Nothin' Else I Need to Do but Dance

Got a phone call the other day. I'd been expecting it for a while, but it was still pure joy and relief which coursed through my veins when I realized what it was about.

"Hello?" says I.

"Kendra?" the female voice on the other end said, a voice which although not instantly familiar, rang a dim bell of recognition in my brain.

"Yeeess?"

"Kendra Martinez? Formerly known as Kendra Goodrick, but not anymore, because the Idaho Department of Correction is releasing her from supervised probation?" there was a singsong, smiling tone to the voice, and I finally recognized it as Tammy Douglas, who up to that point had been my probation officer.
"We got your discharge papers back from the judge, and I'm going to be leaving them at the front desk here for you to pick up, okay?"

I babbled something nonsensical with a relived laugh and got out a promise to be there shortly. I managed to thank her for this past year, for being such a nice lady. She responded in kind, saying something about how she wished all her caseloads were so easy. We laughed about her telling Kevin Kempf that no, he did not need to alert the media, my fifteen minutes of fame were long done, and thankfully so. Then I hung up the phone and let out a whoop, startling my son and probably the neighbors, as loud as it was.

Then I danced manically around the house, singing a song I made up on the spot- I can't quite remember it now, but there were lots of "Oh yeah"s and "Freedom!"s in it. I probably looked a bit like this:




Except, of course, I don't own any moon boots.

Another Year Bites The Dust

On August 28th, I officially crept another year toward my fourth decade of existence. And boy, what a year it has been! Another stint of supervised probation (which was actually a breeze and will be over any day now, just waiting on paperwork); an awesome job that has allowed me to work from home while I raise my son, who, speaking of which, has grown into a delightful little boy (although I'm pretty sure he's only part human- the rest is either Tasmanian Devil or some bizarre alien life-form with boundless energy and enthusiasm for destruction); a year of huge spiritual growth and transformation for both myself and my husband; financial struggles, triumphs, and sacrifices- most notably, Tony quitting his well-paying job which he'd held for years because of the toll it was taking on our little family when he was out of town all week, every week- and many, many more landmark events and days of laughter and tears, those memorable moments which mark the passing of time.

My actual birthDAY was a fairly low-key event- I think I'm well past the stage where I'd demand a big to-do, with the requisite keg and fifty or sixty people which I just HAD to invite. Instead, I was simply awoken with a kiss and a "Happy birthday, sweetheart," then handed a cup of coffee and a squirming toddler in need of a diaper change. So after seeing my husband off to work, the little guy and I settled into our normal weekday routine:

Mom reads the paper while Son does his best to distract her with unceasing chatter in Toddlerese, as well as frequent pounces onto her lap in order to crumple and rip the pages of something which dares divert any attention away from him.
Mom eventually gives up, pops Son into highchair and tries to get more cereal IN him than ON him, a daunting but not impossible task, and highly entertaining to Son.
When finished, Son gets stripped, wiped down, and dressed in the first of a series of outfits which will by necessity get changed throughout the day when he splatters and soaks himself with a variety of substances.
Mom then manages to attract Son's attention with one of his singing, wiggling, flashing, battery-operated playthings, then sneakily pops the baby gate on the door of his room so she can get some work done.
This cycle, with a few variations, repeats throughout the day.

After all, Jameson didn't know the day was any different from any other. And I think his idea of a present is an extra-full diaper (with corn!). I did get a few phone calls and emails from co-workers, family and friends, wishing me well or asking me to stop by and pick up my gifts, since there was to be no formal get-together. So that afternoon I loaded up the boy and made the rounds of my grandma's, auntie's, and "BFF"'s, collecting goodies and cards at every stop. What a great family I have, really. What they lack in polish they make up for in love. Raw, unconditional love and acceptance- a gift in itself.

Tony came home late that afternoon bearing red roses and a sweetly mushy card- I think the punch line was something like, "I'll kiss you once for every year of your life- and pretend you're much older"- and he was determined to live up to its promise. The big sweetie. Then we were off to dinner at my mom's house, or, "the farm", as we affectionately call it, which was a smashing success. Yummy cornish game hens, decadent pudding cake with super creamy frosting (I can't stand that sugary fluffy stuff) and banana split ice cream. Along with more gifts, of course. One of them was another baby gate, one that I've been bitching about needing for weeks- Jameson for some reason adores the master bathroom, and although we've babyproofed it as much as possible, even installing a lock on the toilet lid and locks on all the cupboard doors, he now climbs into the bathtub, scales the ledge in the corner up to the counter, and wreaks havoc up there. I first discovered this new proclivity of his when I heard a sudden wail of pain from that side of the house; I rushed in there only to find Jameson standing in one of the sinks, both hands bracing himself against the mirror, with the hot water tap on full force... he was stuck, scalding his little feet and utterly perplexed as to how to escape. But the scary part was that after I rescued him, scolding him and comforting him simultaneously (anyone with young children masters this art), I took a closer look at the plethora of dangerous and/or potential mess-making items up there on the bathroom counter: Tony's razor and shaving cream, my jewelry box, lotions and potions and all kinds of accidents waiting to happen!
So yeah, I needed a baby gate wide enough to fit our doorless master bathroom. And was totally stoked to receive such a practical, thoughtful gift. Other cool stuff was of course my guitar (early present, but a lavish one to be sure), cash (one can never go wrong with the cold hard duckets), and a gift certificate for Music City, where I can prowl the aisles for guitar strings, picks, and maybe a practice amp. All in all, a fantastic haul. I mean, even our bank sent me a birthday card. So what if they do that for everybody- it sure made my day!

And at the end of the night, the boy was in his crib, dreaming about future adventures involving large quantities of mud, I'm sure- and his daddy and I got the chance to snuggle and discuss the life we have these days... how we have reason to celebrate- not just birthdays, but all those days that fall in between them.