THUMB(S) UP

While the bulk of my thoughts normally tend toward the mysterious (what am I going to be when I grow up?), the worrisome (how are we going to pay for this thing?), the frustrating (why do people suck?), and the things that are out of my control (why did Sacramento have to be west of LA?), this weekend was different. I traded in my everyday worries, for 48 hours of fun.

LIKE... that I know where we'll be
every first Saturday of the month.

LIKE... that Hudson is obsessed with "Backet-Ball"

but LOVE ...that he's smartening up quickly.

LIKE... that these two guys know how to celebrate a birthday in style.

LIKE... that these two guys don't care who's watching.

LIKE... that doggies are models of unconditional love.

LIKE... that Hudson is the Assistant GC.

LOVE... that I know where my breakfast comes from.

HOUSE UPDATE #2

The floor plan is laid out!

FACT CHECKER

The non-profit I've work for over the last 5 years was founded in 1986 by two amazing people. Our mission is to reduce the economic and environmental cost of energy, which makes it pretty easy to get out of bed and go to work every morning. 

Technically, 2012 marks our 26th year. And yet today, we kicked off our official 25th anniversary celebration in grand fashion. Over 260 employees, from 4 regional offices convened in Burlington to honor the company and the great work we've achieved to date. Add to that, two pretty inspiring speeches by Senator Bernie Sanders and Vermont State Governor Peter Shumlin—neither of whom are actively campaigning, meaning they came to our office because they really believe in and are proud of the work we do—and who cares if the math's a little wonky?

The after-hours pizza party had been billed Employees Only so we thought it would be inappropriate to bring Hudson. When I mentioned that to our Director, he said, "That's ridiculous." Add that to the fact that another couple (both of whom work with us) had gotten clearance to bring their kid, we decided to buck the system and bring ours too. After all, he relocated to DC for the firm. Didn't he deserve a little pizza?

After dinner came an epic trivia contest. (Imagine, if you will, 150 pretty nerdy people answering wicked nerdy questions.) After the 1st round of pre-scripted questions, the tables were turned and each team of 4 was asked to come up with questions of their own. Just as round 2 was beginning, 1/4 of our team went home and I had to leave the room to change a diaper. When I returned, I learned that Logan had submitted a question on our team's behalf. A geography-based question. I knew we were in trouble.

"What city is west of LA?"

A. Tijuana

B. Sacramento

C. Phoenix

D. Tahoe

He thought it was brilliant, given that we'd recently seen an awesome Google Chrome ad—and subsequently conducted a pretty funny Google search—that revealed the answer. Well, sort of. 

At first we were thrilled, NO ONE had guessed the right answer except our team, which meant we got bonus points. But when the "correct" answer (D. Tahoe) was revealed, the crowd revolted. Smart Phones whipped out faster than you can say Please do not bring your cell phones to this event. Engineers, Planners, Customer Services Representatives, HR Managers... all were up in arms. "It's SACRAMENTO!!" they yelled. What ensued was 10 minutes of arguing, Googling, and finally an on-screen digital presentation that proved that Sacramento was, in fact, west of LA. And while Tahoe is also west of LA, Sacramento is wester. Seriously, people? Wester? 

Wester.

The crowd argued that we didn't deserve any points for our deceitful question, but I—in defense of my husband and the honor of my son who seemed perplexed, but greatly amused by all the commotion—retorted, "We deserve 5 points, not 1, for causing this much fun!"

Logan will likely never live down the great 2012 debacle now infamously known as "The Sacramento incident", but I know that 25 years from now—or 26 if you're really counting—I'll be as proud of being part of the Vermont Energy Investment Corporation family as I am today.

HOUSE UPDATE #1

May 2. The hole gets bigger.

"I PUSH IT!"

GROUNDBREAKING

I once worked with a woman who was born on December 29. Her parents named her after her grandmother: Mary Christman. Yes, seriously. Luckily for her, her parents gave her two gifts: 1) they nicknamed her May; 2) they decided to spare her the disappointment of being forgotten amidst two major holidays by moving her birthday to May 1st. I've always loved that story, and though we've lost touch over the years, I always think of her on this day.

So, here we are. May. My actual birth month. 

I've always been a huge fan of birthdays. From kindergarten through twelfth grade, my birthday always marked the time of year when spring had officially sprung, and the countdown to summer vacation was in full swing. College was a little more challenging. Since classes ended about a month earlier, my birthday always fell smack-dab in the middle of exam week. Even still, we always found some small way to celebrate. 

As an adult, I've been thoroughly perplexed by the people that take the day off from work in honor of their special day. "But if you're not here," I say, "then how can everyone wish you a happy birthday??" Clearly, my view of birthdays is similar to that of a two year old. Hudson seems to be fully on board with the concept of celebration, as evidenced by the fact that he blows out imaginary candles every time he hears the word. 

Three times in my life thus far, I've had to share my big day with all of the mothers in the world. This year will make four. I've spent the better part of four weeks now dropping not-so-subtle hints to Logan that I fully expect to get two cards from my boys. And then today happened.

And away we go!

While at the office, our friend Morgan popped over to tell us that her husband and son had spent the morning checking out the trucks working at our new place. Turns out, we broke ground today.

After work, we rushed right over to the land to check things out. There we found, much to Hudson's amazement, life-size replicas of the "big trucks!" we read about together in his books every night. From the woods we could hear a persistent buzzing. "What's that sound?" Huddy asked. "A chainsaw!" dad replied. It was our GC, friend, and "uncle" Gary, clearing the land to make the property line more visible for the excavators. 

At bedtime tonight (from which, it seems, most of my revelations seem to stem), Huddy and I shared a pretty awesome exchange:

Hudson: "Gary, chainsaw, cut down treeeeeeee!"

Mom: "Wow, Huddy. That's awesome that you remember that. Good job! Can you say 'awesome'?"

Hudson: "AWESOMMMMME!"

Mom: "Do you know who is awesome?"

Hudson: "GARY awesome!"

After Hudson went down, I hopped on Facebook to share the story with the big man himself. It was there that I learned that today, May Day, is actually his birthday. And he spent it working on our new place. Putting a big hole in the ground, helping to make our dream a reality. 

Today, I learned a lesson in sharing. Maybe one card would be OK after all.

300 Cochran Road, Richmond, VT

OUT LIKE A LION

April was a blur. "Oh, Really?" you say. "How would we know, what with only one post and all." Well, you're right. But do let me explain.

It all started with the mad rush to prepare for Hudson's birthday party. By the first of the month, we'd picked a theme, and the to-do list grew from there. I took two full days off of work, determined to prove that it's possible to throw the greatest construction-themed-event that ever was, while holding down a way-more-than-full-time job. Hardhats, tool sets, nail aprons, homemade chocolates... the whole nine yards. I'll admit, it turned out pretty well (you rock, Paper and Cake!) Hudson had fun, and I think everyone else did too, including my sister-in-law and niece—both of whom made a surprise cameo appearance at the big event (thanks for coming, gals!). 

It was shortly after the party, that two distinct thoughts started to takeover my brain. The first, a good one, was the sudden realization that my son had become my favorite person in the world. Talking in (relatively) complete sentences, telling me about his day, pointing out everything he saw, and most wonderfully and amazingly, telling me he loved me. The second, a scary one, came later: the overwhelming feeling that I have precious little time to share with him. Though I know this is likely my way of processing the fact that he's growing up quickly—that before I know it, he'll be off to college, then out exploring the world—there's a part of me that is terrified that something might happen to one of us. In either case, I worry that I'm not a strong enough person to let him go.

Suddenly, life started to feel more precious and real. 

Not one but two friends shared with me the grief of separating from the ones they love. How do I even begin to let them know how sorry I am and how much I understand? Uncle Mickey's passing was particularly bittersweet for me. As was learning that someone I'd always thought of as a dear friend got married back in December without my knowing. Truth be told, I didn't even know she was dating, so what does that say about me as a friend? Certainly the mature side of me understands that she's entitled to share her life however and with whomever she pleases, but the sadness I continue to feel about it is so foreign and deep, that I can't even pull it out of me, let alone rationalize with it.

The last day of the month has been no different than the 29 that came before it: a delicate balance between awful and wonderful. I ended the work day by drafting an email that read: "NOTE: Given that it is 4:48 PM and changes are still coming in, I think we can all agree that this program is NOT launching today." I hit send, grabbed my stuff, and walked out the door. After a quick pick-up at school and a long drive home, Logan, Hudson and I got in just in time to welcome Maryanne who came bearing more pizza than three and a half people could possibly consume. 

I think we can all agree that April wasn't my best showing. I didn't intend to let my Meandering fall by the wayside, but the more time that passed, the harder it was to find my way back. We'll see how it goes...

A FOND FAREWELL

At present, my son Hudson is obsessed with three things: his dad (Daddy-O!), airplanes (nnnnneeeeeooooowwwww), and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. When it comes to the latter, he's been adamant and consistent about the fact that regardless of what TV Guide or the opening credits say, the show is called Minnie.

Each morning, it's the first word that comes out of his mouth. "MINNIE!" he'll yell and point down the stairs. He'll watch two episodes and drink a cup of milk while we shower, dress, and get ready for work.     "Minnie!" he'll yell when the second episode ends. "No more Mickey," we'll say. "Minnie!" he'll correct us.

Yesterday afternoon, I had picked Huddy up from school and we were on our way home. He seemed happy to see me, but I could tell he was a little disappointed that dad wasn't with us. As we drove south on the Interstate, he spotted a white speck in the sky. "Airplane!" he yelled happily. "You know, Huddy," I replied, "Daddy's on an airplane right now. He's on his way to Kentucky. He went to say night-night to Uncle Mickey." I didn't know how else to say it.

Within seconds, Hudson had moved on to yelling out the names of the other things he spotted through the windshield—Big truck! Trees! Nan-nan! (his word for motorcycle)—but my mind was still on Logan's journey.

Just five months ago, we made the trip to the Bluegrass State as a family. It was my first time in Kentucky, and it was truly wonderful. I met four generations of Logan's family and they welcomed me with open arms. It meant so much to Logan to be there with all of them, and to introduce them to his own little family.

On Thanksgiving day, we visited Twin Oaks Assisted Living where I had the honor of meeting Uncle Mickey and Aunt Betsy. Hudson was fascinated with them, in particular when Uncle Mickey clenched his hands, touched the tips of his seemingly quadruple-jointed pointer fingers, and asked, "Can you do this, Hudson?" as he wiggled them side to side. When I looked up at Logan, he too was staring in awe at Uncle Mickey. He whispered: "I totally remember him doing that to me when I was a kid." It was a moment I will never forget.

Last night, I followed bath time (normally Daddy-O's duty) with our latest bed time routine: 5 books and 3 songs. I tucked him in and said what I always say, "I love you, Woozles. Can you say night-night to  Momma?" He waved, as he normally does. But then, as I started to walk out of the room, I heard Hudson say something. "What was that?" I asked.

"Night night, Mickey," he said. And I was so happy to know that he, too, remembers.

Dr. Layton "Mickey" Rouse (1919-2012)