The Tooth Fairy Chronicles

As I mentioned last night, Iz now has a on-going letter correspondence with the Tooth Fairy. I don't remember writing this many letters to the Tooth Fairy when I was her age. (Of course, Iz has her Dad's "go get 'em" attitude instead of my "okay, whatever" attitude, which is a very good thing indeed.) In hindsight, I think that if I had written as much to the Tooth Fairy as Iz, my already frazzled-with-three-kids parents might have told me the Tooth Fairy didn't exist sooner rather than later!

So, now in addition to trying to get my creative writing going here again on my blog, I am also trying to sustain a hard copy blog with my daughter. In a way, the hard copy blog is a bit more fun. It's interactive with daily comments from my only little "follower."

In another way, it gives me a chance to pretend. I haven't pretended in a long time, well, except for those times when I pretend that George Clooney gets stranded in Ayer due to a huge snow storm and has to come home with me. Finally, in a guilty parent way, it made me wonder if I was perhaps making Iz more fond of the Tooth Fairy and inviting a total crash-and-burn emotional situation when Iz eventually realized or was told that the Tooth Fairy was non-existent or only existed in me.

Well, surprise, surprise. My creative and pretend side won out over sensible parenting. And, I wouldn't have it any other way.

After Iz lost her tooth, she wrote a letter to the Tooth Fairy. She'd written a letter a few weeks ago, but the Tooth Fairy was too frazzled to write back. Anyway, since she had lost yet another tooth, the Tooth Fairy got her stuff together and replied Tuesday morning with:

Dear Iz,

I'm sorry I didn't write back sooner. I have been so busy!

Congratulations on losing another tooth. Take this money and buy something special with it.

You are a very smart and beautiful girl. I love you.

After reading the Tooth Fairy's response and pondering all 54 things she could do with $10, Iz said, "I'll have to write back." I grimaced a tad. Iz could not let the Tooth Fairy get the last word in nor would she accept that there wasn't more to glean from this correspondence.

On Tuesday night, Iz replied with:

Dear Tooth Fairy,

Thanks. I was wondering if you have anything special you wanted. Also, please make Monty back to life. I will do anything to make him back to life. Please write back.

P.S. Here is something. It's okay to take the stuff.

[ed. Iz left a random assortment of small toys with the note -- a Polly Pocket doll, a few clothes for Polly, and a few small plastic animals.]

On Wednesday morning, the Tooth Fairy replied with:

Dear Izzy,

You do not need to give me anything. I will always be here for you. No matter how much I would like to bring Monty back to you, I don't have the powers to do so.

I did talk to him the other day. He's in Heaven and has a wonderful girlfriend named Zelda. He is very happy, but he told me to tell you that he misses you a lot.

I love you.

Last night, Iz replied with:

Dear Tooth Fairy,

Wake me up please and show me where you work and can I have some powers? I'm begging you. How about you and the fairies put their magic together to make Monty back.

[ed. There's a heart here, and in it, it says, "You Rock."
P.S. You can really have these. [ed. She left the same toys again and this time included a $1 bill. I think she was testing the theory that "money talks even with the Tooth Fairy!"]

This morning, the Tooth Fairy responded with:

Dear Izzy,

No matter how much power we Fairies put together, we cannot bring someone like Monty or your Mom’s Mom (because I know she misses her terribly) back. It just cannot happen even with fairy dust.

I cannot take your things. You keep them. I cannot show you where I work either; magic is only magic because you have to believe in something you don't know.

You don’t need my powers, because you have powers of your own. What are those powers?

You are smart. You are kind. And, you are beautiful. Those are the only powers you need.

I love you.

When I got out of the shower this morning, Iz greeted me at the door. She said excitedly, "The Tooth Fairy wrote back to me!" I asked, "Oh, really?" By the way, can you get a Best Supporting Actress award for your life, which sometimes seems like a movie? If so, I deserve one.

I said, "Read me the letter!" She began to read. Then she stopped when I knew there was more.

She looked up at me and smiled. I asked, "Is there more?" and then I took the letter out of her hands; I began to read, "You don't need my powers...."

She had stopped at the part where the Tooth Fairy had lauded her. She was embarrassed to read about how wonderful she was, which made me happy that she was modest, but it also made me more determined to read to her how wonderful she was. As I read my own words to her, I realized that there was not just one smart, kind, and beautiful girl standing there.

I knew, like Iz's toothless smile, that I was not perfect. None of us are. But in that moment, I realized how important the Tooth Fairy blog had become to Iz and to me.

I had always told Iz what a great girl she was. But as I stood there reading, I also realized how important it is that I tell her that often. And being the Tooth Fairy not only made me feel special to Iz, it made me realize that I was special, too, and that the greatest power was the power to love yourself, especially when you didn't have a Mom or a Tooth Fairy to do so.

After I finished reading the letter, Iz blushed. She asked me, "Does she love me the best, Mom?" I laughed on the inside and on the outside I said quite seriously, "Yes, she does." Iz then said, "Oh, I'll have to write her back now!" and off she went. ♥

Am I Living It Right?

Blog soundtrack:



It’s been a while since there has been a blog soundtrack, so go forth and listen to the music.

The last few months of my life have been trying. I have not lost a job (been there and done that), I have not lost a loved one (been there and done that too much and in huge ways), and I have not lost my mind (well, been there and done that maybe once a month when stress rhymes with PMS!); however, I did lose a tooth last night. Okay, at 40-something, I way beyond the baby teeth and cavity prone years.

Iz, my 8-year-old daughter, lost another front tooth last night, leaving her with virtually no front teeth and making an even more blinding glare (sometimes she reminds me of Jaws, not the movie, but of the James Bond henchman!) from the palate expander that currently occupies her whole mouth. Currently, Iz has an open dialogue (that is, exchanging letters back and forth) with the Tooth Fairy, which I encouraged. I had to put on my Tooth Fairy wings last night; if truth be told, I so love those wings and the words that I get to say as her.

For example, last night, Iz wrote the Tooth Fairy in regard to her lost tooth and because she also wanted to give the Tooth Fairy all her Polly Pocket paraphernalia in exchange for getting Monty, our dearly departed Corgi back. The Tooth Fairy wrote back that she could not accept Iz’s toys. She told Iz that she could also not bring Monty back.

She did tell Iz that Monty was very happy in Heaven with his girlfriend, Zelda. (I always thought if I ever acquired a female Corgi that her name would be Zelda.) The Tooth Fairy also told her how much Monty missed her, and Iz seemed very happy to know all of this.

Anyway, despite being a part-time Tooth Fairy, I have been trying to navigate the waters of my life in a very small boat for the last several months. Sometimes these waters seem like the Bermuda Triangle. I’m lost, confused, alone, and I wonder if I’ll end up as an episode on Unsolved Mysteries.

There have been many diversions along the way. “Come stay on my island for a while.” But, none of them have seemed quite right. In fact, most of them involve spending life on a deserted island, a place in which I can live but can never be seen or heard from. (Some of you will “get” that. Some of you won’t, but I don’t care, because it’s my blog!)

Recently, I stopped and thought long and hard about being stuck in the Triangle that seems to be my life now. Oddly, when I think about my life right now, I hear two songs. They are the Clash’s “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” and John Mayer’s “Why Georgia.”

I did say once that my life has soundtracks, right? Okay, if I didn’t, I’m saying it now. My life is an endless soundtrack, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

After assessing all my choices, I said, “I should go.” And then when I reassessed all the ways I could divert myself from concentrating on going, I said, “Am I living it right?” I decided that I wasn’t.

Typically, I’m a very impulsive person. I’m the very impulsive person who usually makes the wrong decisions when being impulsive. VHS or Beta? Beta. Microsoft stock or Flowbee stock? Flowbee. Chicken or egg? PedEgg. I am always wrong on impulse!

So, I took a deep breath, and I asked myself the question in "Why Georgia Why?" which is “Am I living it right?” It wasn’t that I started living wrong; it was that I was thinking about living wrong. For the first time in my life, beta, flowbee, and pedegg went out the window.

I decided that the most important thing I owed myself was myself. My children, Nate and Iz, always came first; however, I owed it to myself to make it all about me and where I wanted to go and where I was not about to stay. I was not going to stay on someone’s island, a captive; I would venture unknown waters and discover a new land, my land.

At the end of the day, I really have no one to be proud of me in the traditional sense. My parents are long gone. But, in the moment that I decided that I would live my life right and think about me and me alone, I was so proud of myself.

I hate to say it, but that was a first for me in my lifetime. I think I felt inklings, but what I felt in that moment was defining; old Jeans can be patched! And, life is so very good when you let yourself be who you were meant to be without any deserted islands, pirates who want to steal from you, or planks some might want you to walk. ♥

P.S. And, thanks Brenda for (paraphrasing here) "A blog no matter how small is always appreciated." ♥

Let Your Troubles Roll By

As some of you know, my son, Nathan, and I have had a friend-unfriend you relationship on Facebook. Some people tell me it’s stellar that Nate and I are friends at all. In the last two years, I have been added by Nate, deleted by Nate, added by Nate again, deleted myself, and then added by Nate again.

Today, I’m officially his “Mother” on his page. Of course, one of his friends, Matt, is listed as his father. So, I might be kidding myself by thinking that I’m special given Nate’s Facebook “Father” status.

Though, if truth be told, I’m the only biological parent that is Nathan’s friend. He deleted his Dad, Quinn, the bad cop. For some reason, and I’m still trying to figure out why it is, I’ve survived all these months despite my inquisitive presence in his life, which has occurred periodically and with issue.

I was deleted for stalking initially, but it’s so not stalking when he’s my friend. Legally and friend-wise, I am entitled to see his friend updates. So, when I read a post, I’m not a stalker, I’m a friend and a mother; though, so often, the mother part outweighs the friend part in the level of concern that occurs when reading a post.

Anyway, I saw last night’s post which was “F*ck,” and then he posted Carbon Leaf’s “Let Your Troubles Roll By.” So, I texted as nonchalantly as I could today and asked, “So, is everything okay?”

He said, “Meh. It’s okay.” Okay, what the hell does “Meh” mean?! My new Droid phone had an annoying spell checker; sometimes when Nathan texted me I felt that I needed a just as annoying Babelfish translator when it came to interpretting Nathan.

So, I went to Babelfish. There was an every-language-known-in-the-universe-to-English translation option. I tell you, Babelfish could make millions if there was an 18-year-old to English translator.

I said, “Okay, just checking.” I let an hour go by and then I called. I asked, “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

He responded, “Yeah.” Then I pushed it and I asked, “Are you sure?” If that question were in a comic book, it would have been bold, italicized, and underlined.

He said, “Yes.” I said, “Okay, well, as long as you know, that I’m here for you and you can talk to me whenever….” Suddenly, a ring back tone started playing on Nathan’s end of the line.

I knew I was about to get shut down and pretended not to interpret Nathan’s tone; thus, I threw out the desperation question, which was, “Is it about a girl?” The ring back tone became louder.

Oh, no, wait, it wasn’t a ring back tone! It was Nathan saying, “La-la, la-la-la, Mom, you’re overstepping boundaries, la-la-la, la-la!” Obviously, he knew I had read his FB posts.

In my defense, it is there out in the open for me to read. Yeah, well, in hindsight, maybe I should have let the conversation end after he said, “Yes,” but call me a mother 24/7. I said, “Okay, I get it.”

I then asked when he was working next; he told me Tuesday and Wednesday nights. After five seconds of silence, I did what I knew I had to and said, “Okay, so see you Tuesday. I love you.” And, I hung up before he could even respond.

As I sat there on the couch, I realized something for the very first time. Parenting was difficult, and it never became any easier. As Nate got older, it would only become more difficult, because then I really had no control over his body (tattoos, piercings, and anything else), the car he might drive, the person he dated, or how often he visited me.

Though, Nate might think it was, parenting was never a meh. I would love him always, yet, as time went on, I knew I'd have him in my life less and love him even more. Being a parent was anything but meh.

Parenting was really a hem (that's "meh" backwards) and a haw. I would hesitate and sometimes falter. Or I would falter and sometimes hesitate, but no matter, I would always love him and never ever let my haw and hem resolve to meh where it concerned him. ♥

Girl Time!

Every few weeks, I hear the cry of Estrogen as Iz shouts, “Girl time!!!” when she and I end up being a dynamic duo for a few days or a week or more. Nathan is usually around during some of that time; however, we tend not to include him in the Estrogen equation (Mom + Daughter = Girl Time). Obviously, a Testosterone can’t be factored into the Girl Time sum, and as a Testosterone who is 18 and has his own wheels, he’s never around long enough to even count!

As all 10.25* of my devoted readers know, I haven’t been here lately. A big shout out to those of you, most recently Sucra, who have said, “What happened to the blog?!?!?!” I thank you for missing me, though I became a missing person somewhat on purpose, unlike Nathan who became a missing person just due to the fact that the State of Massachusetts gave him his license last year.

*The .25 is a cat. Someone told me recently that her cat liked my blog. Hey, if there are cats that can bark like dogs, then there are cats who can read! Yeah, you’re right; that’s bullsh*t. Her cat was lying on her keyboard while my blog was displayed on the screen; I think that’s a cat who wants to get warm and one who is not enthralled by my random babblings!

Anyway, I had a well-thought out plan for my life in March. April came and stalled my plan due to fact that I got a miserable infection and landed in the hospital for three days. Subsequently, I felt rotten for the entire month of April, and the sails of my life lost a lot of wind.

May came. With it, it brought Nathan’s prom, Iz’s first communion, and my birthday. I usually love May, because it comes in like Spring and goes out like Summer, and my favorite flowers bloom (Lilacs and Lily of the Valley) and spend just a few precious weeks in vases next to my bed providing me with natural aromatherapy.

This May was different. My dog, Monty, was diagnosed with lymphoma in February. By the time May 6th came, Monty couldn’t walk more that 50 yards and had difficulty going up and down stairs; I had a difficult and heart-wrenching decision to make.

I called my veterinarian. After I got off the phone with her, I sobbed. I had made an appointment to euthanize him on May 11th.

After that, I couldn’t look at his smiling face without feeling tremendous guilt, even though I knew I was doing the “right” thing. Sometimes the “right” thing can feel so wrong. And when the morning of the 11th came, I sat on the porch and watched Monty roll around in the grass; he smiled, but it almost seemed at some points like he was laughing.

I got up and went to get the phone; it wasn’t his time. He got up out of his roll and sat there on the lawn and smiled at me. I went over to him and rubbed him, feeling 10 huge golf ball-sized lymph nodes in only two hands worth of rubbing.

I went back to sit down on the porch. He still sat there smiling at me. I smiled back at him; I think that we both knew it was his time then.

One friend asked me if I was going to write about Monty; I think that’s as about as much as I can write. I put him in the car, we drove to the vet’s, and then…well, I can’t type much more without wanting to cry…a lot. I did write this to a friend:

His lymph nodes had become huge in the last week, and he couldn’t get up and down the stairs. I took him for a walk on Sunday to his favorite place, Groton Woods (see “Me and My Shadow” blog for a happy trip description). Once there, he walked 50 yards and then sat down to rest. He couldn’t go much further than that. I then realized that he could leave this life happy or miserable. He was still eating and despite his discomfort he seemed happy. He was rolling around on the grass on Monday morning, and I was very tempted to call the vet and say “Forget it!” But, I knew he was only going to get worse. I also knew I couldn’t bear to see him get worse and become a miserable Monty I didn’t know. I knew the best of Monty, and that’s the way I felt (though selfishly it sometimes felt) he should leave this world.

He was happy to the end. When he passed, he collapsed into my lap. They left me alone with him, and I sat there for over a half an hour holding him and rubbing his soft pointy ears and massaging his cute little feet (which always smelled like popcorn); these were the parts I adored most about him. It was so hard to make the decision, and then it was so hard to leave him there. Finally, I gently moved him out of lap, repositioned his paws, so it looked just like he was asleep on the rug by the backdoor. I kissed his nose, told him I was sorry for all the times his performance art (barking) irked me and how much I loved him for always being such a good man in my life, and I sadly had to leave without looking back. It was one of my most difficult things I ever had to do in my life.

After that, I went home. I sat on the porch for the longest time and only went back into the house for five minutes, cringing when I didn't hear a single bark, to grab a bottle of wine. I opened the bottle, brought it out onto the porch, and I drank the whole bottle while I sat there and cried for the next three hours.

The funny thing about it all, if it could be funny in the unusual way and not the ha-ha way, was that I always felt I was such a cat person. Monty was the first dog I had ever owned on my own, and he meant a lot more to me than most dogs might due to the fact that I bought him two weeks before my Dad died. Dog are so different from cats.

In retrospect, I can only think that the lesson in all of this was for me to feel that and to know that sometimes you just have to let go. There was no replacing anyone or anything in life. Life always moved forward yet you always had to remember to keep the past present in your heart.

As some of my devoted blog readers know, I bought a new-to-me car (a ’07 VW EOS which Iz and I named Little Red) in April. May was also devoted to bringing it back and forth to the dealership to fix water leaks, a squeaky sunroof and rear window, and finally, a clutch that needed replacing after only 40K miles. The dealership I bought it from paid for everything, so I couldn't complain.

Though, it was stressful going from convertible to a rental car periodically. Even though I had printed out all the Internet fixes for all my car’s issues, the men in charge at the dealerships chose to ignore them. It only gave credence to my quote, “Who needs a man when you’ve got the Internet?”

One day, I had a ginormous van that made me feel like my surname should have been Duggar. The next day I’d have a Nissan Versa, which nicely fit my bike in it with the back seats down and gave me buyer’s remorse. This is a shout out to Nissan if you stalk blogs.

I love the Versa. If I could afford two cars, I’d have it and a convertible. It’s such a clown car; it’s small on the outside and huge on the inside!

When May came to a close, despite the Lilacs and the Lily of the Valley, I was ready to join the Witness Protection Program. Nathan happily went to the prom with a friend; Iz became Communion-ized. But somehow, I couldn’t move past Monty; his death left me with this huge sink hole in my life.

People who lost limbs had phantom pains; I lost my dog and had phantom late night and early morning take-dog-out-to-pee pains. I’d turn off the TV to go to bed, look for Monty, and then realize that I had no dog to take out. Ironically, the worst part was when I pulled in the driveway or opened the front door; the incessant barking that once annoyed me was not there, and I now so wanted it to be there to greet me.

In a nutshell, the last few months have been about lovely steps forward (full-time job, house in Nantucket sold, prom, communion, and the car -- well, it was a step forward and then an equal step back for a while), and then it was about steps back (the illness, Monty, and even doubt in my own plan). Of course, work got in the way, and I cringed when I knew I didn’t have the bandwidth to write as I do here. Sometimes I wish I could blink and all my thoughts about something could appear here, but that doesn’t happen.

My blogs truly are a labor of love, each taking me 2-6 hours to write; I know I’ve said that before; however, it’s worth repeating that creativity doesn’t come in an “I Dream of Jeannie” blink, as TV would have you believe. Musicians spend a year to creating 12 songs for a CD; I was writing at least 12 blogs a month if not more. What does that mean? If I were a musician, I’d be turning out a new CD every month!

But seriously, I have not been sitting here feeling sorry for myself. Okay, a few days a month, I do, like we all do when faced with challenges. For the first time in my life, I decided to take care of the most important person I know; and, that person is me.

While I let my writing go, I spent time watching movies with Iz, time folding laundry, and time watching stuff on TV I had already watched before without fretting about being here. It was difficult, because I felt like I was letting myself down by not doing what I loved. But as the days and weeks passed, I knew I was giving myself something that Iz and I loved the most – girl time!

I can’t say I’m back every day. But, I’m here now, and I know that this endeavor gives me the girl time to be who I am. But, sometimes, I won’t be here, because I need the girl time that makes me the girl who I am when I’m not here . ♥

He's a Strange Beast

Recently, I was fortunate enough to buy a new car. Well, it’s a car that’s new to me. I like to refer to it as my “mid-life-crisis-son-going-to-college” car.

Why mid-life crisis? It’s a red convertible, I’m somewhat in a crisis, and I’m mid-life if I were to only live to 60. Yeah, yeah, you got me; pants on fire! So, the “son-going-to-college” part of the car is that it’s a 2007 with 40K miles on it. Perhaps someday, I’ll get a new one after Iz graduates from college when I’m…okay, let’s not go there.

I bought a VW EOS, which is the "new" VW Cabrio. In 1996, I bought a used 1995 VW Cabrio; by the way, it’s very true that history repeats itself. Peasant blouses were trendy in the 1940s, 1970s, and now for the last year. (Okay, I had to put in my fashion two sense there, and yes, I meant to spell “sense” like that.) By the way, never throw out clothes; put them in the attic, and in 15-30 years, they’ll be back in style, I promise!

Anyway, I sold my VW Cabrio in 2000. (If Nathan were to hold a grudge against me for anything, it would not be because I called him “Bear,” my pet name for him, in front of his friends at his eighth birthday party; it would be because I sold the Cabrio. When my Dad died, he left two Toyota RAV4s; my brother took one, and I took the other one, which was less than a year old with only 10K miles on it.

At the time, I felt that if I were a good parent, I’d have a car with a backseat that could hold three passengers. The backseat of my Cabrio only had two seatbelts. I wondered how I could drive all of Nathan’s friends around if I were a seatbelt short; in 2000, I was out of my first mid-life crisis, and, by the way, if history repeats itself, so does the mid-life crisis evidently!

I wanted to be a good parent, but I was hesitant, because I loved my car. I had never loved a car in my life before, and the VW Cabrio was the first car I ever truly loved. I reluctantly put a “For Sale” sign in the car and then reluctantly put an ad in the Want Advertiser, which wouldn’t run for a week. Phew, I had time to put off being a “good parent.”

The evening after I put the “For Sale” sign in my car, my doorbell rang. I opened the door and saw my neighbor’s 16-year-old daughter standing there. She said, “Hi!” and then asked, “So, your car is for sale?” Knowing she didn’t even have her permit yet, I chuckled to myself and said, “Yes. It is.”

She then said, “My Dad’s going to buy it for me.” I asked, “Really?” She said, “Well, I can’t drive yet, but it’ll be mine when I can drive.”

Her Dad seemed to love cars, because he had about six of them in his driveway and at least one was a VW. I stood there somewhat amazed. I wasn’t amazed that she couldn’t drive yet; I was amazed that she was getting a car before she could even drive. When I was 16, I think my parents gave me a sweater vest!

The next day her Dad called. He wanted to buy her my car; I emphasize the “my,” because I was still wondering what I was doing. A voice said, “You’re being a good parent,” and I listened to it over and over when I signed the title over to him after he handed me a check for $6000.

When Nathan found out that I sold my car, he was upset. I tried to explain my whole “good parent” thing to him, but it was said again and again to deaf ears. Ironically, during that whole post-Cabrio time, I was never driving Nathan and a bunch of friends around; back then, Nathan was a shy kid with Connor, Ellen’s son, being his best and pretty much only close friend. "Carma" (yes, I meant to spell it that way) is indeed a bitch!

Believe it or not, my 1995 VW Cabrio, though somewhat rusted on the driver’s side door, is still being driven by my neighbor and his wife to this day. I saw his wife drive down the street in it this afternoon, and I’m always glad when Nathan isn’t around to see this. When he is, he looks fondly at the car, glares at me the “good parent who is really an idiot for ever giving up that car,” and then he sighs.

It was all very painful in that “bad parent” way, though I have learned my lesson. After I bought my “new to me” car, I promptly handed over the keys to my 2000 Toyota RAV4 with 180K miles on it to Nathan. He was elated.

I somewhat felt like I had been forgiven for my past VW sins. It was like I had given Nate the keys to a Ferrari. Of course, it was half the size of “Big Red,” the Suburban he crashed last Fall; so, in hand-me-down car terms, the RAV4 was a Ferrari!

When I took Iz for her first spin in my “new to me” car, she, not one to mince words asked matter-of-fact, “Mommy, since Nathan got the black car, I get the red car when I am driving, right?” Iz already staked out her vehicle territory. When I wasn't thinking “That’s my girl!” I was thinking, “Good parents drive fun cars and pass the fun cars and the love of them to their children.”

Anyway, there comes a time when driving your child everywhere becomes a total drag. You worry about them driving your car, but then you worry about your sanity when one child is already asleep and you have to pick the other one up from his job. After fighting off the antiquated “Well, I didn’t have a car until I was 22,” you think, “I’m going to be good to myself as a parent, and I’m giving him my car!” It’s the new parent math -- being a good parent to yourself!

But, there’s a downside to the child with car keys; it’s called “abandonment.” You don’t abandon them; they leave you, BUT this only occurs when they have gas money from you and you've paid their car insurance. Yes, a big HELLO, you contribute to their deliquency to abandon you; um, parenting is also a bitch!

Last Friday, I was texting with Nate about his plans for the weekend. As usual, he drops a bomb in a text message rather than in an actual conversation. He said, “Oh, I need to talk to you about Strange Creek, which is next weekend.”

I replied with “What creek?” He didn’t reply, so I knew it was something big, something that surely involved my money and my car! They think we parents are totally clueless, but if they only really knew who the clueless ones were, it would make our lives as parents a lot easier!

After I put my cell phone down, I immediately went to my computer to google “Strange Creek.” It was a music festival over two days where concert attendees would camp. Can you say, “Woodstock?!?!?!?!”

I was sitting in my office chair thinking, “No way. Not my son. Not my car. ” Of course, it seems that as I have aged, everything I did back when I was 18 was okay, because I knew what I was doing. It seems that Nathan has the same attitude, but I can’t accept it because I’m 40-something and he is 18; again, history repeats itself, because my Mom and Dad probably thought the same thing back then.

Tonight, I thought it was time to discuss the concert with Nathan. So, I asked, “So, you’re driving out to Greenfield and camping?” He said, “Uh, well, no. First, we’re driving up to Burlington, Vermont on Friday, seeing Ray Lamontagne, and then driving to Greenfield to meet up with about 15 other people from school.” WOODSTOCK, WOODSTOCK, WOODSTOCK!

I said, “Um, I don’t know about this.” Then I defaulted to the “bad cop” parent by asking, “So, what does your Dad think about this?” Nathan said, “Well, I think he’s okay with it,” and then he added “Well, more or less.”

I laughed and asked, “So, what does that mean?” Nathan said, “Well, he’s a strange beast.” I then said, “Nathan, we’re not strange beasts. We’re parents!”

Am I worried about this road trip? I am. Will I fund this road trip? I will. Would I prevent him from going? I won’t, because at 18, 28, 38, or 48, or 58 (if I’m that lucky), I will always worry; it’s comes with the “good parent” and “strange beast” territory, understanding only now that my parents were good but very strange beasts, too. ♥

Who are You? Who, Who, Who, Who?

In February of this year, the company that laid me off in 2009 hired me back. It seems that my company, not unlike others, had outsourcing remorse, which led them to hire many people back. While I was not keen when they outsourced me, I was glad to see that they tried it but didn’t end up liking it as it applied to some positions within the company, especially mine as a technical writer.

Before I was rehired, the company rehired a few engineers that they had laid off. I remember feeling a bit miffed that people who could write code were being welcomed back before people who could write a complete sentence and remember to put a period after it, but then I reminded myself that this was high technology. As long as the software worked, who cared if no one knew how to use it?!

A few weeks ago, I was in the bathroom washing my hands. I happened to be speaking to someone when a woman rounded the corner from the bathroom stalls. She took one look at me and exclaimed, “Hi, Jean!”

It would have normally been a positive experience; however, I took one look at her, and I had no idea who she was. Now, I’m one of those people who is very good with names and faces; I can directly attribute it to my many hours of CSI and Law & Order TV viewing. I scanned her face again hoping I could channel Lenny Briscoe or Sara Sidle, but alas, I could only channel a tabula, and it was rasa; I had no idea who this woman was!

The situation was made worse by the fact that her “Hi, Jean!” was said with an “I have known you since Kindergarten” type of familiarity. I said, “Hi!!!’ hoping my many exclamation marks would make up for the fact that I could not append a name to “Hi.’ She told me that it was good to see me, and taking her lead, I said the same thing back; right then I should have said, “I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten your name, “ but she knew me so well, I knew I’d feel like I was in Kindergarten by saying that.

In my previous job, I had worked on the release notes for three major products. On a weekly basis, I interacted with 40 to 50 software engineers; this was almost entirely done by e-mail. It used to amaze me that I worked with one sixth of the employees in my building, who were only a floor away, yet I knew them only by their e-mail addresses.

Between you and me, I had formulated ideas of them. There was “engineer who never responded until the last minute,” “engineer who was most appreciative that I could take something incoherent that he wrote and make it a complete sentence with a period after it,” “engineer who always wrote grumpy replies,” and “engineer who always went out of his way to help me.” I had profiled most of them even if I didn’t know them, and I had Criminal Minds to thank for that!

Occasionally, I might have to call an engineer to actually “talk” about an issue or prod one to review something I wrote two hours before a deadline. I’d access the employee directory to look up a phone number; it was only then that I might get an idea of what the engineer looked like due to the picture in the directory; however, the employee photos were about as good as those FBI mug shots you see in the post office.

You could look at the picture of the fugitive for 5 seconds, walk out of the post office, pass the fugitive on the sidewalk, and never know it was the person in the picture. Like most pictures, they captured you at a moment in time; from perusing some of the photos, people had lost hair, gained weight, and grown older. Though, I was comforted by the fact that when I roamed the hallways at work, the engineers that I didn’t know were only wanted by me most days and not by the FBI.

After two minutes of basic chit-chat, my CSI and Law & Order TV viewing started to kick in. While trying to converse, as if I knew who she was, my Lenny Briscoe voice said, “Try and look at her badge.” Everyone in the company had a badge; you were supposed to wear your badge at all times, and sometimes, according to corporate regulations, it seemed like it was more important to wear your badge than clothes as in “Hey, nice belly button ring, but where the heck is your badge?!”

I hated my badge. I was never one to be a huge rule breaker, but I tried to get away without wearing it as often as I could. Truthfully, I was not James Dean for doing so; frankly, it was just because I felt the badge didn’t go well with any of my outfits! Yes, I admit it; I was transparent when it came to corporate security.

While trying to remain focused on our conversation and share my “I was laid off and hired back too” story, I glanced down at her pants. I saw her 2x4 inch badge dangling from her waist. Unfortunately, it was flipped over showing me only that she was as white as a ghost and I couldn’t even call her Casper!

When the conversation came to its natural conclusion, I skedaddled out the bathroom door with a “Yeah, it is really nice to see you, too!” When the door closed behind me, I walked back to my office wondering who she was. I knew everyone in my life; I even knew people in my life that I didn’t know like the man who serviced the ATM machine at the supermarket and the woman who booked my ferry ticket to Nantucket!

I arrived back at my office and pondered how I had let this person slip through my life. I didn’t know where she sat, so I couldn’t do a “walk by” and read the name plate on her cube. I could try and point her out to someone, but I’d feel rather silly saying, “Hi” to her and then asking a companion, “Who the heck is that?”

With so many other things on my mind, I decided that I’d have to file her away in a cardboard storage box in my mind and watch more episodes of Cold Case. I knew I’d see her again, and I’d still be in that awkward position. For now, I’d just have to settle for my exaggerated “Hi!!!!” until I could figure out the mystery.

Today, my life unfolded as an episode of CSI, Law & Order, Cold Case, and maybe a bit of the Brady Bunch; that would be the Brady Bunch episode where Jan gets a tape recorder and secretly tapes her siblings’ conversations.

I had a chance encounter with the woman who knew me but who I don’t know!

I was leaving the bathroom.

I saw her in the kitchen waiting by the microwave.

I didn’t need to go into the kitchen.

Two steps down the hallway, I said, “Oh, I’ll get some tea.”

I didn’t need tea, but it was an opportunity to try and read her badge once again!

I walked into the kitchen, hoping she wouldn’t notice that I had just walked by the kitchen and think, “I wonder if Jean’s coming in here to try and read my badge, because she has no clue as to my identity, the poor dumb thing.”

She smiled at me.

I smiled back and said, “Hi!!!!!”

I stood there for too long of a moment, and then I realized, “Oh, yes. I need tea!”

She looked at me, and I know she was thinking, “Jean looks confused. Perhaps I should call Security.”

I got my cup and I glanced over at her pants to see if I could catch a glimpse of her badge.

She flashed an uncomfortable smile, and I know she was thinking, “Jean’s checking me out. Perhaps I should call Human Resources.”

I quickly grabbed a tea bag when I noticed that…

She wasn’t wearing her badge.

Damn!

She took her food out of the microwave and left the kitchen, and I know she was thinking, “Jean’s really strange. Perhaps I should tell the CEO at the next company meeting.”

I came up with a plan, I saw that she was not wearing her badge, and I conquered, well, not much of anything other than proving to her that I might be a tad odd. No matter, I think Lenny Briscoe would be proud of me. I do believe that figuring out who this woman is could be my entertainment for at least the next six months; I suppose I could just be brave and ask her what her name is, but where’s the Law & Order fun in that?! ♥

Brenda: Thanks for help me get my writing groove back and for always inspiring me. ♥