Mandajuice

I LIKE TO MOVE IT, MOVE IT.

Things are progressing smoothly at Casa de Mandajuice. Still no name for the new place yet, but we're loving the suggestions (The SANCTUARY!) so keep them coming. Fortunately, I was able to get a little cash by selling my big leather sectional on Craig's list, so we're actually going to all have BEDS when we move in and Joel and I are having a lot of fun looking at cheap vintage furniture together. All my crazy modern furniture just isn't going to work in the new (OLD) house, so we're going do it up fifties style at a significantly reduced cost and make it our own. (Does anyone want to buy a swank dining room set? It's nice!)

We're also planning to paint just about every room in the house, so that'll be fun. Joel has big plans to paint The Birds on our living room wall and just thinking about how invested he is in things like reupholstering old couches and designing bird stencils makes my panties wet. Gah. As if that beautiful bald head wasn't enough. 

Have I mentioned how I love him SO?

It's a little bit ridiculous.

The happy news is that the kids LOVED the house. LOVED. IT. Alex couldn't contain his joy at chasing the chickens around their pen and Genoa thought her very. own. bedroom. was the bees knees. When I was in there asking her where she wanted to put her bed and how she wanted to decorate, I asked, "Isn't it worth it to move to Portland to get your very own room?" and she was all, "We're moving to Portland?" and I was, like, "We're STANDING IN PORTLAND RIGHT NOW!" and she was all, "Really? COOL!"

WIN!

Alex's room has a hand-painted mural of the city of Portland on it, including Mt. Hood and Multnomah Falls and a totally accurate glow-in-the-dark replica of the galaxy on his ceiling, so he's pretty much as stoked as an eight-year-old can possibly be. He wants his bed to just sit in the middle of the room and who am I to say no to that?

Meanwhile, Liza has the basement to herself and her glee can not even remotely be contained. She has her own art table, a sitting rom, a walk-in closet and a door she can LOCK to keep my gremlins out. This is pretty much the best thing that has ever happened to her in her 11 years on planet earth. At least that's what her endless ecstatic jumping up and down would indicate.

Me, I'm just... happy. Like, honestly? THIS IS MY LIFE?! When did that happen? How did I get so lucky?

Oddly enough a recent commenter said a few disturbing things that actually had me questioning said life for approximately six seconds,

I recently caught up with your blog after a couple of years of not reading. I came in search of your cashew chicken recipe (Not bad, but not life altering), and I have to say...it's disappointing to see the direction in which you've taken your life. I'm all for reinvention and finding true meaning for your life after ending an abusive relationship - but I'm not finding much depth in your writing now. Your whole life seems to revolve around vagina...stuffing yours, waxing others...it's just sad, really. It's like you fell in the gutter, felt you didn't deserve any better, and decided to stay there and revel in every base aspect of it.

...but then all I could think about was how sad her life must be that she finds such obvious satisfaction in judging me for mine. Because I have never been happier than I am right now. Maybe my life does revolve around vaginas, but seriously? I LOVE my work. I LOVE my children. I LOVE my man. I love my LIFE. I'm moving into a house that I love, where I can see all of us learning to love each other in new, better, (more spacious) ways.  

I guess what I'm saying is that if shacking up is wrong, I don't want us to be right. 

But then again, neither does Lucy, one of our recently-aquired ladybirds:
 

Day 21: Comments

Joel and I slept till noon this morning. Apparently, with everything that's been going on, we needed it. When I finally rolled over and checked my phone, the first thing in my inbox was this hilarious comment from Janyll:

Let's recap. Mother of two flees abusive marriage, finds true love with bald former Jehovah's Witness, becomes a platinum blond, in part to indulge his Kim Novak obsession, and abandons her profession as a financial planner to become a vagina stylist/self-published romance novelist. Hijinks are sure to ensue as he opens a medical marijuana shop and the two of them rent a house together. Amanda, I must say your life sounds like an ABC sitcom pilot, but best of luck with it all!

And while I'm not GENERALLY a fan of Janyll's comments, which have included everything from accusations of marrying Dave because I was an obese teen with poor self esteem to equating Brazilian waxing to foot binding (WHA!?), but this comment? It was spot on. The only thing she left out was the STALKER. Because DUH! That hasta come up in the pilot episode!

(She even accused me of gushing about Joel like a fifteen year old!) (I love her!)

Things are a bit crazy at Casa de Mandajuice what with us moving in less than ten days and barely being packed and all. Even more fun is that I just put my kids on the 1, 2, 3, Magic! regime and, well, let's just say Genoa isn't such a fan of mom's silence. (OH THE NOT TALKING IS SOOOOOOO HARD FOR ME!!!!) (YOU HAVE NO IDEA!!) I love that we're moving almost at the exact same time as the implementation of the New Regime so it will be that much easier. "In this house.... THAT'S ONE!"

Two other quick items:

1) I need help NAMING our new house. This apartment has vacillated between "Divorce House Rocks" and "Casa de Mandajuice" but the new house will be OURS. Hence, it needs a name that reflects our combined awesomesauce.  So far all we've come up with is "The Gunzmont Estate," but I'm not sure that does us justice. Any ideas?

2) It just occurred to me (tonight) that I really need to write a sex column. I'd like to find a place (other than this blog, which my parents and grandparents read) to talk about real life sex. Real life love. And most importantly what relationships are like in 2011 (ie: poly-amorous, open, bisexual, etc). Who should I pitch this idea to? Because we all know I'm in no position to be writing a sex column FOR FREE.

Back to packing...

Day 17: Shoot! and Score!

I spent most of the day working as a model. For Joel.

AGAIN.

Although I do very much love the part where he takes me shopping* at H&M and tells the sales girls exactly what they need to find for me to try on next. Of course they always know better than to let us into the dressing room at the same time. Bastards.

He hired our good friend, Steve, to take the photo, which will be used in a wide variety of ads for Joel's new clinic. Look for my smiling face in an Oregonian near you! I'll be the "doctor" with the blond hair reminding you that marijuana is, indeed, MEDICINE!

----

I can't believe it's actually happening, but we signed the lease for the house today. We get the keys in a week and we'll be moving in before the first of December. I am still utterly and completely terrified about it, but I'm starting to understand those feelings a little more and that always helps me embrace them. See, it's not just the moving to Portland thing that's freaking me out, it's the fact that Joel and I are moving in together.

I know, I know! We already live together. But we live together in MY apartment. I got to choose where I put the furniture, how I hung the pictures and which appliances went on the counter and which ones went under the sink. But this will be OUR house. TOGETHER. We'll be making all those choices as a couple and I'll be honest: I'm terrified of fucking it up. I'm scared that all my baggage is going to come back to haunt me. That I'll become that hostile, defensive bitch I used to be. That the stress and responsibility of the commitment will ruin the best thing that has ever happened to me.

But then I look over at Joel, who is every bit as scared as me, but 100% as solid and confident as always, and I know he won't LET me fuck it up. All I have to do is trust him. So this is me jumping in with both feet and choosing love. It's a hellova lot more fun than fear, anyway.

We won't need our willow to do any weeping.

 

* On the company's dime, obviously, because every red cent we possess is going toward the fact that HOLY SHIT WE'RE MOVING IN TWO WEEKS!

 

Day 17: A little gray house with a RED door

Dude, you guys. We got the house. Well, the keys aren't in my hot little hands yet, but still. It's ours.

I am seriously freaking out.

Because we are MOVING TO PORTLAND, which has been on my mind for well over a year, even before I met Joel, actually. I have wanted to move there and talked myself out of it so many times that I can't even remember why I was arguing with myself about it in the first place.

But it's very simple: it's where I want my family to live.

I should probably back up and say that I'll be commuting the kids to their current school, so there will be no educational disruption. It's exactly 14 miles each way and the drive (since we won't be fighting any traffic) takes 18 minutes. They're at an excellent school and they can continue to attend it as long as their father (and/or grandmother) lives in the district. I don't know why it took me so long to realize that that didn't mean *I* needed to live so close by. Maybe it was guilt? Maybe that's still there, but Dave gets to control where the kids go to school. When it's my week, I get to control where they live and with whom.

And I want to raise my family in the city. Not just because it's more convenient for me (it isn't) or because the man I'm sharing my life with feels like he's rotting on the vine in Camas (even though he does), but because I actually think it will be good for my children. Living in the suburbs is great - it's safe and clean and friendly and has good schools and even better neighbors - but it's not the real world. It's too pretty! The people are too nice! The real world is gritty and imperfect and it needs a fresh coat of paint and some change for the bus. I want my kids to learn how to see the beauty in all that grit and honestly, how are they gonna know who to give their spare change to if I don't teach them?

All that said, this house isn't that gritty at all. It's exactly old enough to have good character and bad plumbing. It needs paint. It's gonna need furniture. But it has everything else we need and by that I mean one thing: SPACE. Each kid will get their own bedroom. Joel and I will have an office. Liza will have a basement apartment all to herself. The kitchen is huge and there's room for all of us to spread out. We won't feel like we're living on top of each other anymore.

I could go on and on about the garden (enormous! and organic!), the location (2 minutes from the freeway!), the forrest across the street (a 22-acre nature preserve with miles of trails!), or how quiet and safe the neighborhood feels, but instead I'm just going to be honest: I'M TERRIFIED.

This is huge and scary and I have no idea if I'm ready for it.

SEND BOXES.

Day 15: Toilet Paper Karma and Other Delights

If my life took place in a Kevin Costner movie about a silly blond who joined an Indian Tribe, my name would be Changes the Toilet Paper Roll. Because The Universe (capital "U") has decided that if there is an empty roll of toilet paper within a ten mile radius of her person, Amanda P. Westmont is going to need to go to the bathroom and then Amanda P. Westmont is going to be responsible for changing that roll.

It's my calling.

Up until today, I considered this calling a pain in the ass and was generally perturbed and/or annoyed by the fact that NO ONE except me seemed to know how to remove an empty cardboard roll and replace it with a fresh one. But TODAY! Today I had an epiphany: I'm going to explore strange new bathrooms, to seek out empty toilet paper rolls and replace them without hesitation. I plan to boldly GO where no one has gone before.

Instead of letting it anger me, I'm going to delight in the thrill of knowing that at least there is a fresh roll! LET THERE BE TOILET PAPER!

In other news, we absolutely LOVED the rental house we saw today. It's huge! and affordable! I can see my family thriving there - all five of us - and the prospect both terrifies and delights me, which is pretty much how I've felt about every life-changing risk I've ever taken. The Universe may have decided to put me in charge of all the toilet paper, but I'm gonna throw this one back on The Universe and let it decide. If it's meant to be, it will happen.

I kinda hope it does.

Day 14: Tea and "T"

This is me drinking TEA. I took a picture because it's unlikely you'll ever see it again. (It contains neither coffee nor booze...)

I'm trying to catch up on my word count this week, so posting here will be quicker and dirtier, especially since we have a busier-than-average schedule.

Today: Radio Dan Show with Joel at 5:45. (I'll be talking about why I don't like Grace Kelly! On camera!)

Tuesday: Morning couples therapy, followed by Lunch With Liza. After that we have a 2PM House Hunting appointment. (This house is cheap and comes with four bedrooms and THREE CHICKENS. Say a little prayer that they'll like us enough to ignore our bad credit.) Unless I book some last minute evening appointments, we're also hitting happy hour with one of Joel's clients who I've been wanting to meet for ages.

Wednesday: Volunteer day at the school, followed by more sex scene writing and then another Dishcrawl. This time with Val and Chris! (My boss is a foodie, too, which only adds to the awesomeness of working with her.)

Thursday: Work. Write. HUMP.

Friday: Work. Write. More writing.

Saturday: Write. Doggie play date with my sister. More writing. My co-worker's "Dirty Thirty" birthday party, which won't mean I'll get much writing done, but may be a good source of inspiration.

Sunday: Write. Church. Write.

Hopefully the dog will stop peeing everywhere, too, so I won't have to spend the few free minutes I have left doing laundry!

Day 13: Le Sick and Le Suit

Joel and I spent almost all day yesterday in bed. And not in a good way. We've both come down with some crud (sore throats, achy-ness, snot, good times!) and needed to marshall our resources for the date we've been planning for literally months.

We got dolled up and went out for Lane Hunter Dance's amazing production of Psyko. Joel's a Board Member of Lane's non-profit and was (obviously, given the subject matter) a consultant on the Hitchcock remake. We love Lane and his show did NOT disappoint. It was totally worth the pain of this dress (and the corset required to squeeze me into it).

Every time Joel dappers up and puts on Le Suit (which cost more than his CAR), I somehow manage to forget that I own a camera, so last night I went out of my way to make sure we got some pictures. I mean, we're not exactly getting any younger (or thinner) over here.

My favorite part was when Joel told me he wanted me to wear my "red dress," and I was all this one? Or this other one? How about THAT one? Of course he meant my Joan Holloway dress from last Halloween. Because it's the sluttiest. But I own 25 dresses. A lot of them are red.

Today Joel is feeling a little better and I'm feeling a lot worse, so he's making me chicken soup from scratch. (We've been hoarding roasted chicken carcasses in our freezer for months now). I'm trying to give Genoa some more face time, so that's exactly what she got this morning when I let her pick what she wanted to do with me. I let her do my makeup. Then she insisted I do hers, even though I would never in a million years let her out of the house before hosing her face off.

(You should really click on that one to get the full effect. Joel said he couldn't take me seriously when I looked like a drunken wench from a pirate movie.)

I'm seriously behind on my word count this week, but I'm still in it for the full 50k. I'll just have to make up for lost time after I drop off the kids tomorrow...

Day Eleven: Who wants to borrow a dog for a few months?

So, I've recently complained about both of the children that came from my vagina, right? So what about that OTHER ONE? It's his turn!

Of all three of my children, I think Harry might actually be the angriest with me right now. I've mentioned before that while he doesn't speak English, he's a most prolific communicator of his feelings. Rather than words, his fluency is urine. And poop.

Lately, the pooch has had quite a bit to tell me.

I know this makes me a shitty neighbor, but since Harry is pretty much the Best Dog Ever and can always be trusted to both come straight back home and mostly stay out of trouble, I've often let him out the back door at night after the apartment complex has gone to sleep. He LOVES this part of his day. He gets to run around! and smell things! and then pee on them! and he always comes home wagging his tail with the delight of a happy young boy who has just sowed all his oats for the night.

Unfortunately, according to my lease agreement, this is strictly verboten.

Even more unfortunate is that I just got my third and final notice from the management saying that if they ever see him off leash again, I'm getting a ten day eviction notice.

FUN!

The worst part is that if his urination is any indicator, Harry feels like he's being punished. I'm walking him on a leash at least three times a day, but that's about how many times a day he is also pissing inside our apartment. Mostly on Genoa's bed. Or the couch. Or under the very table from which I'm writing this blog post. Or under the kitchen table!

It's lovely.

Harry just needs a fenced yard. That's all!

We're ACTIVELY looking to move and find him one (along with three more bedrooms, a garage and a second bathroom), but it's taking a while. (See reason number one: poverty.)

Does anyone want to borrow a dog for a few months until we can find a bigger place to live?

He's pretty awesome actually. Here's a list of his most spectacular qualities:

• He IS potty-trained. (As long as he has a yard...)
• He doesn't shed.
• Or bark.
• Or slobber.
• Or have bad breath.
• Or drool.
• Or bite.
• Or hear very well.
• He never begs. (Unless you're eating steak, then he gets a pass.)
• He's the kind of dog for whom you can put out a whole week's worth of food and he'll eat a few times a day until he's full and then leave the rest for later.
• He totally ignores children of all ages, shapes and sizes.
• He can tolerate other dogs. (Although somewhat begrudgingly).
• He is the best fetch player in the whole entire universe. When I was pregnant with Genoa and had super terrible hemorrhoids, I trained him to bring the ball back to me while I was reclined in my laz-e-boy chair so I never had to get up off my donut pillow.
• He never EVER smells bad. And requires approximately one bath per year.
• He will lick your feet.
• A lot.
• He is sweet! and old! and mostly sleeps all day! (You know, when he's not busy pissing in my daughter's bed.)

Any takers? Anyone! Anyone?

BUELLER?

Day Ten: That BOY

Since I'm there volunteering every Wednesday, I get an in-person status update from Alex's teacher every single week. This year has been a bit of a challenge since Alex was somehow placed in the same second grade class as his best friend, Gabe.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love Gabe. He's a good kid. Great parents. He's Alex's favorite person in the world. It's just... they shouldn't be in the same class. It was a monumentally bad idea. I feel REALLY bad for his teacher, who has spent the entire school year trying to keep the boys apart so they can actually concentrate on LEARNING. At first they did alright, but lately it's been getting worse again. Particularly on the playground.

Twice this week Alex got written up during recess. The second time came literally ten minutes after I had introduced myself to the playground monitor during Genoa's recess. I even told her not to hold back and to bust his chops if he ever gets out of hand. So, after spending half his recess with me in the library and promising to be good and stay away from Gabe, he threw some other kid down on the playground.

I got a note about it today from his teacher. 

Hi Amanda,

I received word from the recess teacher that yesterday Alex threw his arms around another student and pushed him to the ground. The student hit his head on the ground and also hurt his hand. This incidence was written up and a paper will be coming home today for either you or his dad to sign and return. He will not have recess on Monday. Instead, he will shadow the recess teacher.

I remain concerned with his focus and impulsivity. He seems to really be able to reflect on his behavior, but is struggling to change it. In class, he is having significant difficulties getting his work completed and I will often have to have him sit in the co-op or at a table by himself in order to focus enough to get his work done.

As I have mentioned before, I think Alex is a fabulous kid. In many ways he seems fairly mature and he is very kind hearted.

Thanks for all of your support!

Have a great weekend.

Mrs. Smith

 Good times. Not at all sure what to do about this, but I'm certainly open to suggestions.

Day Nine: The only thing missing is table salt...

I worked out an awesome arrangement with my friend, Dana, where I'm watching her kids today and she's watching mine tomorrow. We're both doing NaNoWriMo this year, so it's kinda perfect. Except I spent all day at school volunteering in their classrooms and then I brought four children into my teeny tiny apartment where sound bounces off every surface. Hello permanent hearing damage!

But didn't I promise to talk about food or something? I've been meaning to write about how Joel has not only converted me into a coffee snob (I mentioned the Yirgacheffe, right?) and a lover of very expensive wines (Hello, Châteauneuf-du-Pape, I would gladly have your babies and may have to sell my own to afford you), but now I have this thing for SALT.

My salt obsession actually started a few years ago when I mentioned on my blog that Dave always complained that my food was too salty even though I NEVER EVER salted it. Stefania Butler, aka Citymama, sent me that red bag of Hawaiin sea salt and it changed my life.

Now we keep at least a dozen varieties on hand at any given time. This is our current salt cellar, from left to right:

• Spice Islands Sea Salt (meh)
• Under that is a baby food jar of unlabeled thick crystal salt that came with Joel when he moved in.
• Pangasinan Star Finishing Salt (a fine round crystal with a superb crunch)
• TJ's Sea Salt (meh - it doesn't come out of the container evenly...)
• Kirkland Sea Salt Grinder (this is our version of table salt since it grinds up extra fine)
• Morton Kosher Salt (I keep this one in that triangle dish on my counter at all times and use it for recipes...)
• Hawaiian Alaea Sea Salt (pink and delicious!)
• Black Cyprus Salt (MY FAVORITE! The crystals are large, flat squares that give the perfect crispy crunch)
• White Cyprus Salt (Same as the black, only less pretty)

Then there are these three:

Which were a Christmas gift from Joel last year. He hand-packed and hand-decorated the jars for me, too.

• Fleur de Sel (fine, smooth and best with sweets!)
• Alder Smoked Sea Salt (smells like a smokehouse and tastes like cured meat - really good on BBQ)
• Sel Gris (the fluffiest, finest salt I have ever had the pleasure of tasting)

The funny thing is I know this is JUST the beginning. I haven't allowed myself to enter any fancier salt shops because I know I'll go crazy and spend a fortune. And don't even get me started on how badly I want a Himalayan Salt Block. Or three.

Which salts have you tried? I bet I'm missing out on a bunch of good ones.