Nearly Bilingual

So, I bought this house, as you may recall. And because I descend from a long line of people who can't leave a kitchen alone, I decided this house needs a new kitchen, which means I'm learning Swedish.

In Sweden, there are no women or words. There are only men, sinks, and directional arrows. 

It turns out that these arrows MEAN SOMETHING. 

This is a "before" shot. Before I spoke Akurum.

I know this now. I know this after building SIXTEEN cabinets. (I still have six to go, but I'm fluent now, so it'll be fine. Also, I discovered how to stay hydrated with beer/water, aka Bud Light.)

I swear not all of the cabinets are the same, just these five. I think. I hope. Shit.

Eventually, we'll have a sparkly new kitchen, but right now we have a fuckton o' cabinets. Really awesome, well-built cabinets THANK YOU VERY MUCH. 

Oh, and if anyone needs to know how to install IKEA cabinet hinges, I'm your girl. Also, drawers. Oh, and shelves. Akurum. Rationell. Ädel. See? Bilingual. 

And, I look bitchin' in a tool belt, I'll have you know. At least, that's what the 80s throwbacks tell me, because they're the only ones who use bitchin' to talk about how cool they look in a tool belt. Whatever. My man digs it.

Oh, and I planted a tiny organic garden with a little help from the kids. We went with the square-foot approach in the raised bed. For the rest of our plantings, we just worked things in where we could find sunshine and space. With all of these giant pine trees, sunshine is a rare commodity. We managed to squeeze in four tomato plants, a few varieties of basil, some oregano, and some seeds for a few things to see how they do this first year. Oh, and strawberries. You have to have strawberries. I think we'll end up doing a greenhouse at some point since we have a well for water. We'd love to be able to grow goodies year-round and the sunniest part of the yard has a perfect spot for a greenhouse.

Gonna wrap it up with some fig porn. Our fig tree is just so darn happy. Now, if I could figure out why we have only four food-producing trees out of the fifty-plus trees on this lot, I'd be so very happy. Time to fix that. I do not like watering things I can't eat. Gotta get these citrus trees in the ground before we get another heatwave! Mama needs her fresh-squeezed citrus cocktails!

Don't Know Where To Start: Here's A Picture

So much weird stuff, good stuff, busy stuff, I don't even know where to begin. 

Until the dust settles, and I can put it all into some sort of cohesive order for your reading pleasure, here's a picture of those two humans I created. This was an evening out to celebrate Peanut's academic achievements for the year and the boyfriend's birthday. Bug was trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to frown. 

New York Times Best Boob Is Too A Thing

I know some Jennys. One lives near me, and we amuse each other greatly. Occasionally we amuse other people. 

Last week we made the trek to Corte Madera to see our other friend, also a Jenny, at her book signing because, HOLY FUCK WE HAVE A FRIEND WHO WROTE A REAL LIVE READABLE BOOK. Also, we love her. And it's rare to see this particular Jenny outside of a bathroom.

Seriously. It is. That's where I first met her. In a bathroom. It's less abnormal the longer you know her. I've now spent more time with her in a bathroom than out, I think, and this seems completely normal to me.

Anyway, when Jenny and I got back from seeing Jenny at the book signing, we sat down to make a video homage to our friend, her book (Let's Pretend This Never Happened: (A Mostly True Memoir), and our road trip, but this happened instead. 

I think Jenny will understand. Also, you should totally buy Jenny's book because The Bloggess is a seriously funny person, and it turns out that we aren't the only two people on the planet who think this. (You need to understand that this totally makes my autographed boob incredibly important by association, like New York Times Book List important. That's really important. That's more important than that stupid Who's Who crap they try to get you to pay for in high school, which it turns out is just a giant scam that anyone can do, so I'm glad I didn't do it.)

Oh, and Jenny is one of the few people who spells my name correctly. I think that's important in a friendship.

Missing You: Another Year

Today is the second anniversary of your death. I don't like celebrating this day, so I'm not going to celebrate it so much as acknowledge it in a simple way. I want to acknowledge it here with some pictures of you. We miss you every single day. Our love for you is everlasting.

My Son Is Quite Able: Riding BART

When my son was in fifth grade he was asked to leave his private school because of his disabilities. In the middle of a school day. With no warning. With no plan. Some of you will find this deplorable. Some of you will think they had a right to ask him to leave because they were a private school.

After an investigation by the Department of Justice into whether or not the school violated my son's civil rights under Title III of the American's with Disabilities Act, the case was closed without a finding.

What I do know is that today, on his first day at a school he selected, my fifteen-year-old son, is a better person for having been asked to leave that school.

Why?

That day was a turning point for our family. From the day the school sent my son home he started homeschooling.

We didn't know if it would be a temporary situation or not, but we knew it was the right thing to do for him at that time. It turned out to be the best thing we could have done to lessen the stress he was experiencing there—stress we didn't fully appreciate until he was outside the situation.

Toward the end of the lengthy and often ugly legal process with the school, before the ruling came from the DOJ, my husband was diagnosed with cancer. Since we were homeschooling, my son had the gift of spending my husband's final year of life at home with him. We had no way of knowing that was how life was going to play out, but it worked out that way, and it was a blessing. I am thankful every day that somebody perceived my son's disabilities the way they did or he would have missed that time with his father. And I am so glad his father got that time to see his son happy.

Making the choice to defend our son's rights was a process that brought us closer together as a family. We regularly checked in with each other and with our son to make sure we wanted to continue the legal process. As soon as one person wanted to stop, we agreed we were done. Fortunately, the DOJ took over the case, and it was out of our hands. We never intended to pursue a civil case. Our goal was to make things right for other children for the future. We didn't see a civil case achieving that goal. Our daughter was an amazing witness when the DOJ came to our home to interview us. She was fiercely protective of the truth and her brother, which hasn't always been the case in their relationship—having a sibling with special needs can be stressful sometimes, but she wanted to make sure it was clear to the attorney just what had and had not happened since she was actually present in his classroom.

And today, on his first day of school, my son rode BART by himself. He also packed his own lunch, got himself dressed in the clothes that he washed, and ready for school on time. He attended his brand new school for seven and a half hours. He was calm. He was confident. He had a great day at school, and he can't wait to go back tomorrow.

If you didn't know he had Tourette's, you'd be hard-pressed to tell. In fact, even the people who live with him have trouble spotting his very rare tics. As for the Asperger's, well, I just think of that as who he is. I don't even know that I'd be able to separate him from the things that would define his position on the spectrum, nor would I want to. After fifteen years of him being him, I am so accustomed to who he is and how he works, that I rather like his wiring. Our world needs him. Somebody else's oversight of his awesomeness on that day in October of his tenth year was so very clearly a lucky day for the rest of us. They missed out on having the opportunity to watch him grow and learn these past five years. We didn't.

Guess what, world: he is able! Very, very able. Don't let that slip past you this time or y'all might miss out on another five years of watching him in action.

I love you, Bug. I wish Daddy were here to see this. He'd be so incredibly proud of you.