. or at least that we're not the only crazy ones. it makes me feel like i'm not alone, despite being surrounded by people in "real life" who gush about the beauty and awe of pregnancy, the ceaseless joy of motherhood, who tell me to enjoy every single precious moment of my children's lives because it'll be gone faster than i can blink an eye... when sometimes all i want is to squeeze my eyes shut and pray the world around me will just disappear for a minute. for every article or post that tells me i'm doing it wrong, there's one in which i find a kindred spirit, a sympathetic soul. yes, the internet reveals the ugly underbelly of human nature, but it also exposes it's big, bleeding heart.

in this particular instance, i am appreciative of the world wide web for its attention to the subject of "sensitive" boys. on the one hand, i read lots of posts from bloggers about "why they're glad they don't have daughters," e.g., this and this. boys are snakes and snails and puppy dog tails, rough and tumble, "a noise with dirt on it." girls are sugar and spice and constant social drama. people in "real life" say it all the time too. "he's all boy," "boys will be boys," etc. i guess this is just an offshoot of my earlier posts about heteronormativity and hegemonic masculinity a.k.a. kids and gender and pink princesses and blue balls... er.. basketballs ;) (if you're so inclined, you can check out those previous posts here: "i wear The Pants but everyone in my family wears pants (sometimes)" and "the bedazzled bulldozer"). but when i read the manly boy posts i'm like, really? not my boy. yes he likes trucks and sports, but he also seems to think dirt is anthrax in disguise, requires 37 napkins to get through a meal, is deathly afraid of winged insects, and literally has "spidey sense," in that he can sense if there is a spider anywhere on our property and will not sleep until the offending arachnid is vanquished. (i don't kill spiders, btw. i guess it's a combination of charlotte's web and an aunt of mine who convinced me that spiders were good luck omens and if you killed them you would end up living in a van down by the river. so instead, i catch them and escort them outside. which adds precious minutes to an already lengthy bedtime routine. which is something my clever dude has probably already figured out ;))

my boy is ten times the crybaby/drama queen that his little sister is, and i would bet big money that, of the two, he will be the primary source of high school theatrics. (we always say we want to protect jack's sweet sensitive soul from the harsh realities of life... colby, on the other hand, we're not too worried about. she'll take life and punch it in the face. she's such a little lover, but if provoked - watch out! you mess with the bull, you get the horns!) anyway. jack's not a "wimpy kid," per se (or, i don't know, maybe he is), but mainly he is just SO sensitive and he gets his feelings hurt quicker than you can say you're sorry. even a perceived slight or an unintended stink eye can send him into hysterics. he just doesn't fit neatly into the "boy box" like so many people would have you believe. he likes pink and blue (though i'm already starting to see society's influences here - a year ago he listed pink as his favorite color. recently i've heard him say "pink is for girls," or, "grills," as he calls them ;)) he likes trucks and jewelry. he likes to have his toenails painted and run around in a superhero costume (dressed as "Flash Man," with a cape, a "Bat Signal," and a "Gween Lanter-in Powah Wing"). he wants glitter shoes and light up spider man shoes. he wants a pony tail and a pirate sword. it's his party and he'll cry if he wants to. and he wants to. oh does he want to. and i'm okay with that. (though i do wish he could work on VOLUME CONTROL!)

yes, i have to fight my own internalization of society's norms here, about who and what and how little boys are allowed to be. DM and i have pow-wows about it all the time. seriously, every time we sit down and try to watch a show or a movie, we end up talking for an hour and a half about our kids, or mainly, our sweet "spirited" child, mr. jackson jay. we go back and forth and up and down. we start out with, this cannot be normal. then we say, well, what is normal, anyway? we don't want to hang our societal and cultural baggage about what's "normal" and "manly" and "not-sociopathic" onto our 3.5 year old son. then we say, but seriously, does there have to be so much crying? then we say, there is no way our parents spent hours upon hours fretting over this shit, and we turned out relatively alright. and then we fret some more.

it's an ongoing struggle. but i will continue to fight that fight. and it makes me feel good to know that there are plenty of thoughtful, intelligent parents who are out there fighting the same fight. maybe, someday, kids will be free just to be themselves.

these just kill me
(photo by jill greenberg)

and this, because it is one of the main catalysts
of our heart-to-hearts about our kids' behavior
 

selected googliography:

Boys Cry, Too, by Katie Hurley on Dr. Greene.com

The real boy crisis: 5 ways America tells boys not to be "girly" on Salon.com

Parenting the Highly Sensitive Boy by "Rebecca" at Positive Parents.org

The Strong, Sensitive Boy, by Ted Zeff

melvin rumplethorpe

My little brother is awesome. He is handsome and smart and talented and funny, and even though he has had a greater-than-average amount of suck in his life, he doesn't feel too terribly sorry for himself and still manages to be pretty freakin rad. My brother lost BOTH of his parents (my mom and stepdad) when he was 7 years old :( He bounced around some but ended up with Stepgrams and Stepgramps and stayed there through high school. So when Stepgramps died it was kind of like losing a father. Again. More suck, but as usual my little bro handled it with grace and really cool hair. He spoke at the memorial, and did such a great job. I thought I'd share his words here. I changed the names but everything else is verbatim.

What to say about Grandpa. He was an amazing man who had a profound impact on this world. He shared boundless joy and wisdom with everyone in his life. The saddest aspect of his departure is that we were robbed of his influence. The impression he left on people wasn't immediately obvious. It was subtle, but strong and far-reaching like a vast river.  Imagine the effect he would have had if he were given another decade. Or another few years. Or even another month of vitality. He had this way of quietly making you want to be a better person. After spending some time with him, you had an unexplained urge to try unconventional food combinations. Or put in some extra effort on your most recent project. Or treat yourself to your favorite sweets. Or try a new sport. Or take some time to laugh. Or fix that thing at home you've been meaning to get to.

Speaking of fixing things, he had this vast store of handyman know-how that he shared whenever the situation called for it. He taught me how to change a tire and check the oil. He taught me how to build a deck. How to prepare for ice on the road or bears in your cabin. The knowledge he shared with me was invaluable, though I would never admit it at the time. Before I left for college, Grandpa took me in to the garage with a paper bag like he was taking me on a shopping spree, putting in all of the essential tools I might need for being an adult. Hammer. Screwdrivers. Wrench. The works. I rolled my eyes and sighed heavily in the way that only teenagers can. I said that if anything went wrong, I would find someone else to fix it. I was so sure I wouldn't use those tools that I made a bet. Sure enough, those screwdrivers came in handy, and I had to pay up.

The fact that he was able to put up with my ingratitude and stubbornness speaks volumes about his patience. That was one of his other impressive qualities. How he was able to handle the Kellers [Stepgrams' family] is still a mystery to me. Can you picture wrangling the 3 Carter boys in to building a cabin from scratch?! And don't get me started on Grandma. Those of you lucky enough to have experienced Grandma Carter's candor know that she is not the easiest of women to disagree with. I asked Grandpa how in the hell he lived with her for 60 years. His answer to me was simple: respect. Respect for your significant other and the decisions that they make and the emotions that they have. I later realized that he must have applied the same philosophy to the unruly Keller clan. How else could he have earned the coveted status of honorary blood relative?

Patience was one factor, but so was humor. And boy did Grandpa Carter have a sense of humor. It was unexpected from a generally soft-spoken man. Some of my earliest memories of him were of his right hand, which had a tendency to be possessed by a kid-catching monster called "The Claw". He also got a huge kick out of the Harry Potter books. One of his hobbies was making up names that sounded like they belonged in the wizarding world, like "Melvin Rumplethorpe" or something. His funny bone didn't weaken with age either. I had the privilege of spending the last few months with him. And despite his deteriorating health, his wit was as sharp as ever. I was a bit of a care-giver, and noticed that his cough medicine said to take with plenty of water. So every time I would give it to him, I would also hand him a glass of water, which he would never drink under normal circumstances. Grandma came in to the room and asked "why is it that you'll drink water for him but not for me?" He looked up at her and said "because he's nice to me."

There are countless ways that Grandpa has influenced me. He taught me the importance of comedy, patience, respect, and manual labor. I'm sure that everyone here learned valuable lessons from him as well. And that's what I'll miss the most; the marks he left on this earth. But I take solace in the fact that those marks will have a ripple effect for generations to come. I'll leave you with one of the most inspiring messages I ever got from Grandpa. It's so important that he wore it proudly on a shirt. It goes like this. "Beer: not just for breakfast anymore." Let's raise a toast to that.

a painting of stepgramps that my little brother did IN ONE NIGHT

i wanted to add one last little snippet. lots of people stood up to speak at the memorial and had all sorts of great stories to share about the general hijinx to which stepgramps was a party. many involved margaritas and naked hot-tubbing and some borderline illegal activity. but one in particular cracked me up. you probably had to be there but i'll tell it anyway. it was told by a cousin of stepdad's that i'd never actually met before. he told how he got cancer in college, and stepgramps knew that he was really bummed out because he was normally a super active guy, etc. so, stepgramps figured he would benefit from interaction with a "woman of ill repute." so the cousin is in the hospital and he gets this racy letter from this "woman" which he has to read while his mother is in the room, and he continues to get communications from her over the years, including an email from time to time, even after he was married. turns out these letters and emails were really from stepgramps, posing as the now infamous "Boom Boom LaRue." :) another cute part of that story was that when the cousin did get married, and stepgramps first met his wife, they really hit it off. so the next time stepgramps saw the cousin he presented him with a little trophy that was engraved with the words "second-best wife-picker." (that obviously must have been before he met my mom ;)) <3