Author! Author!

Yesterday was quite a day. Some of you already know this, so humor me by saying to yourselves, “Oh, I already know this, but I’ll read about it again, because Jean is always more amusing the second time around.” And, aren’t I?

You don’t have to answer that now; however, I would appreciate an answer in the next few months. Preferably, your answer will be a hand-written note in a birthday card (May 18th, stubborn bull that I am) where you will be accepting me instead of “almosting” me. I love getting cards; and call me "old-fashioned," but I love to get snail mail over e-mail.

Anyway, due to a snow storm here in New England and a school cancellation yesterday, I headed to work around 10am with child (Iz) in tow. As we drove down our unplowed street, Iz asked, “Mommy, are we going to get in an accident?” I replied, “No,” though I was thinking “Mebbe,” but rule number eight in parenting was never show them your fear!

We skidded a tad around every corner. Occasionally, I glanced back to see how Iz was faring; at first, she had a look of “Will I live to see my eighth birthday?” By the time we were 10 minutes away from my office, she looked like she was going to fall asleep out of boredom, because she somehow secretly hoped we would get in an accident to make the perilous drive worthy of being perilous.

I finally said, “It’s a slow drive today, but we’re almost there.” She then said, “Mommy, are you at the new building now?” My company had moved in December; I was surprised she remembered, but then again, she was an elephant when it came to memory, though I hoped she would be a donkey when she voted!

She said, “I’ve haven’t been to your new building yet,” as if she had somehow missed a key milestone in my professional career. I said, “No. You haven’t.” She said, “So, I get to see your new building today, right?” and then I swore she pulled out a pad and a pen from under her winter coat and checked that goal off of a list.

As we drove up the driveway, Iz said, “It looks smaller.” I said, “It is.” She said, “Oh,” somehow sensing the economic downsizing that had occurred and that she should not elaborate on that point.

When we walked in the door, she asked, “Are you on the first floor or the second floor?” I said, “I’m on the first floor now.” She said, “Well, where’s the cafeteria?” When Iz visited my office, she reveled in the coolers that contained the unlimited supply of free root beer and orange soda; she had her priorities, and I didn’t blame her.

I told her that the cafeteria was now on the second floor. She said, “Oh.” Then she asked, “Is there a bathroom on this floor or do I have to go to the second floor?” I had to laugh; I was being interrogated by a seven-year-old as if she might someday be employed by the company that was having a hard time deciding if it wanted to employ me.

There was a funny thing that happened while Iz was at work with me; she became more needy. For example, if I had stayed at home and worked, I probably would have heard from her only two or three times during the day. At work, she suddenly needed to eat every 20 minutes and go to the bathroom every 25 minutes.

After an hour, I realized that she was not really needy. I think, like her Mom, it wasn't about need; it was her desire to explore and be fascinated by new territory. This was affirmed when we went to the bathroom for the fifth time after only being at work for two hours.

She put her hand under automatic soap dispenser and squealed with delight when it squirted a quarter-sized dollop of soap onto her palm. Her urges weren’t biological. Her urge was to roam freely about the cabin sans seatbelt!

After I got a huge amount of work done, no, that didn’t happen, though when looking at my deadlines, I wish it did happen. At 2:30, it started to rain, and it was supposed to get very icy. It was time to roam freely through a slippery parking lot to the car and head home.

As we walked out to the car, Iz asked, “Mom, is that toy store near here?” When Iz and I were on own for a week and I had to put in some extra hours at work to meet a deadline, I had brought her home some small plastic figurines from a toy store near where I worked as a treat. Remembering this, I said, “Yes.”

She smiled at me. When she does, it’s like I’m looking directly at the sun. I know I need to put on my sunglasses, but I don’t want to put them on, because the beauty of the light that I'm seeing mesmerizes me.

I said, “You were a good sport coming into work with me. We can go there, and you can pick out a toy.” She beamed. Damn, where were my Ray Bans?!

After she picked out a paint-a-pony craft kit, we left the store. I could see from the parking lot that the sheets of ice that were predicted to take over the pavement had already done so. I started the car, and Iz climbed in to ponder how she would paint her pony while I scraped off all the ice from my pony, the Toyota RAV4.

When I got into the car, I saw my phone blinking; I had an e-mail message. I read the message which said that someone had commented on one of our youtube videos; the comment was simply “Brilliant!” I said to Iz, “Hey, someone thinks our video is brilliant,” and she smiled.

Due to a slow commute home and many red lights, I went to view the e-mail again wondering who had left the comment. Upon rereading, I saw that the musician whose song we used in the video was the one who commented. At a red light in front of McDonald’s, I shrieked, “Iz, the guy who sang that song thinks our video is brilliant!”

Iz seemed unimpressed as she pondered the pictures showing the different ways she could paint her pony of the back of her paint-a-pony craft kit. She looked up and smiled like she had not gotten the punchline of a joke. I said, “Wow! Wow! Jeez! Wow!”

By the time we hit our fourth red light and I said “Jeez!” for the tenth time, Iz finally tore herself away from her paint-a-pony craft kit. She said quite seriously, “Mom, breathe in.” I laughed, but I did breath in as instructed.

Before I could say anything, she then said, “Mom, now breathe out.” I breathed out. I then wondered, “Where does she get this stuff from?” while she wondered, "Why does my Mom think I would care about some comment on a video when I have a paint-a-pony craft kit sitting here in my lap!"

I calmed down. Obviously, the compliment didn’t mean to Iz what it meant to me. I felt like Sally Field accepting her Oscar for "Places in the Heart." “I can't deny the fact that you like me, right now, you like me!"

Once Iz and I arrived home, there was more snow to shovel out of the driveway. I said to Iz, “Stay in the car and keep warm.” I climbed out, grabbed the shovel, and had to find creative places to throw the snow, like –shhhhhh– in my neighbor’s yard; there was so much and I had no place to put it all!

Within five minutes, Iz climbed out of the car. She asked, “Can I help?” I said, “Sure. Grab your shovel and do the walkway, okay?”

After ten minutes of silent shoveling, Iz asked, “Mom, is this good?” I looked at the walkway not even noticing how much snow had been cleared, and I said, “That’s great!” It didn’t really matter what she did; she had already received an “A” for effort.

As we stood there assessing our snow output, Iz walked over to me. She asked, “Mom, that was really cool that the guy who sang the song on our video liked our video, wasn’t it?” I laughed. I answered, “Yeah, Iz, it was!”

Once inside the house, I received a text from Nathan. He had been accepted to a “a college in Florida.” Despite my blog post, which capture the attention of several people at that college in Florida, Nathan had been accepted. If truth be told, I confessed to Nathan the day before he was accepted that I had –cough-cough– “networked” with people at that college in Florida.

Amazingly, knowing me as he does, Nathan smiled after I asked, “So, how badly do you want to go to that college in Florida?” He asked, knowing me as he does, “What did you do?” I said, “Well, I wrote something, and now I think I have an “in” at the college.” Fortunately, Nathan and the college in Florida liked me despite it all.

Recently, a friend thanked me for sharing here. I had to think about it. Was I sharing here or was I just being me?

I do know that it’s good to be liked for me just like Sally Field said. And this “me” would like to do nothing but write and make movies. Unfortunately, because I have a mortgage, I have to write about things like database summarization most days, which is a pretty good gig, so I can't complain.

Someday, I’d like the title of my day job to be “author/producer.” My job description would be the one my Uncle once supplied as a comment on one of my videos: “All I see is love.” Because, ultimately, my life is a story in a music video in which all I see is love. ♥