Easter in Alaska

Easter; time for strappy sandles that show off suntanned ankles, bonneted little girls clutching purses, and pastel colors in every store.

Everyplace except here. After three Easters in Alaska, I have come to an understanding between the calendar and the actual weather outdoors.

While some people do dress up their kids in the frilliest of outfits and summery coture, most realize that Easter in the 49th state usually means snow and/or rain, accompanied by a few inches of sandy mud. This year we even had ash to mix things up a little.

While we have been seeing the rapid melt of three or so feet of snow left in the yard, "Breakup" is still slow in coming. This is a frustrating time of year for me; the commercials on television speak of flower sales, lawn products, and new summerwear. We are still shoveling the white stuff off the driveways (two inches this a.m.) and trying in vain to keep vehicles clean. We buy windshield fluid by the case.

Yukon took advantage of no agenda yesterday to wash all three cars in a rain/sleet storm that swooshed down from the Chugach mountains. Bless that man.

Bear was graced by the appearance the E.B. and received some goodies, including his first-ever chocolate Easter Bunny.

Today's weather has turned out delightfully sunny, sending the overnight blanket of snow packing. I am listening to the water run down the gutter pipes and am amazed that each spring the sound still fascinates me.

Update From the Wolf Den

I had an interesting conversation with a friend this week about fear. Well, to be honest, it was really a confrontation of fear through this person's guidance.

After much dancing around the subject, during which time I was willing to offer just about any other adjective in its place, I said it. I am afraid. And I bet every other mother watching an adolescent boy with Asperger's is, too. Or was.

There appears much to be afraid of. We are afraid for our sons when they grow up with no friends, fearing nobody will ever like them and they are destined to a life of standing in a corner of the playground, confused and hurt, yet unable to figure out why.

We are afraid for other people; that an incident will occur during which teachers, relatives, or peers will be unable to respond in a way that diffuses the situation and sets appropriate limits, unknowingly instigating further disruption.

We are afraid for ourselves; that we will be unable to manage this for the rest of our lives. We fear we will make a choice based upon our own wants rather than our child's needs. We fear few resources will be available, that i's will not be dotted and t's will not be crossed; we will miss something in the paperwork that might prevent assistance from coming.

That's a lot of reasons to be scared; really, really, scared. So the question posed to me was this: "Would you still be a good mother if you weren't afraid?"

Oh.

Fear can either bitter me, or better me. It's my choice.

C'mon, You Know You Want to Go...

Those cruise lines sure are going to be in a world of hurt if they can't fill up their ships in time for the summer season of floating among the bergs of Alaskan waters.

The AK on the GO post for this week outlines some of the best deals on cruise ship tours anyone up here has ever seen. This family is not normally into the "cruise ship" lifestyle, but huh, with a deal that is cheaper than airline tickets (and meals thrown in to boot), we are seriously considering a September trip down South via boat.

I know everyone who reads this blog will want to immediately book passage to Alaska, or from Alaska, depending upon their state of origin...

Whose Car?

For the record, I AGREED to abide by the 'We are not buying a new car today' mantra.

I will not protest the outcome, however.

So It's Saturday

I'm sitting in front of a glorious view of the Chugach mountains, cup of coffee in hand, with the Doobie Brothers belting out 'Jesus is Just All Right With Me'. My husband has departed on his mountain bike for a pre-lunch spin, and the youngest member of the household is being allowed to watch Spongebob Squarepants. Even the dog is peaceful, lounging inappropriately on my down duvet that is on the floor because I am washing bedding today.

So it's Saturday. And it's All Right, all right. Hmm. We're kind of normal today.

Is it because Yukon and I had a date night last night at our fav restaurant, Orso? Is it because we had fun watching the high school kids come nervously into the restaurant for the pre-Prom dinner, remembering too late to open the door for their date, texting friends to find out where the limo was, all dressed up in rented tuxedos? We had fun laughing about our respective Proms over our Cosmopolitans and calamari.

Perhaps it is because both of us went to lunch yesterday with our pastor and his wife, people who emulate "Cool" in a most Pastoral-like sense. As fairly new members to Trinity Presby, we are still finding out where we 'fit' in this community, something recognized and acknowledged, a nice feeling.

Maybe it's the fact that we know where both of our children are, safe, cared for, relatively happy in their situations, blessed.

I'm not sure why.

I'm only sure I like it.

I Spent the Evening in an Alien Ship

I'm not one to disparage any opportunity to spend quality time by myself, but last night was a bit much.

After a last-minute phone call yesterday from my doctor, who is as intrigued by my knee injury as I am, I found myself scheduled for an MRI at 6 p.m. at the lovely Providence Imaging Center.

For those of you who noted the appointment time and said "Ahh, that is a very bad appointment time, the end of the day...", you are correct. A one-hour delay of game until 7 p.m. meant I had to miss taekwondo and swimming lessons (oh darn)and instead curled myself into the uncomfortable armchairs of the waiting room reading a book. At least it was my book.

Finally emerging around 7:15, the tech was apologetic, even groveling a bit when she actually saw the time, but quickly recovered and ushered me into the Borg Chamber to get the thing done.

Ever had an MRI? So loud that one needs to wear earplugs, the machine makes funny sounds that are reminiscent of a rocket launch pad even before firing up to take a scan. Not a quick process, the MRI took a half hour to effectively peer into the inner workings of my left joint; this way, that way, up, down. Should I have felt violated?

I was warned that the sounds would be "knocking and banging", and I was to relax and be perfectly still during the process. Sounded simple enough, but have you ever tried to completely relax your muscles while jackhammers are drilling directly above your head, expecting at any time some machine/man to pop out from behind and say "Assimilate"?

Finally emerging around 8:15, my body was exhausted from relaxing.

They better find something or I'll be ticked.

Monday, Monday, So Good To Me?

Isn't that part of a Mama's and Papa's song? It came into my head this morning as I was doing the too-early a.m. dance of death after a way fun dinner with our neighbors last night. No, not too much red wine, although that certainly had something to do with it.

My current suspicion is that the damn ash, which is extremely fine and managed yesterday to get itself in every crack, crevice, and creature around this house, has lodged itself in my head. I am allergic to dust (still, after all these years) and my sinuses are packed full of something I'd rather not go into...

Fortunately, snow fell all night and covered up the gray, gritty mess. After a few cups of coffee and a power-muffin (banana muffin w/ craisins, flax, and pineapple), I charged into my Monday with force. Three huge project deadlines coming up; one tomorrow, two next Monday.

Oh, and as an added breath of levity; Bear called me "Honey" this morning. No, sir, I am not your HONEY. I am your MOMMY, and don't you forget it.

Breathe, breathe, drink more coffee, breathe.