It is not the same.

This is a long post, months in the writing. Bear with me, y'all.

Back in December, Shaun was sick again.

A week and a day after Thanksgiving, I took the girl to school, and came home to my beloved in a literal pool of vomit on the sofa. I pushed a towel under him, handed him the bucket (which he already had beside him), and started making arrangements to miss work. It is not a good time for me to miss work: essentially the day before finals week for me, I had 8 conferences scheduled. But there was no other option.

By 10 am he agreed we needed to go to ER. I helped him into his chair, and helped him get dressed. We pulled into the ambulance bay at 11, and they wheeled him into the back. I sat in the waiting room and called Myra to pick V up from school.  I hoped they would admit him, but if they didn't, V didn't need to see him this sick.
~~
When I was 12, my father had a massive stroke. I was in the seventh grade, and when Carol, our school secretary, stopped by the gym to tell me during laps in phy-ed that he was in the ICU, I felt the earth fall from beneath me. My childhood ended on January 10, 1986. The first time I saw him after the stroke was 2 days later. Riding the elevator up to Shaun's room, I kept thinking of that day, of walking down that cold hallway in St. Ansgar's, of turning the corner into his room and seeing him, my giant, my daddy, hemipeligic and in one of those awful hospital gowns.

This is not the same as that, I said to myself, over and over.
~~

As the elevator opened on his floor, I crumpled up the slip with his room number and shoved it in my pocket, and went straight to the Nurses' Desk. "I'm Shaun Languishing's wife," I said (except, you know, that's not our real last name), "and I need to see his nurse." After a few minutes, she ambled up to me, and smiled. I took a deep breath. "So, okay, I don't know if you know this, but his vomiting is not really viral or bacterial. It's mental and anxiety-driven, and you should stay on top of his Xanax or whatever he's allowed to have here. And I am available if you have questions, but his therapist is leaving on vacation tonight, so maybe you should do a psych consult, but I don't know how he'd respond to that. And also, I don't think he wants to see me, but I brought his CPAP machine and this NintendoDS and the new issue of Sports Illustrated that came today, in case he wants those. So can you bring these to him and tell him I'm here if he wants to see me?" (When Shaun's in the hospital, he tends to throw up at the sight of me.) Her smile had faded some at "viral or bacterial," but she took what I gave her and nodded. "I'll be in the waiting room," I said.

I'm sure I seemed like the craziest wife on earth, because he'd only been admitted an hour earlier, and for all his poor nurse knew he just had a bad case of the stomach flu. But to her credit, she listened carefully, and when she came to the waiting room to tell me that indeed, he did not want to see me right now, she answered all my questions patiently with no discernible eye rolling. His heart is fine; he's on a constant EKG-type monitor to make sure. His admitting diagnosis is dehydration. They have a script for Xanax three times a day, and they'll give it that often.

V was at Grandma's for the night. I had no where to be. In my family of origin, when someone's in the hospital, you go to them, hold their hand, watch lame cable tv alongside them. I sat in the waiting room and cried.
~~
After Dad's stroke, his brother and both sisters came straight to the hospital, from Hendrum and White Bear Lake and Arizona. They rented a spare room down the hall, and slept in shifts, so Mom could be home with us at night and Dad wouldn't be alone. My mom's brothers and sisters came too, and bought us ice cream from the vending machines downstairs, and asked us about school. I felt surrounded by love and completely terrified at the same time. In the first few days, a handsome doctor told us Dad would surely walk again, and would probably speak just fine after some rehabilitation. He's young, the doctor said, and very strong.
~~
After a lonely night with the dog & Big Bang Theory reruns, I stopped by the hospital mid-morning, and the nurse said Shaun would see me. I was so scared, but I missed him, and kissed his face when it was clear he wouldn't vomit at the sight of me. We talked about how he felt, how the nurses were treating him. He was still sick, hooked up to machines and an IV, feeling very weak, but I stayed for 45 minutes. I told him how lonesome I was, and he said V and I could come for awhile the next day, if we wanted to. This was huge progress over his last hospitalization, where he couldn't see us for days.

In the elevator on the way down, I thought, "See? This is not the same."
~~
A week after the stroke, maybe a little less, Dad fell asleep and the nurses couldn't wake him. At least, that's what they told Jess and me. After a day and a half, it was clear he was in a coma. "He's so young," the handsome doctor said, "his brain hasn't shrunk like an old person's, and there's no room in his skull for the swelling. We'll try to bring the swelling down, and then he should wake up." A day and a half later, he did. We were so glad to have him back, or the part of him, anyway, that the stroke had left behind.

He never walked on his own again, and he never spoke clear words beyond "yes" and "no." He lived for another fifteen years, though, and I was glad for almost every single day.
~~
V and I went to visit Shaun on Sunday. We bought him a silly smiling helium balloon in the gift shop, and the shop lady gave V a sucker and me a sample of hand lotion. We walked to the elevators hand in hand, and rode up with several nurses and doctors. V skipped up the hallway, and climbed up beside Shaun in bed, minding the tubes and wires.  We talked about how much we missed each other, and how much fun V had at Grandma's, and when Daddy might get to come home. She looked out of the window of his 5th floor hospital room in awe. He put his arms around her and they watched a little Spongebob and laughed at the silly balloon.

When we left, I asked V what she was thinking of, and if anything worried her. She said "I get worried that you'll get too tired taking care of me by yourself." Oh, sweet girl. I promised her that if I got tired, I'd get Grandma or Auntie Jess to help, and we would be okay. Besides, Dad would come home in  few days, and we'd all go back to normal.

It is not the same as it was when I was a girl. It is not the same.

Tuesday evening, after I talked to Shaun on the phone and we figured he'd be coming home on Wednesday, I was folding laundry and thinking of how relieved I was for him to come home. How good it would be to be back in our little family routine.  How thankful I was that he was feeling better. How glad I am that his anxiety is not the same as my father's stroke.

Except it is.

Shaun's not paralyzed, and doesn't have aphasia. Hopefully V will never have to help him dress, and will never need to know how to fold up a wheelchair & slide it into the trunk of our car. But Shaun's anxiety, his profound, crippling anxiety, is a part of him, as much as that injured brain was a part of my dad. Shaun has learned to manage it better, in the last few years, and he continues to work to manage it, every day. But if I'm really honest? It will never go away. He will miss social engagements that I really want him not to miss. He may lose jobs because of it. I will need to clean up his vomit again. Sometimes, V and I will have to go to the hospital to see him, incapacitated. Sometimes we will be lonesome for him because this illness keeps him from being the kind of father and husband he wants to be.

It was a awful realization. For thirteen years I've been telling myself it's not that bad. For thirteen years I thought if we just went to more therapy, if we just got him on better medications....but in the end, his diagnosis is as permanent as a stroke. He may recover, in bits and pieces. But it is a part of him, and so a part of us. It had been two years since the last breakdown, and almost 6 years since the last hospitalization. It's chronic, but not usually acute. But it is the same.

In a strange way, after it really sank in, I felt better. It sucks. I wish it weren't true. But pretending isn't going to make it go away. I will gather my mom and sister closer to me, and his family, too, and our dear friends, and together they will help me, and V, and Shaun. I will try, for all of us, to be glad for every single day.

I'm baaaaack.....

So a Viking, Frida Kahlo, and Merpunzel walk into a bar.....

or at least into Robby's photography studio. We had such a lovely time at Sarah & Robby's annual Halloween bash. And it was their Cousin Ben, I believe who coined "Merpunzel:" V is both Rapunzel and a mermaid. Of course. 

On Wednesday, she chose to just be Rapunzel ('cause it's hard to walk in a  mermaid tail), and we again trick or treated in my hometown with V's cousins. Luckily, Hendrum is still generous with the candy.

All three Johnson cousins wore sweatshirts I'd embellished for them. They can spell WEV, or EWV, or VEW, but I love them any which way.

So much fun for our wacky little Mer/Rapunzel, Iron Man, and Supergirl.

Hope your Halloween was happy, gentle readers. As you can see, I found my camera, so let's see what happens next, shall we?

I'm BAAAAAAAACK.

Oh, internets. I know I've been gone a long time. Not a single post in August? How is this possible? Ah. Well, I've been busy. Let's sum up, shall we? 

First, Jess and I have been working on helping Myra empty out her house. Mostly what's left is the bits and pieces of spending 38 years in one place: dust bunnies, her massive jigsaw puzzle collection, some canned goods that are too old to recognize, much less eat. 

And then there's this. A mason jar full of ammunition. This is the kind of thing the basement used to be full of, in various ways, but most of that got cleaned out after the flood of '97. So here we are, ten years since Dad died, 26 years since he used any sort of gun, with a mason jar full of bullets & shells. You can't just throw this stuff away, you know.

So we brought it to Mike, Hendrum's lone police officer. The thing I love about Hendrum is it's pretty simple. Got a jar full of live ammo? I know just the guy to give it to. When we showed up on his doorstep, offering him this odd, potentially dangerous gift, he just grinned at us and said he'd take care of it. "Some of these are still good, I think," he told us. "Have fun," we told him.

 V and I have spent as much time as we can out at the lake. Here we are playing Bingo in Nevis, wearing our "What Happens in Nevis Stays in Nevis" shirts. It was a good day.

 And we've enjoyed the company of V's cousins. Pictured below is Jake, who has decided that as a superhero, he wants to be ToiletMan. You don't want to know ToiletMan's weapon of choice. (And I can't explain why he's holding a stuffed fish, either, so don't ask). Jake is just 6 months younger than V, and hilarious and strong-willed. That may run in one or all of our families.

 In unrelated news, Shaun got a new job several weeks ago, so he's no longer working nights! It's good to have him back in the land of the living, and it's really the best job he's had in over a decade, in terms of the work & hours. Perhaps that's why he looks so dang happy.

I have other posts in mind, and though it was an unscheduled and prolonged break, I hope you'll forgive me, gentle readers. It's good to be back.

All's Fair...

We're pretty boring. Just like last year, we did the Fun Slide...

 And the Ferris Wheel....

 This year, V did a few more rides on her own....

 Because she is almost 52" tall.

She rode this Ferris Wheel all by herself....

 And Shaun pointed and waved. I smiled tightly and held my breath a little. A lot. (hello to the random family walking past in this photo)...

It was a really good day.

The Mean Reds

I know it's been a long, long time, gentle readers. I'm sorry. I think everyday about blogging, but each idea seems to have already been done, or seems to require more energy than I have to offer. Today I decided I've had a bad case of the Mean Reds, and now that I've diagnosed myself, I can hopefully figure out where to go to calm myself down.

V likes to hang on bars in a dress her grandmother brought her from Mexico. She's quite the little gymnast lately, and has conquered monkey bars from here to Duluth.

V also likes to be pulled behind a kayak, preferably one paddled by her other grandmother. Lake Belle Taine has been a source of much joy for us this summer, even more than usual.

There's no real reason for this latest funk (aside from it being how I'm wired and all): we are all relatively healthy and Shaun starts a new (non-gas station, hopefully not only overnights; not that there's anything wrong with either of those things...) job on Monday. My summer class is the kind teachers dream of: 13 very diverse students, each one committed to learning and engaged in the work we're doing together. V is loving every second of summer and even Seven seems to be having a good time. It just is.

I'll work on untangling myself, and keep taking V swimming (above, at Great Aunt Linda and Great Uncle Ken's hotel in Fargo this week), and keep thinking about blogging. May your own mean reds stay far away, or come take mine on a vacation of some sort.

Ten years

Jess played "You are My Sunshine" on her guitar as my parents and I walked up the driveway into our backyard. Beth and Steve read for us, and Pastor Tim performed the ceremony. Afterwards, we all went out to  dinner to Timberlodge Steakhouse, and Shaun and I stayed in a Honeymoon Suite at Expressway Inn that I'd won at the wedding expo in January.  It was a fantastic day.

We all look like babies to me, now.

 Ten years ago today. It really doesn't seem like it's been a decade at all.

Then again, it feels like we've always been together. In a good way, I mean. I can't really remember life before. 

So much has changed for us, and our families. And marriage is hard, hard work sometimes. But this photo here, my favorite of them all, is still who we are.  Two dorks who really love each other very much. He is my sunshine, indeed.

For more photos and nostalgia, see here, or here. Or come on over and look at our photo albums.

Rage Against the Flying Machines

I don't fly much, because I am a simple, driving woman. But when I do, it's most often from Fargo, and most often to Vegas, which means I fly Allegiant Air. They have recently changed their carry-on policy, so that carry-on bags, which used to be free, now cost $24.99 in advance, or $34.99 the day of the flight. This would be fine, of course, if ticket prices dropped accordingly, but they haven't, and so this new policy really gives me pause. More than pause, it pisses me off. So I thought I'd find myself a way around it. From their website, passengers are still allowed one personal item free of charge. And I quote:

Examples of personal items include:

1. Male or female purse
2. Briefcase
3. Laptop computer
4. Camera case
5. Portable electronic devices of similar or smaller size to items listed above
6. The exterior dimensions for a personal item must not exceed 7" H X 15" W X 16" D (this measurement includes wheels, pockets, handles and decorations).
7. The personal item must be placed under the seat in front of you.
8. An oversized personal item may be considered a carry-on bag (fees apply).  Please measure your bags carefully.

So...if I were to have a purse or some other bag that measures 7x15x16 or less, including all hardware and handles and stuff, and I could fit all I needed for a trip in there, well, then, I would save myself $25.

I've been to Vegas three times, and each time we flew out on Monday and came home on Friday, so we spent 4 nights away. Now, camping for 4 nights and 5 days, I could wear the same clothes most of the time, and would only need to pack sunscreen, bugspray, and a few sandwiches. (You're not going to invite me to go camping with you, are you?) But in Vegas, I like to dress up a bit, wear a little make-up, maybe some earrings...could I pack for all of that in just a 7x15x16 bag?  I decided to try.

 I should mention that we have no real plans to go to Vegas right now: I'm teaching summer school, and Shaun's still got this new-ish job, and we're not financially in a position to wander off to Vegas willy-nilly. Quite. I'm working on it. Anyway, above, the bag from the side: you can clearly see it is less than 7" here, thanks to my handy Hendrum Grain Elevator yardstick.

 And though this one is harder to see, trust me that this side is only about 14". This bag is, by the way, a prototype, made with my less-favorite fabrics to just try out the idea/refine my pattern. The navy is very strong nylon, double thickness, and the zippers (there are two) are from our local hardware store, at 80cents each. If I make one again, I'm thinking of using a lovely sparkle vinyl, maybe.

 And this side is under 16". And it's packed. With everything I need for 5 days in Vegas. I swear!

The rear-end, measuring in at just over 6". Whee! But wait. Maybe you still don't believe me. 

 Here it is, unzipped for your voyeuristic pleasure.

 My liquids bag, in a front pocket for easy access. I've packed 5 prs of one-a-day contacts, a small tube of sunscreen, toothpaste, lip gloss, mascara, eyeliner, and my 2 inhaler canisters (which are technically considered liquids, apparently). It's all there, baby.

 Let me prove it to you: unpacked, above, are five shirts of varying sleeve lengths (I'll wear a lightweight jacket, because, though it's the middle of the desert, the A/C can be fierce in some casinos). I'd only need four tops, but I'm a sloppy woman, and I like to have options. The patterns on the shirts help to hide the sloppiness, too.

Basic things: my Nintendo DSiXL, which has 100 classic books locked and loaded; my sexy carpal tunnel braces; and my make-up bag, with my remaining make-up, my pills, and my Maalox, which mama needs in Vegas. And my eyelash curler, which is really unnecessary, but again, it's Vegas.

 But wait, there's more! Above: my swimsuit, a black skirt, a white skirt, a gray skirt, a brown pink and cream skirt, and brown pants. I could totally leave out two of those skirts and double up, but if I have the room, why not?

 Then, at the very bottom, my extra shoes (I'll wear the bulkier, less-practical pair on the plane), with my undergarments. That's right. I"m not afraid to post photos of those on the internets. And that is all. See? Everything I need for 5 days in Sin City. Not pictured: a small purse, which will easily fit, as will my camera and charger (I can't take a photo of the camera with which I'm taking a photo). And the cell phone and charger. Ta-da!

I feel vindicated, and if I ever fly to Vegas again, Allegiant Air is simply not getting an extra $24.99 from me.

Now I just have to convince Shaun to come with me. And we'll live happily ever after.

What are your favorite packing tips?

Why yes, her name is V

When Shaun and I first talked about having a baby, we agreed immediately on a name for a boy: Dewey David. In that one name, we honor both of our fathers, and there's really no argument to be had. But a girl's name? Without an obvious choice (Myra Mary or Mary Myra just didn't sing for us, and besides, they're both still alive, which makes it complicated), oh, we could not agree. 

I love fancy/old fashioned names. Sylvia, Olivia, Sophia, Zuzu...Shaun liked none of them. Old lady names, he called them, or just too strange. Isabella, Carpathia, Ruth, Eliza, Beverly....no, no, no, no, no....Finally I asked what names he liked. Something simple, he said, like Jill. Or Ann. 

Now, I have nothing against any Jills or Anns, but as a Jennifer, I know how it is to have a name that is completely unmemorable. No way was I going to name my daughter Jill or Ann. 

These exhausting discussions all happened well into our marriage. Years earlier, on our second date, he had shot down the one girl's name I have loved the most. I had wanted, for many years, to name my firstborn daughter Ruby. Somehow Tenessa was there, and told him I wanted a girl named Ruby. He immediately responded, "Ruby's the name of my toilet." 

This raised several questions for me, as you might imagine: "what kind of man names his toilet?" for starters. 

Anyway, it turns out that his toilet really was named Ruby, but that's for some other post.  My point is, Ruby was clearly not an option, though it's a lovely name.

One day, not long before we got pregnant, Shaun came home from work and said "What about a letter?" After my initial confusion, I saw he meant as a name. "You know, S. Epatha Merkerson is an actress on Law and Order. We could name our potential daughter a letter, couldn't we?" (I know now that his logic there was flawed, since her S. stands for Sharon. Harry S Truman, on the other hand, his S was just an S). So I said, "How about V? You've always loved that mini-series, right?"  And so it was decided.

I mean, that part, anyway, for us. There was some weeping and gnashing of teeth by the grandparents-to-be, and we had to chose a middle name, but this, gentle readers, is how we decided to name our daughter V. We love her so.

Romance

In June, we will have been married ten years. More than a quarter of my life with him. 

 He's never been a flowers and chocolates kind of guy, but he'll put together a gingerbread cemetery with us after Halloween.

 And he doesn't like holding my hand in public, but he can sing a love song that makes me weak in the knees.

He pulls his socks up way too high, but he's a patient, gentle father, and a funny, caring husband. I've got plenty of romance over here.

Hula, Hendrum, haiku

(Still managing to keep up with the A to Z blogging challenge. Much love to all my commenters, who make this conversation seem so much less one-sided!)

Hula: I've never been to Hawaii, or actually seen hula performed live. But I like the sound of the word, and how it invokes the very motion it describes. The Hawaiian language sounds tropical and lovely to me, too, even "mele kalikimaka." Tenessa and I (and Dan and Shaun) threw a Hawaiian themed party, once, in which we draped our whole apartment in various Hawaiian fabrics, played catchy ukulele music, and allowed Shaun to wear a coconut bra. It was a mostly beautiful thing. I still have approximately 17 yards of Hawaiian fabric to utilize for other projects. Suggestions are welcome.

Hendrum: My hometown, a little blip on the map of the Red River Valley. Hendrum is so much a part of who I am, crafted so much of my childhood, and provided so much to me while I was growing up, that I barely know where to begin. Both of my parents were born in this town of just over 300, in homes right across the street from one another. My maternal grandfather ran Johnson's Fairway, a small, three-aisle grocery store, for over 40 years there; my paternal great-grandfathers helped build the city, moving large buildings across the river with 16 horses, and building shelters at the city park and houses within the city limits. As V gets older, I find myself longing, in some ways, for her to have more of the childhood I had: freedom to roam from yard to yard, knowing all our neighbors, to hear the churchbells and know that it is supper time. There are deep constraints, too, in a town this small with roots so deep: when over half the town remembers her great-grandparents, people she never knew, sometimes a sort of stagnation can set in. In her kindergarten classroom, she has people of all colors, all backgrounds, from Christian to Muslim to Atheist. In Hendrum, diversity amounts to people whose names don't end with "-son." Bake a pie, eat a pie, I guess.

Haiku:
Little poem, precise
simmering words exploding
from my heart to yours.

Flying the friendly skies

In 2001, just five months after Dan and Tenessa moved to New York City, Shaun and I decided we'd like to go and visit them. We'd been dating a little over a year, and this was to be our first big trip together. We sat down to plan the details.

"We can stay with my aunt Linda in Michigan the first night," I said, "and if we get up early, I think we can make it there by day two."

"What?" he said, his eyes wide open.

"I have an aunt who lives in Michigan, not far from Detroit. It's not too far out of the way. Or would you rather stay in a hotel?"

"Um, you know they have these things, right? Called airplanes? People get in them and they take them places really fast. So we don't have to drive for 28 hours."

"Oh. Right." I had honestly not even thought of flying.

My people are land-based people. We like to drive places, and 5 or even 10 hours in a car doesn't phase us at all. But an airplane? Hm. How would I get to see my Aunt Linda in Michigan, if we just flew over her? I'm not widely travelled, but everywhere I'd been, I'd driven, or ridden in a bus. New York, D.C., Denver, New Orleans, all were accessible by car. And each time, the journey was part of the adventure.

I agreed, finally, to fly, because though my school year was ending and I had three months off, Shaun still had a real job and didn't want to spend 4 days of vacation trapped in a car with me (the boy has no romance, I tell you).  Several of my students at the time were in the aviation program, so they calmly explained to me that the airplane was indeed safe, and they encouraged me to put my hand out the car window while driving, to help me understand wind resistance and other principles of flight.

Since then, I've flown to New York alone, to Boston for work, and three times to Vegas. I still default to driving, but it is pretty fun to get places in 3 or 4 hours instead of 2 days. Unfortunately, I see a lot less of my dear Aunt Linda....

Collector of Treasures

First, Shaun has a job. He's almost 2 weeks into a full-time night shift position at a local truck stop/gas station, and we're so grateful for the work, and we're busy getting used to a whole new schedule. It's really, really, really a relief, and I thought you'd all want to know. So now, on with the post.

When I taught World Literature in Crookston, we studied a short story by Bessie Head, "The Collector of Treasures." It's a marvelous story with love, romance, friendship, violence, imprisonment, indictment of patriarchal society....everything you want in a good story. The main character collects treasures in her heart, all the kindnesses shown to her in her life. It's a striking image, and one I try to emulate. Especially when the shit seems most dismal, those treasures really help.

And I've been blessed by many treasures lately. So many of you have emailed kind messages of support to me or to $haun, or patiently listened to my sad stories, or even kept us in your thoughts over the last few months. I treasure all of those. Two colleagues at work gave me a fantastic altered journal and two cold Cokes to cheer me up before break (it worked!).  And one day, several weeks ago, a package appeared in the mail. It was shortly after this post appeared, but all I could think was "What on earth did I order? We can't afford to spend any money!" But I hadn't: it was a present, from Tom, one of my first bestest friends (and high school sweetheart).  

It was during the hardest time of the last few months, and I can't begin to tell you how much it brightened my world. I'd been so melancholy for that record for so long, it never even occurred to me that I could get another. Aside from reminding V of the importance of not saying "bitch" in polite company, mostly I've been humming "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" whenever it's not playing on the turntable these last few weeks. And that it came from Tom, whom I haven't seen in well over ten years, who knew my dad and probably helped me look for that damn record in our basement more than once, made it even better.

Thank you all for the treasures you've sent, in thought or electronic or paper or carbonated or vinyl form, over these dark months. They've lightened my heart so, so much.

Y'all are the best there's ever been.

Naked Face (with an obscene gesture warning)

The truth is, all three of my long-term romantic relationships were with brown-haired men with red beards. I dated Tom, off and on, for over 8 years (there's a post about him coming up soon, too). We started dating when I was 14 and he was 15, so I didn't know he had a red beard at the time, but by the end, he'd been bearded for a good while. A year later, when I brought Matt home to Hendrum for the first time, Sam at the gas station said "Is that Tom in the car with you??" Um, awkward...No, Sam. That's my new boyfriend who just happens to look like Tom.

It turns out the third time's the charm.

Shaun and I first met because of Dan & Tenessa. Dan and Shaun worked together at WDAY, a local newstation, and I was in D & T's apartment one day (they lived just above me) and saw a photo of this handsome young man with dark hair and a red beard. "He's cute," I said.Tenessa's cupid sensor lit up and they told me about this Shaun Ganyo fellow. I liked him long before we met.

 He had a beard when we started dating. During the 2 1/2 years before we got married, he sometimes went down to a goatee, and shaved it off totally just once. I prefer the beard. My favorite look of his is above, with short hair and a ridiculously long beard. People tend to come up to him and ask stupid questions about it, when it's that long. It makes me happy.

Mostly, he has a beard because he's lazy. Shaving takes work, apparently. But every now and again, he gets his monstrous beard trimmed, or I trim it. Above is Christmas this year. I think we trimmed it because the weekend before we'd gone to his parents' house, and his mom really, really likes it when his beard isn't too crazy.

One of the first things we talked about when he got fired was him shaving his beard. He hasn't shaved it off in over ten years; V's never seen him without it, and we've established I have a clear preference. And he's still lazy. I talked him into keeping the beard, but cutting it way back, to a reasonable length. Above is a couple of weeks ago, out at the lake. Well-groomed, non-ZZTop-ish. 

 But he hasn't gotten a job yet. And he read something online that said bearded men are less likely to be chosen in a job search when cleanshaven men are also applying. So I gave in and said he could shave it. Last night, with V's help, he cut off the well-groomed red and gray whiskers. In trying to get a picture of him cleanshaven, though, he refused to let me see him unless he was flipping the camera off. So my apologies, gentle readers, for the delicate among you.

But here he is. Would you hire this guy? Would you marry him? 

Here's hoping it unlocks all kinds of employment opportunities. V just calls him "Naked Faced Daddy" now, but if we can call him employed, it will all have been worth it. Besides, it'll grow back right quick, once he's securely working and they like him too much to let him go.

Just like me.



Oh, lighten up.

Too many heavy posts makes Languishing a preachy blog. Here're some photos from a recent family dinner.



Our blue-eyed girl.

Emmy's heart was broken, somehow. I think Will may have made her cry, or maybe we ran out of ketchup...at any rate, Uncle Shaun talked her through it, and Seven was emotionally supportive. It all worked out in the end.

Winter quiet

Hello, gentle readers. I know Languishing's been quiet this year so far. Things at Casa Languishing have been especially difficult, and it's been hard to think of what to write on the blog that wasn't either a complete lie, or so depressing that my gentle readers would just weep at the heartache.

Well, okay, maybe it's not that bad. But Shaun lost his job almost three weeks ago, now, and it's become a major focus for us, of course. Procuring a new job is a lot of work: polishing a resume, scouring the classifieds, finding non-elastic waist pants...

We don't have any savings to speak of, so within a month, either Shaun needs to have found work, or we try to find a way to cut $1,000 a month from the household budget.

I know that we have more than so many people in the world, and I'm not going to whine about what we don't have here. But the unknown freaks me out. I make plans, and back-up plans, and I try to help Shaun however I can, and still do my own work, and we both take care of V, and...it becomes too much sometimes.

It's only been three weeks. He's had two job interviews (we're still waiting to hear on both), and there are other positions he can apply for. But every day that goes by without work makes the fear in my chest tighten just a bit more.

We try to talk to V about it in an appropriate way so she understands why we're both anxious, and why we cry sometimes, and so she knows none of this is her fault, and no matter what we'll take care of her. She's too smart for us to pretend nothing's wrong, anyway.

So we talk about it, and try to stay calm, and Shaun fills out applications and wears non-elastic waist pants to his interviews. I'll try to blog more often about other things. But if I can't or don't, please be patient. I'll be back soon.