Happy Something.

December 31, 2005 | Category: In My Life

This is a note of warning - I have been ill for 6 days. 5 of which I vaguely remember in shadows and gulps and sweaty sheets. For all I know, I am currently inseminated with some evil alien's hybrid child that will split me open like an overripe melon. Look, it could be true. The past few days are lost to me like a bad NBC drama. I have no freaking idea.

And into the dim, comes New Year's Eve.

I hate New Year's Eve.

The best New Year I ever spent, on a balcony overlooking Reykjavik. A thousand blooms of fireworks lighting up the sky. Iceland brings in a new year with bonfires and hearty meals and drunken song and dozens and dozens of blasts in the sky. And even that night, that happy night, was book-ended with tears and maudlin moaning and trepidation.

Why?

Because New Year's Eve sucks.

It sucks rocks and there's no convincing me otherwise. You just can't attempt to encompass a year's worth of possibilities and realities and have that live up to itself. I mean, you blend up bad champagne, overly veneered strangers, shiny shoes that hurt your feet, and some guy who's decided he's getting lucky for sure and you will NOT come out the other end with anything good. No, my friends, you will, in fact, come out with the sum total of the umpty-ump remembered New Year's Eves of my life. A veritible sausage of disaster.

I'm talking about starting off the new year with worse than just blurry eyes and ringing regrets and vomit on my shoes.

The best of intentions, each year. The worst of results. The kind of stuff that you can't plop plop fizz fizz back into anything good.

*sigh* Not the best of moods to be contemplating a year in. So, I won't.

Instead, I will stubbornly do as I usually do. With the added festive touch of mighty blue Nyquil. Which is to say - count this as a night when it is best to stay at home, eat snack food for dinner, and watch reruns until bedtime.

But before I begin hauling all the pillows and blankets into the living room, I wanted to stop as I did last year and say this...

Thank you for the dance so far. This blog and each soul who has stopped by for a piece of the journey has been an incredible blessing to me.

And, please - drive safe tonight (if you must insist on revelry and merriment and/or shiny high-heeled shoes), remember to kiss your designated driver all over, and see you in 2005 2006.

Peace on Earth, God's peace to us all. (Or, at the very least, a mutual non-combatant treaty).

Icelandic New Year's Eve Chant:
Let those who want to, arrive.
Let those who want to, leave.
Let those who want to, stay.
Without harm to me or mine.

Best Laid Plans

December 29, 2005 | Category: In My Life

I had intended on hoarding my remaining sick and vacation leave to buy me an extra paycheck at the end of January...

Ah. Well.

By Christmas night, my fever was already topping 101. The last 3 days are a blur of Nyquil and my husband cajoling me into eating things like soup. I just woke up and had no good idea what day it was.

Bah. Humbug.

A Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night

December 24, 2005 | Category: In My Life

As we exited church this evening, the light drizzling rain had begun to fall in earnest.

"Oh," I sighed. "I wonder if Santa can deliver in the rain..."

"Hmmm," CD agreed. "Do you think he can switch the sleigh skids into wheels? How can the reindeer pull without snow?"

"No," Bear corrected us with a long-suffering expression. "Rein-deer. Get it? REIN-deer! The first part of their name is 'REIN' so I think they can handle it. OK?"

Well, he had us there.

Then, to prove that homonyms notwithstanding he really does know his letters, Bear proceeded to spell out the next sign he saw.... "N-E-X-T-E-L" So it is with a glow in our hearts that we will always remember this as the year Bear learned to read cell-phone advertising.

*smirk*

Although I have had to temporarily hide away all my corporate posts, I have added the Holiday email I sent out to my teams in the extended portion of this email. And I mean it all very sincerely - may your and yours be blessed this sacred season.

And to all, a good night.

Continue reading "A Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night"

Confidential to the cute guy in the steel blue Honda on Oak Park Ave. this morning

December 22, 2005 | Category: In My Life

Dude, it was "Bohemian Rhapsody", by Queen - the whomping deep bass bridge that starts about 4 minutes in. Yes, I had it on repeat. Yes, I know my head thumping is much more Butabi wannabe from Night at the Roxbury than Wayne from Wayne's World.

No, I have no shame.

Glad I could give you a laugh so early in the morning.

Carry on.

Zazzle & Citgo

December 21, 2005 | Category: Public Service Announcement

OK. So we got a card in the mail from a family member on it the other day, and guess who was on the stamp? My beloved uncle, who passed away last May.

Now, Uncle Mike was WAY loved - but I had no idea he'd reached Elvis-like status. Turns out, that Zazzle, an online photo-stuff company, will allow you to make your own postage stamps - and they're legal!! (You probably know that I am recovering from a Shutterfly addiction - so this news ain't good for me!)

Also? Citgo Gas (which is run by the Venezualan Government) has made a deal to assist the people of New England with low-cost oil this winter and a lot of people are recommending that Americans support that decision with their wallets - by switching to Citgo. I know I will when possible.

A caveat - Venezuala President Chavez is doing this act of kindness partially to push a modern socialist agenda, as a counterpoint to President Bush and the American Government pushing a capitalist agenda around the world. If you're a staunch Republican, you may want to wear a disguise while pumping your gas. :) Me? I'm all about the warm being brought to folks who can't afford it.

Everything's gonna (not) be all right (Chrysalis)

| Category: In My Life

I'm driving down the road after morning drop-off at Happy Montessori. I just started helping out one morning a week with carpool.

I share my new Wedensday duties with 2 moms. One is tall and glamourous and sweet. The other is from Europe, and talks about the relief work she used to do in places like Chad. I was the roundy nodding lady in between.

And then, I was driving home. To work. I was going to get the car washed, but I forgot to make the turn to the bank, and besides - I think I've spent my budget for the week anyway. I was going to stop at Walgreens and pick up the enlargements I had made for Christmas gifts, but I forgot my receipts with the claim numbers on them back home.

My new morning partners were talking about the gifts they had gotten for their kids' teachers. $60 Border gift certificates. I forgot to give Bear's teachers their gift - $20, to be shared between them. I feel terrible inside. I think I should have at least made it into a gift certificate or something. Cash seems so crude now.

Bear was very eager this morning to make sure that today was an "Elia Day" - that we would be picking her up on our way home in the afternoon. He likes being with Elia - she indulges him, and cuddles him, and tells him he's wonderful. He often grabs a cape when she's around, announcing that he's "Super Bear!" because that's how she make him feel - he jumps on the bed pretending to fly, he runs with his arms outspread - shouting to imaginary people below that they needn't worry, he's got the bad guys on the run.

I was driving home, and listening to music, the sun bright in my eyes as I turned.

I feel jumbled up inside. I think about how much Mega takes care of - our house and work phones are directly paid by them. So is our DSL and my cell phone. We'll lose the stock options, the 401K plan, the dental coverage. The good laptop is theirs.

And CD, his current salary won't take care of us.

I think about not being a Senior Manager at Mega any more. About how I am a small cog, but at least I have a place. About how my place will be gone.

Bear is 5 now, and likes me in the doses he gets me as a working mom. I tell him I am going to be home with him, and I get the quizzical look from him that says "Uh, and how is that different from now?"

I don't kow how this is going to work. I never did relief work in Africa. I have never made a craft with popsicle sticks. My cooking is good, sometimes, but my meal planning is poor. I struggle and most weeks fail to keep exactly to my budget. I say things like "Deliverable" and "Total Cost of Ownership" and "Risk Contingency" as though that is how normal people talk.

My marriage is shaky. The trust is slowly being rebuilt, but we fall backward all the time.

What the hell am I doing?

WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING?

We are going to lose the house. What am I going to do with my days? How will I survive without Elia? What if my marriage falls apart? I can't even remember the receipts for the ^&#%^$* enlargements!!!!!

This is a disaster.

I don't know what to do.

I'm scared.

I miss nylons

December 20, 2005 | Category: In My Life

Once upon a time, a woman was naked without nylons.

These were dark terrible bad times. Because nylons are evil. Unless you play outdoor icehockey, in which case - rock on with your own bad self. But under everyday skirts, nylons - which do not have the "give" of lycra, cause the buildup of static to the extent that entire outfits are known to sponateously combust and are prone to bunching up and causing a tourniquet sensation whereby your toes go numb but you can't do a thing about it because adjusting one's self in public is a naughty thing to do...

Wait. What the heck was I talking about?

Oh, right. Nylons.

Yech.

Except, there was this brand called L'Eggs. And they nyons came in these FABULOUS plastic eggs. Sturdy, locked tight, and were the best thing to happen to the preschool crafts scene since popsicle sticks.

And Bear is about to have two weeks off from school to celebrate Christmakuhwanzaa and he's getting a little nervous. He doesn't remember what it is like to be with Mommy during the day.

I picked him up this afternoon from school, and from the moment the minivan door started to slide open, he was asking me about our plans for his school break. He wants a list. An outline, with bullets. A schedule, that includes outside activities and inside activities and snacks.

And he has been very clear about the kind of outside play ("Tag. Sledding. Maybe build a snowman, but we need new snow. The old snow is dirty.") and snacks ("We can make banana bread if Auntie Dee gives you the recipe because she makes it best, and fruit skewers, and shredded carrot from the salad bar at Whole Foods") but his biggest concern is inside time.

Oh, my budding control freak. They are so cute at this age, before they get their first Blackberry.

So far, the only ideas I have had that interest him consist of playing umpty-ump games of War and Go Fish and maybe starting an indoor herb garden. Which means we got about 200 hours left, people.

So this afternoon, I was telling him, we can do crafts! We can use the eggs that nylons come in and we make, uh... crafts! I'll get a book, about crafts! We'll do a project.

"Sound good, Bear?"

"Yeah, Mommy!!!" Came the shout from the back of the van. "Let's make exploding crafts with eggs!"

"Uh, ok... I can get a science experiment book. We can make like an egg volcano or something."

"Great!!!"

*pause*

"Mommy? What's nylons?"

(Countdown to staying home, let's start getting nervous now...)

Goodbye, Mr. Spencer

December 19, 2005 | Category: Not The Nightly News

I've been trying to get over my saddened surprise that John Spencer has died. But the truth is that I loved that man. Well, his acting , anyway.

His work in LA LAW and the WEST WING has brought me incredible, giddy pleasure over the years. I quote his character, Leo McGarry. And often. But no one could ever duplicate his delivery.

Leo "Seventeen across. Yes. Seventeen across is wrong. You’re spelling his name wrong. What’s my name? My name doesn’t matter. I’m just an ordinary citizen who relies on the Times crossword for stimulation. And I’m telling you, I’ve met with the man twice, and I’ve recommended a preemptive Exocet Missile attack against his airforce. So, I think I know how to-"
CJ "Leo!"
Leo [putting the phone down] "They hang up on me. Every time."
CJ "That’s almost hard to believe."

He had me at 17 across.

My condolences to his longtime partner, friends, family, and fellow fans. As someone on a board said over the weekend - Goodbye, Mr. Spencer. Thank you for Leo McGarry.

Whaddya Think?

| Category: Best Of

OK, so there are a few kinks to be worked out (namely, all pages except the main index) and some people (we're not naming names) HATE the new banner. ("It's ridiculous!") (ME, I like it. I like the little family of snow people. But I could change...)

I want to hear your opinions... every comment and thought means a great deal to me. So please, voice off.

Some have asked why the change... so here it is:
1) I need to try some advertising, and the recommended layout for making it as subtle as possible was a 3-column with a white background (so 1 column could be dedicatedto ads or whatnot)
2) I plan on sharing my attempts at writing a book, and wanted more column space to link to that venture, as well
3) I wanted a fresh start to go with my...uh fresh start

OK, NOW voice off. Please :)

(And if I haven't attacked your site with some long overdue de-lurking and commenting, I should be there soon) (Except Philip *grin*)

De-lurking Friday

December 16, 2005 | Category: Best Of

OK, time for me to keep my promise. Off I go to de-lurk on all your sites. Watch out.... here I come.

:)
Elizabeth

Please, join me. Let's all de-lurk today. It's like skinny-dipping! (Only, with comments) C'mon.... everybody is doing it.....

Finding a Hero

| Category: Family, It's a Trip

This is turning into a very special holiday....

I think back to the early days of 'blogging'. Back when my site was one of those wedding websites that I would update each day with details and commentary that no one in the world could have cared about. I remember wanting to win a Way Cool Wedding award so bad.... and squealing when I did.

I was happy. Not the silly kind of happy that I'd been in my 20's, but there was a lightness in me. For a couple fo years there, I can remember thinking that there was something brightly surreal in my world... to be having all my dreams come true. Not perfect, no. Not without struggle. Not without tears.

But to meet someone that inspired my respect, and my love. To walk with him into a lifeof "us". To be hired as a full-time employee of a corporation, for the first time in my life. To have benefits and a 401K and life insurance and stuff. Paid vacation. Oh, paid vacation is so nice....

To see the two pink lines on the pregnancy test... to hang on to that baby so hard. To will him to survive inside me. To touch his face with my face, to look up through my tears at my husband. To know we were a family, now. In a way we'd never been before.

And then the bottom dropped out.

I have shared this struggle out loud, because keeping it to myself almost destroyed me. Carrying the weight of the world because an illness has rendered your partner dependant .... it's a walk I don't think I was strong enough to make. I have seen so many, many websites full of so much more grace, and patience than I have shown.

No. I haven't shown much dignity. I am ashamed to say it... but I got angry.

And everyone in a 100-mile radius got to feel the blowback.

I got angry, stayed angry, got counseling, and was still angry. Look, I'm the first one to praise better living through chemistry, okay? Drugs are beautiful. I'll put it on a t-shirt and wear it proudly. Are you listening, Tom Cruise? DRUGS ARE BEAUTIFUL.

They just didn't work for me.

It's like the old story about the lion with the thorn in his paw. He growls and snarls and treats everyone around him like crap.

And let's recall, shall we?

Did we heal the Lion with a double dose of Wellbutrin and some discussion about his feelings?

No, I think not.

We took the thorn out of his paw.

My thorn has been stuck in my paw for 5 years. It has been the burden of being the one left to do it all.

Luckily, for most of those years I had 3 amazing bosses in a row at Mega. Thank God, and I mean that with every drop of blood in my veins. These guys challenged me, supprted me, drew out my best, and affirmed that I was valuable. I worked from home, tons of flexibility, and still was able to make an important contribution.

Not that a good job made life bearable. Just a little less unbearable.

I can remember, in one my truly gone-nuts moments, screaming at CD that he had to be well already.

Because, you know, screaming has been scientifically proven to heal anything that ails ya.

I remember that and I just want to hide in a corner with my embarressment.

Then (insert ominous music here) last spring. When I entered the world of the Very Bad Boss. And this, this is where the line got drawn in Sharpie. This, this on top of already been physically and emotionally as burnt as my last batch of ginger snaps. This is where I went against a Sicilian when Death was on the line. This, this was where I got racked up like a goose in the roner of the night while I was blinded by the light....

Wait. I am babbling.

*ahem*

What I mean to say is this.... ding.

I got done.

Time to take the crazy life back to Target for an exchange.

Seriously....? I needed a hero.

Someone to hold me and tell me it is going to be all right. Someone to get on the line with me, and help carry the load. What I've needed was to not be sitting on the couch at 3 in the morning, rocking back and forth and wondering what I was going to have to fail at so I could at least get some of the other stuff done.

Because that's what I had been doing for years.

The paradigm was desperate for a shift.

I dreamed of doing science experiments with Bear in the afternoons and making chicken pot pie from scratch. Taking one of Dee's yoga classes. But most of all, of feeling not alone anymore.

I used to beg God, in my prayers. Please. Give me the strength because I don't have it..

In in my waking days, I wished for a hero.

Well. CD came home the other night and told me that he'd found a possible second job. And wrapped his arm around me. And told me we could handle this together. That we could handle anything together. That I should pick a date, and walk off the job. Done. And I looked at him like I haven't looked at him in years. And I saw something in his eyes, and realized it was a guy I haven't seen in a long, long time.

My husband.

I wasn't expecting it. I'm not sure I trust it. Did things get better, while I was busy complaing about them?

Was there a memo? Did I get the memo?

But no. There he is. And I think he means it. And I think it's real. And I think maybe, it's time to hold my arms open and have faith. Thats the only way we'll know for sure....

Forget the knight on the dang horse.

I think, maybe, there's something much better right here.

What a Bear believes

December 15, 2005 | Category: Mother to the First Power

So, CD's from Iceland. Born and raised. And in Iceland, Christmas is celebrated not just with Santa but with the Jólasveinar (YO-la-sway-nar).

To sum up: for about 900 years two evil trolls - Gryla and her second husband Leppalúði, who live in a mountain cave - have been playing mean tricks on the folks of Iceland. About 500 years ago they had kids, lots and lots (some say around 60) little (like elves) and very strange male children. (Don't think Disney dwarves, these guys have a streak of scary in them).

Each year during mid-Advent (either 9 or 13 days before Christmas) Icelandic children the world over start putting their boot in their bedroom window. And each night, one of the strange and gnomish Jólasveinar will leave a small gift for the child (if he or she has been good) and play a trick on the adults of the house (like steal the ham or slam a door).

There is lot about this season that people celebrate. I've tried to focus on the generousity of St. Nicholas of Myra, the miracle of Chanukah, and the blessing of Jesus and his birth story .... and, the rest? Well, we've let Bear be exposed to it all - from Kwanzaa carols to the science behind the solstice.

Bear will go his own way, as always, and he has happily blended Santa and Rudolph and Jesus Christ and the Jólasveinar and Frosty the Snowman together with our practiced traditions like Advent supper and Christmas crackers (the kind that pop) and decorating the tree and lighting the sacred candles and the Christmas pagent into a his own, unique, mythology of the season.

All of which he firmly, and deeply, believes.

And from his faith in it all, CD and I are constantly reminded what the season truly means. Bear reflects to us the miracle of faith. Of believing in things that you can not prove. In things that make no sense. In things outside yourself. In goodness. In love. In elves. In Christmas.

Some grown-ups keep that lesson close to their hearts all the time. But CD and I - what with all the busy running around and ranting and being stressed and all - well, we misplaced our map back to Whoville along with the frigging checkbook some weeks ago....

This morning was the 3rd night of the Jólasveinar. At 4AM, CD heard Bear moving around and went into his room to check what was going on. He found Bear out of bed by the window, excitedly hugging the gift he'd found in the boot.

"A Transformer! Scattorshot!" he crowed. "The Jólasveinar knew I loved Transformers, Daddy! He knew it!"

CD told him that he had to leave it until morning and go back to bed. Reluctantly, Bear gave up the toy to his father and climbed back up into his bed. He slipped back under the covers, and CD kissed him good night.

While CD pulled the door closed, he saw Bear lean towards the window with the empty boot in it. He stood, watching, making sure Bear wasn't about to sneak back out of bed.

And Bear wasn't.

As CD watched, Bear whispered "Thank you" to the window where the Jólasveinar had been. Just in case he was still out there, just in case he could hear.

CD, who'd remembered that he'd forgotten to buy gifts the day before. CD who had grumbled and grunted and run out to the store... found himself misty-eyed outside his son's door....

And when he told me, later, I felt it, too. And we both remembered what we'd forgotten in all our worry about jobs and money and lawyers...

It's Christmas.

And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before!
"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store.
"Maybe Christmas ... perhaps ... means a little bit more!"

And what happened then...?
Well ... in Who-ville they say
That the Grinch's small heart
Grew three sizes that day!
~ Dr. Suess (How the Grinch Stole Christmas)

Tell me that you want the kind of thing that money just can't buy

December 14, 2005 | Category: On The Job

2 point bonus if you can name the song that the title lyric is from - and no fair Googling.

We've been scrambling, in the few free moments we find, to figure out how we can lose my income and survive. We've counted up the months we can get by on our savings. But the long-term dilemma is clear - if we can't find a way to augment CD's salary, then we can not afford Happy Montessori and all their programs for Bear. In fact, we'll probably have to sell the house.

We know we're not the only family facing the holidays unsure of what comes next. I look over at CD and know that at least we have each other, we have Bear, we have the things money can't buy.

Tonight I am thinking about all the people in world for whom it never gets easier. And for those without the luxury of the choices we have.

Our home is full of prayers, sparkling like snow. Drifting upwards, into the sky. And carried on hope.

I Will Survive

December 12, 2005 | Category: On The Job

There are changes coming. Soon. I will be dropping the semi-anonymous shroud.

I am not very good at being semi-anonymous, anyway.

Please be patient with me.

Tonight was difficult. I can not say more about what happened yet.

But I can repeat the great advice my lawyer gave me in prep for the meeting:

He said: "Elizabeth, many of the people on this planet live in societies where they know that anytime they step into court, the verdict has already been decided. They know that truth will not get in the way of it, either. Remember when you go into this meeting, that the decision has already been made. There is nothing you can say that will challenge it or alter its course. You're a fighter, you'll want to get in there and prove yourself. You can't, And it will only hurt you to try. Maintain your composure. Agree to nothing. Make no comments. Acknowledge you have heard them when they force a response. And do no more."

And so it went. My trusty mute button earning its pay. It felt like surrender at first, and, yeah, my outrage still simmers.

CD sat beside me, in the pretty office he built me, and rubbed my back. And afterwards, when I cried, held me close.

I will survive. That's all I know for sure right now.

P.S. - I think I have the comments working again. Fingers crossed. Amazing what I have learned to do in Notepad on my off hours....

Pardon My Dust, Please

| Category: In My Life

And you may ask yourself
How did I get here?
And you may ask yourself
Where is the Corporate Mommy I am used to?
And you may tell yourself
This is not my usual Mommy!
And you may tell yourself
This is not her beautiful site!

Well, on account of the lawyers wanting a retainer somewhat equal to the gross national product of Liechtenstein, I decided that I was going to have to make the most recent round of Corporate Mommy site edits all by myself.

Turns out, I am a moron.

Now that doesn't come as a shock to most folks but it does, in fact, come as a shock to me. I really thought I could create a new .CSS stylesheet for MT using uh... Notepad.

No, I'm not kidding.

GUI Editors? We don't need no stinkin' GUI Editors! (Actually, I didn't know there was such a thing).

So I spent a couple of nights skimming some CSS tutorials, declared myself an expert, launched notepad, and uh... pooched my site beyond all recognition.

But no worries. I have some Halls cough drops and a will of iron. Things should be fixed any moment now...

(and I'd love to hear your opinions but... the comments? Yeah, I broke that too.)

Naked

December 09, 2005 | Category: Mother to the First Power

So. A girlfriend of mine was talking the other week about some kids that she knows and how they see their parents naked on a fairly regular basis (I guess the parents sleep in the nude and the kids are very casual about that and it shocked my friend). She told me about it in that "Can you believe those evil troll parents?!" tone of voice and vented about how it was inappropriate, and how some people just didn't know about setting up boundaries.

I gave her the stink eye. As best I could over the phone. Perhaps not that effective, but the thought was there.

"Bear sees me naked just about every day," I told her.

"He does not," she denied, a bit of the nasty in her voice.

"Okay, think about it. We got one bathroom in our house and it sits between the two bedrooms."

"Oh, like you don't close the door."

"Seriously. Every morning I take a shower, and I leave the door open because CD has already left for work so I need to be able to hear the Bear," I point out. "And sure as God made little green apples, the sound of my shower wakes him up with an urge to pee and in he comes. And you know that he's going to stick his face around the shower curtain to make sure it's me in there. No matter how many times I tell him not to do that."

"You need to make sure he knows that it is wrong to peep on you in the shower."

"Wrong?" If I knew how to verbally lift an eyebrow, just one, I so would have.

"Wrong. After a certain age it is wrong to be naked in front of your children, especially those of the opposite sex."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why is it wrong?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. Explain it to me."

We were quiet for a long moment. "He isn't respecting your boundaries," she said.

"Yes, and that IS a problem. But not the naked. The naked is not the problem. Bear loves to be naked, he thinks his body is a miracle, and we're all for that. Bodies are miracles."

"By 5, though..."

"What? Are we talking sexuality or nudity? Because they are different topics. Someone tries to get sexual with my kid, and I'm taking a cleaver to them. But I think that the nudity level we have in the family is really quite healthy. We happen to be fairly modest people in a house full of windows so it's not like we're prancing about doing interpretive ballet in our birthday suits. Well, not CD and I - Bear would be naked all the time if let him but that's just not feasible."

"So you admit there are standards?"

"What is there to admit? I mean, naked because you're changing or bathing is very appropriate. Sleeping naked when it is 100 degrees out is more than healthy - it's a necessity. Naked because CD and I are being intimate? That's completely unacceptable. Do we flaunt our bodies? No. But I don't lock Bear out of my room in the mornings when I am getting dressed, either."

"And that's teaching him not to respect the privacy of his body or yours. You're desensitizing him to sexuality," she accused.

"Are you kidding me?"

"I'm serious, Elizabeth."

This has just been bugging me ever since. Does nakedness hurt children after a certain age? And if so, why?

Reminder....

It's "de-lurking Friday", so please let me know you were here and I'll do the same for you! Thanks.

He held my hand

December 07, 2005 | Category: In My Life

Every day, I drive the same way home after picking up Bear from Happy Montessori. Happy is about 20 minutes from our house, and along the way there is, like, a LOT of schools. And they all let out around 3PM and there is no path between Happy and home that isn't clogged with kids.

In the past 8 or 9 weeks, I've come to recognize some of them. The girls in the Barbie outfits. The punk kids smoking cigarettes and taking flak from the crossing guards. The loner ones, who I see day after day with their heads into the wind and no one by their side.

And there's this one boy.

My first impressions were of him walking alone. Back straight, no hat, hands in his pockets. He caught my eye the first time because I was stuck at the light so long that he passed me on foot easily through these two intersections by our house.

I realized over time that each day, he walks away from one of the public schools towards one of the parochial ones.

Handsome kid, maybe around 12 or 13 years old, somber face.

Then, one afternoon, I saw him standing on a corner, not walking. While we waited at the light, a girl in a parochial school uniform walked up to him. As she approached, they switched backpacks and then walked away from me.

Over the weeks, Bear and I saw that happen a couple more times. One day I said to myself, "I wonder why they switch backpacks..."

From the back seat, Bear said "He carries the bigger one, mommy."

I realized Bear was right.

So many afternoons, we'd pass him walking down towards that parochial school. And knew when he got there, he'd switch backpacks with his friend. And I decided I liked this boy, although I don't know him.

Last week, a cold day and traffic was snarled and slow. I watched the boy come from behind me and pass by on the sidewalk. I watched him get to the corner. I watched the girl approach and they exchanged backpacks.

And then they stood, looking at each other for a moment. He pulled off one of his gloves and held out his hand. I held my breath.

With a shy smile, she pulled off one of her mittens and took it. And the walked away, holding hands.

I exhaled deeply. Mistily.

...And suddenly it was the 1980's...

Early high school years. A warm house, a birthday party. And I, as ever, was an outsider. Sitting on the floor in a corner of the living room. A plate of uneaten food in my lap. Watching the clock on the wall until my mom came to get me.

One of the popular guys, John, was working the room. Talking, laughing. Somehow, despite my attempts to be invisible, he ended up in front of me.

"Come on," he teased, holding out his hand to help me up. "Join the party."

With a sigh, I reached out and stood up. Looking down at me, he smiled. He took my plate. And instead of letting my hand go, he entwined our fingers.

I stood, paralyzed, until he tugged me along with a quick grin.

For the next hour, we moved from room to room. Me standing quietly by his side, my hand inside his. I could feel everyone looking at us. I could feel their questions. Electricity and confusion running through me.

And when it was time to go, I gently pulled away and headed to the door. He followed. As I opened the door, I felt a hand on my back.

"Leaving?" John asked, making eye contact despite my sudden and abiding fascination with my feet.

I nodded.

He held out his arms, and I don't quite know how I ended up inside them. I just know that we went to a small school and most of the student body was in that house and it felt like every single one of them gasped when his lips found the curve between my lips and the dimple in my cheek.

"Good night," he said into my ear.

I nodded again, and tried to remember how to breathe.

He reached down and squeezed my hand and I somehow made it out the door. And into my mom's car. When we pulled into our driveway, I launched myself into the night. I remember running across the street and screaming at my friend's house. I remember shouting up to her bedroom window. I remember her face, as she stuck her head out and looked down to me as I waved my arm over my head.

"He held my hand! He held my hand!"

"Mommy?"

"Uh, what, honey?"

"Green means go."

I blinked and realized the light had changed. Down the side street, I could barely see the boy and his girl, their hands still clasped between them.

I pressed the gas, and we went home.

Out of the mouth of a Bear

December 06, 2005 | Category: Well, That Was Random

So I'm driving my son home from school. (Yes. On my expired and non-suspended license.) And a few blocks from Happy Montessori is Posh High School, which lets out the same time as Bear's school.

In other words, I drive along and around hordes and huddles of high school kids every afternoon.

Today it's about 20 degrees outside (F). Bitter cold, blustery with knife-like winds, a dim grey sun, snow rolling in. I've got the heater blasting, Bear's chattering about his new reading class with the specialist and how they're doing 'really cool craft projects' and I'm ignoring my cell phone.

When next to me on the sidewalk I see a guy jogging by in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Sweatpants. And a t-shirt.

In weather so cold that your spit freezes before it hits the ground.

Because, you know. When you're a teenager you actually get endowed with superpowers. Like imperviousness to cold and frostbite.

Oh, but he's cute. Floppy Hugh Grant auburn hair, wide shoulders, flirty grin. He runs up to a gaggle of pretty girls who are wearing what look like big versions of Barbie Winter Party outfits - adorable hats, coordinated mittens, sleek coats, thin jeans, high-heeled boots. Lots of pink and white, with long hair flowing down their backs.

Cute boy jogs into them, grinning. Then turns around and JOGS BACKWARDS into the intersection while chatting to them. In his t-shirt.

The girls giggle and toss their hair and tease him and point to his t-shirt and make concerned faces.

From the back seat, from Bear; "Hey! He isn't wearing his coat! And he didn't look both ways before crossing the street! That's not safety!!"

The guy continues to jog backwards, cars and other pedestrians stop to give him way, and finally he turns around and begins sprinting off with a jaunty wave to the girls.

I shake my head. I do NOT remember being this dumb. I do NOT remember being this blatantly dumb, anyway. Am I old or is this just one of those stunts that make you think a guy is a real piece of work and then 10 years later you realize that the same kid has grown up and gone to Fordham and now he's your boss?

I muttered to myself. Bad thoughts.

From the back seat; "What did you say, Mommy?"

Me; "Uh, I said, look - there goes the future President of the United States of America."

From the back seat; "I don't know, Mommy. I don't think you can be President if you don't watch where you're going."

And this is why, everyday, I thank my stars that I get to be Bear's mother.

The Saga, it continues...

| Category: Well, That Was Random

Mr. Jesse White, Secretary of State, should be sent to a special kind of place for a week. One in which he is forced to suffer all the indignities and byzantine mechanations of his own system.

Just saying.

So, I have spent over 3 hours on the phone today. Two of those hours, and I kid you not, were spent on hold. The upshot is that I have to go downtown to the horse-head statue building again and get a certified letter from the traffic court there that they have no record of the accident and subsequent judgement.

I have spoken to 6 different people.

The first told me that I had to go get something called a half-sheet and special bad-driver's insurance, and keep that insurance for 3 years, and also pay $140 in fines.

The second told me to go away, there are no half-sheets for 19 year-old accidents and that I needed to file an affidavit for expungement.

The third said he knew nothing about expungements but it didn't sound right to him. He put me on hold to look up my record. I sat on hold for 28 minutes. 28 minutes, people. Afraid to hang up. But finally I had to.

I called back and sat in the "operators will be with you soon" queue for over an hour. Finally, after hangin up and trying again, I got a live body. The fourth told me that I needed to present myself in person at the Cook County 1st Circuit Court and make arrangements to pay the court fees and fines from 19 years ago (which I already did, once, 12 years ago) and then get a receipt which I would mail to Springfield with $70 in additional reinstatement fees plus the special bad-driver's insurance. For 1 year this time.

I called Cook County Circuit Court 6 times before someone answered the phone. I asked where I should go to pay these fees (that I paid 12 years ago already) so I could get my license back. They told me I was off my rocker and nothing over 7 years old is kept in the records much less scheduled for payment. They told me to call Jesse White's office back and get some clarification.

They gave me a phone number to call for Jesse White. (312) 793-5603.

It's disconnected.

I called the number I've been calling for over a year. I was hoping for someone nice and clear and intelligent. Not so much. The fifth person of the day had clearly had skipped her happy pill this morning. She told me that there was no way I'd had a legal driver's license in the last 19 years and that I'd played the system. I told them that they were wrong, and told them that I had paid the fees, the fines, had the special insurance, and gotten a letter of clearnace andmade myself completely legal. A dozen years ago. They told me I was lying. I hung up on that one.

And called back.

I got LeVonne. She was my sixth, and final, employee of Jesse White that I spoke to today. She re-iterated what Number 1 had told me about that half-sheet from Cook County saying that there was no longer any record of the accident or judgement. I made her repeat that - that I needed proof that there was nothing left. She agreed. I asked didn't her computer talk to their computer since all the computers worked for the same State? She said no, that the county and the state were different entities. I said okay, then.

She told me to get the half-sheet and mail it to Springfield with the additional $70 sincethe first $70 we paid was at a local facility and they had no record of that.

She also said that the record of my paying the fines and getting the special insurance was all in my file if someone had bothered to scroll down. Not that we're naming names, old #5 and #1.

Stay tuned....

Mommy, You did your best...the saga of Me and Jesse White.

December 05, 2005 | Category: Well, That Was Random

So. Last year, on my birthday, my driver's license was due to expire. Just before my birthday, I received a letter in the mail from a man named Jesse White. Jesse White, as you will discover, is the Secretary of State of Illinois and I was honored indeed that he took the time to send me a letter.

Until I read it.

Seems that Jesse White, Secretary of State, had -in light of 9/11- joined up the Illinois Driver's Information with that of the whole entire country. Joined it up, electronicified it, merged it, spindled it, mutilated it, and doshgarn it, just about sauteed it.

And when he was done, wouldn't you know it, but there's was an irregularity in my records and he was inviting me to fix it before I would be allowed to renew my driver's license.

Why thank you, Mr. Jesse White.

So CD and I trudged downtown to the Secretary of State's office in the building near the statue that looks like a horsehead. Picasso, I think. And we waited in about 10 different lines and were finally told that we should come back some other day because they didn't know me, had never heard of me, and I should call first.

So I went home, and started making phone calls and writing letters. For the next three months, I did this. My birthday came, and went. And I was driving on an expired licence that was not suspended but could not be renewed.

The first glimmer of help I had was a nice lady in Springfield. She informed me that this had to do with an accident I had. In 1986. I knew about the accident, it was my only accident. It happened in the snowy winter when I was 20 years old and an uncertain driver and I slid on a patch of ice and tagged a Pinto in my dad's powder-blue 1976 Chevy Impala.

My dad, as it turned out, had let the insurance on the Impala lapse.

And thus did I end up paying $500 in fees, fines, penalties and damages for a ding on a fender of a car older than I was. By the time I did so, I had given up driving altogether and stayed a walker and cabber for many years. But Illinois eventually gave me a letter of clearance and thus when I moved back to Boston and decided it was time I start driving again I was able to get a new license.

12 frigging years ago.

Seemingly, Mr. Jesse White is in need of money and has decided to conveniently forget this and wanted his $500. Again. With interest.

So I slogged and battled and whipped out my checkbook and to no avail. Each time I tried to get my new license, I was rejected.

Then it was last spring, and on a random day I called Springfield again. Tiredly, sadly asking the lady on the phone if there was any way in the world I could fix this thing. Since I was driving around on an expired and non-suspended license. And she said that it had nothing to do with that accident long ago, it was about a ticket I got in 1998 and never paid. (My bad.)

With a gleam in my eye I offered to throw money at the problem. She agreed that would be a fine solution and she would send me the paperwork so I could do so.

The paperwork never came.

So I called back and was told that I had to call the Cook County Courthouse to get the number of the case and THEN make an appointment to go to court and THEN pay the fines.

So I did that.

The people at the Cook County Courthouse told me that they would send me the paperwork and a courtdate.

The paperwork never came.

But I did get another letter from Mr. Jesse White. And while I was still honored that such a busy man as the Secretary of State would go out of his way to find the time to make my life a living hell for 9 months, I was no closer to a solution than I had been before. Just very, very clear that I was under no circumstances allowed to renew my license.

It was a fine summer, me and my expired and non-suspended license drove all the way to Boston and back with a nice side trip through upstate New York's grape country and when we got home, I even began driving Bear to and from school each day.

I admit it, I was begining to get frustrated. And maybe, perhaps, a little bitter. Maybe.

But here came my birthday. Again. The anniversary of Jesse White's first letter to me. And I thought, let's try. Again.

So I called Springfield.

Again.

And the nice lady on the phone looked up my number and hummed alot into my ear and then finally told me that it looked I had left to do was to pay the fine from the ticket from 1998. I did so. It took a week to process.

Then I called back last Friday and the same sweet lady told me I needed to pay a $70 reinstatement fee at any local DMV and once it had processed, I would be cleared to get my drvier's license renewed.

I called CD in whoops of joy and on his lunch hour he scampered over to the local DMV station and paid the $70 fee on my behalf. He brought home the precious receipt and this afternoon we all met up and headed over to get my driver's license. I even blew-dry my hair for the picture.

We filed in, and I presented my pile of documents to clerk #9. My passport, my old license, a utility bill with my current address, the sundry receipts, and a note from my mother saying that I was a really good driver.

She called up my record and shook her head and said "Hon, you gotta go with my supervisor around the corner here."

So I went around the corner to the blue section and he looked at his computer screen and grunted and gave me an angry look.

"You got an accident here, and you weren't insured," he said nastily, from high atop his stool.

"Yes," I agreed. "Yes, 20 years ago. But it is taken care of."

He shook his head. "No it isn't. There are 3 stops on this record. You're suspended."

I showed him my receipts, and explained about the lady in Springfield.

He shook his head again. "What I suggest is you call your lady in Springfield and see what you really need to do to take care of this. Because we can't help you here. You have to fix these things before you come in here wasting people's time."

I nodded and took back my piles of paper, my passport, my old license, and I made my way over to where CD and Bear were sitting in a pile on a beige plastic chair. There faces were wide with big smiles of support.

"Uh, it isn't fixed," I whispered. "The stuff is still in the computer as not fixed."

We walked out into the bitter cold, and jumped back into the mini-van. "I don't understand," CD huffed. "It was fine. I paid the reinstatement fee at the other station and they processed it while I waited. They said you were good to go."

I shrugged. And then collapsed into tears. CD awkwardly held me from the driver's seat while I cried out a year's worth of frustration and exhaustion.

And from the backseat, a little voice. "It's OK, Mommy. You did your best..."

If only that were good enough.

Jesse White, Secretary of State, you can go suck eggs. You and your entire office of dingbats. I am sick of you. I am sick of them. I am sick of this. I want no more fancy letters. I want to make no more non-toll-free phone calls to Springfield. I want my license, I want it now.

People who want to cause this much aggravation in my life had better dang well be related to me by blood or marriage. So unless you are intent on courting my mother, who is a fine woman and worthy of much better than yourself, I strongly suggest you get off your appointed ass and fix my record.

That is all.

Bear Tracks

December 02, 2005 | Category: In My Life

Bear is starting to struggle.

Yesterday during karate meet, the kids were evaluated for moving to the next belt color. Bear has been an orange belt so long that some little kids who hadn't even started karate when he got his orange belt are now a yellow belt, one rank higher than him.

That's because he hasn't been there for the last 3 evaluations. He missed one at the start of summer because it conflicted with an end of the year school event, he missed one in the midst of summer because we were in Cape Cod, and he missed the fall evaluation because he was so sick. They have 5 a year.

His orange belt is frayed, and covered with tape showing his accomplishments. He is eager to go on to yellow belt, and he's been told twice now he was ready to get it.

Then last night he and another boy walked through his moves. The other boy struggled to remember his, but Bear knew them all. However, he didn't know them with the correct hand. He turned 5 a couple of months ago, maybe he should know them, but without a dominant side this is going to happen slowly.

The other boy was given a slip that said he was ready to get his yellow belt. Bear was not. He ran over to me, with a wounded expression on his face. He knew he'd done well, that his forms had been strong. I had no words for him, just a hug.

The evaluators were two women instructors who seem fair and knowledgable, but I don't really know.

I stayed up last night, looking at the wall. This is a bit of an icy patch for my son, and I want to handle it right. I want to help him in any way I can as he struggles. I want to roar into that karate place like a dragon and breathe fire of outrage.

My son is an amazing person. The list of how talented and accomplished he is goes on for a big paragraph - I know because I just had to delete about 30 lines of run-on paragraph about all the great things he does and all the great ways he is.

CD and I have decided to go ahead and let the school do what they want to help him. We're out of our depths, with only our inner voices telling us that there's nothing wrong. That Bear is actually where he should be. But we seem to be in the minority, and this is too important.....

What a swell week

December 01, 2005 | Category: In My Life

Friday! Friday you beautiful thing!!!!! And not a moment too soon!

If this week doesn't end soon, my brain will pop out my ear and go looking for a new host. And I'll be better off without it.

Which of the following do you think happened this week?

1) Had a milkman wake me up at 3:30AM after I fell asleep not 10 feet from the front door and scared myself so bad that I threw up...

2) Realized after tripping on my way out of the school that I had just cussed "Oh Shit" in front of about a half-dozen kids. (Softly, but still...)

3) Attended my son's practice meet sitting in the front row, in front of a mirrored wall, never realizing I was wearing khaki's that had a split seam and my pink underwear was showing for the world to see.

If you picked all 3, then ding ding ding! You're a winner!

(skulking back to bed, and praying for a do-over...)