Buh-Bye

January 29, 2009

I've been watching all day, waiting for the announcement.

Is that macabre?

I used to support Blagojevich. I mean, he had to be better than what we had before - right?

Not so much.

I've been angry for a long time. Not because of the corruption - but because, once elected, our new governor did something no governor had done before: he didn't move into the Governor's Mansion.

In fact, he and his family didn't even move to the capital, Springfield. They stayed 200 miles away, in Chicago. Using the government's private plane to commute - often for only a couple of days a week. At a cost of tens of thousands of dollars.

There is absolutely no excuse for a governor, or anyone really, to lobby for a public office that they have no intention of doing. And I don't care what that talking head of a guy says: The JOB IS IN SPRINGFIELD.

More on Inaugurations...

January 20, 2009

Am I the only one who keeps expecting that deep voice announcing everyone at everything to break out and say "Live! From New York! It's..." ??

Mamacita has a long, cool, post full of fun Inauguration Trivia at   Scheiss Weekly

Oh, and prayers for Ted Kennedy, who seems to have suffered a seizure during the Inaugural Luncheon.

I've got a new crush

"Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get in back, when brown can stick around, when yellow will be mellow, when red can get ahead; and when white will embrace what is right. That all those who do justice and love mercy say Amen. Say Amen!"

- The Rev. Joseph Lowery

No, I'm pretty sure he's Black.

The strangest thing happened last night. I got an email for curriculum materials for Bear, that included this picture:

You tell me, doesn't it look like they made Mr. Obama a little...well...what's the appropriate word here? It doesn't look like him, right? Right? Am I imagining this??

It just seems beyond bizarre.

Happy Inauguration Day

Bear leaped into bed with me this morning and said "Happy Inauguration Day!!" As though it was a special holiday. And, I guess, it is.

I was talking to a friend this morning and neither of us could remember being this excited about an incoming president in our lives. Like her, I tell myself I'm being a sentimental fool - and then decide, there's nothing wrong with that. Especially not today.

"Much has been given us, and much will rightfully be expected from us. We have duties to others and duties to ourselves; and we can shirk neither."

- Theodore Roosevelt, Saturday, March 4, 1905, second Inaugural Address.

The Mall has been full since 9AM, with children holding their little plastic periscopes for a glimpse of the new president. Bear and I have the recorder whirring and we're watching every moment.

It feels like the world is changing, right beneath our feet.

It feels good.

"We face the arduous days that lie before us in the warm courage of the national unity; with the clear consciousness of seeking old and precious moral values; with the clean satisfaction that comes from the stern performance of duty by old and young alike. We aim at the assurance of a rounded and permanent national life.

We do not distrust the future of essential democracy. The people of the United States have not failed. In their need they have registered a mandate that they want direct, vigorous action. They have asked for discipline and direction under leadership. They have made me the present instrument of their wishes. In the spirit of the gift I take it.

- Franklin D. Roosevelt, March 4, 1933, first Inaugural Address.

"The American people stand firm in the faith which has inspired this Nation from the beginning. We believe that all men have a right to equal justice under law and equal opportunity to share in the common good. We believe that all men have a right to freedom of thought and expression. We believe that all men are created equal because they are created in the image of God.

From this faith we will not be moved."

- Harry Truman, January 20, 1949, Inaugural Address.

Hold me, Frank...

January 15, 2009

"Did you here about the plane?"

"Yeah! Everyone survived. It's amazing."

Little voice from the back of the van: What plane?

"The captain made a once-in-a-lifetime landing."

"I know - amazing, right?"

"And made sure everyone got off before he did..."

"There's a true gentleman for you..."

Voice from the back of the van: What captain?

"He was flying a plane that crashed."

"And he made a landing in the Hudson river, and everyone got saved."

"Then the ferry towed the plane and docked it."

"Are you kidding me?"

"True story."

Demanding voice from the back of the van: Why did it crash?

"I didn't hear."

"A bird hit it, I think. Uh, they said two birds."

"Seriously? Because here I am thinking, don't they make planes bird-proof? Hello! Hasn't anyone noticed? Birds live where planes go! How hard could this be? A screen in front of the engine... Maybe some barbed wire or something? This seems like a basic safety strategy."

"When I think of all the planes we've been on, never knowing that a seagull span us up and *poof* - it's all kinda flimsy, right?"

Demanding voice from the back of the van: A BIRD? What kind of bird? Are you telling me that you want me to go on a plane, BY MYSELF, to see Nana and a BIRD could make it crash from the sky?!? Just any old bird?!

"OK, not any old bird."

"It would probably have to be a big bird."

Outraged and loud voice from the back of the van: THEY KILLED BIG BIRD?!

"No, NO honey. A big bird - in size. Like a fat ol' duck."

"Or goose. Man, those things are evil."

"In this case, two of them, simultaneously."

"Two geese. Or two ducks. At the same time."

"Probably migrating."

"Or suicide pact. One of each, you know. And no one understands them"

"So they went out large, you know? Made a statement."

Hysterical voice from the back of the van: STOP TALKING ABOUT CRASHED PLANES, PLEASE!

"Sorry, honey. Of course we will."

"Sure."

(In a soft voice) "Interspecies dating, you know? It's still the hidden taboo of the avian world. And avion, for the matter."

"I know. Can you imagine? To down a jetliner into the Hudson, in winter, for love?"

"Kinda romantic."

"In a Romeo + Juliet kinda way. Only, you know, with beaks."

"And webbed feet."

Some random shouting kid in my car: I MEAN IT!

*pause*

"It's just no good. They'll never let us be together...."

"Hold me, Frank..."

The Passing of Those We Do Not Know

September 16, 2007

James Oliver Rigney, Jr, better known as Robert Jordan, died today.

I never met him.

He was a highly decorated war veteran, good ol' boy and graduate of the Citadel. He was a sailor, a nuclear engineer, a husband, and best known as a writer.

My husband got me into his books back in the day when we had time to read them. And this gentleman's books? Needed TIME.

They are, of course, known as the Wheel of Time series.

They are rollicking sagas - fiction and fantasy. Over the years, they have inspired me and made me laugh and think and exhale loudly as I turned the last page.

A man I'd never met. But I'm sad to find he's gone from the world. And my husband, a little more.

All I have is a sword, and a war I cannot win, but I can never stop fighting. - Lan, The Wheel Of Time

You provide the caption...

July 12, 2007

One Nation, Homeschooled, Under God

I grew up in a little New England town going to the church with the steeple, inside all the people, and afterwards coffee and danish.

I studied theology at college, served as a chaplain, and am pretty grounded in my faith.

And I usually think of my world as accepting, pluralist, tolerant.

Until I am reminded... it isn't.

Last year it became obvious that my son's public school wasn't going to work out, and I decided that Kindergarten was something we could do ourselves. I went online and began hunting for tools & curriculum.

What I discovered? Scared me.

Pages and pages of vitriol aimed at Public Schools and Public School teachers. I was sent back on my heels, gobsmacked.

I discovered that homeschooling is supported by a loud subset of people in the Christian far-right with a deeply felt and deeply intolerant agenda. (I'm going to emphasize the word 'subset' here because, having working in the religious world for a long time, I know all faiths to have abundance of good, generous, grounded members. So turn off the flamethrower, already.)

In talking with family and friends, I also discovered that many of them already knew this.

See above, I clearly I live with a bag over my head.

My next-door neighbors homeschooled their kids up to High School. For me, they represented the heart of homeschooling - a valid alternative (for whatever reasons) to the public school system. If not for them, I wouldn't have even thought of trying it myself because you have never met more grounded, cool, balanced kids in your life.

Conservative? Yes. Zealots? Emphatically, No.

Maybe that's why I assumed most people approached it in the same manner.

Well, you know what they say about 'assuming'.

Of course, that's the problem. When we tell people that we homeschool, this big assumption now lays on us - that we are somehow using our choice as a springboard to proselytize a far-right agenda.

Our soft (not crunchy) granola bar, fresh-fruit and tie-dyed life is one of seeking tolerance and balance and faith. My son was born Socratic questioning and throwing Karate kicks. We try so very hard to bound his endlessness with as few absolutes as possible.

So watching others toss them about like leaves off a tree with utter conviction sends us screaming in the other direction.

Non-homeschoolers are easiest. People often get to know us a few minutes at least before our homeschool status comes into conversation. So, really, the questions - although sopping with assumptions - are usually open-minded towards our answers.

From inside the Homsechooling world, it's been too often a different matter. I found this out at the first event we ever went to - a open-house thing. I was actually asked "Are you homeschooling as a way to indoctrinate your child into the bunker of Christ?"

I said 'Of course not!' and gave that silly little laugh. Except, from the expression on her face, I could see I'd given the wrong answer.

Oh. Uh. Heh heh. Um, is that artichoke dip? Gotta dash!

My son is proud to be homeschooled, I want him to stay that way. I want him to enjoy being around other homeschooled kids. But when it's clear that the driving force of an event is, well...

I never thought I would ever parse my religion so often to so many strangers. But since we embarked on homeschooling, it has become a constant barrage of assumption battles.

To steal a bit from Marc Cohn's song; "And they asked me if I would | Do a little number | And I sang with all my might | And she said | Tell me are you a Christian child?..."

And we say, Ma'am, I am, but maybe not the way you think..

Who Doesn't Want to Be Quoted in the Chicago Tribune? Raise your hands...

June 25, 2007

At the risk of sounding like an ungratfeul wretch...

Which I suppose I am.

Who wouldn't be thrilled, being reviewed by the Chicago Tribune?

Is there something in this green tea making me surly and wiseass?

And if so.... should I drink more?

So. Steve Johnson writes a blog, Hypertext, for the Chicago Tribune.

In addition to sharing the name of a semi-famous Soap Opera character, he's a graduate of Brown and grew up in New Hampshire ['Live Free (or Cheap)']

He was a TV critic until 2005, and his writing still shows that flavor - reaching for a Gilmoresque snark and sometimes landing at game-show precious.

This morning, Steve did a review of a blog community I've recently joined - the Chicago Moms Blog. And, of course, he used my post as his example.

Shocked? Yes. Even with the pink hair*, I'm still a little shocked whenever it's my name being called over the intercom.

So the good news? I am now a mentioned blogger over at the Chicago Tribune.

The bad news? Well first of all, he intimates that Chicago Moms will someday be a commercial enterprise as though that possible eventuality were a BAD thing.

Ah, oh... wouldn't it be lovely if pigs fly, doves cry, and mom-blogs paid a living wage? Because there is some beautiful writing out there, tons of it, freely offered to the universe and created with time carved out of lives balanced on a pin.

It made me want to slap the back of Steve's head and say 'What? Afraid OTHER writers will come along and steal your salary and benefits?'

But, no.

He jumps then straight into being taken aback by my post and the blog in general. Why?

Uh...

"There's certainly a detailed examination of the experience of motherhood..." he wrote.

Um, yeah.

Which is kind of the point.

I mean, it's the Chicago MOMS Blog. Shouldn't the review have started on the assumption that it was gonna go pretty deep into the subject matter of its own title?

Here's what I think.

Blogs are an interesting combination of information and creative expression. Some have the entertainment value of a free real estate magazine at the grocery store where others are proven to be as honest (if not more) and valid as a sculpture in the MOMA or my 10 O'Clock news.

And with so many out there, and thousands more be started every day, blogs have become a ubiquitous expression of self and brand.

There SHOULD be reviews of them. To help sort the offerings for those of us already overwhelmed by our surfing choices. Negative reviews, positive reviews, reviews with lots of evil laughter and helpful categorizations and analogies and stuff like that.

And these reviews? Should be interesting, informative, opinionated, researched, and constructive.

So, while it was really kind of spike in the day to say - 'Wow, me? The Trib?' Once I read the piece, well....

Or maybe I should shut up and be grateful now, huh? Because all eyeballs on the Chicago Moms' site are GOOD eyeballs - even the furry doubtful ewwwww... kinda ones.

I mean, seriously? My post! Our site! Is in the Trib!

!Confetti!

(* Yes, I'm addicted to it now. Plus streaks of midnight blue. Pictures below the jump.)

First Chicago Moms Post is Up

June 20, 2007

A different take on being.... me?

Love of the Puppy, and Gilmore Girls

May 03, 2007

There is not much going on here because of all the ruckus. Puppy Sara has turned our world upside-down... I mean that in the best of ways.

And just 2 episodes left and they announce that Gilmore Girls is cancelled?

Dammit.

Oh, and Everyday Stranger's Helen is expecting! (And you'll never guess what....)

Thank You, Herbie Bug

April 27, 2007

HerbieBug nominated this blog for....

Aw. Thanks.

I've been on the jury of some web awards the past few years, but lost all track of them since.

When I saw that HerbieBug had done this, I was flattered as all hell. Did my little Snoopy dance, I admit it.

But. The thing is... I feel like I've a really bad blogging year. Few posts worthy of notice. Cetrainly few of the 'speaking French at the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru' or 'On a Bus' kind.

Maybe it's the rain, but I just don't feel like I deserve recognition these days.

Damn, that sounds ungrateful. Sorry.

On the other hand, Busy Mom and the amazing Beth have been rightfully nominated too. And they? Rock!

PLEASE let me know if you've been nominated or want to cheer for someone who has - I'm mucking about with the layout again (time for a summery look) and will be happy to put links in the sidebar and vote myself.

Quick! Send Boston Condoms!

March 08, 2007

According to reports on popular Brazilian celebrity website Glamurama.com.br, Gisele Bundchen could be as much as 2 month's pregnant with boyfriend Tom Brady's baby. The catwalk beauty has been dating the Patriot's football star since before Christmas. Tom's actress ex-girlfriend Bridget Moynahan recently revealed she is also pregnant with his baby.

I have Tom Brady's autograph.

Although he was born and raised in California and majored in "organizational studies" in Michigan, this guy is New England Royalty.

One day, my brother saw him - OUT IN PUBLIC and everything - and, naturally, stalked him up and down some aisles before finding the chance to ask Tom for it (for my son, who isn't sure if Football is the game with the oval ball or the orange one. But still, an excellent gift with warm-hearted intentions).

But my point here, and I do have one, is that scene of that adventure was - yes indeed! - a drugstore. Proof - in my very own house - that Tom Brady knows how to find one. More importantly, he knows how to ENTER one and make an actual purchase (even with the 4-point difficulty factor of being stalked by my oh-so-not stealthy brother in his Grumpy the Dwarf hat).

Thinking about how that man walked past the infamous glass case has forced me to the sad conclusion that Tom Brady must not grasp the concept of condoms.

Considering his abilities with the ball on the field, I just can't imagine he'd have, um, you know, manipulative dificulties *cough*.

So it just has to be the concept itself. Maybe no one has explained to him what they are FOR.

A multimillion dollar NFL quarterback like him, poor thing, probably never had anyone there to sit him down with the birds and the bees and the Trojan and the banana and explain the whole 'Let's only knock up one woman at a time' scheme that seems so popular with the rest of us.

Or, hell, maybe I'm wrong.

Could be that the man has some kind of super-secret double-pinkie-swear Scientology quiet-alien-birth-invasion plan to repopulate the Earth with really, really, pretty footballers.

Um, in which case....

Carry on.

At Last

December 27, 2006

President Ford has died. Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban have reunited in Australia. The Dow broke records, closing above 12,500 for the first time.

I'm hoping for constructive criticism. And the return of inspiration.

So.

Last week, I took Bear downtown to look at all the holiday displays and to do some shopping at the open-air Christmas market. Headed for the parking garage, Bear saw the Christmas in Daley Plaza for the first time.

He got a little upset. "Mommy! They killed a really, really old tree! Just for decoration!"

He was relieved to get up close and see it is really a bunch of smaller trees stacked together.

Once upon a time...

My dad did that.

Although, not as much on purpose.

He bought a bargain basement tree so pathetic that when he got home, he realized it wasn't going to work out. So he went out an bought another one, tied them together, and sort of hung the whole thing from the ceiling with fishing line.

"Don't worry," he told my brother and me. "No one will ever be able to tell once its decorated."

We looked at him, looked at those trees, looked at each other. And wondered, in a loud whisper, if Christmas trees were, you know, supposed to be triangle-shaped.

Dad's creation was a strange kind of..uh... polygon.

My mother stood in the doorway, watching the whole thing happen, and I knew from the look on her face that one day she would either kill or divorce my dad.

My father could have used the decorating and creative skills of the Daley Plaza tree people. Or, you know, a bucket of the sense God gave goats.

The next day, Bear was telling CD about the "stack of trees" over hamburgers our favorite diner when a tropical Santa popped out from behind the bar.

Bear looked at me and shook his head.

"Strange," he whispered in my ear.

"Yeah," I agreed. "It's a strange time a year."

Tropical Santa gave Bear a plastic blue lei.

He rolled his eyes.

"Mommy," Bear said. "I gotta tell you. It really is."

Phooey

December 02, 2006

Jay Leno made a joke about holiday newsletters the other day. Something to the effect “Little Katie is a cheerleader and Little Billie made honor roll and…. Who cares?!” And I remembered why I don’t watch Jay Leno very often (besides the obvious fact that I’m usually in bed by then) – I care.

I read the AP wire, I watch BBC news, I catch up via blogs and email. I’m interested in what goes on in our world, our country, and the lives of the people in our virtual and local community.

I'm interested in you.

I believe that knowledge is valuable in of itself. I believe in the power of directed prayer, and empathy. I believe that evolution comes from understanding. I believe that love in the form of compassion can save humanity - and the planet.

And if that makes me bourgeois, well there’s something I actually don’t care about.

Rock on, with the holiday newsletters. Rock on with the silly doodles and happy news and the personal notes written in the margins. It's the season of sharing, and don't let dumbass hosts tell you different.

Chuck E's in Love

October 30, 2006

Walk across the lawn in tight designer jeans. Young butt wiggling, thin hips swaying. Smiling with my eyes, and no idea how much trouble my lips could get me in.

It's dangerous to be 15.

He was my first boyfriend. Curly hair and long hands. Luckily for me, he'd been brung up right. All those hours, alone in his house - his bedroom - and he never let it get very far.

Though, oh, he could kiss.

It was just that his honor roll meant just as much.

I'd try to steal a few, but Guy would wave me back to my books. Tell me to finish my chapter and let him finish his.

I'd steal his highlighter. He'd laugh, and indulge me. I was a wild girlfriend, needy and unsure. He was grounded, and kind.

You look back and realize that there were those intense, lovely moments.

First boyfriends that win stuffed animals at the fair. Hold hands for hours and run out for ice cream on warm autumn nights.

Put away the breaking up. The heartache and the sad songs on the radio.

Remember the carnations bought at high school fundraisers, borrowing his sweater, and counting stars.

"Mommy," Bear asked me last night, stuffy with last of a cold and sick of television and Vick's Vaporub.

"Yeah, Bear?"

"Daddy was your first boyfriend, right?"

"No, but he was my boyfriend, first."

He looks at me as though I am teasing him. Freckles scrunched in thought.

"Was he nice?"

"Who?"

"Your first boyfriend."

"Very nice."

"But not as nice as Daddy," he informs me firmly.

"Well, Bear, he was only 16 or 17 years old."

"Oh," my son nods. "That's REALLY old."

"Well, not a good age to get married," I tell him. "But it was fun."

"Ew," he says.

Our eyes meet, blue to green. We will agree to disagree.

Soon enough, he will know.

Soon enough, it will be gone.

And soon enough, it will be his memories on a warm autumn evening. Old songs on the radio. And a smile in his eyes, that no one else will understand.

DOING MY DUTY

September 11, 2006

Today is CD's Birthday. It is also our wedding anniversary. And it is, of course, another anniversary. We've struggled in the past couple of years to reconcile all this on one day - with complications resting atop like a thin Al Fredo, seeping in.

But this year, it's been made easy for me.

For the first time in my life, I've been called to Jury Duty. Interestingly, in criminal court.

Somewhat fitting, I think.

Dude, I really don't think it helped your case...

May 25, 2006

Murder defendant tries to strangle lawyer in court.

Baby Drunk

January 20, 2006

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.

Down in the Mines

January 03, 2006

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

Goodbye, Mr. Spencer

December 19, 2005

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.

We Will Not Be Sitting Idly By

September 01, 2005

I'm going to interrupt this home hunt for a moment. Between the looting, raping, and shooting in the wake of Katrina and the anniversary of Beslan, I have found myself in near-tears much of the day.

Yo, George and John

September 23, 2004

Yo, Dudes.

Enough already.

George?
We get it.
You are resolute. You're the kind of guy that would drive to New Brunswick and into the ocean before asking directions. You're the kind of guy that "stays on target". When you think you're right, which is always, nothing can sway you. You're a rock.

And you are passionate about being an American, and beating the crap out of the bullies on the schoolyard. Not because of the other kids who limp along without lunch money all year. But because they are a threat to us. Because the USA gets to be the only big bully on this schoolyard. Right, George?

Be nice if, just once, you realized that might doesn't make right, dude.

Whoo-hoo! Cowboy George is here to kick some butt. All the other kiddos better get out of his way.

John?
You might want to get off your moral high horse. We see you smirking up there. You think we don't have your number, too?

Yeah, dude. We get you.

Face it John - you're the Horschack of the Senate. You've got an answer to every question and you want everyone to know it. Ooh! Ooh! Call on John! Call on John!

With a brain like yours, it is too bad that you're sliding by only paying attention about 20% of the time. Oh, you think we don't know that sometimes you change your opinion because you weren't listening too good the first time around? Yeah, John - you've got a vision. But dude, sometimes you walk into walls because you've got one eye in the mirror checking your own bad self out.

Yep, here comes John and his big head to tell us the right answers.

Now, Both of You.
This isn't a junior high popularity contest cloaked in a student body election. This is your interview for the leadership of this country.

And frankly, most of us are a little weary of you two polarizing the country with your accusations that the other guy is going to be the doom of us all. In case you hadn't noticed, we are already scared. No need to start ennumerating the monsters under the bed. I don't care if you're doing it because you feel you have a legitimate response, or because you're posturing. Stop it.

We all have 9/11 burned into our hearts. Shame on you both for trying to capitalize on it.

Shame on you both for villainizing each other. You're NOT each other's enemy. The terrorists are the enemy. You two are fellow Americans.

So enough name-calling and pouting and whining. Enough sneaky mud balls. Stop embarrasing me in front of the whole planet.

In case you've forgotten, I've got a 4-year-old of my own to deal with. Not to mention an entire executive commitee who's the boss of me every freaking workday. You think I'm going to tolerate this from YOU?

Shit, no.

I've got a VOTE and I'm not afraid to use it.

You want it? You want my pretty vote?

Then here's how it is going to be. You two are going to go on the positive. You're going to sit back down in your chairs and write me an essay: "Why I want to be President." You are not allowed to refer to each other. Not once. You talk about yourself, and you be honest. You don't think I know when you're lying? Boys, neither of you is gonna win a poker contest anytime too soon.

So you ready now? For real? No more bathroom breaks. OK, George - just this once. But don't dawdle. Fine. Now, you got your pencils? (John, sit up straight. Stop slouching!) Remember, this is going to be graded by every citizen in the country so make it worth reading. (Yes, George, spelling counts.) Shoot for content. For heart. For clarity. For vision. No curves, no extra points.

Got it? All right, then. You've got six weeks.

Start.

Beslan

September 14, 2004

I have been haunted by the Beslan tragedy.

I haven't been sleeping well. I have been hugging and snuggling my son within an inch of his life. I have set up a little workstation in my office and I've been having him "work" next to me when CD is doing other things. I don't care what that does to my job.

I am becoming even more overprotective, and I'm probably doing all sorts of un-good things to my son's psyche. It won't last; it's just for now. Until I find a way to buffer myself from this reality, and believe that it won't happen here. That it can't happen here.

I've done it before. Columbine. 9/11. I've seen the horrors before, and been afraid, and found a way to find again a sense of safety - real or imagined - in my little world.

Soon, I will once again blithely bring my son to the little schoolroom with the aquarium full of goldfish and the clock that tweets the hour and believe he is in a safe place.

But for now, I am haunted by adults who plan to harm children. I keep thinking about how it wasn't one screwed up homicidal sonofabitch that accidentally killed some kids. I keep thinking that these adults, these holy warriors, planned it. Looked through lens of a weapon and saw chubby cheeked little faces, and felt vindicated in squeezing the trigger.

I am nauseated with confusion. What cause is more important than the moral imperative as a species to nurture and protect the next generation to be better than ourselves?

How do you deny humanity and target the most innocent, most vulnerable amongst us?

I keep thinking, those kids. Those frightened kids.

Kids who believed in fairies and superheroes. Kids who believed that mommy kisses magically make hurts all better. Kids who believed that monsters could live under the bed. And then the monsters came into their classrooms and tortured them And the monsters looked like adults - the kind that checked their teeth at the dentist's office or coached their football teams.

Kids who died, after suffering hours of pain and fear and learning that their protectors - teachers and parents - were helpless to save them.

I have been haunted by Beslan.

How? When did killing children - deliberately, painfully - become a group activity aimed at any purpose? When did this become our world? I thought 9/11 was the depths of depravity, and now I no longer have the imagination to know how low we will go.

I have been haunted by Beslan.

I am afraid.