When I was small, my hands would dance before my face, practicing new motions, working new muscles. My hands would grasp the hands of my mother and father, the toys they brought to me, the food they taught me to eat. My hands were the gateway to everything I tasted, the tools that gave me everything I saw. Well, everything within reach anyway.

When I was a young girl, my hands played with my brother’s hands, and they dug in dirt, and danced to the tune of childhood. They would throw and pat, rip and build, dig and cover. They were constantly shifting from dirty to clean, as my mother fought off germs with soap and water, often muttering in frustration.

When I was older, my hands would struggle to keep up with my body’s growth and changes, and would try and hide the awkwardness that would shoot from me at unexpected moments. My hands were often covered in scrapes from trying to catch my many falls, and often covered my mouth to prevent me from saying “something stupid.”

When I was a young woman, my hands would pull my hair from in front of my face, would linger on my cheek, would dance the dance of new-found awareness. They were my front lines in my exploration of love, communicating things I didn’t even understand to the people around me. They were strong, and lovely, still so new that their skin was clear of any marks.

When I became a woman, my hands became the tools by which I earned a living, providing me with a new found independence. They danced the dance of sweat and syrup as I scooped tips off my emptied tables before wiping them down. They typed up notes and exams, learned languages, and carried the books that promised me the future. My hands wore the symbols of the promises I made to another, a ring, some burns from my first painful baking attempts, all the steps from the dance of mating.

When I became a mother my hands touched the heads of my children as they came into the world. Slimy, warm, and solid, the touch and feel of life grown inside me, pushed into the world by strength of will, hands gripping hands all the while. My hands were grasped by the small dancing motions of my babies’ hands, as the ballet began anew. Small perfect fingers wound around my hands, tracing the delicate wrinkles forming as their duties grow. My hands wiped up spit up, changed diapers, and introduced food and toys to my children. They still do. My hands dance the dance of domestic life, sometimes messy, often hard, always worth it. They are the tools I use to teach my children about the world they have to navigate, my hands hold tight as I lead them from one step to another. At times, they are eager to grasp too tightly, but slowly they are learning when they have to let go.

I watch my mother’s hands now, as she watched her mother’s before her. I see them, these hands that have now danced this ballet twice, and think how lovely they are. I am proud to know my hands were taught this dance by hers, and will dance this ballet with my children, and my children’s children. Proud to know that my hands will carry the knowledge of creating and caring for life, and will pass these steps onto to the dancers of the future.

Lee sent me this to brighten my day, and I love it. I hope you do to. If you want to see this comic at it’s original location, go here.

While watching Without a Trace, I saw an ad for an RLS medication that had one of the oddest side effect warnings I have ever heard. “If you experience increased gambling, sexual, or other intense urges, contact your physician.” Increased gambling? As a side effect? Eep. What kind of medication is it, to cause an intense desire to gamble? Is the reduction of RLS symptoms really worth potentially gambling your future away?

Today was hectic, we got all the school registration stuff done, ran to the doctor for her physical, and got the transfer papers together. However, she will not be able to attend the first day of school tomorrow, as they will not be able to process her in time. They will call us to let us know when she is able to start. (More “vacation” for me! I muttered through a teeth clenching smile.Yay!) Sadly, the person who gave Lee the registration paperwork two weeks ago told him we had to have the medical info taken in with it, while today we were informed we could have registered weeks ago, and taken the medical info in later. If the person who initially dealt with us had been correct in their advice giving, we would not be sitting here waiting to get her into school at the last minute. Argh.

Because we spent the day running around like mad fiends, we were all cranky and tired when we got home. In an attempt to revive myself, I made Beer Bread. My first recipe attempt had too much beer, and didn’t fully cook, but the second was successful, resulting in yummy yeasty bread for my Peach Pie Jam. The loaf may or may not be here to comfort and revive others when they arrive home from their hard and hectic days.(mmmmm…..beer you can eat. Licking crumbs off plate.)

Okay, okay, I am experiencing some serious avoidance behavior at the moment, and have been putting off this post for the last four days. Here it is, I am getting it out of the way now, instead of waiting any longer.

Lee’s mom was given a 40% chance of survival before we left. Her doctor, with brutal honesty, informed us that in his experience, about 6 out of 10 people her age, with her health history and injuries, die. Yup. Good news there.

On the family heirlooms and stuff front, all her things that escaped destruction by fire were coated in a fine film of Asbestos. As a general rule, the health department requires all such finely coated things be thrown out. However, it was too much to contemplate losing mom, much less losing her, and everything she ever owned. Especially since everything she ever owned included all the things Lee intended on passing down to our kids, and everything his mom had saved from other ancestors for the same reason.

Luckily the abatement guy in charge of this particular asbestos removal was very nice, and has agreed to clean a few of her things and let us keep them. We rented a 5×7 storage unit, and it should contain all that remains of her worldly possessions by the end of the week. (Thanks to Sanjin for taking care of the picking up, transporting, and depositing of these things, you have relieved so much of our stress by doing so.)

Moving mom out of her house into the apartment was a herculean effort requiring a huge moving truck and many of her friends cars. It is hard to deal with the fact that she is now down to a 5×7 storage unit and the few things we bought her at Target before leaving town. ( Two nightgowns, one of them a sock monkey nightgown, a tote bag, wallet, address book, etc. We didn’t want to buy too much, simply because we still don’t know if she will live to need it.)

So, that is the update. We are back home in New Jersey, busily cleaning, shopping, and otherwise preparing for school. It is a hectic couple of days. Soon I will begin on my practice in earnest, for Marlena will be in school, and not here demanding most of my creativity and energy, and Oliver is at a point where he naps several hours at a time. (Once in a while, anyway.)

I am excited to begin my professional life, it has been too long neglected. I have located several agencies that will fund attorneys with contingency cases in the pipeline, so I will be able to pay my self a modest salary while I am working, thereby relieving some of the financial stress we have been under. So soon my posts will once again have some law sprinkled throughout them, as I try to save the world, one poor near extinct species at a time.