When the Light Seems Dim…

It’s good to have a friend like Brenda, who makes you feel the sunshine.



♥

Food is Love

Recently, I posted on my Facebook page that I was preparing myself for Nathan’s departure for college. I questioned if I was ready for it. I answered, “No, not at all.”

I’d add it to a long list of life’s not readys. Was I ready for the death of Disco? (You might not ever get rich but let me tell ya it's better than digging a ditch!) No. Was I ready for the revamped Boston Garden? No. Was I ready to become a second-time Mom at the age of 40? No. Though I guess that’s what life was really about; it was about being ready or not, because eventually it all came if you were ready or not.

One of my friends, whose daughter just graduated, replied to my posting. She asked, “Is your living room filled with college stuff yet?” I looked at my living room. In it was a couch, two chairs, two tables, a china cabinet, and a bookcase.

There were no signs of college life in my faux Victorian period living room. There were signs that my carpet needed vacuuming. There were signs that my bookcase and tables needed to be dusted; however, there were no hints that I had an 18-year-old who was going off to college shortly.

I wanted to respond to my friend's post but what would I say? “Err, no. When should I expect ICO (Identified College Objects) in my living room?" I hesitated and hesitation led to doubt. Was I doing something wrong in regard to Nathan's college preparation because I had no ICOs in my living room?

I pondered. I remember packing everything and the kitchen sink when I went to college; I even painfully remember wondering how I would survive without being with my Mom and my cats, Jerry, Patches, and Little Red. I reminded myself that my friend had a daughter.

I then said to myself, “18-year-old girls are from Bed, Bath, and Beyond; 18-year-old boys are from “Subway.” Some day the girls would be from Venus and the men would be from Mars. But, in the scheme of going away to college, this didn't seem to apply yet; in college, everyone was on the same page of Cosmos -- no parents, universal domination for all!

The girls needed the storage containers, the matching comforters and sheets, and the framed vintage movie posters to adorn their walls. The guys needed food. And, that’s all the guys really needed.

If the World ended tomorrow, I knew cockroaches would survive. I know that Nathan hoped that Subway would survive any nuclear disaster. I'm sure he could deal with the cockroaches as long as he had Subway.

At that point, I questioned Nathan. “Did you get a list of things you need from school.” He answered, “Yep.”

I asked, “Well, do we need to go shopping.” He answered, “Nope.” I asked, “But, you need things?” He answered, “Yep,” and then he finally, uncharacteristically, eked out a huge amount of information and said, “Dad and I are getting that stuff.”

I felt a bit gypped in the “Son Going to College” portion of my life. Besides paying for it, I wanted to be in the “Son Going to College” loop somehow. I called Nathan’s Dad to confirm that Nathan was going to be ready and not a not.

I went over the mental list in my head with his Dad. TV? He said that Nathan would have his new laptop and bring his large monitor; he could watch all his favorite shows on Hulu. Clothes? He was taking Nathan shopping for clothes. Refrigerator? He said, “Oh, you can buy that.”

I was elated that I was now a cog in “Son Going to College” wheel. Somehow buying a refrigerator became a mission not a consumer purchase. Of course, every mission has its failures and every cog gets worn down; I said to Nathan, “I’m getting you a refrigerator,” and he responded, “I don’t need one.”

As the air seeped out of my deflating tire, I asked, “But, but, but… [think fast, Mom], wouldn’t it be good to keep some cold drinks in your room?” Nathan pondered my suggestion. He answered, “Well, I guess so,” and I was a newly carved cog in the wheel again and the mission was not aborted.

On Saturday, I went to Target to search for the perfect refrigerator. Nathan said that he preferred black to white. Since Nathan’s room looked like every hurricane in history had passed through it, I wondered why he was now getting picky when it came to décor; however, I shied away from asking not wanting to receive an abort from “Son Going to College” mission.

I was probably taking it far too seriously; however, this “Son Going to College” mission was near and dear to my heart. I knew that many had done it before me, but I had never done it before; in my life, I was Neil Armstrong walking on a college campus for the first time.

Once at Target, I texted Nathan with “Big refrigerator?” and “Or small refrigerator?” with corresponding pictures. Given that I knew he wasn’t gung ho on the refrigerator from the start, I guessed his answer would be “small.” I guessed right.

I then texted him asking him if he wanted a white board for his dorm room. Of course, two seconds after texting this, I realized, “OMG, that’s so before cell phones.” He asked, “Why do I need one of those?”

I then tried to gracefully and comically recover from my “I’ve No Clue What It’s Like Having a Son Going to College in 2011” text. I answered, “Oh, we used to have them in college. But that was when dinosaurs roamed the Earth and we had no texting via cell phones.” He replied, “I’ll pass.”

After lifting what must have been a 100-pound 1.8 cubic chrome (in absence of black) refrigerator into my cart, I found myself in the food aisles. Somewhere between dairy and frozen foods, I determined that in absence of a matching comforter and sheets, I could give Nathan a “If the World Ends Tomorrow” or “I Have the Munchies After My First Off Campus Keg Party” food supply. After all, that’s what 18-year-old boys want – food!

As I strolled through the aisles, I thought about my friend’s question. Boys were so different from girls; I’m sure that when Iz goes to college, I will have a living room and family room full of matching comfortors, coordinating bins, and vintage movie posters. Nathan would be going to college with his clothes in a green trash bag, his computer, a long board (no bike for school; only a long board for which the campus had many racks!), and a refrigerator.

What I was getting for him, all seemed too little; however, it retrospect, it was all that he needed. For some reason, reasons that probably many parents know, I needed to give him more. So, I threw into my cart a huge box of Pepperidge Farm goldfish, two 42 ounce bags of M&Ms, 24 Hershey bars, and three bags of Oreo Double Stuff cookies.

I texted Nathan. I asked, “Do you like trail mix?” He responded, “Stop buying me stuff!”

It was true. Nathan would be going to college with all he had on his back and not much more. From his tone, it would certainly now be without trail mix!

In that moment, I was so proud of him yet I felt sad, because I felt that the food I was buying was all that I could really give to him right now. He was an adult who was going to handle it all on his own. But, in a way, he was too young to understand what the food meant to me.

When I was little, my Mom was a stay-at-home Mom until I was in first grade. At that point, she went back to work and worked only every other weekend. While my Dad did his best to be Mr. Mom, making us macaroni and cheese or kielbasa with beans for dinner, he lacked in the nurturing department. I remember tucking my sister in those nights and reading her Richard Scary’s “What Do People Do All Day?”

For lunches, my Dad was off duty. My sister loved peanut butter and jelly. Even though my sister was only 16 months younger than me, I always felt I needed to take care of her; I slathered on the jelly and the peanut butter.

Years later, she would tell me that I put on way too much jelly and peanut butter on my sandwiches. It was then I recalled my Mother telling me that she felt her Mom showed love using food. “Food was love,” my Mom used to say.

As I stood there in Target, I glanced at the refrigerator and then at the goldfish, Oreos, Hershey bars, and M&Ms. I smiled. I reminded myself that before Nathan left for college, I’d be sure to buy him a Subway gift card, because there was one near his campus. Good or bad, food was love and sometimes the only thing you felt you had to give. ♥

I Just Called to Say...

It’s only a week until Nathan, my eighteen-year-old son, leaves for college. I thought this last week might be about us spending a little more time together; however, I think that the Mom in me was playing some sort of joke on me. Of course, I could have said to him, “I need you to be home, so I can get used to you not being here,” but, seriously, did that make any sense? Nope.

Earlier in the week, Nathan texted me. “Can I go to Long Island from the 19th through the 24th? I love you.” Iz, my eight-year-old daughter, always called me “Mumma” and used her baby voice when she wanted something from me. For Nathan, it was stronger, because he knew I loved him and wanted him to do what he wanted to do for the most part, unlike his Dad.

His Dad had long been the bad cop. I had long been the good cop; however, I think when looking back, that as the good cop, I was not taken advantage of. As the good cop, I received more information, except where it concerned girls, and, most importantly, I earned most trust from Nathan.

As parents, I know we’re supposed to lay down the law. In hindsight, I had always wished I could share more with my parents. I never wanted Nathan and I to be “friends,” but I did want him to know that he could tell me most anything.

The “anything” might upset me. But, I’d always state my position. I'd be supportive in the context of my position, and let him know that no matter what I was always here for him, even if it meant driving to some location late at night, because he couldn’t drive.

When I looked at Nathan’s text, I was a bit disappointed. But then, some switch must have turned on in my 5’10” body. The switch was labeled “Time to Let Go.” I texted him and said, “K.”

It was funny, because while I was feeling the loss of my little boy, I felt I was gaining a wonderful new man in my life. He was going to drive his ’00 RAV, which just rolled 190K miles, to New London, CT and then take a high speed ferry to Long Island. How did I know the mileage on Nathan’s car?

Last night, when he left to go sleep over so-and-so’s house, because there are "only TWO weeks left,” which was the excuse given as to why he couldn’t stay home, I asked, “How’s the RAV running?" I then quickly asked, "What’s the mileage now?” He responded enthusiastically, “Good. It just rolled 190K!”

He seemed excited at the mileage. He was driving a car that my Dad bought in 1999, which I inherited in 2000 with 10K miles on it. Given that he was leaving soon, I had told him I was taking him off my car insurance.

He immediately said, “What? Are you getting rid of the RAV?” I laughed and said, “No. I’m going to save $1500 while you’re away. When you come home, a phone call gets you back in the RAV.” He said, “Oh, okay, because me and the RAV are going places!”

I loved that he loved the RAV, a ten year old car that for all intents and purposes had seen much better Kelly Blue Book days, but was now only seeing the best days of its life. Nathan loved it so much, a car that belonged to a man he didn’t really know at all but still loved. It warmed my heart in a way, because it had been the very same way I had felt about my father, his grandfather.

I texted Nathan today and asked him what time he’d be leaving for Long Island. He said 4pm. I texted him back and told him that I transferred $100 into his account.

He said, “Stop giving me money!” I had to laugh, because against bad cop’s wishes (his Dad), I had been paying for his gas all Summer. I told him that it was vacation money and that he should buy flowers for his hostess. Though, I’m sure it’ll be spent on Arizona Iced Tea, Dunkin Donuts, and pizza.

I texted him and said, “Text me when you get there.” He said, “Just text me at 7pm. I’m a forgetful creature.” I said, “Only one more week of being forgetful. Then you have to start remembering a lot!”

After picking Iz up at 5:30, shopping for groceries, feeding cats, and cleaning litter boxes, my phone meowed. I saw Nathan was calling and was a bit concerned that something was amiss. I answered and Nathan said, “I’m in New London. I’ll be in Long Island around 8pm.” I said, “Okay, I’ll call you at 9pm.” He said, “Okay.”

He was “forgetful,” but he had called me to tell me where he was. I never asked him to. While he was going away to college, it was good to know in this small window before college that he still felt that I was his Mom and he owed some explanation.

When he called initially, a Stevie Wonder song queued in my head. By the time my conversation with Nate was over, I realized that “I just called to say I’m in New London,” meant so much more. Sometimes "I'm in New London" meant "I love you. And I mean it from the bottom of my heart." ♥

In Your Eyes

Life is funny. That’s so trite; however, today I realized that while life can be humdrum and challenging, it can also hand you these little glimmers that sparkle. And, the light from those sparkles can always guide you through the darkest tunnel.

Recently, I felt like I had been going through a dark tunnel. I was ready to write a post called “It’s Always Something.” But, I knew I had to write about a Something, because today reminded me that this something was a "good" always.

Life gives big gifts. But, every now then, Life puts you in an unexpected place, where you might expect to see nothing you expect. It might show you a spectacular sunrise, let you find a crumpled-up $5 bill in the pocket of your jeans when you thought you had no money, or enable you to buy your shirt for 50% off when you didn’t even know it was on sale.

My son, Nathan, will be off to college in two weeks. Sometimes I can’t believe it. Although, with his job, his car, and his social life, I don’t get to see him a lot anyway; in hindsight, it’s probably good preparation for the freshman college year to come.

When Nathan turned 18, and he never looked back. In a way, I was glad my introverted “Just Wants to Stay Home and Play X-box” had become the extroverted “Most Changed,” which his Senior classmates in high school had voted him. But, recently, when I received a text message that said, “Can I stay at Sam’s tonight? I love you,” it was with great regret I said, “Sure. That’s fine.”

I then asked, “Can you at least send me a picture of you, because I forget what you look like?” Of course, even if Nathan wasn’t the extrovert I was, he had my sense of humor. In under ten seconds, I received this:



When I was lucky enough to see Nathan for an hour or more, I was amazed at who he had become. Usually, I'd find him on his bed with his X-box controller and Thunderbolt, our cat, in his lap or stretched out on the sofa eating his two bagels with cream cheese while watching “House.” It was then that I looked at this handsome 6’4” blonde and blue-eyed son of mine and heard a tiny voice that said, “Jeez. I remember when he only took up one third of the sofa! Who is this wonderful man and where did he come from?!”

Recently, when I did happen to catch a glimpse of Nathan, he sparkled at me. When I looked at him, he was the flashlight in my dark tunnel. He constantly reminded me that whenever it was something, he and his sister were my one and only thing; when I looked at either of them, I saw light even when it was dark.

Today, Iz and I headed off to Crane Beach in our red VW bug. Some of you know that I don’t own a red VW bug, but for a few weeks now, I will. I love VWs, but since April, I think VWs stink.

I own an EOS. The part my car currently needs (window motor) is “nationally” backordered. But, I have to pay for a rental (ironically, the bug, which I like to call "rental car irony"), because VW can’t keep up with supply and demand!

Anyway, Iz and I parked in the Crane Beach lot and unloaded our cooler, her beach toys, my beach chair, and our beach tote. It’s funny how I end up with the cooler, the chair, and the tote and Iz only ends up with the toys. It’s never a fair division of labor when you have kids, is it?! And, it never will be, but you accept that, and you know you will always love it, even when your back is breaking.

After we were sure we had everything, we began our trek toward the beach. Iz followed behind me, but then she sped up and grasped my hand. When I felt her firm grip, I looked down at her.

She smiled up at me. I looked into her big beautiful brown eyes, which were definitely something she got from her Dad. They were one of the things I loved about him way back when; they were like a tiger’s eye.

Just then, everything started to sparkle around Iz. It was as if there was no one else in the parking lot except for us; I was Jodie Foster and Iz was David Morse in the movie, “Contact.” I knew that Life had given me a huge gift in this girl and in my son, Nathan.

I looked long and hard at her, and I found myself truly amazed that she was mine, all mine, a beautiful gift sans the bow. As we walked through the parking lot, she never let go of my hand. While it seemed like Life hadn’t been going my way lately, Life reminded me that I had everything going for me and through it all, Iz was always going to be holding my hand and that Nathan would always be loving me even if he wasn't there. ♥

Follow Your Heart

I lost my dog, Monty, in May to lymphoma. It was a tough loss, so tough that I thought I’d never want another dog again. As they say, never say never.

After some time, I thought the phantom Monty pains would subside. Some of the pain was the lack of barking when I pulled in the driveway, the not needing to head out at 11pm for a water-the-old-Xmas-tree-that-was-still-in-the-backyard pee before bedtime, and walking past the box of peanut-shaped peanut butter bones in the pet aisle without tossing one into my carriage. Every day I wondered, “Will I ever forget what Monty felt like?”

Every time, I passed a dog, my heart beat Monty. It could be a pug, a breed I was never fond of, or it could be a mutt with one erect ear, one floppy ear, a curly tail, and a long lanky body with short legs that made it look like it was the dog owned exclusively by Mr. Potato Head. All dogs led to the fact that I no longer had one.

When I periodically needed a break at work from trunk groups and call detail records, I’d resort to surfing the Internet. If stressed, I’d go right for shoes at http://www.zappos.com/; uncontrary to popular opinion, I do have quite a few pairs of shoes. Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t really buy a lot; all of my shoes are what I like to call a “collection” that I’ve amassed over a period of years.

Usually, I spend 20 minutes perusing the shoes. I find a few pair of shoes I like, and then I put them in my “cart.” But, I usually never end up buying them; it’s a virtual shop that soothes the savage shoe shopping beast, because by the time I click “X” on my browser window, I realize that I want them more than I need them.

Last month, given a very canine state of mind, I passed www.zappos.com and hoped to scratch an itch (not caused by a flea bite) at http://www.petfinder.com/. Every day at lunch, I found myself typing “dog,” “Corgi,” and my zipcode in the Advanced Search box. Instead of adding the Corgi-Chihuahua or the Corgi-Jack Russell mix to my cart, I’d make the dog a “Favorite” via my web browser.

When someone would enter my office, I’d immediately click “X” on my browser window. I don’t know why, but part of me felt like I was looking at something I shouldn’t be. It wasn’t like I didn’t walk in on people all the time at work looking at golf clubs, used cars, or Facebook; it felt like I was cheating on Monty. This led me to start calling what I was viewing “dog porn.”

One day, one of my friends caught me by surprise when I was looking at a Corgi-Dachshund mix wearing a blue plaid sweater vest whose name happened to be Stewart. He asked, “Are you looking at dogs?” I said, “Shhh. It’s my dog porn!” He looked at me strangely and then laughed at me just like he always does.

He left and then I happened upon a Corgi-You’reGuessIsAsGoodAsMine mix named Spencer. I had looked at about as many dogs as I had shoes in that month. As Spencer sat there smiling at me, he said, “I’m Monty but without all that barking.”

I thought, “This is my dog!” I went home that night, and that’s when I made one of my biggest parenting mistakes. After a stressful day of work, I grabbed a glass of wine, parked myself in front of my desk, and began to look at dog porn, particularly Spencer.

I sat there totally enamored of this pooch. Deep in thought, I wondered what it would be like to have Spencer sitting next to me, to run my hand down his soft-looking coat, or to take him for a drive around the block. Suddenly, I heard a thud.

Iz had landed at the top of the stairs. I had to hide my dog porn, but there was no time! In under three seconds, Iz was staring at my laptop saying, “He’s so cute! Can we get him?”

If anyone knows my daughter, you know that she is my “mini me.” She likes everything I like, she likes to do everything I like to do, and we share a love of all creatures great and small.

I said to her, “Ahhhhhhhhh, well.” She said, “Oh, please, Mumma.” In my defense, she pulls out the “Mumma” card when she wants something.

I sat there and pondered it all. I had really missed having a dog, and I know she did, too. With a second glass of wine and Iz on my lap, it seemed like the right thing to do as we filled out the adoption application.

I hit “Send.” I said, “Well, we’ll have to wait and see.” Iz said, “I think he’s great. We’ll call him Spence!”

The next day, I received an email from Spence's dog rescue asking us if we’d like to come meet Spence. No longer an under-the-influence Mumma, I thought, “Okay, this is it. I am getting a dog.” We want a dog, so we’re going to get one.

I arranged a time that Iz and I could meet Spence, which was the next day. We had to drive all the way to Quincy, but Spence was worth it. Iz was all excited, but in the scheme of things, she and I were the only ones who were excited when we heard from friends and family things like “Life is easier without a dog.”

That morning, I felt a huge wave of emotions. Were the critics right? Or, was what I felt in my heart right? I hemmed and hawed over whether I should subject Iz to anymore “dog talk.” She sensed this that morning and said, “Mom, follow your heart. It’s okay if you say no.”Amazed by my 8-year-old’s wisdom, I chose to follow my heart and ignored everything my head was saying to me.

Iz and I pressed on and drove to Quincy to meet Spence as planned. We found our way to his house, knocked on the door, and he came bounding out knocking Iz flat on her back, and licked her into a giggling frenzy. Spence’s foster Mom told us she had to run an errand and handed us and leash. She asked, “Would you like to take him for a walk?”

Iz and I left with Spence in hand. I finally knew how it felt to drive him. He handled pretty smoothly though was a bit jerky in places due to still being a wild and crazy pup.

When we arrived back at Spence’s house, we entered the backyard. Spence’s foster Mom showed us how he like to jump at the water coming out the garden hose. Spence was clearly a lovely and talented guy, and then I suddenly realized something was terribly wrong when Iz hugged him.

Spence had so much energy and love; so did Iz. I had a lot of love, but at this point in my life, did I have enough energy and, most importantly, the time for Spence.

Standing there wanting so much to make him ours yet wanting so much to make a good decision, I had no idea what to do. I asked, “You still need to get his health certificate, right?” She said, “No. I have it. You can take him home with you now.”

I said, “Oh. I’m unprepared,” because I knew that the fact that Iz and I loved him was good, but it wasn’t everything. She said, “Go home and think about it.” I said, “We will. I’ll e-mail you tomorrow.”

When Iz and I got into the car, she said, “Mom, he’s great.” I said, “Yes, He is wonderful.” He hadn’t barked once the whole time we were there, he loved to be touched (Monty didn’t like to be picked up or have his hindquarters touched), and he just seemed to be the “woof” to our “meow.”

As we drove home, I recalled how I acquired Monty. It’s was 2000, I was terribly lonely yet in a relationship, and my father was a few short weeks away from dying of colon cancer. I was at the mall one night, and I thought right before I was about to leave, “I need to go to the pet store. If they have a Corgi, I’m getting it.” And, that’s how Monty came into my life.

Distressed at not knowing what to do and more so for having drawn Iz into my web of emotional dysfunction, I said to Iz, “Let’s go see my Mom and Dad.” We ended up in my hometown, went to Duck Soup to buy coffee, and then went to the cemetery to visit with my Mom and Dad. Finally, we headed to the street I grew up on so Iz could play at my elementary school playground and see the house I lived in.

It’s true. Kids do see dead people; okay, well, most kids don’t see dead people, but they see things that most of us don’t. Every 30 minutes or so, Iz asked, “So, have you decided about Spence?”

It was so hard to keep putting her off. And, I felt so guilty for not being able to give her an answer. I, being the parent, should have a well-thought out answer to her question. But, I didn’t.

As the time passed, I felt more confused and more guilty that I had brought Iz along for this ride. My intentions has been good, but I was constantly questioning my intentions. When I put Iz to bed that night she asked, “Have you decided?” I said, “No.” She kissed me good night, and I knew I had to make a decision.

After she fell asleep, I pondered the pros and the cons. Unfortunately, there were more cons than pros, not because of the dog, but because of my life. I knew I couldn’t give such a vibrant guy the vibrant existence he deserved; Monty should have had far more outdoor time than he did. And, ultimately, I knew Spence was a furry band-aid for the extreme loneliness I had felt every day for many years.

I sat down at my laptop. I’m sure a sighed a million sighs. And, I wrote the following note to Spence’s foster Mom:

It with a very heavy heart that I write this, but I think I'm doing the right thing for primarily Spencer and then for myself. I *love* Spencer, though the more and more I played with him today, the more and more I realized how much attention he needed. We have no "dog parks" nearby, and I work full-time.

As I drove home, I realized I loved Spencer so much that I didn't want such a vibrant dog to be stuck snoozing inside the house by the backdoor every day. Monty had a good life with us, but I think he snoozed more by the back door than was out playing and romping. I also realized that I was getting a dog because I was lonely, and I had to address that issue first rather than apply a lovely furry band-aid.

I hope that's all not too much emotional information, but I wanted you not to think me crazy for not taking such a WONDERFUL dog, and I wanted to make the best decision. I wish I had worked out these issues before I went to see Spencer for Spencer's sake and my daughter's, but *alas much of wisdom is gained in retrospect.

*That was something my Mom had actually written in a letter to my cousin, Laura, who became a Mom at 18, about parenting; fortunately, it came back to haunt me, not making me feel as badly as I might have for bringing Iz along on my emotional canine ride.

Spence’s foster Mom wrote me back saying that she had wished all people made such informed decisions when it came to pets. While that was nice to hear, it didn’t make me feel any better. I wanted Spence, and I knew Iz did, too; it felt like a lose-lose situation.

Though in retrospect, as my Mom had said, seeing Spence was the right thing to do, but letting him go was the right thing to do, too. I had to go through the emotional motions; that was a win-win, though I still wished I hadn’t involved Iz. I knew the most important thing for me, and eventually for Iz too, was to get unlonely instead of applying a furry band-aid to a gaping heart wound.

The next morning, Iz asked me about Spence again. I looked at her and before I said anything, she began to cry, because she could see a person who had loved and had already felt that loss. We both cried together; I told her how sorry I was, and that we’d get a dog when the time was right, though I knew I still had a lot to go through to make the time right.

I think you realize you’re a good parent when you know that you’re not a perfect parent. I also think a pinnacle point in any parent-child relationship is when a child realizes that the parent is not perfect either. Iz didn’t understand my reluctance about Spence, but she understood that I wasn’t perfect, and she still loved me anyway even when I had followed my heart. ♥

(A few days later, I checked Spencer's page on www.petfinder.com. He was still smiling at me; good doggie! He was now titled "Spencer, a newly adopted dog." He found a home; good doggie! ♥)

Ouija Phone

I’ve had a particularly stressful last few weeks at work. Given that I work in high technology, I should expect it. But after all these years, it still makes me want to stamp my feet when things go awry at the last minute.

In high technology, we like to think we are playing 18 holes. More often than not, we were only playing 13. Unfortunately, I was never good at golf; thus, it is all usually Parcheesi, Cricket, and horse shoes to me.

At 5:45pm tonight, I received an e-mail. There was yet another change when I had to meet a deadline on August 2nd. I shrieked, “Aaaaahhhhhhhh.”

Earlier in the week, I wrote the engineering manager of the next release. I gave him my demands, among them champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries delivered daily to my cube. He replied, “You’re very demanding, Jean!”

The funny thing is I had never ever been very demanding in my life. Actually, that was probably my biggest problem in life, especially where it concerned my relationships. I told him that I had a new attitude recently; it was “Ask for everything in hopes that you get at least one thing.”

Anyway, my co-worker, who had been most helpful today, asked, “What, Jean?” when he heard my shriek. He then came over to my cube. I said, “Have you ever had one of those days when you just want to phone home?”

Puzzled, he just looked at me strangely. I decided to help him out by telling him a story. I told him about a particularly bad day I had at the same company a few years ago when I said out loud while in my cube, “I want my mother.”

When I came in the next morning, I had a voice mail message. I began to listen to it. When I heard a person speaking like Mrs. Doubtfire, I thought, “Surely, this must be a joke.”

When I then heard, “I’m Esme, Sarah’s mother,” I knew it wasn’t a joke. My co-worker, Sarah, who was in the cube next to me, had gone home, told her Mom that I had a bad day, and her Mom had called me. Esme said, “So, feel free to call me whenever you have a bad day.”

Today, I don’t think my co-worker knew what to make of my story. I let him off easy by saying “Thanks for all of your help.” I then glanced at my phone thinking, “I still really want to call my mother.”

While I knew I had many wonderful girlfriends to call in this moment, somehow I just wanted my Mom, which seems really odd to say given that I'm in my 40s. While I knew my Mom wouldn't say anything different than any of my friends, DNA made me desire family. It wasn’t about the consolation; it was about the connection.

Whenever I have a really bad day, I go visit my parents in the cemetery. I know they’re not there. But, it’s the only place I have them now, and more often than not, I still find myself standing there and needing them more than ever.

After my co-worker left my cube, I felt slightly silly for my “phone home” babbling. But I knew, some day, he’d understand. I didn’t want it to happen to him anytime soon, but some day, he’d understand more of what I meant when he couldn’t phone home anymore.

I sat there in my office and thought if Maxwell Smart had a phone in his shoe, then why can’t Verizon offer the Ouija phone? “Great Great Great Great Great Grandma, can you hear me now?” At least, everyone should get a gift card card that gave them 10 after-life phone calls, I thought.

When I left work tonight, I knew that card would never be a reality. I phoned home, and Iz answered. When I heard her voice, I knew that home was definitely where the beating heart was and that via DNA, it would always contain the hearts of those that beat no longer. ♥