Saul Good and Co.

Live Love Laugh Loss

I say that Fall leading into the holidays is my favorite time of year, and I stand by that, yet I only realized YESTERDAY that all the major losses of my life are consolidated between late September and early January. Danielle in September, Memere in October, Niki in December, and Pup and Aunt Sue a few days from each other in January. Those are the biggie-bigs of my existence so far, so how have I never put together before why it all feels so conflicted and bittersweet?  One of those great mysteries, how the mind adapts to protect itself or else never feel happiness again, right? Today is December 5th, and December 5th, 2009 will always be, to me, the due date of our first baby. Though I miscarried in the Spring, I don't remember the exact date it happened. 12/5 stays with me because it represents the potential of what I lost.

I don't talk about my miscarriage much. Not because I'm trying to hide it or forget it (I mean, I'd like to forget it) but because it's a natural process, and even though it was a source of personal devastation, it's a fairly common occurrence, just one of those things, and it meant that that pregnancy wasn't viable for my body for whatever reason. Since then, it's happened (or I found out it had happened at some point) to the majority of women I know. Just because it's commonplace and scientifically explainable though, doesn't mean it isn't a sad, sucky sisterhood. 

I don't believe everything happens for a reason, or that I'll see that lost baby in heaven. That's not how my mind works, and in any case, that's not a comfort for me. I'll always honor the pain of the loss because I carried that fetus in MY body and I had so many hopes and dreams for our family. And I was lucky to turn around and get pregnant immediately and know that, if that first clump of cells had grown into a baby, I wouldn't now have this clump of bright savage humanity I call HR and I can't imagine what life would be without him. My experience of mothering him, though, is almost entirely informed by that first loss, it cast a pall over what was a by all other measures a healthy and joyous pregnancy with him, and it's probably 60% of the reason I never even wanted to try for another baby after him. I held my breath for 9 months, and I still hold it with every year he grows. Grief changes you from the marrow of the marrow of your bones. 

The weekend after I miscarried I was supposed to go to Florida to see Niki with our mutual besties Jay and Tanya. My doctor didn't think it was a good idea to make the flight, and she was right, but since Jay and Tanya were flying out of Boston, they stayed with us the night before the trip, the night I had my D & E. Just hours before I was under anesthesia, and there I was sitting at the bar where Mike had a trivia gig with two of my oldest, dearest loves and I was laughing. They made me laugh, and though it killed me that I wasn't going down south with them (not to mention the reason for it), the laugh was my first step into survival. Mike of course was a great comfort for me, but it was his grief too, and so having this bit of outside bolstering at just the right time made such a difference. I'll never forget what it meant to me, or what it meant to have Niki come home to visit just a couple months later. That time spent with her just wilding out is a source of strength. I got to see her exactly one more time after that, she was in remission and she got to meet my baby boy.

Her anniversary is in three days, 12/8. It's all connected, somehow. 

No wonder the holidays are so complicated for me. I've done so much living, and I've lived with an open heart, how can they not be? How can they not be for anyone? How did I never see it before now? I take my losses hard, (even though to be honest sometimes I process them on a delayed schedule) but I don't want to change that about me. I realize that since the first baby I have been changing in that respect, I've started to grow a protective shell, to be more sparing with my love because I'm always waiting for the next person I love to leave me. Did I mention that grief changes you? I know for sure, though that that is no way to live. I see it, and I'm trying to overcome it. 

Safe to say that therapy was a good idea for me. And christ, can you imagine the mess I'd be if not for the cavalry of friends and family and their fierce unending love and senses of humor?

Heaux Heaux Heaux

A week ago, I was cramming 15 people into my house and cramming stuffing down my gullet. It was a scruffy, free-form and celebratory affair that rolled into three more days of scruffy, free-form celebration with a revolving door of family and friends and wine and pie and leftover concoctions. We got out in the city a bit, and my grandmother got to be there which is wonderful but I know it was hard on her. Stairs and 93-year-olds are not typically a match made in heaven and unfortunately my home is more stairs than house. She is always invited, but in all honesty I'm not sure she'll be able to do another occasion at my house. I've said that before though, you never know. In any case, if you can't use being 93 to summon people to your own digs, I don't know what would work outside of a hot tub and a pony. I expect I'll be making more of a point to go to ye olde hometown in the future than I have in quite some time. 

 

The long holiday weekend brought me a lot of happiness, and with that, the calm and restored semi-order (plus a bit of alone time) on Sunday night was also enjoyable. My entertaining philosophy is that I'm not entirely drained when it's over, it couldn't have been that great of a time. A side note about this year: I insisted on real plates, flatware, cups, etc. for the majority of the weekend. We ran the dishwasher and washing machine a lot, but the reduction in our typical waste for that many days with that many people was noticeable. I like using "real" utensils and the like better anyway, so it's no hardship. Yes I had to borrow some dishes from my bosses and nothing matched, but that's how we do in our house. I don't mind at all, to be honest I kinda like it. It fits us as a family.  

 

Because I love Thanksgiving so fucking much, I was a bit sad when it was over and that it went so fast, but it helps to look ahead at the next month of festivities. I know that it's not even Chanukah until Friday, but I needs to maximize my twinkle time so we put up our tree on Friday, and just looking at that thing (look at tha trayyyyyyyyyy) makes my blood pressure drop. It's a small, shaggy affair and I wrapped it in as many multicolored lights as I could get my hands on and covered it in my personal collection of ornaments for the first time (my parents bought each of us kids one every year growing up and last year they gently handed them off) as well as the ornaments Mike, HR and I have accumulated as a family. There's no theme (on-brand alert), but I love it so and turning on the lights, particularly if the rest of the house is darkened, is about my favorite thing. 

 

Hi friends, every year my holiday nerdery grows. Did I mention I've added a new piece to my carefully curated trove of holiday-themed clothing? It's a shirt with a sequined reindeer on it, v. tasteful, no big deal. There are only a few more years that it will still be magical for HR and though I don't think we go overboard with effort, he does seem to get into all our traditions and that might explain why I've had an uptick in spirit-chasing the past few years. Who knew kids made the holidays relevant again? Someone oughtta write a book, movie or song about that.

 

My goal for this holiday season is to take it as it comes, be in the moment, and not lament the speed with which it passes because the rest of the year will pass just as quick. I have a list of must-see movie/special viewings (Elf, Emmett Otter, It's a Wonderful Life, Charlie Brown, etc.). Ditto treats (peppermint bark, eggnog, onion dip, Sierra Nevada Celebration, champagne by the case) and excursions (Portsmouth, family celebrations, holiday hoedown ladies' night). I don't need to see everything do everything listen to everything decorate everything all while anticipating how empty I'll feel when it's over. I can keep it casual and minimalist (OK a little excess is to be expected), let the rest go and be grateful for every bit. Oh god this bitch and her "mindful holidays." Ask me in January how that worked out for me. 

 

It's On

Yesterday I turned 44, which is surreal but already feels normal. I had a great birthday, full of family and fancy penthouse lounges and dive bars and good food. Wine bubbling in my glass, joy bubbling in my heart. If the birthday itself sets the tone for the year, then this one is going to be straight-up delicious. I've never been a huge "hey, it's my bday!" person, and I'm cool with aging (I mean, what's the alternative?), but if nothing else, the day on the calendar is a reminder to take stock of what's so great about living this one life, and without question the answer is the love that I am shown, and the people I've been lucky enough to know through birth or circumstance or choice. I am overflowing with gratitude, and I intend for that gratitude to keep me chugging along for the next 364. Thank you all for the reminders, but I promise I never forget.

Today is Monday, it's a classic Monday-Monday in the workplace, but it's also the Monday of Thanksgiving week which is quite litch-rully my favorite week of the year. My switch has been officially flipped to "celebration" mode and I don't think I can legally access the off switch until sometime in January, so even though I still rage at what I'm normally raging about at any given time, it's tempered. I'm powerless against my seasonal swerve, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Love, peace, gratitude and resistance - D at 44.

Suburb of the Spirit

 

A couple of weeks ago Mike and I were listening to my brother's band on a radio show, and they were playing some songs from their first album.

"This sounds weird without a female vocal," Mike said

 

"Erin wasn't in the band yet on the first album," I said.

 

"Funny, I can only hear it that way though," Mike said.

 

A minute later he said, "Oh, that's why!" because we both realized I was singing along. I'm always singing along, I can't help it. I am an unapologetically mercenary wiener about the things I love, and singing along to my favorite songs is one of those things. That's right, my brother's band is one of my favorite bands and I say that with all seriousness as a music fan. It's not because it's my brother's music, though I'm glad he's my brother, and I might not have known about Nick Perry's Brass Tax were we not related. The thing is, all musicians have family members who love what they do, but it doesn't automatically mean it's because they love them and the music is immaterial. I'm too much of a snob for that, for one. I will pay this group my highest compliment, which is that I love what they do not because of a family connection, but despite a family connection. I don't listen to be polite or supportive. I listen because this is great music, period, end.

 

Another compliment, back handed though it may seem, is that whenever I listen I can't believe this is actually my baby brother, the house monkey who picked up guitar as a pre-teen and whom we all assumed would trade it soon enough for his video game controller. He surprised us all by sticking with it and making it his passion. He is mostly self taught, and his commitment to creativity, his work ethic and productivity as a musician and songwriter, blow my mind. He is always open to change and growth and improvement. I'm super proud, but honestly, sometimes I forget it's actually my brother I'm listening to and I mean that in the best way.

 

Ok so the reason I brought you all here tonight is to promote his band's second album that debuted a few months ago, called Champions of the Mundane. I only have the one kid, but I understand how parents feel when they are getting ready to have a second kid. How could they possibly love it as much? That's how I felt about this album, because I adored its predecessor, Revisionist History, and didn't think it got its due. 

 

What a relief, then, when CoM turned out to be excellent. Not that it was a shock, I was just so attached to RH, you know? I don't love it more or less than the first one, but on its own merits as its own thing. I can't compare the two, just be happy that they both exist. And yes, after a few listens I got to the point where I could sing along, so lucky whoever is in the car with me at any given time (usually nobody). In my opinion, this is the album where the identity and musical compatibility of the band really gels. Both Tyler and Josh have returned from the original lineup, with Tyler getting promoted to lead guitar, and taking on a lot more additional instrumentation. He produced the sucker too, and it's really impressive. The addition of Erin on vocals was inspired - she harmonizes beautifully with Nick's baritone. It sucks that health reasons have prevented her from performing with them in the future, but damn they made some beautiful sounds. 

 

Song by song:

 

1) Champion of the Mundane - the title track is currently my favorite of the lot. Those aforementioned harmonies are ON POINT. This song reminds me in the best way of alternative radio from the 90s, and I think it's where Nick really shines, lyrically. 

 

2) Highway Mind - the drummer, Josh, wrote the lyrics to this one, but you can hear the entire band's collaboration. It's the perfect blues-rock driving song. 

 

3) Glass House - this song is a groooove. Slow guitar and reverb. "I'm fine, living the life of the mind..." I can relate.

 

4) The Gauntlet - this is another favorite of mine, the surf-y guitar is fantastic, it's a song that's a theme song, an adventure. 

 

5) I Suppose It was Never My World - this is a kind of psychedelic throwbacky guy, and I'm a huge fan. This one is suited to Nick's vocal range, and it's just one of those songs that your mom or grandmother would hear and be like, "this is a nice song." 

 

6) Phantom Fascist Group - this one is welcome a punky departure, less melodic and more anthemic. Tyler's on lead vocals here and it fits perfectly.

 

7) Abraham Overholt Blues - ooh, an instrumental jam. It took 2-3 listens for me to appreciate it properly, but appreciate it I do. And one of my nepotiz perks is that I know the origin of the backwards sample. 

 

8) Everybody Knows - this song has a creepy vibe and I am in favor of songs that conjure a creepy vibe.

 

9) Trail of Bones - this is your single, gents. Great chorus, great use of voices. Can't forget DAT BASSLINE. Funk for days.

 

10) Closing Ranks -  this is the one song of which I got a sneak peak listen at a summer campfire, though the irony is that it's much more of a campfire sing-along now than it was in its dirge-like original form. Both great, but the album version is just downright pretty. Plus: mandolin. A terrific sign-off for a terrific album.

 

Don't let me influence you though, you can cut out the middle man and listen to it in ALL the ways, from iTunes to Spotify to Youtube. If you're an old fashioned guy or gal who likes to support local businesses AND keep the archaic CD industry chugging along, you can purchase it here (stocking stuffer? Who said that?). You can also grab their first album via the same channels (I'd recommend it).

 

This is not a paid endorsement, unless you count eternal kinship as payment (I don't). Thank you for your time. NPBT Forever!

Alexandra and the Unbearable, Deplorable...

You know that book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day? That's been my day today, just a string of itty bitty petty things that I can usually take in stride. Ha ha, who can't relate to that little ginger bastard? Except... I can't take them in stride today. Today, it's impossible to find perspective with the fucking guns again, the senseless tragedy that so many of us want to stop from happening over and over and we have a plan to do it and we keep getting thwarted by greed and cronyism. Add to that the brazenly Orwellian sickness going down in the White House, with a dash of the kids at work who we are just losing and losing. In some ways it should make my problems seem so small, and yes I can see that they are, but I can't help to add these big problems to my small problems. I can't see it in a way where I can turn it around yet. It chokes the words from my brain, it steals the joy from the weekend I couldn't wait to tell you about and the exciting and encouraging outcome of the midterms and all I have to say about music that I love. I just... can't. It's not right and it's not time. 

If we can make it to next week without another mass shooting maybe I'll try again. Unless I  move to Australia.

 

 

Keeping Your Head Above Water, Making a Wave When You Can

Hey pumpkins, I still exist and life has been great and full of fun and family and World Series Championship wins.  The other thing is that I'm in an election-induced anxiety loop so I really just can't write any more until after I know for sure how it turns out. Depending on the outcome, I might not write for awhile. We'll all know when we know. 

My plan for the moment is to default to a hopeful outlook, and keep my media consumption to a minimum. I'm on the cusp of jetting away for an extended weekend with most of my favorite people and that's the best help there is. 

I'm over 40 pages into the novel and counting, if you were interested. And I've got a list of topics to blahhhg about when I'm back on my mental feet, beginning with a thorough review of "Champions of the Mundane." So, you know, stick around maybe. 

Paint it Blue

The other day I read a quote from the novelist Tana French that really stuck with me. In an interview about what inspired her latest book, she said, "I'd been thinking a lot about the connection between luck and empathy. If you're too lucky, it can be every easy to lack the ability to believe that other people's lived experience is real--if it doesn't match up with yours."

I mean, eureka, right? When you haven't lived something, it's easier to believe that nobody else has either, or that they're exaggerating or making things up. In that quote I see every issue with the current administration. I see a gallery of coddled baby-men who were lucky enough to have never been challenged in their worldview, never been poor or hungry, who have never been a victim of assault or unable to afford medical treatment, who have never been oppressed by something out of their control or felt like a stranger in their own bodies (or if they have, have been too twisted by guilt and shame and pressure to admit it). There's nothing wrong with privilege, per se. We can't help the circumstances we're born into, but the stubborn refusal to recognize and examine privilege creates a totally warped class who believe they did something to deserve their station, that they are morally superior, and instead of trying to use their imaginations in order to serve the vast population, focus only on accumulating more wealth and power. A little empathy goes a long way, and if you can't be empathetic, there goes your humanity. So too, then, should go your eligibility to govern. I'm not saying you have to have the entire rainbow of experiences to be a good leader, but you have to at the very least be willing to conceive of how certain things affect other people's lives. 

The longer I live and the more I allow the voices of others into my life, the more I can see the ways I have been part of the problems we face in this country, in ways that I never considered because of my own privilege. It hurts to face the reality of it, but it doesn't do me any good to be anything but willing to make important changes. It's a real pride fucker, but fuck pride, right? I want a better country for the future, and for today and in order to get there, even on a one-to-one scale, I need to knock down whatever defenses I've put up, get rid of that part of me that clings to the need to congratulate myself for merely trying to be a good person. I need to do what I can to listen to and promote the voices of  those who have been marginalized and suffered for so long. I am trying, and as always, I recognize that I have so far to go, but it's worth it to make painful realizations. Resting on my laurels is kind of the antithesis of this whole fight here. 

I can't believe how out of control the corruption and downright evil, inhumane agenda from the White House has grown on our watch. The racism, the misogyny, the xeno- and homo-and transphobia, the greed and violence. That so many people can support this administration against their own interests. It makes me sick to my stomach every second of every day. I'm sick to death of politics, but this is beyond politics, and on top of that, even if I do have the luxury to not concern myself, I can't with a shred of conscience not say something, not do something, because it might not affect me directly. If it helps to think about it this way though, sooner or later it affects us all.

I am personally voting to oust these grossly rich old balls and replace them with new blood, with anyone who has a chance to make some change for good, for the future, for the present. If you have ever loved a woman or a trans person or a gay person or a person of color or a sick person or a poor person or yourself or any human ever, please please please do the same. It's not about parties or sides or winning at all costs. It's bigger than that. It's about choosing who will commit to representing ALL people in a country, a world, that is a clock ticking down. I can't overstate the importance of this election, and I can't even take the possibility of November 2016 all over again so right now I'll be cautiously hopeful and I voted and please you VOTE. 

Signed, your proud wildly imperfect liberal intersectional feminist ally 4 life. 

 

House of Yassssss

I don't do this a hell of a lot any more, but sometimes it feels really good to write a blog post about when things are coming together. Yes, I'm BUGGING about the 2018 midterm elections, and the everyday absurdity (at best) and horror (default, lately) of our existence, but if I can be that guy and throw up a partition on that so I can shine a light on the ways things are not specifically a shitshow at the moment, that'd be swell. 

I'm still in the honeymoon period with the first draft of my novel. I LOVE working on it, not even worrying about whether any of it is worth a damn, just jumping in. The words are coming, the pages are filling-- it's the very definition of gettin' while the gettin's good. 

My yoga practice continues to nudge me along. I appreciate that every experience, every class is different and it's not always about achieving poses or whatever, that's not the heart or philosophy of yoga, and the acceptance of that keeps me coming back because it's so totally nourishing as is. Still--STILL--today we did dolphin pose with wall support, and it felt so strong and light, I was able to take both feet off the wall and hover for a few seconds. It's the closest I've ever come to an actual forearm stand and that evidence of progress and strength in my core really made my day.

HR is in a groove with third grade and is generally a happy kid. Every day he says something unexpected that makes me laugh. Every day he's more of his own person, and that person is pretty cool. 

New seasons of Crazy Ex-Girlfriend and Big Mouth are happening and both are genius in their own ways. I've read 20 books so far this year, not my all-time record or anything, but I'm thrilled to be making a dent in my TBR pile, and up to this point there haven't been any duds. The Hate U Give is still my #1 of the year if not past several years, but I really loved Only Child by Rhiannon Nevin (this book DESTROYED me but it was worth it) and thought John Green's latest, Turtles All the Way Down, was particularly strong. 

My favorite time of year is ramping up in full force and we're booked every weekend until 2019 and though I'm a lazy witch and an old-ass homebody (there is nothing better than lighting a candle and curling up in double blankets on my couch in the evening), it's all for really fun and happy stuff so I can't be mad at it. 

There's more contributing to my general sense of well-being, but I'll save some things for a rainy day. Of course I know I run the risk of jinxing everything (notice I didn't even mention what's happening with the beisbol because that's my only true superstition) by blabbing about it on here, but you knew I was a risk taker, baby, and that's why you love me. 

Harried and Hopeful

My office, or a sliver of it anyway, is a familiar sight to those who read my blog since I've been known to take an author selfie at my desk every once in while. What you see is me at my professional seat, my writing perch. Also, my safety zone. I don't actually have to be here, chained to one location day in and day out. It helps when I need to really concentrate, but thanks to technology and the variety of hats I wear, the meat of my job can be done in any part of the workplace-- at the front desk, in the dining room, any corner of the place. It's even useful sometimes for me to change the scenery or maybe sometimes I'm just plain needed out front, but the majority of the time I stay in my sliver because it's imperative to my functioning as a human to hide. I can come in here and limit my interaction with the people I am committed to serving so I don't absorb their pain, to be honest. Try as I do, though, sometimes a kid who is staying here manages to bridge any pretense of professional distance. We lost one such kid this weekend, and I'm taking it hard. Every loss is devastating here, but if I do my due diligence and protect my heart, I can be sad and sympathetic and move on and what's going on with me right now is not the norm. I'm not sorry that he and his family broke my safety seal, though.

He died at home after a long fight on the day that Kavanaugh was confirmed to the Supreme Court and one of the most lovable human adults I've ever known joined together with his bride and my weekend was a storm of happiness and gratitude and anger and utter heartbreak. This is a feeling life:

I'm a cut/I'm a scab

I'm a cut/I'm a scab

I'm a cut and I'm in the process of scabbing over and it's a matter of time before I'm ripped open again and a meaningful existence means never being fully healed, doesn't it?  It's a risk to let in the things that you know can hurt you, and you have to take it, because you are ultimately better for it, because hiding out of self-preservation isn't living. Our injuries can break us or toughen us or a combination thereof. Our injuries build us. We're the sum of our hurts, and they're coming anyway, so hiding from them isn't an option unless you want to be a robot. I do want to be  a robot, occasionally. 

I have been making an effort to lead with empathy in my professional life, and it can make the emotional toll of doing what I do here that much heavier, but at the same time, it infuses me with an inner satisfaction that I miss when I'm busy throwing up a shield. I can't afford to let down my guard with every child, every family, but when I'm able to keep an eye to kindness, I feel like something at the end of the day instead of a safe, sterile nothing. Even when I pay, either with personal hurt or disappointment at being taken advantage of, it's worth it.

What a time, today, right now. It's fall and it's summer. I mourn and I rage. I write to soothe my sadness and to stoke my disillusionment into productivity. I grudgingly acknowledge the ways the patriarchy has made immediate gains, yet I put my money on their imminent decline at the hands of those who refuse to accept it any longer. I had that stellar weekend with new and old friends and last night we got to have a lovely dinner with a much-missed darling friend who is really a heart-sister and I'm making a pilgrimage to the land of my birth soon to spend time with my immediate family and my firecracker grandmother, and so that HR may have that time with them as well, and I get to in one breath be incredibly thankful for the joy they bring and in the next understand that one day I will lose every one of them. 

I'm a cut/I'm a scab, and I'm open to the infinitely futile and painful and beautiful organic process. 

 

Concrete Under Your Feet

HR is a city kid. Keep in mind that whenever I speak of raising him here, since he's my only child, I don't have anything to compare to the experience but my own rural upbringing, and I was not on the bringing-up side. From the first time I visited a city as a kid, I just knew that was for me, and I escaped to one as soon as I could and never looked back. I do love where I'm from, it's beautiful and I have only the best of childhood memories of growing up in the Mountain Valley, but it's safe to say it's a little... culturally lacking. My heart knew before I knew that I needed to be surrounded by strangers and have 3-10 restaurants in walking distance at all times. I have no idea if my son is made of the same stuff or if he'll grown up and choose the other way, but for now it's what he knows.

I wouldn't say it's any better or worse to have a kid in the city vs. in the country or suburbs, but because city life is the life we choose, I see a lot of advantages. For one, he's growing up with an appreciation of other people in ways as simple as learning how to navigate crowds and not be an oblivious jerkface. If you're not used to it, it's hard to get the hang of sharing space, like a sidewalk, and it's second nature for him. He's also used to seeing and interacting with people who look different from him on a daily basis and that makes a huge impact (huge enough that I know we need to have a conversation yesterday about how racism exists because by not talking about it I'm doing him a disservice). 

Being a city kid tends to make you eco-friendly by default. Because we're a one-car family and I've historically taken the car to work, HR's life thus far has made it so he can actually go weeks without being in a car. He and Mike have walked and bussed and T'd and commuter railed themselves everywhere in his 8 years, and since we got his whole celiac thing straightened out a couple of years ago (thank you big-city doctor), he's never complained about walking any distance. He's also never ever run out into traffic because he had that drilled into him since he was a babe in arms.

I was not the primary stay-at-home parent, but it doesn't mean I haven't experienced the type of isolation that is parenting a little one. Being in a place where there are so many opportunities to be with other young parents and take classes or just get a change of scenery was key to my sanity. HR cut his teeth on the Museum of Science and the Aquarium and even the MFA. Fenway Park is super close, every concert venue is right there, and getting to the airport is easy peasy. We have no backyard to speak of, but we're a spit from dozens of parks and playgrounds and public libraries. You can even get to the zoo and the beach without a great deal of hassle. Mike and I are restaurant people, and we've taken our kid out since he was brand new, so he's learned to be well behaved in a variety of a restaurant settings. The guys at the pub around the corner have watched him grow up, but really they're like family, which is another cool bit.

One big thing, and I can't speak for every city of course, but when we were baby dum-dums buying a house for the first time and not even thinking of having a kid someday, we happened to luck out with an incredible public school system. We can walk HR to school in less than 10 minutes, the quality of his education so far has been excellent, and the student body is diverse. In the summer there are a billion programs to keep him busy, and he really found a niche in children's theater. We visit our families and friends and take trips often, so HR has experienced the ocean and the mountains and small town and suburban life and found joy in all of them, but in the end he's always happiest at home. 

Cons of city rearin': it's expensive, it's noisy, it smells, there are plenty of people who still don't know how to share public space, it takes forever to get out to the highway when we do want to skip town, when people come to visit the accommodations in our two-bed home are cramped in a decidedly un-charming way and when it snows there is nowhere to put it. It's our home, though, and we love it. 

I do wonder what it will be like when HR is a teenager and we're faced with his independence in a place with so many opportunities for excitement and trouble. Boredom is a big part of being an adolescent, and even though there's so much more for him to do here than we had in our podunk town, even the smartest and most provided for teenager is really, really stupid because they are invincible at that age, danger merely a concept. It's unlikely he'll ever attend a party on, say, a frozen river or jump on an abandoned train cart just to see where it goes or drive around in a snowstorm with the lights off (ahem not that I did any of those things), and I like the idea that his default transportation method won't be a teenage driver who may be under the influence. I'm certain, however, that he'll find different ways to be a teenage nightmare because that's what they do, baby. 

City livin' is not for everyone, but it's certainly for us.