Seriously, why do I keep fawning over….

wait for it……

MATCHING APRONS.

I mean, $48 seems a little steep, but I wish I'd thought of this earlier and made it to a craft fair or something. Or unearthed my sewing machine and attempted myself. Those are just SO CUTE. gah. O-L-D.

Dave is working today, we have my holiday party tonight where I actually feel pretty good about the dress and shrug I bought, and we're doing our christmas tree tomorrow. I'd planned on going to a farm this year, but am starting to get bogged down by logistics and possible weather, and am rethinking that idea. We've bought our tree just up the street for years (from a local farm, just pre-cut and displayed in town) and with this kind of super busy weekend, that almost sounds like a better idea. Still not sure, though.

Thanksgiving was fine — weird, but fine. We went to my SIL's house, where they had more than 30 people wedged into their rather small house (first floor is about 500sf, and the kitchen was off limits) where, when I walked in, my glasses fogged from the heat of the crowd. No one could move without rearranging like that game Rush Hour, and I actually had to have Dave drive me home to get my inhaler, because it was starting to trigger an asthma attack. I'm not normally claustrophobic, but this was insane. Lots of complaining, but even me-who-had-to-leave-for-a-bit knows that if "there's not enough room!" is the biggest complaint about Thanksgiving, we're pretty damn lucky. (Although all agreed that we've outgrown such gatherings, with my BIL's kids and families, and SIL's family and kids, it's a fuckton of people.)

Some cute things:

Ingrid loved it. She warmed up pretty quickly, and when I summoned Dave to take me home for my albuterol, and headed for the door, it was near the card table that she was sitting at, happily coloring with the big kids, and she said "NO, Mama, go BACK!" (Meaning, get the hell away from funtown!) We left here in the safe care of every other local relative she knows, and she had a blast. When we got back, we had dinner, and while we were gone they opened the windows and doors and my glasses DIDN'T fog upon return, but then they closed them for dinner, and I got woozy again, so I ended up sitting on the couch in front of an open window. (In the living room, the couch had been pushed to the wall, and there were two long folding tables and the card table, and it was like a packed church hall or something. I really can't do it justice.) Anyway, while I was there, I was sitting next to my grandnephew Jacob, who is 4, who was eating a plate full of Cheetos for dinner. Ingrid came over and wanted some, and we don't really do Cheetos, so I said no, and she wandered away, but what I hadn't realized was that Jacob had also wandered off, and when HE returned he had a new plate and the bag of Cheetos and said "Where's Ingrid? I got her some chips!" Such a sweet kid, he is. I said "oh, no thank you, she's all set, but that was very thoughtful of you!" Fast forward an hour or so, it's after dinner and I'm standing with some family in the kitchen, and Ing approaches with a plate bearing 6 Cheetos. She holds the plate out, pleading with her eyes, and I lean down and she says "Can I have some chips?" with such longing and so earnestly, that I cave. She BEAMS, and spends the next half an hour carrying that plate around, savoring her Cheetos.

We've also been working on pottying here, as she suddenly really wants to be wearing underpants, JUST UNDERPANTS NO DIAPER! She's doing pretty good — at this point she's basically holding it until she has a diaper (ie, before nap, or before leaving) and she's really despising having a dirty diaper. At the party, she came over and tugged on my hand and pulled me down to whisper "I need a clean diaper!" which is a totally new thing. She even has had two weird naps on me, downstairs, and stayed dry through those. She hasn't actually peed on the potty yet, it's like there's this little barrier to that — she'll sit, but not pee. But as soon as a diaper goes on, she pees. We have three more days with NO PLANS, and we're going to be doing a lot of sitting, I think. Bizarre moment #2 of today, the boogie-stuck-in-teeth being #1, is me sitting cross legged on the bathroom floor in front of Ingrid sitting on her potty, with me leaning forward to hold her in a hug, because she asked for it. Out of fear? I don't know… but we're working on it.

So, yeah, Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

When I was 21, almost 22, one of my best friends from late high school/early adolescence died of a heroin overdose, and it sucked. Sucked. Sucked. Sucked. When JT died, Aton was my salvation. When Aton died 18 months later, it was devastation.

Anyway. JT had had a hard adolescence, struggling with his addictions, and when he died, I wrote his mom a letter, that, honestly, I can't remember much of now, almost 12 years later. I know I tried to reassure her that he knew his family loved him (it was clear) and that he loved them (again, it was clear, if muddy through the turbulence) but I don't remember much more. I was at their house when their new house was set up, and I remember their rabbit was named "Dinner," and that his brother shared the same name as a major rock star (full name) and that his sister thought she was trilingual because she knew "French, English, and Pig Latin." They had the same dishes I did, growing up, Hearts & Flowers, and his mom's name was…. Ingrid.

When Ingrid's name struck me, when I was pregnant, it just hit like lightning and fit, and that's why I was so insistent upon it, why it just seemed so Right. And I knew it was JT's mom's name, but while some names would be ruined by folks, this one wasn't. She is a good person. (Actually, she and her husband used to socialize with my mom when she first moved North, which is kind of interesting…) I named her, that was that.

Last week, my folks were down here (or somewhere) and a woman came into their studio to get some framing done, and asked one of the employees if my dad still owned it (yes), if my mom was around (no), and if I had ever finished my degree (yes). She mentioned that I was a friend of her son's, and the clerk said "oh, well that's her daughter Ingrid right there" and gestured to a giant photo that hangs as a sample on the wall, taken this summer. She apparently got a … look across her face, and said "excuse me?" and T said "that's Ingrid S, Gretchen's daughter."

When I heard the story, I asked if she'd left her address, because I really WOULD like to write to her, to let her know that some of us turned out pretty okay, and that I think of her, and JT, often. This week, she came back to pick up her stuff, and my mom was in, and they talked. Apparently, she still reads and rereads that letter I wrote, almost 12 years ago. The same-name-as-rock-star had some "hard times," but is now a civil engineer. The trilingual is in medical school. And I don't even have to hear from my mother that she mourns JT every day.

So, I want to write to her. I think of her all the time, especially having given Ingrid her name, I feel more sad for her, now, knowing what she lost. All that grief of my 20s was hard, but now? My god. Those guys were my friends, Aton, even more, and they were also someone's baby. When Ingrid wakes at 2am and wants nothing more than to snuggle down between Dave and I? Cool. Someday she won't want it. I will never, ever wish I had snuggled my kid less — whether that comes through my hippie-ass breastfeeding/babywearing/cosleeping practices, or just in the "Big Hug! SQUEEZY HUGS!" that she asks for and receives when I pick her up from daycare. I am blessed with each and every one.

How do I convey that to Ingrid the mother? That I have never, ever forgotten their family, that Ingrid isn't JUST a "pretty name," to me, but this little thread back to those dark, dark days, reminding me of how far I've come, and how much others have lost. I just don't know how to put it into words.