State of the Union

January 31, 2006 | Category: Well, That Was Random

Usually I watch the State of the Union address each year.

But tonight I can't bring myself to do it. Too tired. Too cynical. Too fed up. Too anxious about life as it is.

She's Pissing Me Off

January 27, 2006 | Category: Mother to the First Power

Bear's school, the highly expensive Happy Montessori School in Poshville, is really pissing me off.

Actually, it's the "Hi I have 4 advanced degrees" in-house learning specialist, Mary, that is doing the pissing. And I am just about ready to start fighting back.

So, she called today to find out if we've enrolled Bear in Occupational Therapy yet. We'd agreed at the meeting at the school last week that we would follow up on her recommendation that Bear get an OT evaluation and she was looking for status.

Mary has been working with Bear for about an hour each week for the past 3 months. She has been providing him with tutoring in reading and writing during school hours.

I told her about Bear's doctor's appointment on Wednesday. How Bear's pediatrician gave him all these milestone tests in the exam room - and passed with flying colors. Bear wrote his name legibly (with his left hand - with his right, he piled the letters vertically), draw shapes, numbers, and point out words by first-letter keying (She told Bear her first name was "Jane" and Bear looked around and correctly pointed out her name on her prescription pad by looking for a word that started with the 'J' sound.)

She was very impressed that on Tuesday, Bear's school buddy had told Bear hisphonenumber and Bear had written it down correctly and then, after school, had solemnly stood in my office and dialled the number so he could invite his buddy over to play. (Hey, that impressed me too)

(Insert joke about buying a 5 year-old his first cell phone here.)

The learning specialist huffed at me that, in her educated opinion, Bear is still having fine motor difficuties and problems getting himself situated in his space to write. She said that he'd had a lot of trouble getting small flashcards in and out of a box in the correct order and direction.

I reminded her that, as we told her last week, we've switched over to an HMO (to control our out-of-pocket healthcare costs). The pediatrician has to make the refferal in order to get the OT evaluation paid for by insurance.

And hey, I dutifully took Bear to the pediatrician's office just for this purpose. And the pediatrician is a good doctor. And I think it is actually a good sign that she wants to do some research before she makes the referral.

She snapped at me that she had to go and hung up on me.

When I picked up Bear today from school, I asked about the flashcards as part of our usual "how was your day" conversation on the ride home. Bear said that the learning specialist had accidentally dropped the cards in the hallway as they'd walked to her office and he'd helped her pick them up. He told me that she liked them to go in the box in a special way, so he'd had to take some out and put them back in again. And that the big kids had been coming in from recess and had been careful not to step on the cards.

And I'm like.... what the fuck?

Bear can actually shuffle cards - rudimentally, sure, but let me tell you - he is pretty good at it. So I am just completely confused now. CD told me that a couple of the other parents he was talking to during some volunteer time they were doing both had their kids in OT on the school's recommendation as well.

So I am Really. Confused.

And a slow burn starting.

And I’d like to change my life, and you know I would

January 26, 2006 | Category: In My Life

I was on the phone this morning with about a dozen different engineers. A server that was supposed to have a 75gig drive only had a 32gig drive and you wouldn't think that was a big deal - but when you only have a guy for one day to load the software and the software needs a 75gig drive, well... it becomes a big deal.

At one point, I hijacked someone else's conference call. My hat in hand, begging for a 75gig drive.

After I made my desperate plea there was a pause. Then I heard a vaguely familiar voice say.... "If it isn't Professor Peabody and her Wayback machine!"

And I had to laugh.

It was a guy I had worked with in 1998, when I was a newbie at Mega and still wearing thrift store (I mean Vintage! Bohemian!) clothes and learning what the heck "Deliverable" and "Return on Investment" meant.

It was a guy who'd screwed me over.

Who had stubbornly refused to meet the deadlines I'd set because back then, I wasn't senior enough for him to notice. And he was new to Mega, too. Hired away from a competitor and eager to show how important he was.

And today we ended up getting on our phones and chatting like it was .... well, a whole new world. After all, we knew each other when.

We saw each other at the begining of our careers with Mega. We had both attended the same long dinners at Morton's, crowded into one of the private dining rooms with 20 others. The rounds and rounds of drinks at the local pub after pulling 20 hour days. The "All Hands" conferences at the local hotel ballroom - a division president barking inspirational words into a corded microphone as he paced the parquet floor.

We both worked our way up, in a corporation famous for rarely promoting. From Lead to Senior Lead. To Partner. To Management. To Senior Management. Hovering in front of the executive washroom, scrambling to take on more responsiblity.

We left behind the core skills that got us in the door for PowerPoint presentations and budget challenges.

And now we're old-tiimers. You know, from way back when.

He refuted me when I told him I was going, disbelief thick in his voice. It took me a few minutes to convince him.

It's a strange thing, inside Mega we are always fighting our own co-workers for the fewer and fewer spots up the food chain. Like a athletes that travel together to competitions.

After the race is run, we all file back onto the same bus. We compliment and commiserate. High-5's as we shimmy down the narrow aisle to an empty seat. Internally plotting to beat each other next time.

"You're coming back," he announced to me smugly. "You're at the top of your game. You won't walk away from that."

And I told him that no one knew the future. If they did, Lotto would go out of business.

And he sighed, and changed the subject. Started reminiscing, and we lost a good half hour that way.

We used to battle and now that is what links us. We were witnesses to a slice of each other's lives, which is a powerful bond.

And I truly believe that when he said he was sorry to see me go... he meant it.

I know I did.

(And we got that 75gig drive from him. But don't ask how. Or from where. Or anything. In fact, we never had this conversation.)

(oh, and p.p.s. - the comments are working again. Wouldn't you like to be my neighbor? Or, at least tell me that the gang's all together again and no hard feelings for me blowing up the website? I'm blatantly begging here...)

Mind the Dust

| Category: Public Service Announcement

Well, the good news is that at least the site is readable.

The bad news is that it looks like something that was shat out of a goose. And, oh yeah, only the main page is working so don't like, click anything.

Anyone know a good blog designer that works fast?

Like I've been saying for YEARS

January 20, 2006 | Category: Well, That Was Random

I'm going to save the world. And get in a nap.

| Category: On The Job

I have been in a fugue state for weeks, and the quality of my writing has suffered, I know. The quality of my life has suffered. I hang on, a day at a time. And look forward to my life without Mega.

What's it like to be a SAHM? I remember, from being home with Bear until he was 6 months old, being utterly exhausted all the time.

Does it stay that way, now that he's walking and talking?

Baby Drunk

| Category: Not The Nightly News

I am normally asleep hours ago, but the ghostly insomnia that haunts me in times of stress is back again. As I wait for the half an Ambien to kick in, my mind drifts and the television mumbles.

There is a show on Discovery about the Duggar family. I believe this former State Representative and his wife now have 16 children. On the internet, you can find their website - and as many articles as you care to read either condemning this conservative family for having so many children - and bad hairstyles. Or praising them for their neoconservative values and surrender to what they consider to be God's will.

It is clearly demonstrated that the Duggars can afford to take care of their children and parent them closely. The controversy, then, is not can these parents afford or manage all their children. It is simply the number of children themselves that seems to insult so many sensibilities.

But they inflamed mine.

While I don't play the "grass is greener" game, I did watch the Duggar family in a sort of thirsty awe. Such healthy, glowing babies.

What would it be like, to be pregnant so effortlessly? To walk out into the sunshine, large with child? What would it be like, to so simply conceive children?

Mrs. Duggar, holding the newest child in the crook of her arm, looked radiant. Say what you will of her girl-mullet, the joy in her face was louder.

And I wanted to reach out my hand to the screen, so baby drunk in that moment. Wishing I could touch, feel the lightness of the baby in my hands. Feel the new skin, listen to the soft rooting sounds, grin into the curious eyes.

Baby drunk. Baby drunk. And then the tiredness finally sets in.

I push the button. The screen fades to black. Now I will stumble to bed, and pray for happier dreams.

Dear Sun

January 19, 2006 | Category: Well, That Was Random

Dear Sun,

Whatever the fine people of Chicago did to piss you off, I think it is high time to forgive them. Not to get snippy on the matter, but I miss you and if I don't see you soon I am going to have a middling sized conniption.

The people of California can suck it up and share you. Frankly, their governor is just a bit to tanned around the brain as it is.

See you soon. Don't worry about calling first. I got some brand new margarita glasses we'll break out once you get here, so just come on over.

Thank you,
Elizabeth

A visit from my former self

January 18, 2006 | Category: In My Life

(Note: I never meant for this to be synchronistic to Helen's post today and wrote this completely unaware that she tackled similar themes - and much better than I. I recommend it!)

This morning we met with the head of Bear's Montessori school as well as the learning specialist who has been working with him.

Normally, when I approach these meetings, I fall apart. Because I am overweight.

People who have met me know this, I can't hide it. I am over 50 pounds overweight, and I have gained over half of those pounds since CD became Depressed. I can't even blame the pregnancy with Bear - although sitting on my fanny for 7 months atrophied every muscle in my body including my brain.

I was 20 pounds overweight when I married CD. I wore a size 14 wedding dress, off the rack. I was also, Oh Happy Day, bloated with stress and my period. (And you wonder why I don't post my wedding pictures. Heh.)

I can be 10 pounds overweight. I will wear a size 8/10/12 and carry those extra pounds in my stomach and my upper arms and a little waddle in my chin. But these can be addressed. After all, God gave us special underwear for the first and tailored shirts for the second and for the last, well, I had a waddle under my chin when I was in high school and weighed 105 pounds and wore a size 6. So that's a nip/tuck or suck it up situation.

I am built like a brick shithouse, as they used to say. I got boobs, too much. I got a pinched-in waist even now. And I got junk, and it's in my trunk, and I made peace with THAT a long time before J. LO thank you very much.

I have short curvy legs and short curvy arms and a dimple in my apple cheek. And the only way for me to look thin - like Bette Midler - is to be about 10 pounds underweight. That's when my hip bones jut out so much that I can't sleep on my stomach and my ribs stand out under a t-shirt.

I remember gaining the freshman 15 and having to buy a size 8 pair of jeans and sitting on the dressing room floor, sobbing so hard that the saleslady asked if there was someone she could call to help me.

I was 120 pounds, and disgusted with myself. In a frenzy of self-loathing I would pinch myself, hunting fat everywhere - at the sides of my breasts and under my arms and between my ribs.I would push on my thighs and cry when I saw how grotesque they looked. My mother would chide me to cut back on dessert and I would stomp away, terrified of my own digestive system and angry with her for saying it our loud.

I decided to do something I had never done before - diet. The summer after my sophmore year of college, I gave myself 500 calories a day and excersized at least an hour or two every morning and afternoon. Then I would bundle up in soft, draping clothes already sizes too big and despise my reflection in the mirror.

The battle became my life. To this day, I look back at pictures of me and realize I was beautiful in my skin and gasp when I remember how scared I was of getting fat.

But I still can't turn off the tape inside my head. The one that says other people are lovely and wonderful no matter their size - but for me, there is a different set of rules.

At 50 pounds overweight, in a pair of size 20 jeans, I hate my body. I look away when I get out of the shower. I hide from meeting new people.

But for my son, I will do anything. So I got up, took a shower, blew dry my hair, and put on clothes. I sat at the table with un-manicured hands and no make-up and dressed well and I got to business.

It was the first time in years that I didn't walk through the door feeling apologetic for how I looked.

Appearance was always so important in my family, in a New England sort of way. To be dressed nicely, but not fashionable. To be well groomed, but not 'done up'. To be naturally attractive and glowing with good health and boast a trim, active body.

I have realized over the years that I don't want to be attractive in a New England sort of way. I like some honey glints in my hair and my eyebrows waxed by someone who isn't me (I am terrorist with a pair of tweezers. What I have done to my left eyebrow - on numerous occasions- is a crime against women everywhere). At my natural weight, when I feel healthy, I wear a size 10. I have a lush body, with cream and pink skin, and my full lips were made for gloss.

And kissing.

But right now I am still 50 pounds away from that. And I have let that weight interfere with how I live.

Until today. Today I forgot about my looks, forgot to be self-conscious, forgot lose my self-esteem at the door, and just had the meeting. It wasn't until I got home and my friend was complimenting the cut of my jeans that I realized what had happened.

Last night, I looked inside and saw all the darkness that I am fighting. All the anger and resentment and stress that has built up in a swarm slamming inside my soul. And then, this morning, a visit from my former self. The one who used to walk talk at 5 foot 2 inches. I used to love being female, with a Marilyn Monroe body. I used to feel confident in my skin, and that meant I could focus on other things.

I am not sure how it happened, because it was a crappy kind of morning before the meeting. And the meeting itself actually wasn't all that productive. But then, I was sitting in my office sorting through my work mail and I realized that I had never had my panic attack this morning - the one I have before meeting someone new about my first impression as "a fat girl".

And then I remembered before. When this is how it used to be.

And I wonder, I mean, just a little bit... if maybe somehow I can become OK with this body even as I finally give myself the time and energy to get healthier. If maybe, in facing the darkness, there is a path to the joy of my former self.

Maybe.

The Darkness Inside

January 17, 2006 | Category: In My Life

There is a darkness in me these days.

I want to write, but my words seems stuck in a single groove of the record.

I am afraid.

I am angry.

I am angry at CD for not finding a job that pays what he knows he needs to make. For not hustling harder. For waiting until the last minute. Mere weeks before we lose my income. Knowing that if he doesn't support us, we'll have to sell the house or else have me go back to work. I have been saving him so long that I suspect, in my darkness, that he's just waiting for me to do it again.

I am angry at my co-workers, the ones on this fucking nightmare of an assignment. Especially the management. For treating people with such an utter lack of respect and dignity. For treating me as if I were a problem because I had the gall to file a complaint. I am pissed that I even care. But sometimes I think that my heart is my strength. I care. I CARE. It's part of what gives me power in my world, my heart beating strong. And I care. So it hurts.

I am angry at my child, for acting out. He's confused about what is happening, and I bet he is scared to. And it makes me furious at myself for snapping at him when he yells at me for eating his half of a donut when I was hungry, the donut I stopped and got for him as a treat and he never said thank you. I know he's a little kid, and that my expectations are way out of line. I make myself crazy not knowing if I should enforce the high expectations I always have or let it slide that he is so whiny these days, full of sudden tears and bouts of callous selfishness.

I am angry that I don't know what to do.

And then into this miasma of frustration and tension, I get angry at CD again. And at myself for giving me away for so long. To save him or enable him, I don't know where the line is anymore.

I don't know how far I will go.

I don't know what I will do to meet the darkness in me and find my light again.

I don't know how many times I will snap back at perfectly nice people who make the mistake of stepping on my last nerve.

I don't know what I will do if I am forced to sell the house. If I have that much forgiveness in me.

Actually I know the answer to that one.

I am fighting to save my marriage, my health, my wellbeing, my ability to parent. Against a darkness that has clung too long.

And I don't know if I will win.

Bitches. Of The Corporate Variety.

| Category: On The Job

Warning: This is a post where I am going to swear, so stop now if it offends you. Or not. Whatever. I'm not here to tell you what to do - I got my own shit to worry about.

Yesterday sucked.

It started with a phone call from one of my co-workers.

I'm going to say right now that I am not a sexist, I don't give a hot shit the gender of the people I work with - or the shape, size, color, sexual orientation, religion, or level of sarcasm.

I even understand that sometimes smart people choose to go to non-Jesuit Universities for their education and while that baffles the crap out of me I don't discriminate against them because they obviously didn't know better.

So when I call this woman a bitch, please understand that it is because she is a bitch. She'll talk to you like she's buttering you up for something but watch out, because the moment you look away - she'll get you. She's nasty.

She's like the scorpion who's ferried by the frog across the lake and kills the frog halfway there - dooming them both. This woman finds trouble because that's what she does. There is no reason for it, no rhyme to it.

And she never lets up.

Someone who is dotted-line reporting to me, but not a member of my beloved Tan Pants Brigade, did something. Something dumb (you know, like realizing your fly is down?), but human, and our customer wasn't effected.

Bitch was the one who saw it happen.

She could have handled it 1 of 2 ways - she could have leaned in and whispered to the guy "Hey, your fly is down".

OR she could have done what she did, which was to call a meeting of everyone that would come to discuss the possible sexual harassment implications of the guy's fly being down and the possible insult it could have meant to our customer.

This is the kind of politics I abhor. And the kind of human beings that exist everywhere and give the rest of us a bad name.

I hardly know the guy who made the mistake. For all I know, he's a dog molester. But he's mine to deal with. My guy. So I had to head into the breach.

Cancel the meeting, I told her.

Why? She asked, all sweet and patronizing.

Because it was a dumb one-time mistake, and no one will learn anything from discussing it except that we're the types who get caught up in the small shit instead of keeping our eye on the big picture, I said.

The customer is counting on me to be honest with them. That is the most important relationship here, she insisted.

The guy's fly was down, you think that is something the customer considers important? They never saw it and it didn't have a flipping thing to do with his job performance, I countered.

I decide what's important for the customer, she snapped, hanging up on me.

A few hours later, I get a call from the guy's solid-line supervisor telling me that he was disappointed to hear that I reported this employee for having a fly at half-mast.

Fuck. No.

I clearly, succinctly laid out the situation. And, of course, he asked me to do what I could to resolve things.

Sighing, I hung up and tried to plan my next move.

No matter what path I had walked the past 5 years - I would have bumped into a few Bitches over the years. If not in corporate America then as a room parent at Bear's school or answering the phones at the community center.

But the corporate variety? Gives me hives.

This is not Schadenfreude - that kind of 'told you so!' thrill we all get sometimes.

This is just power-crazed Nasty with a capital 'N'. Bitches who think nothing of what they do to a person's dignity, or their own souls. Who lie, manipulate, and maneuver just to get the momentary sick thrill of making themselves feel all pompous and big by making someone else small.

I just, I dunno....

But.

No, I still don't know.

I hate dealing with them.

Hate it. Hate it. It just gets to me. Every time.

Then the bitch called me after lunch, wanting to talk to me about something. "Have you canceled the meeting yet?" I asked her.

She spluttered that she had no intention of...

"Right," I interrupted. "Here's the thing..." And I admit, from there I made some veiled threats about the opinion our Exec. VP would have on the situation.

"You wouldn't take this up the line," she responded, sounding pretty sure of the fact.

"Your call," I sighed. "I'm hanging up now."

And I did.

I don't know if I would have actually walked this around; I just had to hope she saw that there would be no winners if I did.

A few hours later, I got the meeting cancellation notice. I was shutting down for the night, exhausted, and it slipped into my inbox. "Due to schedule conflicts, we'll address agenda items in the regular weekly customer reviews."

Doubletalk that meant she was letting it go. I felt a small wave of relief and then moved on.

Or tried to.

An instant message flashed onto my screen. From her. "Have informed guy's direct-report supervisor that he's no longer welcome on this project due to customer dissatisfaction. This account released him at Close of Business today."

It wasn't hers to have done it. It was mine. But she was having the last word. As the customer relations rep, she was flexing every ounce of inferred power. Posing for the adoring masses in her mind.

If his supervisor couldn't find another account for him to work with no notice, he'd probably be laid off. His salary and benefits gone. Even best case scenario, the guy's career, at the very least, would take a small hit.

I could have gone to the mattresses. I might even have won. But there's another 50 guys out there counting on me to fight another day.

Feeling tired and defeated, I simply shut it down for the night.

Bitch.

Martin Luther King Day

January 16, 2006 | Category: Mother to the First Power

So I was explaining to Bear about Martin Luther King while we waited in line at the water park.

Wait, let me back up.

Once upon a time, in our pre-Bear days, CD and I had volunteered for a business trip to Memphis. We drove down from dreary Chicago, into the hot sun.

In between visiting the ducks that waddle to the elevator at the Peabody Hotel and checking out the glorious kitsch that is Graceland, we visited the Lorraine Hotel (now a museum) - where Martin Luther King was killed.

We entered happy tourists; we left thoughtful and sad. I don't think, until we stood on the spot where he was shot, that either of us had ever really let the enormity of the Civil Rights Movement and Dr. King's impact on the world really inhabit either of our consciousnesses. I mean, I know from my perspective I always just took him for granted as an American icon.

But he wasn't an icon, he was a man. Flawed and real and that much more amazing to think of it. Dr. King was only 39 years old when he died. He changed the world in such a short life. 35 when he won the Nobel Peace Prize. The night before he was shot, he'd given the "I've been to the mountain top" speech, that so resonated with mortality, with wisdom, with perseverance, with righteousness. And, as so many have noted, with a prescient text that still reverberts today:

Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.

I told Bear that Dr. King had lived in a time when how you looked determined where you could live, and where you could go, even what jobs you could have. I told him that Dr. King had walked in the front row of a revolution, that he had said that all people are equal, are humans. That he'd said that all people are sisters and brothers and should share the planet in peace, with opportunity for all.

We were waiting in line at the indoor water park when we were finishing up our conversation. Bear looked around.

He asked: Like this water park?

I said: Yes, like they had rules who would be allowed here.

He looked at me, completely and utterly disbelieving.

It's true, I assured him. When Dr. King was born, they had rules and it was all about how you looked on the outside. And the police put Dr. King in jail 30 times for saying that people should stick together, and protect each other's rights, and never be judged for what they are on the outside.

Bear reached up an touched his bright copper hair tentatively. His expression thoughtful, he glanced at all the people standing in line - people of every kind of description.

And as Bear lost himself in thought, I realized that in the pantheon of my parenting decisions - introducing Bear to the concept of racism and the Civil Rights movement while in line at a water park may have not been the brightest parenting decision I had ever made.

But then Bear huffed out a breath and gave me that deeply wise 5-year-old nod and said: Mommy, that's the dumbest thing I ever heard.

And I knew he got it.

Happy 75th Birthday, Dr. King.

Cliff Jumping

January 12, 2006 | Category: In My Life

I work with some of the greatest people in Corporate America. For example, one of the engineers called me today:

Him: You're really leaving?

Me: Yep.

Him: So where are you going? "Competitor Corporation"?

Me: Uh, no. Actually, it's not really...

Him: Oh, you're not. You ARE, aren't you?

Me: Uh...

Him: You're cliff-diving, aren't you? With no parachute!

Me: If you mean that I don't have another full-time job lined up...

Him: Just taking it on faith, huh?

Me: I guess you could say that.

Him: Wow. You know what, Elizabeth?

Me: Uh, what?

Him: That is totally cool. I wish you luck.

Angelina's Uterus

January 11, 2006 | Category: Well, That Was Random

OK, so they confirmed the world's most watched uterus is, indeed, occupied .

There's isn't a single punch line I can come up with here that's even remotely tasteful. Seriously. I got like, a million, or so that come flying into my mind but my mom reads this blog, so... dude. I gotta pass. Even though it's killing me. Aiy-yi-yi.

So I'll just say mazel tov, and leave it at that.

Stiff Upper Something

January 10, 2006 | Category: On The Job

I spoke with my management today. I got out the indelible, permanent ink, big, honking marker and I said - time to fix an end date.

We used to be so friendly, you know. We used to chat. But the last 6 months has marked me, subtly. I am no longer the Golden One.

She exhaled, and agreed. She asked if I was going to stick it out.

The end date originally chosen was the big milestone for my project - the 3rd week of January. But then a bunch of people saw the new casino we were building and wanted in on the deal. (Yes, euphemism. It's actually an Ice Cream shop. Ah! I'm lying again! Stop me!!!)

The Army of the Tan Pants is counting on me, so I knew before she asked what I was going to do.

I'm staying until the new customers are integrated, and the initial inspection date, I told her. But no longer. You'll have to find a new deputy to shadow me and handle the inevitible delays and corrections.

But you'll stay until the initial inspection date? She asked.

And I said, yes. I will.

And we got the paperwork from Human Resources and filled in the date - February 10.

And despite the fact that I just floored the car heading towards financial ruin...
I can breathe.

And it feels fine.

2 Steps Forward, 1 Step Back

January 09, 2006 | Category: Family, It's a Trip

Saturday was just about perfect.

After he got home from Karate, my waiter, Monsieur Bear, arrived at my bedside with his Spiderman clipboard and his Crayola Marker to take my breakfast order.

I sleepily requested eggs, scrambled. What I got was half a fruit rollup, and a fascinating array of snack foods including popcorn (CD was drafted to help there). And a glass of ice water in a flower vase.

Delicious, really.

But even that elegant sufficiency and the comfort of our sea of bedclothes and pillows weren't enough to keeps us inside for long. And off we ventured into the wild blue yonder of... downtown Oak Park.

We hit the diner for a second breakfast. While Bear flirted easily with the waitress (batting his baby blues and tossing them his famous crooked grin), CD and I dug into a meal that reminded us why we don't eat at diners much - oy, the grease.

Then we happily walked into the blustery wind of the umpteenth (rough approximation) of steely, windy weather. We ducked into the paint-a-plate place, something we'd never done before (although Happy Montessori has happily engaged Bear in ceramics before). Whiled away a warm hour engrossed in colors and textures as we fumbled our paintbrushes onto naked forms. Amateurish with bright colors and sloppy technique, we cheerfully forked over a king's ransom to have them all fired over the next week.

Bear, meanwhile, was done with his projects fairly quickly and had time left over as CD and I finished ours to make conversation with the staff, chat with some classmates who happened by, and carefully replace our paints to their rightful spots.

Afterwards, we strolled along, window shopping, until finally ducking into an ice cream shop with windblown hair and big eyes. In front of us, they blended the ice cream with candy bars or chocolate chips. The result was such a rich yummy dessert that neither Bear nor I could manage even half our small cups.

(CD manfully was able to demolish his.)

It was dust when we got home, but not too late for a long winter's nap.

I was struck by how nice the day had been. How we'd enjoyed each other's company had so much fun - laughing and creating and walking in the breezes.

Then today...

Wait.

No. I have decided to stop here. For the next 24 hours, there will only be good news. Agreed? Can we all get together on that one?

OK, then.

Thank you.

Waiting to Exhale

January 04, 2006 | Category: On The Job

I have never felt like this before in my life.

Years ago, I got on a plane for England. I had no plan. No idea what was coming next. Just a lifelong dream to walk along the streets of somewhere else, sunk deep in history and, maybe, the future too.

But even then, I felt grounded in myself. I knew God was close. In each new day, in the kiss of a stranger or in the breeze over the ruins of a castle. There was a sense that I was chasing my destiny and from that, everything was going to be all right.

Ambiguity and uncertainty are unsettling bedmates, but my internal compass kept me going.

Everything was going to be all right.

I don't know that anymore. I don't know that Bear's challenges are going to be met and conquered. I don't know that I will fall back in love with my husband. I don't know if he can support us, when all the evidence tells me different. I don't know that I should quit. I know my son needs me. But I don't know how. Damn it, I don't know everything. I don't know anything.

I don't know.

All my life, I have built up my confidence. Brick by brick. By faith. By love. By strength when I didn't know I had any. Until I was accused of suffering of an overabundance of it.

But now, now I am deflated and sad and scared.

I don't know.

I was talking with my manager today, and I just said bluntly look - the deadline on this next milestone is being moved back and while it seems reasonable - hey, I just want out of here.

Yeah, he said. Yeah, he understood.

These past 6 months have shattered more than my career. This series of bad bosses and bad assignments have shattered me. Until I want to claw at my own insides, trying to shake myself awake because this feels like a long, dim sleep.

I got on a plane with no money once, no idea, but sure I was headed towards my life.

I walk into the doors of my home now, and I can't find my life anywhere.

I think I've made a decision, but I don't know if it is the right one. I want to be Bear's mother, to help him and parent him and love him - instead, I feel his small arm around me. His eyes grow quiet.

Hey Bear, I say - don't you worry about all this. I'm the mommy, it's my job to make this all right.

You're the mommy, he says. And we're a family.

And I hold him, and cry, and try not to. Because he's so little and this is nothing he should feel responsible for. He deserves better, but I don't know how to give it to him. I've been doing it all, which means I've been doing it all badly - because even though he thinks I am - I'm not a superhero.

And I want to stroke his hair and promise, that everything is going to be all right.

Down in the Mines

January 03, 2006 | Category: Not The Nightly News

All my thoughts today are with the families and friends of the miners trapped below.

Hang on tight, it's going to be bumpy ride...

January 01, 2006 | Category: In My Life

So our bookkeeper sent us a lovely email message wishing us a new year and reminding us, gently, that people who are about to slash their incomes in less than half probably shouldn't be running a grand over their weekly budget.

*long, terrified gasp*

Although I HAD scheduled my freak-out for next week, I think I am going to have to start now.

*running in circles and waving my hands in the air*

Which, I must point out, is VERY inconvenient because I had really intended this week to kick off my 12-step Nyquil Anonymous meetings.