And now for something completely different...

We spent the last several days in Tahoe celebrating my partner's 40th birthday and participating in the Lake Tahoe Triathlon.

Unlike a typical triathlon, the Lake Tahoe Tri takes place over three consecutive days. Participants choose whether to run a marathon each day, or any mixture of water, cycling and running events.

For day one's event my partner and I chose the 2-person 10-mile kayak, paddling what later appeared to be a large slab of concrete. Symmetry, agility and precision are not three words that I would use to describe our team effort. Simply put, the event began with a shot-gun start, closely followed by us gracefully ramming into a parked jet ski. We glided into the finish line almost 3 hours later to the astonished exclamations of the event staff. ("Wow, we thought you guys had dropped out!") Enough said.

Day two was the 35-mile bike race, which followed the lake's edge around the north shore and was quite awesome. Cycling is by far my partner and my strongest event (which is to say "something I have actually done before and feel comfortable doing"). The air was brisk, the circuit was gorgeous, and the event marked the first time I'd witnessed a cyclist get nailed by a Winnebago (or vehicle of any kind, for that matter). Side note: The rider was hurt, but generally okay. Marred though it was by this careless and accidental splash of violence, the event was still pretty amazing. (Should I feel bad for enjoying it anyway? hmm)

And we rounded out the triathlon by "running" in the 10k event on day three. Okay, I hobble and he tries to slow down enough to keep pace with me until he is intermittently forced to lapse into a sort of feigned jog-walk. Snow cover from the night before lined our route. It was the first time in eleven years that snow had fallen during the three day event.

SO: jet-ski collision, Winnebago crash, and snow fall.


Our non-athletic hours were spent entertaining many, many children in a confined space.
It was the second vacation we've spent with all our many, many kids and overall, the weekend went great.

There were a few interesting points. Like, when you get in close quarters, flatulence happens. I was wondering how I would handle my own scented perfection, only to realize that kids don't really care so much about the bombs they drop. They forget that simply silencing the cannon does not prevent the effects of the explosion, if you know what I mean.

Also, teenagers have opinions and insist upon sharing them. Often. About everything. And while it is entertaining and fantastic to have such titillating conversations, whoa unto thee that is the topic of said opinion, as ye shall never hear the end of it.

Also also, eleven-year olds are naturally verbose. All of them. And they like to discuss video games and favorite movies and relive Family guy episodes and talk about the merits of Xbox 360 over Nintendo Wii [One: Halo 3; Two: Better graphics; Three: See Number One.]

And finally, while pride may cometh before the fall for some, it swells passionately in the hearts of little girls. They tell tales of their accomplishments with sincerity and only the slightest embellishments. Naturally, they reserve the right to extend the tale on for as long as is humanly possible, which includes coming back to continue their tales at any given time, without preamble nor reference to the original subject.

That said, it was an amazing, fun-filled week. And tomorrow-- October 1-- marks the first day of our foray into cohabitation. I *think* we're ready, emotionally speaking. Or so it seems right now at this exact moment.

It's a hit.

By Wednesday night I'd all but given up. We had scoured the internet, cold called homes that were for sale, contacted every property management place in two towns and memorized every listing on craigslist going back 3 months.

Nada.

Home number three in the area had a beautiful posting on craigslist that delved into loving details of the most amazingly beautiful home so far. Hidden in the post was the line, "Accepting no pets of any kind so don't even ask."

The kids had all reached the deliriously-happy-borderline-frenetic point, asking at different times about different things-- rules, timing, can-we-gets, you name it-- and my internal meter was set firmly between I-must-make-everyone-happy-I-cannot-fail, and PMS. This is not a good mix for a gal who suffers from chronic anxiety, nor for a guy who is planning on living with a gal who suffers from chronic anxiety.

We couldn't find a place.


It's not so much that we weren't wanted, but rather... oh wait-- yeah. That's right. We weren't wanted.

My partner was subtextually hinting at life-sans-pets, that there is so much more out there to choose from if we didn't have... but one look at four-year old Sydney laughing as Wallace licked her ice-cream chin while Trevor hand fed Gromit popcorn, and really that became the unutterable thought.

Good thing I'd already given notice to my rental company. Good thing I'd already told everyone, my family, my kids; good thing father time was bearing down on us like a big thing that bears down. On, you know. People.

I picked up Sydney, who was just rising from her nap, from my mom's place. She was in a "I hate you go away I don't want you leave me alone" mood, which added to my general sense of self-loathing. The sounds of her melodious wailing in the background, my partner in crime (PIC) calls, and tells me he has maybe some news.

"It's really beautiful, located on the other side of the planet,"
"Did you ask about pets??" I intterupt.
"It's got 5 bedrooms, 3 full bathrooms, huge kitchen, family room, living room,"
"Isn't that the same one from craigslist?"
"It is the same one from craigslist."
"They don't take pets."
"Granite countertops, huge bathtub in the master bedroom--"
"I saw the pictures. It's gorgeous. But it doesn't matter. Pets. They don't take--"
"And he'll take pets. Outside only."
"WHAT? You talked them into pets?"
"Outside only."
"What about kids?" Pause.
"I mentioned the kids. Three of them. We'll update him after we sign the lease."

Location-shmocation. They took pets. And kids-- some of them anyway. And if this place was true to its pictures, there were enough closets to hide the rest. Think AIRHOLES.

Looks like we found a home.

Strike two.

Dejected, I entered Tuesday wondering if we were being overly ambitious. What was I thinking? Who would possibly rent to the mish-mash that is us?

Our first try out of the gate and we were declined on the basis of the very point of getting together. We are two families, trying to be one very large, largely-happy family. It was easier trying to get pets into that place than our kids. Of course, showing up to view the house with four kids wearing medieval armor was probably a bad thing. I see that now.

Stiffening my upper lip (but allowing the lower one to quiver ridiculously) I decided to keep-on keeping on. This couldn't have been the only home in the Fresno area to house our brood. Another perusal of craigslist told me that I was right-- the PERFECT house that declined us was one of 3 houses available in the Fresno-Clovis area.

THREE WHOLE HOUSES. Such variety. On to house two.

Honesty is an important and vital value, one of the core values that build character (according to some camp my kids went to last summer). After suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, we decided to promptly DROP that value on its arse. Okay, sure we're married. Yes, we had 3 kids. (Each.. shh!) Yes, we have a pet. SINGULAR.

House number two was big and lovely-- a little dark, what with the formal window coverings made by the stay-at-home mom who home schooled her kids there. Each room was carefully painted with edging that would make a professional envious. The backyard had a gorgeous pool with that pebbly-stuff on the bottom. Next to that was a mini basketball court. The yard did back up to a busy street, but hell-- the kitchen was granite, stainless steel and had double ovens. Who the flippin' cares about traffic noise when you got double ovens?

There was an interesting museum-like quality to the place. Perhaps it was the dank scent. Or maybe it was all the Jesus paintings that gave me that impression. Not sure, but I think he was a direct relation or something because he was everywhere. In fact, he was all that was there. Instead of family photos, nature prints, or even a calendar, there was Jesus and his mom, when he was an infant; one of him a little older, single guy, on his own, glowing heart kinda-thing; and then some extended family paintings of Mary in her waning years, Mary praying, and an action shot of Jesus preaching.

I tried to imagine the best spot for put my liqueur-swilling monkey print... and maybe where they had the painting of them in front of the giant tabernacle of some sort would be the perfect spot for my Marie Laveau voodoo pen and ink.

On the way to seeing the place, my partner in crime's car was rear ended by a truck. He called with severe whiplash saying he might be a bit late.

Truthfully, I was really relieved to learn the landlords didn't accept pets. Dark, close to traffic noise and the car collision should have been enough to dissuade my interest. Plus, in the end, the no pets gig made it so much easier than explaining to the uber-Christians that I was about to live in dirty, filthy sin in their amazing house.

Strike One

Pretty much immediately after deciding that we wanted to combine our two families into one giant mish-mash of kids, pets, empty juice boxes and dirty laundry, we did what every normal couple would be expected to do in our situation. So after the Percoset and a few shots of tequila, we combed craigslist.

On Sunday, the gods were smiling upon us, feeding us cake on a golden platter. We found the perfect house in the perfect location at the perfect price. AND they took pets. It was, how shall we say... perfect? Yes.

On Monday, however, the gods decided meh, no cake for you. The pets weren't a problem at all. Two dogs? Phhht, who cares? Throw a cat in. And a goat. Whatever. No. The issue was that they didn't take KIDS. And despite that it breaks an anti-discrimination renter's rights law, the wife had no problem informing me of that. And the way I was informed... She wasn't merely kicking at the law to see if it would scuff, or throwing a little dirt on it.

This was like a back-street, baseball-bat, old-fashioned law beating.

From the tentative: "I am nervous about the kids...

To the bold: "Six kids? Are you crazy?"

To the outright illegal:"What if we increased the deposit to cover the children?"

To the just-plain-weird: "A friend of mine suggested that I come and see your houses, you know, to inspect them, to see how, you know, things are. Would that be alright with you?"

Needless to say, her husband called later to tell us we didn't get the house. They decided not to rent quite yet. Seems that despite being on the market for the last month and dropping the price by $400 per month, still, somehow, they weren't ready.

And so we wait.

It's Business Time

Exactly like that... except without that Alice

After much discussion, planning, fretting, processing, excitement and outright zeal, my boyfriend and I decided to take the plunge: no marriage. Not yet. Not sure where that stands on my horizon, or even if it is on my horizon. I do know I have a horizon, and that is a start.

No.

The intense deliberations and planning surrounded our decision to co-habitate. Live in sin, if you will.

Realize this has been a long time in what now feels like endless discussion. Realize, also, that we're both older-- I'm 37, he'll be 40 next week-- we've been dating for just about two years and we're both divorcees. Clearly, we're mature enough to arrive at this reasonable decision.

Oh, yeah-- and also realize that I have three kids. That adds some spice to the discussion.

And he has three kids. The spice now becomes heady flavoring.

Thus, utilizing the powers of mathematics, our combined powers means six kids. And two parents. Three girls, three boys, the youngest one in curls. Seriously, a Brady Bunch family... only no Alice. We'll have to work on that last one there.