A beloved cat, a car, the vet ICU, brave children and husband, tired

I slept fitfully last night. The March was great in many ways, but it was emotional too. There is so much work to be done. And then there are tidbits like this:

The White House Changes Its Comment Line Message to Blame Democrats For the Shutdown
and
A new Trump ad calls Democrats complicit in all murders perpetrated by illegal immigrants.

Both are utterly deplorable and disgraceful and sick. And it's all a lot to process.

In any case, I'd finally settled in to some sort of slumber when I awoke with a start to Tom yelling, "Oh NO!" I sat up, heard Ol run by, asked him where Tom was, and we both raced downstairs. I heard a terrible sound of an animal in terrible pain, and then saw Tom round the corner with a bloody Nutmeg wrapped in a bloody blanket in his arms. 

He had been hit by a car. Thankfully, the driver had stopped and stayed with Nut while a neighbor who knew where Nut lived ran to get us. I am so thankful for the kindness and honesty of near-strangers. Truly, he'd have died alone and in the street had they not helped.

Jack was still asleep, and we had no time to wake him (think hibernating bear), so we jumped in the car and raced to the veterinary ER nearby. As an aside, I am beyond grateful that there is an excellent 24-7 vet ER near us. Oliver was wearing Christmas jammies, Tom was in his pjs and had no shoes on (still clutching Nutmeg as he bled and mewed), and none of us had brushed teeth. Nutmeg was struggling to breathe.

Nutmeg was taken into the ICU immediately. After a while, the doctor emerged and kindly attempted to prepare us to lose him. His head had taken the brunt of the hit, his pupils were dilated and his eyes were going in different directions, he'd lost a rear claw, dirt and skid marks were everywhere, his face was swollen, the front of his nose was scraped off, his jaw was broken and dislocated and an incisor was gone, and he continued to struggle to breathe.

Tom sank to the floor and ultimately had to lie down. He was drenched in sweat. Oliver was pinned to my lap, and I was crying silently. We were all crying. The doctor said they would get Nutmeg as comfortable as possible and then take X-rays to assess his internal organs and any damage to them. Tom steadied himself and went home to get Jack and put on shoes.

In that moment, I looked at my husband -sweaty, pajamas splattered with blood, shoeless- and I thought, marriage is awfully hard but you sure married a good man. A solid man. A man who will scoop his very injured cat from the street and not even think to change out of his pajamas or put on shoes before going to the vet, who cries with you and your children and holds you all tight, and who continues to assert that your cat will make it through. 

All of us were shocked, but Nutmeg's lungs looked ok, and his blood pressure improved. He was given lots of hardcore stuff like ketamine and tucked into an oxygen tank. I can't tell you how wrenching it was to see him, his jaw askew and his mouth unable to close, his face swollen and cut and bloody, IVs and monitors in three of his paws. The boys were so brave.

Oliver and I went back to visit him this afternoon, and I will go again tomorrow whenever his surgery and recovery allows me to. The vet staff said he was an absolute champ and a flirt and a darling love who they expect to survive and heal. The house feels empty and quiet tonight, and I keep looking for him.

I am so very grateful. We all are. It's incredible the love we can feel for animals, how much they enrich and bring joy to our lives. Hug your loved ones, human and furry, and be kind! It makes such a difference.

Amorphous blob'ism of a week

Y'all, January is hard enough without accusations of "shithole" (or, as it wasn't but was suggested/lied about, "shithouse") countries and assertions of people we do and don't want anytime but sort of especially MERE DAYS BEFORE we celebrate Dr. Martin Luther King Day in the year that IS ALSO the 50th year since his assassination. 

January is cold enough that we can really do without continued sexual impropriety on a grand scale, including multiple and fairly credible tales of porn stars having had affairs with the Evil Yam just after Melania gave birth and then being paid hush money to shut up about it all.

January is screwy enough in terms of snow days and, thusly, parental schedules, that I hardly think we also need a desperate mother paying a large sum to largely untrained Container Store people for a "sleek and Swedish" organizational system that promises to solve a hoarder son's closet issues. Said mother averred that a cyclonically-inspired closet could be tamed in 60-90 minutes on an early-dismissal Tuesday. Said mother was, four hours, no lunch, and extreme body and foot odor later, chastened by said sleek and Swedish org system that is now a permanent part of a closet due to a mallet, chisel, hammer, and wild-eyed determination to make that fucker fit. Do not tell said mother's husband just what lengths she went to via the baseboard just inside the closet doors.

My dear housekeeper, Imelda, ventured in two hours in: "Emily, I am hearing the hammer. Is everything going ok? I want to offer my help."

"Imelda, I will win in this closet. I will make this organizer fit."

"Ok, Emily, it's just, I'm hearing the hammer" -read: "I should not be hearing a hammer," which was an accurate perspective from anyone but especially Imelda who can fix and solve and do anything- "and I want to offer my services."

I'm pretty sure my scent and the state of my hair and eyes caused her quick departure from the room. 

The Container Store is really the devil. No wonder it partners with Real Simple magazine which is the lyingest name of a magazine ever. Real Stressful would be infinitely more accurate. Sweet baby jesus in the skies, RS editors. Back your trains up. No one can cover even 80% of the advice you offer on one page must less on 200 of them. 

Meanwhile, the children appear to be suffering January-induced meltdowns and loss of senses of humor. Mary mother of moody boys. Get it together. Tonight, Tom's 40th birthday incidentally, found me with a brand new Keratin treatment in my hair -which means it's straight as a board and CANNOT, under penalty of death, be tucked in a rubber band, hair band, or even behind an ear- peeling and deveining shrimp, making biscuits, preparing a cocktail, making the kids' dinner, AND alternately tending to and ignoring pitiful whimpering from Oliver because he had to copy previously written persuasive letter text onto a new sheet of paper. The trials of being a privileged youth today.

My eyes just fell out I rolled them so hard.

Have you ever tried to peel and devein shrimp without being able to move your hair out of your face or even really touch it? Such is not an optimal scenario. And the wailing child is the cream. 

But I'm a perseverant gal, and damn you shithole president and persuasive letter writing and Keratin, I will make my husband a delicious meal. And I did.

barbecue shrimp

biscuits!

kale salad

And the boys calmed down and got their homework done, and dinner was good, and then T and I watched Get Out which is hands down the best social commentary film I've seen in a while, and now we're two forty-somethings off to bed. Happy Birthday, honey.

It's been forever: memorial service, a salon, a protest

Gosh, y'all, I've never gone this long without posting here. Not while sick or abroad or in the weeds of any sort have I missed more than 4-5 days. But so goes life, and there you have it.

We're renovating our kitchen so have been mired in plans, and the boys finished school last Friday, and I went to New York on Sunday for Peter's memorial service and returned first thing Monday, and Christmas is a'coming, and on Saturday Jack asked with the most darling sincerity, "Mom, can you take me to the salon so I can get a new hair style?" and the orthodontist and this horrid tax bill and resistance, and a new venture, and so on.

I am deeply thankful to have been able to return to New York for Peter's tribute. I got to stay with my dear friend of nearly twenty years, Shawn, and time with dear old friends you don't see often enough is the absolute spice of life. 

Fourteen people shared their memories of Peter: how he'd believed in and supported them; how he'd changed their lives; how he was a rock, a touchpoint, the reason to stop and smell the flowers while running across a bustling campus. I know that I met Peter just when I needed to, at a time when I wavered internally, unsure of so much. He was a strong, funny, wise guidepost who kept me anchored and forward looking, even when I didn't know it. It was a gift to sit and listen to all who offered their reminiscences to us, a gift to hug Peter's wife and say thank you, a gift to see former colleagues and friends, a short moment to breathe and simply be present, with and for friends. 

This morning I spent two hours with a remarkable young woman. I have just opened the doors to a new business, an editorial consulting company of my own. I seek to help others make their written work shine. From college and graduate school essays to resumes and manuscripts, I am an eager partner and absolutely love the work. More about all of this soon.

After our work, I took Jack to the orthodontist to get new brackets and Christmas-themed rubber bands before heading on to my hair stylist for my big boy's first trip to the salon. 

Tom has cut both boys' hair for all these years. Jack has never been to a barber, and Oliver has just twice. When Jack said to me the other day, "I love that Dad cuts my hair, but I have had this do forever, and I just want something more me, with some lift," I both nearly died over the darlingness of it all and felt happy to make an appointment with Michael.

As I knew he would, Michael listened to Jack's vague vision with such seriousness. Then, he began. And now, my boy is thrilled. He has stood a little taller all day and he has reapplied his "product" with admirable restraint. I thought Oliver might want a trim after all this, but no. No amount of pride and preening from Jack could get Ol before hair scissors.

After an hour's rest, the boys and I crafted signs for tonight's protest at the White House, Caroling for Impeachment. My good friend, Karen, and a friend of hers, Emily of The Handmaid Coalition, were co-sponsoring the event with March On. Karen rewrote classic Hanukkah and Christmas songs with a decidedly #resistance slant, Emily brought handmaid costumes, and March On advertised and organized.

We marched, sang, and delivered post cards with messages of good tidings and swift impeachment. It was a great way to combat feelings of horror and fury over the current tax "bill" and general devolution of our democracy and also a great way to teach democracy in action: one cannot take it for granted, and using our voices to gather and protest is absolutely our Constitutional right!

It was a gorgeous evening, and the White House looked so beautiful. I felt sad that such ugliness lives inside, but my hope is not gone, and I guess that's something.