It's True

So. Uhm. Something some of you may not know about me. My parents? Are...the Kringle's. No, I'm serious. They're the Kringles. Every year, they go to the Harvard Coop children's dept. one Saturday in December dressed in their Santa and Mrs. Claus gear and tell stories and listen to wishes and do all the things the Clauses do. But it's more than that. It's really so much more than that. It's the fact that their house around the holidays looks like a literal Christmas town. It's the fact that, when the five of us kids were growing up, they did whatever they could to make Chrismtas as magical as possible, regardless of how the family was doing financially.

The year I was in second grade, my dad was out of work. That was the year that Cabbage Patch Kids were SUPER hot. My parents sat me down and explained that only VERY lucky little girls were getting CPK's that year, because Santa's elves were working their very hardest, but they might not be able to make enough for ALL the little girls who wanted them. I came down the stairs that Christmas morning to my Cabbage Patch Kid, Nellie. And I knew I was the luckiest girl in the whole world. That one event cemented my belief in Santa for years to come.

Even now, watching my parents share their sense of Christmas magic with children they know and children they don't gives me a sense of the magic of the season, and the love and joy that come along with it, if you open yourself up to it. They passed this along to their children, too. We all obsess over shopping for each other, vying to give each other ever more personal and meaningful gifts. It's not about the materialism as much as it is about enjoying the joy on each other's faces when we open a truly well chosen gift.

When E and I got engaged, we pretty much immediately decided on a Christmas-themed wedding. After all, there is no party either of us enjoys more than a Christmas party, so we figured, what could be a better celebration than a giant Christmas party? And our wedding was the most magical, beautiful Christmas party we'd ever been to.

All this is why, even though I'm a 32 year old woman, I still react to Christmas like a little kid. I get hyperactive and distracted now, just like I did all those years ago. I don't want to be at work the week before Christmas; I want to be preparing and just hanging with my family. I still have trouble sleeping on Christmas Eve. And I wouldn't trade that for the world.

Bittersweet

B has been sick this week. This stinks. I hate when he's sick. For a while, he was wheezing and struggling to breathe almost like last summer, and it was scary and I just felt so bad for him. But the silver lining was that I got to stay home with him because he wasn't in shape for daycare. So, I had three days with him, snuggling, playing, hanging out, and not trying to balance work along with it. And that part was awesome. He's becoming such a cool and hilarious little person -not to mention the greatest snuggler this side of his father. So, even though I'm so glad he's feeling better, I'm so sad that our little soujourn has come to an end. He'll be in backup daycare in Boston, right across the street from me, so I'll be able to go and have lunch with him, so at least I get a little reprieve.

Less Fun Anniversary

Today is the ninth anniversary of my grandfather's death. I really can't believe it's been almost 10 years. It seems like just yesterday. He was such a force in our family, and was certainly my favorite person. He had an uncanny ability to make you feel like you were the most special person in the world - the only one who mattered to him. So many of my best and happiest memories of childhood and early adulthood include him. Many of them are of just sitting with him while he rubbed my head and sang 'You Are My Sunshine.'

Most of you probably already know this story, but that's okay. The day Bucky died, we knew he didn't have long, so I decided I'd better head to my sister's house (we were living in Atlanta at the time). In December of 1999, Creed was omnipresent on the radio. So, it wasn't unusual that their song 'Higher' should be on the radio. And I'd never given the song or the band much thought. But in that moment, when I heard that song, which is about heaven, I just had a feeling that it was a message from Bucky. Sure enough, when I got to my sister's house, my brother in law was in the driveway waiting for me, and he told me Bucky had passed away while I was on my way over. Further cementing my belief that the song was a message from him is the fact that on many occasions since then, when I've needed a little lift or reassurance, that song has come on the radio. It becomes more meaningful as time passes, since Creed is...not as omnipresent nowdays. The day we were driving B home from the hospital, we heard it. And it was like a little nod from Bucky that he was watching over my new family.

I still miss Bucky every day. My hope for everyone I care about is that they have a source of such pure, unconditional love in their lives. We all deserve someone who inspires in us a reaction of pure joy and comfort. Even nine years after he left the physical world, I am still comforted by the love and guidance he offers me, in his way.

To you, Buck! xoxoxo

Anniversary

Today is E's and my second anniversary. It's been a pretty eventful two years, obviously. My second anniversary doesn't really look like what I thought it would look like, and yet it's a very satisfying time. Some of my dreams haven't quite come true yet, but the biggies have, in spades.

My whole life, I've been a hopeless romantic. From my earliest memories, I dreamed of finding that one person to fall in love with and build a life with. Maybe it's because, despite often driving each other crazy, my parents had a very passionate and love filled relationship. Maybe it's because my grandparents had the kind of love story you don't think really happens unless/until you've witnessed it. But whatever the reason, it consumed me, this desire to find love. I read romance novels voraciously. I couldn't get enough of romantic movies (I mean...probably not that many 14 year olds in the 1990's had crushes on Gene Kelly - am I right?).

By the time I was 28, I'd gone through a lot of not right guys. There were guys who were not very nice to me, guys who brought out the not very nice side of me, and guys who seemed perfect, but weren't right for me. It always seemed like I'd get right to the brink - right to the point when I'd think, "Maybe..." and it would promptly fall apart. Even E and I, the first time we dated, got to the point when I thought, "Hey, I like this guy," and then it fell apart. In September, 2004, I wrote in my journal, describing exactly the man I was looking for. I described a couple of physical features (smiley eyes, a kind smile) and many, many non-physical attributes. One week after I wrote that entry, E reappeared in my life. And I think that, on some level, I knew right when he reappeared that he was the one for me. Of course, I didn't admit it for a while. I put him through his paces first.

As soon as we decided to be together, I was struck by how easy it was to be together. All the angst that had been part of my previous relationships just wasn't there. Even when I screwed up, which we all inevitably do in the early stages of a relationship, things got resolved easily, with good and satisfying communication. Whenever I had doubts or questions, E would do whatever needed doing to answer those questions or disspell those doubts. I gave many tests and he passed them all; I threw up many obstacles and he cleared them with what seemed like minimal effort. For the first time, I felt safe and secure in a relationship. I felt loved.

My whole life, I had dreamed of having someone throw me a surprise party. I mean DREAMED of it. Kind of obsessively. For my 30th birthday, E did just that. He threw me a HUGE surprise party, full of family and friends. And in the middle of it, he surprised me again by dropping ot his knee, pulling my dream engagement ring out of his pocket, and asking me to marry him. I remember that moment so vividly - the image of the ring, and the thought that I couldn't believe this was really happening to me.

Eleven months after that, on December 2, 2006, we got married. That day was everything a wedding day should be. It was happy, it was fun, it was the beginning of the newest chapter of our life together. If I could relive one day in my life, I'm pretty sure I'd choose that one. It was the day that my best friend, the love of my life, became my husband. What could be better than that?

Two months into our marriage, I got pregnant. It was sooner than we'd planned, and sooner than I probably would've wanted, but isn't the best part of life the fact that sometimes the things we don't plan, don't even know we want, turn out to be dreams come true?

So, although I still have dreams that have yet to come true, my two dearest dreams - to be a wife and to be a mother, already have. And today is a celebration of that. So, thanks to my amazing husband for fulfilling a hopeless romantic's life long dream of true love.

Happy Belated Birthday

I meant to write yesterday to wish my grandmother a happy 93rd birthday. After a very rough go earlier this year, she's made what seems like a miraculous recovery and is living happily at an assisted living facility near my parents. xoxoxoxo

Wait. What?!

In an election where people of my political leanings were generally elated, the one BIG, BIG downside is the passing of Prop 8 in California, and similar measures in other states. And unsurprisingly, I have some thoughts. I have a lot of thoughts. I'm going to limit myself here to just a few. The main argument against legal gay marriage is this whole, "redefining" marriage issue. And people get very het up about the fact that marriage has meant one thing for thousands of years, and that it's defined in the bible. Okay. I get that reservation. It's stupid, but I get it. But...since when does California, or any state, govern based on the bible? Don't get me wrong. I love the bible. But this country was FOUNDED on the separation between church and state. And most of the gay couples I know who want to get married aren't as interested in the religious ceremony as they are in the NON-RELIGIOUS legal rite. If E and I had wanted to, we could have marched down to city hall and had a completely secular marriage there.

Because E and I are legally married (not because we are married in the eyes of the Catholic church, although we are), we are able to file joint tax returns, and get a bunch of other ancillary benefits like that. What California has done is to preclude an entire segment of the population from those benefits. How ridiculous is that? These people pay taxes, do they not?

One of the most assinine arguments in favor of measures like Prop 8, that I've heard, is that legalizing gay marriage opens the door to any kind of marriage (ie. marriage to relatives or animals)....Really? Think of it this way. What if, every time a new governor were elected in a state, he/she were able and allowed to nullify marriages in a religion other than his/her own. How ridiculous would that be? But that's what we're talking about, here. Californians are saying that marriages that do not align with their personal religious or moral beliefs are not valid. And we can't allow that kind of bigotry and intolerance to stand in a country that was founded on a premise of freedom from persecution.

Falling

I fell in love with my son before I actually knew he was a son. I fell in love with him just staring at a second pink line on an EPT stick. I fell in love with him with every day I felt sick. I fell in love with him the first time I felt him move, and every time after that. I fell in love with him as my pregnancy advanced and I could actually see him moving in there. I fell in love with him when the nurse laid him on my chest and I finally learned he was B, and all throughout that first night while we were skin on skin to warm him up. I fell in love with him as he slept away those early days, and then as he began to wake up and see the world. The first time he smiled at me, I fell so hard it was like something from a movie. And I fell all over again at his first giggle. And the first time he kissed my cheek, the first time he blew me a kiss, the first time he said Mama, the first time he climbed the rails of his crib to get to me, and a million other times in the past year. And I fall in love with him all over again every time I'm holding him as he falls asleep, and his head is on my shoulder, his soft hair on my cheek, and I can hear his peaceful breathing in my ear. I was never someone who thought such a simple thing could represent one of the biggest thrills in my life, but it does. We had kind of a rough day today. He was uncharacteristically cantankerous. But even on days like today, this is all still true. Like a friend of mine said today, "That's why God made babies so freaking cute!" There is more wisdom in those words than you'd think.

Family Ties

The above-referenced sitcom was one of my favorite 80's classics. It was more well written and well acted than a lot of its ilk, and the family in question rang pretty true for me. And it was funny. The hippie parents who produced a Nixon loving young Republican, the ditzy, fashion loving older daughter and brainy, outspoken younger daughter, I knew families like this - families that, despite their differences, loved each other and were on the same side when the chips were down. I even WAS (and am) part of a family like that.

The character of Alex P. Keaton was endlessly fascinating to me, for a number of reasons. First, because he reminded me uncannily of my oldest brother, who himself was glued to the TV on the day of Nixon's funeral (and who YELLED at me for not showing the proper amount of respect when Bob Dole was eulogizing Tricky Dick). Second, he fascinated me because he was the outlier in his family - the rogue conservative in a family of liberals. And in that way, I found him relatable.

My family, generally, are Republicans. The grandfather I've mentioned so many times, was a staunch conservative. He passed that on to his oldest son, who in turn passed it on to HIS oldest son. But although my father and brother are the most conservative, it's my entire family who falls on the right side of the aisle. My mother is socially rather progressive, but when it comes time to vote, her fiscal side takes over and she votes Republican, as do the rest. I'm the outlier, having never voted for a Republican candidate in a presidential election. This year is the closest I've come. I would have considered casting my vote for John McCain, thereby tickling my father and brother pink, if he hadn't chosen as his running mate someone who is so far to the right that she honestly frightens me.

This election was pretty contentious. There was so much negative information in the media about both tickets, with the vast majority of it fixating on Obama and Palin. Daily, I got forwards from family and family friends positively bashing the man who will be our next president. Some of it focused on his very progressive economic policies. This, I get. To someone who is a fiscal conservative, Obama's policies would be disconcerting, at best. But more of it, much more, was based on his race and on speculations about other parts of his cultural identity, all of which was disproven. These were the emails that offended me. And it further offended me that these people, who presumably know me, and therefore at least should know that I am very passionate about my politics, would think these lies would either interest me or influence me. I also got a great many emails from liberal friends, associates and organizations, pointing out both true and false failings of both McCain and Palin. The difference is that I had the respect for the conservatives in my family and friend base not to pass these emails along to them. I'm really not sure why they can't show me the same respect in return. Maybe next time I SHOULD pass the liberal emails along in return? Eh, whatever. For this time, my guy won, and in the end, that matters a lot more.

Just because my views are different from those of so many of the people in my life does not invalidate them. It also does not mean that I am just some hippie dippy liberal, swaying from candidate to candidate based on nothing more than a given candidate's "it" factor or charisma. I vote based on the candidate whose platform best aligns with the beliefs I hold dear. These beliefs are largely not economically based. To me, the social policies are the key ones. I don't ask anyone to agree with me, but I do ask that people respect that and let me be (which is usually too much to ask). I believe that a gay couple who is committed to each other should be allowed to marry each other, and to raise a child if they so choose. (And furthermore, I believe that being gay is NOT a "lifestyle choice" but a part of our genetic makeup.) I believe that, although I have never had, or paid for, an abortion, that it should be legal. I understand fully the view that abortion is wrong. However, making abortion illegal is, I think, dangerous and reckless (let's be honest - people are still going to have them - just not in a safe, sterile environment) - not to mention a waste of time, since it's already been voted on by the Supreme Court. I believe that healthcare should be accessible to everyone. I and my family are incredibly fortunate to have good, comprehensive health insurance, but I have known so, so many people who haven't, and who have paid far too steep a price for things that, in America, should be automatic. I could go on all day.

In 2000 and 2004, I volunteered for the DNC. I was afraid of George W. Bush from the get go. And as it turned out, I had good reason. It frankly astounds me that Bill Clinton was almost tossed out of office for lying about a blow job, yet George W. Bush wasn't tossed for lying about WMD's and being complicit (unaware?) in his VP outing a covert CIA operative. In the end, that blow job really only hurt Bill Clinton's family (and Hillary is still married to him, by conscious choice), while those non-existent WMD's have had an enormous impact on this entire country. But anyway. I volunteered in those elections and was incredibly disheartened by the outcome, both times. Last night, I had an email exchange with my brother in which he alluded to the decline of our once great nation. What he fails to realize is that millions of us felt exactly the same way in the last two elections. Politics, like everything else, tends to be cyclical. We all deserve to see our candidate win sometimes, and for we liberal leaning folks, it's been a very, very long eight years.

In closing, I would just like to note that, throughout this election season, I found myself sorely missing Tim Russert on Meet the Press. His ability to objectively and incisively get to the root of an issue and the root of a candidate's or pundit's opinion was singularly immeasurable, and I missed that source this year. Particularly last night, I longed for his straight talk and white board. I hope that he enjoyed this exciting and historic election, wherever he is now.

Halloween '08

Magic Month

This time of year always makes me nostalgic. As I said in a previous post, a lot of the best times of my live have been at this time of year.

Four years ago on Halloween, E and I decided to get back together, and it ended up being for good. When I look back on October of 2004, I remember the Red Sox and their improbable march to the first world championship in 86 years, and I remember E and I dancing around whether or not to get back together. I think, on a higher level, I knew it would be for good, and I think to some extent that was why I resisted it for a few weeks. I wanted to be absolutely certain, and because we'd both had some missteps before, I wanted to think it through. Which I did, obviously.

Ten years ago, I was in Atlanta, in my first job out of college. The fall of 1998 was one of the most fun times I ever had. That job was kind of ideal for a first one out of school, because we lived on the school's campus, so really, in a lot of ways, it was like still being in school. The people I worked with were so much fun. I was in the best shape I'd ever been in and as a result, had more confidence than I ever had.

And of course, one year ago, my son was born. The first month of motherhood is extremely intense. No shock there. It's a time when your hormones are nuts, and when you're a first time mother, you're still getting your footing, in terms of feeling like you know what you're doing. But it's also intense in terms of feeling a depth of love you probably didn't even know you were capable of, not fully, until you felt it.

Falling in love, whether it's romantic love, or love of a new place and life, or love of your child, is a magical thing. So, I guess it's no wonder that this time of year is my favorite.

Happy Birthday, Little Man

Just a quick post tonight. Today was my son's first birthday. We had a little birthday party for him, and he had an absolute blast. I can't believe he's a year old. So, I just want to say to my little man, thanks for making this past year so amazing. I love you more than I ever even imagined I would. You make me so happy and proud every day.

The Promised Proof

And here is my evidence that my son was gorgeous at birth.

October, Baby, October

This week is kind of a weird week. Yesterday was my eighth anniversary with my company, and tomorrow is B's first birthday. It's the kind of week that kind of makes you take stock and look back.

2000 was kind of a rough year. I moved back from Atlanta to Boston by way of New York. I was kind of a transient for a while, working temporary gigs in New York and living with my brother and his then wife, and staying with my parents while interviewing in Boston. I wanted so badly to live in New York permanently. But it wasn't in the cards. I went on so many interviews in New York that I'm sure there are some I don't even remember. But the hiring processes at those companies were painfully slow, and as the economy started to slow down in 2000, some of the positions were yanked just as they were about to make me offers.

Then, I came back to Boston and went on a few interviews. The job I ended up taking was not a dream come true, but it was offered quickly and decisively, and at a salary that seemed like so much money then (it wasn't). So, I took it, and moved in with my parents. The remainder of that year, before I moved into Boston, was a little dreary, I'll admit. But it helped me get back on my feet financially (college and my extremely low paying first job had put me in a bit of a hole). And that year set me up for the next several, when I lived in Boston with my friends and had the time of my life.

Fast forward seven years to October of 2007. I was nine months pregnant. I remember the 24th of October last year so vividly. I wasn't due for another two weeks, but GOD was I ready to have the baby. First, as anyone who's ever been 38 weeks pregnant knows, it's...uncomfortable. Plus, I wanted to meet my baby so desperately. I didn't even know whether it was a boy or a girl...although my intuition knew all along.

On the 24th, I was hanging at my sister's house, praying for labor to come. I firmly believe that praying for labor to come is something you do out of sheer desperation. Becuase labor? Is really not something you should ever wish on yourself. Although, admittedly, the end result is SO well worth it. And after a while, the memory of how bad it really was fades a little. Of course it does. If it didn't, we'd all be only children.

At 5:45 that afternoon, as E was on his way to Game 1 of the Red Sox/Rockies World Series, my water broke. I remember being excited and terrified. I remember my niece mirroring those emotions. I think she was afraid I was going to have the baby right in their downstairs bathroom, which is where I was when my water broke. I remember my sister calling poor E, and his frantically making his way to her house while my brother gave away his precious Game 1 ticket. Someday, I'll find a way to make it up to him (although, I do think the iPhone and the HD TV were a solid start).

I remember going to the hospital with steadily intenisfying pain and wet pants (sorry, but it's true). I remember watching the beginning of Game 1 from the antenatal room, then being brought to L&D as the pain got worse. The rest of the game is a bit hazy. I remember E telling me at some point that the Sox had scored 11 runs, but that was during the time that I was waiting for my doctor to approve the epidural so I wasn't quite as enthused as I'd normally be. Apparently, my labor progressed a bit more quickly than first labors normally do, and even though I'd warned my doctor that this would be the case (my mother and sister were both also blessed with quick active labors), he wasn't entirely prepared for HOW quickly. But he finally showed up and approved the epidural order and in went the needle. Best. Needle. Ever. Do I sound like a junkie, saying that? I'm okay with it.

Then came the waiting, as Roly Poly (as we called B before he was born) got into position. This all went quickly, too, and I'll spare you the gory details, but at 3:58 a.m. on October 25th, B was born. He came out angry and cold, all curled up, and I had to lift a leg to see whether he was B or A(the first initial for our girl's name). He was beautiful. Right from the get go, he was gorgeous. I'll post a picture as proof.

The nurses had all heard the story of E's dashed Game 1, and E was still wearing his Sox jersey and hat, and my sister was wearing her Sox sweat shirt, so we'd been dubbed the Red Sox family. They made B a little "B" hat and onesie. So, right from the start, he was a Sox fan. All in all, that was quite a night.

October has always been my magic month. So many of the most wonderful of my days have been in October, so it makes perfect sense to me that B would've chosen to come a couple weeks early, just to be born in October. And tomorow, he'll be a year old. Wow.

What Dreams May Come

Last night, I had one of those nightmares that seems to last all night and is so vivid that you wake up exhausted and terrified. I've had a pretty similar dream a few other times in my life, and each time the effects of it seem to linger, at least through the day. All day, I felt anxious and a little frightened. So, when I got the call that B was being sent home from daycare, it was even more distressing than usual, just because of the mood I was already in.

I know that stress causes nightmares. I've also read about the role our psyches play, as well as the possibility of past life regression through dreams (hey, who knows?). Suffice to say, I don't know all the causes for what we dream. And I think it's probably best not to read too much into it, because it can really freak you out.

Lessons to Share

I think part of being married is that you sometimes share your lessons. We're going through that right now. E is waiting for some news. So, it's mainly his lesson, whatever the lesson may be. But there's a lesson in it for me, too, in that I'm incredibly impatient about getting the news. I know it's going to be good news. I just want it to come yesterday. But the timing of it is out of my hands, which is difficult for the part of my personality that inherited my mother's control freak tendencies. (Why couldn't I have inherited the control freak tendencies about, like, cleaning, instead of about things I CAN'T control?!) It's so hard for me to toss out there what I want and trust that it will turn out the way I want. I am not sure why that is, but I've always struggled with it. I've gotten better at it as I've gotten older. It probably helped that I wrote a journal entry once describing exactly the man I wanted, and literally a week later, E showed up. And then I dreamed about what engagement, my wedding, having a baby, etc. would all be like, and my dreams about those things all came true. So, I'm learning that faith/trust thing. So, now I just need to trust that E is going to get the news we want him to get. There is not a reason in the world he wouldn't. So, consider this my putting it out there. I trust that we will get good news tomorrow.

Drivin' my Jeep

Turning the Corner

I had another dark patch this week. I'm beginning to see a pretty clear pattern in terms of when these happen in my hormonal cycle, which is helpful in a way, even if it doesn't completely stop it from happening. At least I can approach my doctor with this theory as a starting point, though. And I'm through it now, which is a huge relief.

Even though there have been a lot of elements of my life recently that have been difficult, I am so blessed in so many ways, and when I go through dark moments, that is what keeps me going. I am married to a kind, loving, brilliant man, who would go to great lengths to make me smile. I have a beautiful, happy, healthy son with the most infectious laugh I've ever heard. I have a family who loves us and supports us in any way they can. I have friends who have been with me through thick and thin, and who offer me encouragement in a million ways both verbal and non-verbal. And as much as I complain about my job and Eric's in this space, the fact is, we both have jobs. Good jobs. Jobs that I truly believe we will leave on our own terms, when the time comes. (Leave aside for now that I think the time is coming soon.)

My mother is a big believer in counting your blessings. It's something I picked up from her. This is a good thing, since I also picked up her hyperworrisome anxiety. But looking at your life and remembering all the ways you are blessed is both a restorative and a grounding activity. When you get too into your own head or your own troubles, just stepping back and reminding yourself of the ways you are fortunate can do wonders. I'm not writing this to go all Gwyneth on your asses. I do not believe myself qualified to teach anybody else how to live. This is as much a reminder for me as anything. Because I DO get too into my own head. And, to borrow from Jai Pausch (a woman who has seen MUCH more difficult days than I) in an interview I saw with her, "It's not helpful."

Scary Times

So, you know, the market tanked today. AGAIN. And some more. Now, I'm watching the presidential debate. The two candidates seem well-intentioned enough. But let's be honest here. Neither of them is really being effected by this economic situation. And neither of them truly understands it, either.

I'm not voting based on economics. I AM hoping that whoever is elected will help to fix this mess. And I AM hoping that someday I have enough money that economics drives my vote. But I don't yet. I vote on my beliefs. And a lot of those are socially based. And THAT is why I will vote Democrat. Because, even more than McCain, Sarah Palin frightens me. She frightens me in her inability to answer simple questions asked by journalists who are internationally renowned for being softball interviewers, sure. But more than that, MUCH more than that, she scares me in her complete disregard for reality and common sense. Creationism? No abortions, even in the case of rape or incest? No funding for rape treatments at hospitals? No sex education beyond abstinence only programs (which her own family proves to be ineffective)? Marriage is okay for 17 year olds who don't want to marry each other, but not for people who were born homosexual? I just...no. Go away, lady. Go away, fast.

As a woman, the very thought that her presence on a ticket would persuade me to vote for that ticket is highly, highly offensive. If McCain had chosen someone like Joe Lieberman as a running mate, I would've considered voting for him. But with this wing nut? Not even a shadow of a chance.

Dancin'

I've written before about my son's reactions to a couple of special songs. He loves music. He dances, he sings along (wordlessly thus far), he becomes even more joyful than normal. His reaction is exactly what I would've hoped it would be, basically. Coming from a family in which music is enormously important (my grandfather is the proverbial "leader of the band"), I hoped he would inherit that elemental appreciation, and he has. One of my favorite things is to put on a song I really love and dance with him and sing to him. To my great excitement, it seems to be one of his favorite things, too. I love this. For me, music is one of those things that can completely change my day. When I get into a black funk like I did earlier this week, one of the ways it can lift is if I can find that right song on my way home. That can literally turn my whole day around. And I'm so glad the same seems to be true for B. When he's really, super fussy, particularly when we're doing his nebulizer treatment, and I start to sing 'You Are My Sunshine' he immediately settles down. Anyone who knows me knows the significance of this song throughout my life, but this is just one more chapter of the story between us.

Who Was That Sad Sack?!

Blech! Seriously...who was that chick in that last post? What a sad sack! I guess everyone has bad days. It's inevitable. And maybe one of my fellow working moms will come across that post when she's having a bad day, and she'll realize that other working moms have moments of insanity, too, and it'll comfort her. Right?

Bad Day. Or week. Or Whatever.

Some days, it's like nothing goes right. The baby is grumpy and screaming. The coworkers are grumpy and screaming. You're exhausted because you haven't slept through the night since your honeymoon (in 2006). You have a headache and your shoulders are in knots so tight that lifting the screaming baby caused you to pull a muscle. Your bank account has dwindled to a point you haven't seen since you were paying more than you probably should've for an apartment you loved in the city. You're facing another daunting winter of driving hours in the snow to reach a job that you hate. And then hours back through the snow to reach a house you don't hate, exactly, where you'll inevitably find the baby has already fallen asleep and you've missed another day.

I honestly don't mean to sound self pitying here. I realize that in reality I've got it pretty great. But my child, whom I love with everything in me, has not stopped yelling and/or screaming all day. Combine that with trying to get some work done, and people from work calling approximately 42 times, and it's a recipe for disaster. It's hard to process what your coworkers are saying when your 11 month old is screaming so loudly you can't hear them. Days like this, it all just snowballs and overwhelms me. And I feel like such a whiny baby and such a failure. I mean, there are MILLIONS of working mothers out there. Millions of women make this work. I know they do. Why am I having such a hard time with it? Why can't I just SNAP OUT OF IT already?! I feel defective, for Christ's sake.

AH. Thank you. Venting is such sweet catharsis. I needed to get that off my chest. Back to work with me.

Oral Hygiene Is Very Important, Y'all.

I like to brush my teeth. You know. It's important. Healthy teeth and gums and all. No big deal. Just brushin' my teeth.

Take a Hike, Negative Nelly!

Earlier today, I got into a nice, little negative funk. I wrote an accordingly negative blog post. Had it all queued up to post. And then I thought, "Whoa. Let's back up a second, and get into a better head space." I am really trying not to put too much negative stuff "out there" so to speak. Instead, what I'm going to put out there is that I have faith that the things in my life that are difficult and that are causing me unhappiness are coming to an end. I know that things will resolve themselves. I know that I will figure out what needs figuring out. I will find my way into a better living situation and working situation, and I'll find a way to be able to spend more time with B (and E, for that matter), and to do something for a living that I truly love and believe in. I know it'll happen. I know that the difficult stuff the past few months has been part of an important learning time for me. It's hard to see the lessons as we're going through them, but that's the whole point of going through them, right? So, I am putting out there that I truly want to find solutions to this stuff. There, I said it. :)

Life Really Is Short

Tonight, I feel sad for a family I don't actually know. I've heard a lot about them, but I've never had the chance to meet them. But on Friday, they lost their mother. She was 34. Just two years older than I am. Now, a young father and his little boy are on their own, without mommy. And of course, as a mother myself, all I can think of is what if it were my little boy who was feeling devastated at the loss of his mother? And it breaks my heart. It absolutely breaks my heart.

It is very difficult to find anything positive in a situation like this. Very difficult. But I think we have to try, don't we? Otherwise, what's the point? The only positive I think I can find is that things like this are reminders that life really is short. And it really is precious. And it really is so important to be thankful for every, single day with the people we love. I am thankful every day that I come home to my little boy, but I have been especially thankful the past few days. Because every day that I don't have to tell him goodbye really is such a gift.

And Now, the Offiicial Happy Birthday Message!

Happy Birthay, Miss R.A.H.! I cannot believe you are seven years old. You are growing up so fast. We are so proud of you and so proud to be your aunt, uncle and cousin. WE LOVE YOU BUNCHES!!!! XOXOXOXOXO

Seven Years

Seven years ago today, I hadn't met my niece yet. I knew she was coming, but I didn't know when it would be. And then, some evil, evil men flew some planes into some buildings in NYC and DC, and my sister couldn't get in touch with her husband (who was in DC) or her brother (who watched the second plane hit a building half a block from him out a window) for a healthy chunk of time, and...she went into labor. And on September 12, 2001, her daughter was born. Her husband managed to race home from DC to Atlanta just in the nick of time.

Everyone has stories from that day. Luckily for me, mine has a happy ending. I ended up with an amazing little girl as a niece - a brilliant, beautiful little girl who is among the lights of my life. And MY brother, although he must've suffered incredible emotional trauma, came through just fine.

There was a time when I couldn't imagine not thinking of it constantly. Seven years is long enough that my memory isn't as sharp. But there are still reminders. There are still triggers that bring it back. I'll hear a woman on the red line with a British accent, and I'm right bak to that day, when the kindly, elderly British lady held my hand and listened to me babble about my big brother and how worried I was for him. I'll see that sort of crisp blue sky that you really only see in September, and I'll remember that on that day, the sky was the most brilliant, clear blue I ever remember seeing. And of course, seeing something filmed in New York before 2001 brings it home because inevitably, the towers will make an appearance at some point.

I read today that Americans have the lowest level of fear of terrorism that they've had since September 11th. And that brings MY fear right back. I think a little fear is probably healthy, all things considered. If it helps us to avoid another day like that, it's worth it.

But I'll continue to focus on the positive, like the little girl I love who turns seven tomorrow.

Motivation

I am feeling profoundly unmotivated. I have so much I need to do for work, and I just cannot gear up to do it. I had a doctor's appointment today and ended up missing out on a big chunk of my work day. And I was already behind, so now I'm even more behind. Yet, here I am writing a blog entry, instead of working. Based on my last entry, this one probably isn't so surprising, but it's still frustrating. Blah. Gotta get back into my positive mind set.

Why?

Why is it that you can spend a whole day being completely exhausted and just wishing for bed time, and then when it's finally time to sleep, you're suddenly wide awake, and every single thing that's weighing on your mind comes to you in a flash, keeping you from being able to even relax, let alone drift off...? What IS that? I get so frustrated, because it makes me feel mentally weak that I can't seem to banish the thoughts and just make myself go to sleep.

While we're on the topic of feeling weak, let's talk about my job. I'm not happy in my job, which I think I've alluded to before. I'm in a group that seems to be fundamentally broken. And I'm at a point where I'm tired of trying to fix things. Frankly, no one wants me to. So, I've pretty much come to the conclusion that it's time to move on. My husband and I have talked it to death, and we've decided it's time for me to quit. Maybe spend some time not working full time, since even when I'm working full time, fully half of my pay goes to daycare anyway. But, we're also trying to move, and it'll be harder to afford to move if I'm not working. So, I feel like a failure in a way, that I can't seem to just suck it up and deal with the job. I wish I could explain it. It's just that, I feel like there is such a more important job in my life now, and this other one with all its encumbent nonsense is taking too much time and focus away from my real job, of being B's mother.

Girlifying My Little Boy

Anyone who is pondering the "nature versus nurture" question with regard to gender roles should definitely try checking out my 10 month old. He's all boy. His father and I have done nothing to make this happen. He just came out this way. Of course, this is particularly thrilling to my husband.


Not so thrilling to my husband? The fact that 'Gilmore Girls' is one of my all time favorite shows, and as such, I TiVo old episodes I've never seen on ABC Family and watch them...and as a result, my son now knows the theme song enough so that he pauses whenever he hears the opening strain, and cranes his neck toward the screen. To me? Adorable and hilarious.

There Is Magic

Obviously, life is full of ups and downs. That's just the way it goes. And the downs make you appreciate the ups, don't they? I think so. Coming through a rough patch and into a good stretch is one of the best feelings there is. And it makes you feel like there really is magic in the world. Or when you've really been hoping and praying for something - whether it's for yourself or someone else - when it comes to pass, it feels like magic. Just a thought for today.

Eureka!

We may have had a breakthrough with B's breathing issues. Today, we went to the pediatrician for the follow up to his latest hospital stay. We discussed a lot of things, including a maintenance plan to avoid flare ups, potential ideas for pinpointing triggers, etc. At one point, the NP said, "Have you ever tried soy formula with him?" I told her that we hadn't. She said, "Well, several of my kids had a very tough time with milk and milk-based formulas. It made them wheeze, even if I had milk while breastfeeding." And it was like a lightbulb went off. I mean...I'm lactose intolerant. B's cousin had to drink soy formula beause he couldn't take the milk-based, AND most importantly (perhaps), his allergy symptoms definitely started to flare up right around the time we introduced formula. I mean, it wasn't immediate enough that it's definitely the cause, because I think if it had been, we all would've picked up on it immediately. But it wasn't the first time that the formula connection entered my head, either. And when I told my Mom about it, she told me it'd occurred to her, too. So, we're trying soy formula today and we'll see whether it makes a difference. I have a feeling it will. So...next time, I'll listen more closely to my mother's intuition.

Adventures, Both Fun and...Less Fun

It was a really interesting weekend. We had a wedding in Rochester, NY. Since that is a six and a half hour drive from here, we decided to leave B with my parents, since that's a really long car ride, even for a really good baby. We dropped him off on Friday morning and set out. We arrived in Rochester in the early evening, and went out for a nice, outdoor dinner. We had wings (of course) and beer (of course) on a deck, and enjoyed some grown up time. We laughed at ourselves because we missed B so much that we were looking at pictures of him on E's iPhone by the end of dinner. It was a great, fun night, though. We hadn't had a night like that in a long time.

Saturday was the wedding. We did our wedding ritual of going out to breakfast before getting ready. We got ready, met up with some friends and headed to the church. The reception was outdoors in a wedding tent, by a lake. It was really pretty, and the weather was absolutely perfect. We had such a blast at the wedding. We had a good bit to drink, since we figured this was our chance! I think we poured ourselves into bed at around 1:30 or so.

At 3:45, E's phone rang. I was still half asleep, so figured it was one of his drunken friends calling. But then I realized that he was really rather serious. I heard him say something about a fax, and all I could think was, "WHY would someone from work be calling him at 4 am on a Sunday?!" E put the phone down, and by the look on his face, I knew it was my Mom calling. I frantically asked him what was wrong. He was trying to calm me down before telling me - NOT an effective way of calming me down. Finally, he told me that B was having some trouble breathing again, and that my Mom was calling because she was thinking of taking him to the hospital, and wanted to call us beforehand. The faxing they were talking about was in case they needed a consent form to get B treatment. I got on the phone and my Mom explained that he was okay, and not as bad as he was last time, but that she didn't want to risk it getting that bad, so she was planing to take him in as a precaution. She said that my sister was on the way to her house, and that she would call me back when they had the fax number (my brother in law's) for me to fax a permission.

I hung up the phone and basically went on auto-pilot, packing up the room. E went down and checked out, and then packed most of our stuff in the car. At around 4:30, I hadn't heard back from my Mom, so I called back. She told me that they'd spoken to B's doctor, who agreed with the decision to bring him in and told them that they didn't need the fax - that a phone permission would be fine. They'd gotten B in the car and that he was smiling and flirting with my sister, which they thought was a good sign (he has a major thing for his Auntie K). I told them that we were getting in the car and would be there as soon as possible.

I called back from the road and spoke to a woman at the hospital, who took my insurance information. After that, the ride is kind of a blur of moments of snoozing, moments of road whizzing by, and moments of wondering WHY we'd gone somewhere six and a half hours away from B.

We got to the hospital around 11:15 Sunday morning. B was in an exam room in the ER, resting on his Papa's lap, smiling and laughing. He was definitely "tugging" (the term for the movement of the abdomenal muscles when someone is in asthmatic distress) but seemed in good spirits. They moved him to a private room around noon, and were doing nebulizer treatments every two hours. This time, he was still able to do bottles, so he didn't need an IV or oxygen, which was reassuring. The treatments continued through the night. I stayed with B at the hospital and sent E to my parents' house to get some sleep, since he hadn't been able to nap in the car.

By yestereday morning, he'd improved. The doctor said that if we could keep the nebulizer treatments at every four hours, he could go home at 4:00, which we did. We are still doing nebs every four hours, so I'm still completely exhausted, but at least our little adventure is coming to a close.

For anyone who's wondering, the 4 am phone call about your child really does suck as much as you imagine, and every horrible scenario really does flash through your head.

I Just...

I was on vacation half of last week. (That's the main reason for my lack of updates.) I was supposed to be on vacation all week, but events at work dictated that I only take half the week. I was agonizing over whether to cancel the entire vacation, but...something happened at work on Monday that made me realize it was best that I take the time. I won't even get into it, but it was ridiculous. Then, I worked from home (or, more specifically, from my parents' house) on Tuesday, and was off Wednesday-Friday. I stayed at my parents' house for the week. My husband was away for work, and my Mom seemed to think it was a good opportunity for some baby hogging, which is her favorite activity. It was really a great week. It was so nice to have so much time with B and with my parents. I missed E terribly, but he came home on Thursday and stayed at my parents' house with us. I really just especially loved having that time to focus on B, without distractions. We had such a blast together. My work from home days aren't like that - I'm frazzled and being pulled in a million directions between work and B and housework. Last week, I was able to just enjoy my little boy, and it was completely awesome. He is such a fun little person. He loves to laugh and he's starting to talk now. It made going back to work this week even worse than coming back from vacation normally is, because in addition to the regular coming back from vacation nonsense, I also missed him so, so much - it was really pathetic. It's just that I could just snuggle with him and play with him all the livelong day and be perfectly happy!

BOO to Not Sleeping

Insomnia strikes again. 3:54 a.m. and I've been up for the past hour and a half. Since B has been getting up anywhere between 4:30 and 6:00 lately, it's barely even worth trying to get back to sleep at this point. My husband is also leaving for a business trip at 5:30 (He's got an 8:00 a.m. flight. On a Sunday. Yes, I do love his company SO MUCH, why do you ask?), so I'm not holding out hope for much more sleep tonight.

Earlier today, or yesterday, or whatever, I had what I like to call an emotional reboot (TM, people!)...Basically, a meltdown. But a necessary meltdown. The kind where, you kind of get to the end of your rope about someting, and lose it for a minute, and then when it's over, you feel like you're in a place where you can face things again in effective way. This one was about moving. We're trying to get our condo ready to sell. This is tricky when we both work so far away and we have a nine month old and our weekends are largely booked. I know we can and will do it. But occasionally, the process is overwhelming to me, particularly because I'm not the most patient person on the planet. But it was really cathartic to just LOSE it for a few minutes. When I was done, we actually got down to business and got some stuff done and it felt great. My husband is the best, man. I'm going to miss him the next few days.

Sometimes, Karma's Cool

After the rant the other day about customer service, I had a little run in yesterday with the pharmacy staff at CVS. BUT. In the end, the pharmacist waited on me himself, and gave me a new customer gift bag for my patience. Stuff like that? Is what gets you through.

Customer What Now?

I've had some absolutely appalling experiences with customer service lately - to the point where it's kind of actually troubling me. I know I wrote about my Father's Day fiasco with Sears. Well, then there was the even bigger fiasco with FedEx a couple weeks ago that was so bad I'll honestly never use them again, if I can in any way avoid it. DHL is my homeboy, people. Here's what happened (and I'm going to do my best to protect the privacy of the individuals involved - my friends, I mean, not the FedEx peeps - their names will be in the post).

A few weeks ago, a friend's father was diagnosed with colon cancer. Shortly thereafter, we were having a get together, so my sister, brother and I thought it'd be a fun idea to get some LiveStrong wrist bands to bring to the get together in his honor. (He is a very popular guy, so had already gone through a box of them, just among his friends and family.) So, I ordered the bands Thursday for what I thought was Saturday delivery. To make an even longer story a little shorter, I found out on Friday that I'd been mistaken. So, I called the Lance Armstrong Foundation, and after some cajoling from my sister and myself, they (VERY KINDLY) agreed to pay an additional fee to expedite the shipping to Saturday delivery (in addition to the fee I'd already paid for expedited shipping, mind you). We had a conference call with me, FedEx and LAF, and all parties agreed that this would work just fine, and we were all set. YAY! I thanked LAF profusely for their generosity. The woman told me they were glad to help.

Saturday, of course, the wrist bands did not arrive and did not arrive and I finally called FedEx. The "customer support" rep I spoke to was at a complete loss. I asked to be escalated to a manager, which I was. The manager's name was Tonya Bass. I pass this along in case any of you has occasion to deal with FedEx "customer support." Anyway, after around 45 minutes debating with Ms. Bass the fact that I was in Long Island and the facility where they were holding my shipment hostage was in Jamaica, NY (Queens), and really, that's...not that far away, and that the LAF and I had BOTH paid expedited shipping fees, and after her changing her story from, "Well, the shipment missed the truck this morning," to "Well, actually, the Lance Armstrong Foundation never did upgrade the shipping," and back again (after I informed her that I knew that to be false, since I'd been on the phone with both LAF and FedEx at the time when the shipping was upgraded), she finally informed me that she was getting off shift and would be hanging up on me. Upon my letting her know how unwise a move this would be, she calmed down enough to assure me she would have someone call me back once they were able to locate my package and figure something out.

Two hours later, shockingly, I had not heard from FedEx. I called back again, and again and this time immediately asked to be escalated to a manager. The manager who answered this time, Sheila Malone, was more pleasant. I told her the entire story and she let me know that Ms. Bass was supposed to have let her know of any outstanding customer support issues, but did not. I told Ms. Malone exactly how unhappy I was with the situation, and that I'd come to terms with the fact that I wouldn't be getting my shipment that day, but that although my little shipment probably didn't mean much to a company like FedEx, the fact that I was in the presence of five business owners who all used FedEx regularly should.

The next night when I got home, I wrote to FedEx and detailed the entire story, including the names, and including the assertion that I and the other business owners I'd been with over the weekend would not be using FedEx any longer. In response, I received a grammatically incorrect autoresponse. So, I wrote back, "Is this response a joke? Do your customers honestly mean so little to you that you can't even be bothered to provide grammatically correct responses to complaints? Perhaps it's a good thing that FedEx will lose business over this incident." At that point, I did at least receive an actual email from an actual person, but it still signed off with, "I hope your next interaction with FedEx proves more positive." Yea. Still not quite getting the point, here. THERE WILL BE NO NEXT TIME.

I feel like, increasingly, these large companies are so comfortable in their monopolies of their respective fields that they are completely complacent when it comes to customer service. (I've had similar experiences recently with not only Sears, but also Comcast and CVS.) I don't mean to be all fringe, "EFF THE MAN!" here, but it's really troubling to me that companies that should be based on customer service...don't give a sweet goddamn about customer service. And they wonder why they lose customers in this type of economy?! You know who has my business for life? Virgin Atlantic Airways. And do you know why? Because once, nearly ten years ago, they took such good care of me on a flight to London that I will never, ever forget it. Companies these days bemoan the lack of brand loyalty. But I've never heard Richard Branson bemoan it - and I don't think that's a coincidence.

Don't blink.

Today, B is nine months old. In some ways, it kind of seems like I've always been his Mommy, but in others, nine months seem to have gone by in a blink. Last weekend, on the ferry back from Long Island, I was standing on the deck with B in the Baby Bjorn, when a man turned to me and said, "Don't blink. Whatever you do, don't blink. Mine is 16 already and it seems like yesterday that she was that age." So, along today's recurring theme of staying in the moment, I'm going to try not to blink, because I don't want to miss a thing!

Perspective

I've written a couple different times in this space about how I'm trying to be a more positive person. I mean, I think I've always been a reasonably positive person - a worrier, yes, but generally a pretty upbeat person. But because I AM admittedly a worrier, I do have to devote some focus to staying "in the moment" as my Mom would say. I have to remind myself sometimes to enjoy the moment I'm in and to take the positivity from it that I can, and not worry about what's coming next or how things will turn out.

I do also tend to stress out pretty easily. Ironically, my reputation among my colleagues is that I handle stress well and don't get worked up. They have no idea what a toll stress takes on me internally. Just because I'm not flipping out in hte middle of the work day doesn't mean my insides aren't in turmoil. I'm sure my husband, who sees the aftermath, could enlighten them to the myriad ways my stress can manifest itself.

Lately, because I've had a stressful couple of weeks, and because work has been less than ideal, and because we have such a brutal commute, and because having a baby is crazy expensive and we're both underpaid (it's all relative, I know, and we do just fine - we're both just underpaid for our specific roles), I've been really stressed out. And I can tend to have episodes of self pity when I'm stressed out. I've had a couple of Woe Is Me moments this week. But when I really take stock of all the wonderful, wonderful people and things in my life, I feel downright embarrassed about having even moments of self pity. I am so blessed in so many ways, and I know that. So, although I lose sight of that during my stressy moments, I never truly lose sight of it.

Back in the Saddle

Well, last week's vacation started out a little rocky, but did get better. We spent the latter part of last week and the weekend at my brother's house in Bridgehampton, NY, where we had a family reunion. There were 27 of us staying at the house and 10 others staying at hotels and my aunt & uncle's place in Orient, NY. Of the 27 at the house, four were under 15 months old. It was nutty. But it was SUCH fun. My brother and sister in law have the most amazing yard with a pool, hot tub, pool house and huge deck, which is ideal for a summer family gathering. And it's big enough to be comfortable for that many people. Plus, the weather was just ideal, which helps.

Yesterday, I was suffering from a MAJOR case of let down. I had been looking forward to my vacation week, and especially the family reunion for SUCH a long time, and between the stressful stuff that happened last week, and the fact that the reunion was over, AND the fact that I was returing to work, I was just a ball of anxiety yesterday. Shocking, I know. Thankfully, I do have one more week of vacation coming up in August. No big plans for it yet, but I'm just hoping it won't start off with a trip to the hospital.

Life Is a Crazy Ride

I had so much going on this weekend that I forgot that originally, I was going to post Saturday about the fact that it was the 10th anniversary of the day I moved to Atlanta. I cannot believe that was ten years ago. That just seems crazy.

That, along with various events this past week, has reminded me that life is short (and goes by fast), and it is precious, and it is so important to make the most of it. It is so important to live the life you want to live. It's so important to believe you deserve that life and to chase it down and hold onto it with everything you've got.

Last night, B had a tough time sleeping, so we were up late. I happened upon ABC Family. There was a replay on of that guy Joel Osteen who has that hayooge church in Houston, TX. I'm not generally someone who would watch a Christian sermon on television, but occasionally, one of his will catch my attention enough that I'll check it out for a few minutes. I kind of dig his positive message. So much of Christianity, and especially Catholicism is based in negativity - judgment, guilt, etc., that it turns me off. But this guy preaches positivity. He makes Christian seem like a good thing to be, without making other religions seem like inherently bad things to be. Anyway (those of you who know me to be a left wing, hippie dippy spiritualist can pick your jaws up off the floor now), the reason what he was saying last night caught my attention for a few minutes was that he was talking about recognizing that faith entitles you to good things in life. It was just an interesting way of putting things. Basically, he was saying that we should put our trust in God to help us through our trials, and that he will lead us through them (not necessarily a new concept) and that we can achieve peace of mind by realizing we deserve this (that's the new part). I don't know. Several people who are very important to me had very difficult weekends for different reasons, so this idea just really hit the spot for me, spiritually, last night.

It also kind of goes along with what I've been thinking about so much lately about being a more positive person. Negativity doesn't really do anything for us, does it? So, why spend our lives in the dark place? Why NOT trust that things will get better? Why NOT trust that, if we hit a rough patch, it's just that, and that God (or whatever you believe in) will bring us through it and we'll reach the happy place on the other side? I mean, shit, it'll make life more fun, at the very least.

A Birthday Wish

A year ago today, a very special little girl was born. She was only with us physically for seven weeks, but she had an enormous impact on an enormous number of people in her short time here. And so, I'd like to wish a Happy Birthday to Willa Vaughan Jones. All my love, precious girl. I wish I could've gotten to know you. And thank you for helping to keep watch over my little man last night.

Why My Mom Colors Her Hair...

It's been a rough couple days around here. It's better now, but things were a little scary. When we woke up Thursday morning, B had what appeared to be pink eye. Obviously, we couldn't send him to daycare (although, apparently, some of the other parents at daycare didn't find that so obvious), and since I stayed home with him LAST week, E agreed to stay home with him. I went to work, and E took B to the doctor. The diagnosis was conjunctivitis (pink eye) and the beginnings of an ear infection. When I came home Thursday evening, I noticed he was also starting to wheeze a little bit. So, we gave him his antibiotics, and we gave him a dose of the nebulizer. We put him up in his crib and he slept for a little while, but was wailing soon enough. I went up to get him because it was obvious he wasn't going back to sleep. Since I was working from home Friday, I told E to go to bed and I'd stay downstairs with him. Neither of us slept very much that night (I think I slept about half an hour, total.). He was just fitful and I could tell he was uncomfortable. And he was definitely having trouble breathing normally. But I knew my Mom was coming Friday morning, so I knew we'd get through until then. And if anyone can identify a child in distress, it's my Mom. We gave him a nebulizer treatment before Eric went to work. After that, he was in pretty good shape, so Eric went to work. He was okay for about a half hour, and then he really started to struggle again. Later in the morning, I gave him another neb treatment. He was in good shape again, so I fed him. My Mom got here right after that, and once again, he was good for around a half hour, and then started to deteriorate. My Mom became pretty concerned, pretty quickly, especially when he didn't want a bath, which he normally loves. She told me to call the doctor. This was around 10:30. They told me they had a 3:00 open, but we both felt like B couldn't wait that long to go in. They managed to squeeze us in for 11:15, so I got dressed very quickly (no shower, naturally) and we put him in a new onesie and took off. When we got to the doctor, it was pretty clear that everyone now understood why we needed to come right in. B was having so much trouble breathing that he was grunting and crying with each breath he struggled to take. It was about the worst sound I've ever heard. They gave him another nebulizer treatment at the office. It helped, but his oxygen saturation level only went from 89 to 92. They want it to be as close to 100 as possible. So, the NP told us she wanted us to head across the street to the hospital, just to be on the safe side. And off we went to the hospital, where they gave him a chest ex-ray, another nebulizer treatment, put an oxygen tube up his nose, gave him a steroid and put in an IV (which took a couple tries and finally had to be inserted by a NICU nurse), because the doctor felt he wasn't stable enough to try to eat, both because his breathing was so poor and because he was sick enough that he probably wouldn't keep food down very well.

The afternoon was really just a succession of nebulizer treatments, between which he would improve slightly and then deteriorate. The ex-ray determined that he had Restrictive Airway Disease, with possible pneumonia in the lower right lobe, but the doctor thought it probably was not actually pneumonia, since he never had a fever. Finally, early in the evening, he just fell dead asleep. His poor little body was just completely exhausted after struggling to breathe for so long. He slept through the night, pretty much, except when the nurse woke him for medication. E and I both stayed at the hospital too, of course. There was a daybed couch thing in the room, so I slept on that, and the nurses got a chair version of the daybed from an empty room and he slept on that. I actually slept surprisingly well. I think it was because a) I was exhausted from not sleeping the previous night and b) I knew the nurses would be checking on B throughout the night, and plus, he was hooked up to machines that were monitoring his heart rate and breathing, so if anything were amiss, they would start beeping.

This morning, B woke up at 5:15 and was immediately our boy again, thank God. He was his chipper self, smiling and chatting, and flirting with the nurses. He had some milk first thing, and that was another good sign. By noon time, he had eaten some bananas, and we knew we'd be able to take him home this afternoon.

I know that one night in the hospital isn't that huge a deal, but I have to say, it was one of the scariest things I've been through. Just knowing that your child can't breathe - especially knowing, as I do, how that feels - is a horrible feeling. I have gained so much more appreciation for everything my Mom went through as a mother since I had B, and after yesterday, I understand now why she tended to be so over protective of me at times. She went through what I went through yesterday on a number of occasions. And back then, they didn't have nebulizers or any of that, which must've made it even scarier. I love B with everything in me and I was so unbelievably elated this morning to see him acting himself again.

The Curse of the Vivid Memory

I've always been kind of...sensitive. Even as a kid, things got to me that most kids wouldn't ever notice or care about. I would hear about something that happened to someone and it would break my heart, even though I had no idea who the person it happened to even was. Sometimes, this sensitivity has served me, but most of the time, all it does is make me an even more nervous person than I already am. Years after the fact, I'll still remember some incident that someone I know went through, and it'll still have some kind of impact on my psyche. Meanwhile, the person it actually happened to will have long forgotten it.

I have memories from my childhood, too, that still make me cringe with embarrassment. Something I said or did that I determined to be embarrassingly inappropriate in some way, that I remember as vividly as if they'd happened yesterday, can stop me cold in the middle of a thought, and I'll think, "God, I'm an idiot." And after a beat, "Well, I was an idiot when I was 11, anyway."

I always think that these memories of embarrassments or hurts or whatever will come in handy in my writing. That one day, I'll finally figure out the story I can ride to international bestsellerdom, and that these anecdotes, or the more entertaining of them, will find their way into the story. Will that happen? Who knows? Maybe one day I really WILL write about the time I broke up with a boyfriend in the middle of Franklin Street in downtown Boston, yelling at him for being a cheating asshole, as promised. Maybe one day I really WILL write about the time my Dad caught me having Barbie and Ken get busy and I made up a completely PREPOSTEROUS excuse as to why they were naked...and then guiltily recanted two hours later, which was really just more awkward for poor Dad. I guess in the meantime, I can at least entertain my sister and best friend with the ridiculous stories that no one remembers but me...well, and them, because I've told each of them those stories 542 times.

Where's the Fire?

When I was a kid, my aunt and uncle rented a beach house every July at Humarock, MA. It was a big, old Victorian house that had been very well cared for by a family who never rented it, except to my aunt and uncle. My grandparents, their three children, and their children's respective broods, would all crowd into this big, old house for the 4th. Actually though, at Humarock, the "event" was the 3rd. The night before the 4th, that beach was a chaotic mess of illegal fireworks, bonfires and beer. Even before I could or wanted to enjoy the beer, the fireworks and bonfires were quite a spectacle. It was such a blast of a gathering because the Pennsylvania cousins would come, which was a relatively rare pleasure. And we would all get together on the porch and the sea wall and watch the spectacle. Except my grandfather, Bucky. Bucky would be in the house because he hated bugs and he hated fireworks and he wasn't a big fan of crowds. Especially as he got older, that night wasn't exactly appealing to him. What WAS appealing to him was watching out the window as the people he loved most in the world enjoyed this crazy night he could barely stand. It's funny. I've definitely inherited Bucky's nervousness about fire. Not that big a fan, I have to say. Yet, I'd give almost anything to be able to share those nights of fireworks and bonfires with my boys.

The last 4th of July gathering we had that Bucky was alive for was 1998. Ten years ago. So, ten years ago tonight, Bucky was sitting, thoroughly annoyed, in the living room of our Humarock house, watching us all act silly on the beach. That weekend was the last we had together as a family before Bucky died. It was also a week before I moved to Atlanta. When I look back on that weekend now, it's almost surreal to think how unaware I was of how completely everything I knew about my life was about to change. Some of the changes were for the better, and obviously, some were for the worse. But it'd sure be nice to go back to Humarock and chill with Buck on the porch with a martini, even just for a day.

An Oldie But Goodie...

This was an old post from my myspace blog. I brought it over because I enjoyed writing it so much. And since writing it originally, back in the summer of 2006, one more song has come along that needs to be added. It'll be the second to last one...


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It's funny how a song can bring you back to a moment so specifically and so effectively...

'Little Red Corvette'...hanging out with my big sister...the coolest person in the world, feeling so lucky that she would choose to spend time with me, trying to absorb as much of her coolness as I could...

'Santeria'...riding in an open jeep in the sunshine, feeling the sun on my face, feeling beautiful for the first time in years, feeling like my life was about to change, but not being sure why or how...

'Little Plastic Castles'...sitting in the window of my tiny bedroom my senior year of college, taking a break from writing my thesis, dreaming of how completing it was going to change my life, and of all the great writing I would do later on...feeling like my life was ahead of me and I could do anything...

'Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee'...driving across campus on my way to a NASA meeting, fire in my belly over all I'd learned about the real history of the country...

'Inside Out'...driving from Norcross to Buckhead to my first job in GA, wondering what in God's name had made me move so far from home, but feeling comforted by my sister's presence next to me in the car...

'As Cool As I Am'...my first year teaching, going on a blind date, realizing I didn't like the guy half as much as the one I already liked, and that I was okay with that, loving the mix tape my best friend had made me, missing her so much it ached...

'Praise You'...sitting in a darkened living room in Los Angeles, watching smoke curl its way upward from a lit Camel Light in the ashtray, realizing what, exactly, it feels like when your heart breaks...

'Honeysuckle Blue'...sitting on my parents' old sofa in an apartment in Georgia, drinking hunch punch with a bunch of southerners who'd adopted me as one of their own, feeling like these people would always be in my life...

'Dilate'...subway in NYC, heading downtown to a job training, feeling like this was the coolest, best place I'd ever been, loving how easy it is to blend into a city where anything goes...

'Fallin'...Washing my hair in my new apartment in Allston, wondering if the world would ever again feel as normal as I did singing along to this song in the mornings...

'Short Skirt, Long Jacket'...Looking up at a shaft of sunlight above me, smiling and feeling, for the first time in my life, that I was sexy enough to pull off a look like that...

'Closer to Myself'...Walking up Comm Ave in the sunshine, feeling like I'd found the secret to happiness, knowing deep down I was wrong, but hoping like Hell I wasn't...

'Hands Down'...Singing to myself in my apartment in Beacon Hill, feeling all angsty about when, if ever, I was going to have a date that good...

'Burn'...singing along with Usher at the top of my lungs and knowing just exactly what he meant when he sang the shit out of those lyrics...

'Tessie'...the absolutely intoxicating mix of my team finally winning and my own finally finding that right person...there was never a better week than that one...

'Suspicious Minds'...Ironically, dancing at a wedding, finally knowing what it was like to feel truly loved by someone who wasn't required by blood to feel that way...

'Only With You'...looking my brand new husband in the eye and knowing he was my past, present and future. Knowing I was safe and loved and was finally someone's favorite.

'Power of Two'...knowing my dream had finally come true and nothing had ruined it and I could exhale.

'No One'...Singing to my brand new son while watching VH-1 in the middle of the night, feeling an intensity of love and protectiveness I wasn't aware I could feel until just then...

'You Are My Sunshine'...a lifetime's worth...sitting on my grandfather's knee, dozing, feeling like everything was just right...missing him when he'd gone, being comforted that this song would continue to link us, somehow...dancing with my father, both of us crying both with joy and with the ache of missing my grandfather on a day he would've loved to be part of. And finally, singing to my son to calm him during restless moments, being amazed each time how quickly that song could quiet him, as if he knew instinctively how important it was...

I Miss You

I had a girls' night on Saturday night. It was a GREAT time. My husband and son spent the weekend up in VT with my in-laws, since I was away Saturday night. So, they were gone Friday to Sunday. Then yesterday morning, my husband left for Texas for three days. So, essentially, I haven't seen him since Friday and won't until Thursday (he gets home at some ridiculous hour tomorrow night). I am not a fan. I miss him. I even miss his snoring! My brother in law travels an average of four days a week and my sister manages, but my husband goes out of town for a couple days and I go to pieces. We're just different, I guess. I'd just rather have him around. He's kinda cute, you know?

Insomnia AGAIN

Dude. This is just getting ridiculous. Tonight, I went to bed at 11:00. Finally fell asleep sometime between 11:30 and 12:00. At 1:00, the phone rang. When I picked up, there was no one there. Five minutes later, it rang again. Picked up, no one there. But the damage was done. It's now 4:20 and I still haven't fallen back to sleep. Seriously. What is up?!

Father's Day

Growing up, Father's Day was always fun in our family. A lot of years, we would gather in my parents' back yard and play bocce or basketball or both. I was a daddy's girl and a grandpa's girl (or, more precisely, a Bucky's girl) growing up, so any day I got to spend with both of them was a good one. Plus, it usually fell sometime right before school ended, which was always a favorite time of year.

This year is my husband's first Father's Day. I'm excited for a day to celebrate what a fantastic job he's doing. He is an amazing father and I'm so lucky to have him to be a parent with. My son just absolutely adores his daddy and it's such fun to watch.

I ordered him an e-gift card and Sears (where I ordered it from) has managed to completely botch it enough that it's probably going to screw up my husband's first Father's Day gift. I ordered it from there because they are having a grill sale and my husband wants to buy a new grill. The sale ends tomorrow, and when I just talked to them on the phone (for the third time today) they informed me that it'll be at least tomorrow before the confusion gets cleared up...meaning there's a decent chance my husband will miss the sale. So, Sears has effectively lost my business going forward. Well done, Sears.

But annoyances aside, I'm glad there is a special day (even if said day was invented by Hallmark)to thank him for everything he does. My son and I are very, very blessed to have the world's greatest Daddy right here in our very own family.

Tests

I remember hearing or reading somewhere once that when you wish really hard for something, sometimes God (or the universe, or the divine, or whatever) tests you before giving it to you. If you say, "I would do anything for [fill in the blank]," then God goes, "Yea? So, prove it." I remember hearing about this with respect to true love. Like, you say, "I would do anything to find my soulmate," and God says, "Ok....then do this&this&this&this&this and then we'll talk." And the theory is that that is why your life sometimes gets extremely crazy right before the right person comes into it. And I know mine certainly did. The summer before my husband and I got together for good was, let's just say, not easy. Looking back, most of the craziness was just my tying up loose ends with various on and off romantic partners, so that when the time came, I wouldn't have any lingering questions. And I didn't, so the turmoil I went through with those boys who were not meant for me was well worth it.

But it doesn't just apply romantically, at least not for me. Any time I've been on the brink of getting something I really want, I go through a period of upheaval. I can think of several examples. It's always been a sort of darkest before the dawn type of thing. And I think it's what's going on right now. Not that things are so dark right now. On the contrary, my life is an embarrassment of riches, in terms of the blessings I've been granted. But there is a sort of upheaval going on, a lot of it internal, and I think it's because I'm going through the test period before something wonderful comes my way. That's what gets me through times like this...remembering that the best times in my life have always been preceded by some upheaval. So, I'm going to keep knocking down whatever bowling pins God throws up in front of me until I get to where I want to be. Just like I always have.

Hot Hot Heat

So, in all likelihood, pretty much anyone reading this already knows, but just in case...it's really hot out. The entire northeast region of the country is in the middle of a heat wave complete with intense humidity. I can't even bear to be outside, really, or I start to feel my migraine coming on. It's just gross. This got me thinking about the fact that, 10 years ago this summer, I moved to Atlanta, where I lived for three summers. In Atlanta, a day like today isn't even noteworthy for the heat. In Atlanta, a day like today is...June. Granted, most places you go in Atlanta are air conditioned. But I was thinking about how, when I lived there, I did spend time outside in the summer. One summer, I worked at a bar with a patio, slinging drinks out on said patio, where it was certainly not air conditioned. And even beyond that, I would go with friends to the Mexican place up the street from us, Los Rancheros, and drink insanely cheap margaritas, or eat insanely cheap Mexican food, often outside, in the middle of summer. I think I became kind of inured to the heat. I just do not remember it bothering me quite the way it does now. Maybe I'm getting old, or maybe it's hormonal. Who knows? Maybe it's just that I've come back to my Yankee roots and can't take the heat anymore. But whatever it is...it's hot. And since I don't feel like experiencing that blinding pain behind my left eye, I think I'm going to stay inside for the rest of the day.

Insomnia Strikes Again!

Well, here it is, 2:15 in the morning and I should be sleeping. I'm not sleeping. Luckily, I don't have work tomorrow. A friend of mine is getting married tomorrow, so I've got the day off. But I do have about a million things to do. My parents are taking care of the baby, so we've got to get him down to my sister's house where they'll pick him up, and then get out to western Mass and get checked into the hotel and get ready for the wedding, which starts at 4:00. And getting prepped for even part of the weekend away from home takes a lot of time these days. I don't know if that's why I can't sleep, or whether it's residual stress from the week, or what. It's maddening though. I don't want to be overtired for the wedding and now it's pretty much guaranteed that I will be. And I think my not wanting to be overtired makes the insomnia worse. Vicious circle.

Zen Master B

I think I've mentioned here before that my son is generally a very laid back child, and that I could learn from his ability to roll with the punches. I was thinking about that today, when it was brutally hot in our house and I was becoming more enraged by the minute when our air conditioning wouldn't work, while he was sunny as could be, giggling just to cheer me up. His approach to life is with gusto and a smile. Granted, this might be largely because he's seven months old, but even as such, he is an exceptionally mellow kid. It's yet another reason I find him to be such a blessing. When I take life too seriously and get myself into a dark place, one of his smiles or giggles can turn it right around for me. I mean, how lucky am I?! Today, I was in such a horrid mood, and he just started giggling and he kept right on giggling until I forgot what I was in a bad mood about in the first place. My little Zen master, showing me that joy can be found in simplicity and that the material world is unimportant as long as we have our inner smile. Or giggle. Whichever.

Yo, I'm just loungin', G...

I think I ripped that line off a Marky Mark song from back in the day, but it just seemed to fit, especially in light of the velour track suit.

So...

I was fourteen and a resident of a Boston suburb in 1990. As such, I loved me some New Kids on the Block. The confluence of events that brought them into my life at that moment was like a perfect storm of hormones and bubble gum music and I really can't remember anything before or since that inspired that sort of frantic excitement in me. The pure thrill that would buzz through me at the merest sighting of them on TV or a snippet of one of their songs on the radio, or a picture in a magazine...it was intoxicating. Don't even get me started on what it was like when my uncle got me an autographed picture of Joey McIntyre (my chosen favorite)...I was delirious.

My friends and I shamelessly stalked these people, along with God knows how many other girls our age. We were known to do ridiculous things like insist upon driving by Joey's house on the way to one friend's asthma doctor. (Yea. We went to the doctor with her just so we could drive by his house.) Once, when we were going to a concert, we set all the clocks in that same friend's apartment ahead an hour so we could leave earlier. People got to their concerts HOURS ahead of time, hoping for a sighting. Also, that friend's mom should probably be canonized, just for what she had to put up with from our 14 year old selves. She was the first adult I swore in front of, when the Pay Per View feed we were enjoying from six inches away momentarily froze in the middle of the introduction to a concert. Yes, you read correctly. The actual concert hadn't even begun yet.

My poor sister was 20 years old and came home from college to a room absolutely COVERED in images of these people in whom she had no interest. I had removed her beloved Jon Bon Jovi in favor of my beloved Joey. She was outraged, clearly. So saturated was she (unwillingly) in these images that she was known, on occasion, to dream of the fellas. Unlike me, however, she did NOT awake devastated that the dreams had ended. Go figure.

My Dad was the most supportive of my fandom. He bought me all the New Kids CD's. He bought me my concert tickets. Once, he even bought me my OWN Pay Per View concert. My Mom was...displeased, to say the least - mainly because I had a date on the night of the concert, so wasn't even home to watch the thing, meaning she and my Dad had to tape it for me. Naturally, after an evening of feigned indifference of all things New Kids, I RAN home and watched the tape, in its entirety, twice.

By the time they released their last album in 1994 (which, of course, my Dad brought home to me the day it was released), I was a senior in high school and had largely moved on musically to the more timely and hip likes of R.E.M. and Pearl Jam. I was curious enough about the album to give it a few listens, hoping to find some of the magic I remembered form four years earlier. But...that album just wasn't all that good, much as it still pains me to say it. That, combined with my 18 year old self consciousness over actually liking a (gasp!) boy band in the mid-nineties was enough to cause me to turn my back on my idols. A sad day, indeed.

Now, here it is in 2008, and the New Kids are reuniting. And I have to admit, it's pretty enjoyable. It's not as heady as it was 18 years ago. It couldn't be. I have more life experience and fewer hormones raging through me. But it's oddly comforting to see them on my TV once again, to remember how much joy they brought me at a pivotal moment in my life, to remember how daydreaming about Joey McIntyre afforded me an escape during some tough times. I'm hardly a 14 year old girl. I'm a wife and a mother. And I'm hardly going to plaster posters on my walls. I have actual art (apologies to Lynn Goldsmith - I do not mean to imply that your lovely book was not actual art). But I will surely go to see them perform, and remember that time Joey TOTALLY looked right at me from the stage of Worcester Centrum, back in 1990.

Tired

I haven't written here in a couple weeks. I've been in kind of a down cycle lately. I've been so exhausted and uninspired. I try to be a positive person, and especially lately, I've been trying to be more positive, but the past couple weeks, I've been struggling with that. I just get flat out exhausted, and I think that makes it more difficult to stay positive. Work has been frustrating too, so that doesn't help. If I have to spend time away from my son, I want it to be at least time well spent, you know? And sometimes, I feel like I'm just swimming against a current in my career. I want to find that thing that I'm meant to do. I know it's out there, just like how I used to want the right person to come along, and then he did. I know that right career path is out there. And I know what it is. I just need to stop hiding and make it happen. I think there is a part of me that is afraid to go for it, because if it doesn't pan out, then what would I dream of, you know? But the thing is, I know it will pan out. I do. I know it with everything in me. There isn't a shred of doubt. It's just like I've been holding myself back...and I don't know why. And then I have phases like I'm in right now when I feel mentally exhausted and my inspiration is all dried up. I've got to find a way to recharge, so I can go out there and get my career going.

Six Months!...and six days...

Last Friday, April 25th, my son turned six months old. My plan was to write a post that day to mark the occasion. But...he had other ideas. We had an errand to run at noontime, so I was getting him ready to go, when...he projectile vomited all over me. LOVELY. It seemed like maybe his lunch just hadn't settled right, so I changed him and got him ready and we headed out. We got to the parking lot of Babies R Us and I put him into his stroller. He then...projectile vomited all over me again. So, instead of running errands and writing blog posts, we went to visit the pediatrician. He had a stomach flu, and recovered pretty quickly. But then I got the stomach flu and didn't recover as quickly. I haven't been that ill in a long while. So, all this to explain why this post is six days late. But happy belated six month birthday, Buddy!

The past six months have been the most amazing I've had. You hear all these amazingly corny things about parenthood and what it's like...but the thing is, it really is everything they say it is. I have always had an abundance of love in my life. I have so many family members and good friends around me. I never felt like there was any shortage of love in my life, especially not since I've known my husband, who has brought even MORE love to my life. But in the last six months, I've experienced a kind of love I didn't even know existed. All those things you read in greeting cards about a heart beating outside your own body and all that...it's all sort of just TRUE. It's pretty effing cool.

Farewell, Old Friend...

One of the great tragedies (and there are many) of the scandal in the Catholic church the past few years is that the name of priest has been largely besmirched. We've heard about priest after priest acting in horrifyingly inappropriate ways, of abusing their posts and the trust that comes along with it. It's made many of us who grew up Catholic doubt the church as a whole, and priests in general. And that is a shame, because although far, far too many priests have indeed abused their posts, the tertiary victims here are the truly decent human beings who have gone into the priesthood with the most decent of intentions, those who have offered wisdom, guidance and caring to those of us who were (or in many cases, were not) members of their congregations.

One such priest, Father Clyde Chetwynde, was a huge part of my Catholic experience growing up. Whatever devotion I have left for the Catholic church comes largely from his teachings. He was someone I could discuss religion with, confess my sins to, ask my questions of, all without fear of judgment or reproach. He was someone who was devoted to bringing the youth back to the church, and whom parents could trust with their children, never having to fear that he would abuse that trust.

Father Clyde passed away on Saturday, and I, along with all those who were blessed to know him, will miss him greatly. Rest in peace, "God."

Simple Pleasures

It never fails to amaze me how much more simple pleasures mean to me since having my son. Honestly, I could easily spend a full day snuggling with him, smooching his cheeks, listening to him giggle and coo, and never be remotely bored. He's got about the greatest giggle I've ever heard...granted, I'm completely biased. He's such a little snuggle bug and he's got the sweetest smile and voice. It makes my Sunday scaries even worse than they've ever been because after having the weekend with him, I dread leaving him to go to work. I'd so much rather hang out with him. But I know it's good for him - he loves daycare and they love him. And it's good for me, too. Plus, I do like getting a paycheck. But...I think I could forego the paycheck for more time to listen to that giggle. Best. Sound. EVER.

BFF's

I've had the same best friend, more or less, since I was seven years old. I feel like that's somewhat rare in this day and age. We're really more like family at this point than friends. We drive each other crazy sometimes, we've had our clashes, we've gone for stretches not talking (not long stretches, mind you). But we've always made it back to being best friends. We rely on each other in a way that we can't rely on anyone else. We have a certain sensibility and sense of humor that we instinctively "get" with each other. And it's so comforting to have that - to know that I can write a three word email and she'll know exactly what I'm talking about - to know that I can cause her to dissolve in hysterics with a slight hand gesture signifying some years-old inside joke.

We went for drinks on Thursday night - our first cocktail night since I had my son. It was such fun. Then yesterday, I caught the scene in How Stella Got Her Groove Back when Angela Bassett's character is visiting Whoopi Goldberg's character in the hospital and Whoopi's near death. Scenes like that always kind of tear me up because I always think - what would I do if I lost my best friend? I mean, yea, I have the same thoughts when someone in a movie loses her husband or mother or child, but today I'm talking about my best friend. It just brings home the fact that I count on her in a million little ways that most of the time I don't even give a thought to. There is a certain kind of feedback that only she can provide. It's funny how you can know someone your whole life and most of the time, you don't even think to thank them for the million little things they might do for you, you know? So, I guess I want to thank my bff for being the funniest girl I know, the girl who got me through a million little heartaches, the girl who never judged me for my moments of bad judgment, the one who believed in me a million times I didn't believe in myself.

True Love

I believe in ghosts. I believe in spirits. I believe in soul mates - our companions in this life and beyond it. You can call it hokey or hippie dippy or whatever you want to throw at me. I still believe it. I believe there are people in this life that we know from another. And I believe that when these people pass from this life to the next, they sometimes come back to us to offer guidance or support or a shoulder to cry on. And anyone who was with me in my grandmother's hospital room the other day would believe it, too. I would bet my life that my grandfather was in that room.


When my grandfather was alive, he and my grandmother enjoyed the rarest of gifts - a truly happy marriage. They were madly in love until the day he died, and if you ask my grandmother, they remain so now, eight plus years later. From their marriage, I learned many of the important lessons about love - never to go to bed angry, to tell each other you love each other every day, always to present a united front, to relish your differences as well as your similarities.

Soon after he died, I went to visit my grandmother. We enjoyed their nightly ritual of cocktail hour. I drank a manhattan - my grandfather's "winter" drink, and I sat in his chair in the corner of their living room. Soon after I sat down, the lamp next to the chair flickered off, then back on. My grandmother giggled lightly. "That's Bucky. He does that every night during cocktail hour." That's only one example among many of the times he's found ways to communicate to us over the years.

On Thanksgiving last year, when my son was a month old, my grandmother told me that she'd been talking to my grandfather about my son, and that he thought he was beautiful and special and that he loved him. I didn't question that for a moment. I knew she was right. He'd told me the same thing, in his way.

Last week, my grandmother had a stroke-like episode (we're still not entirely sure what exactly happened or when), and was in the hospital. For the first couple days she was there, she was very out of it. In the middle of a sentence, she would just zone out. Her doctors think she was having mini-strokes. But the strange thing is that, often, during these zone outs, she would gaze up toward the corner of her room and speak quietly or nod. And then when she came back, she would have a question, usually about one of her children. Over the course of the day I was there, I got the distinct feeling that she was talking to my grandfather. I knew he was in the room as soon as I walked in, just as I'd suspected he would be - he would never want her to go through something like that alone. It was as if he were guiding her through the whole thing, telling her to hang in there, telling her that the kids would be there soon.

Because of my grandparents' relationship, I always had very high expectations for the love and romance that lay ahead for me. I credit that, above all, with having led me to my husband. Their love for each other taught me what true love is, and that it transcends "till death do us part." My grandmother is 92 years old and has two degenerative conditions. At some point, she will go to join my grandfather. As sad as this makes me, and it does make me very sad, I know that there is a part of her that just misses him, and is looking forward to their being together again, and I can hardly begrudge her that, after all she's done for me. Plus, I miss him terribly too, so I can only imagine how much more she does.