Dear Jeff, Tomas, Steve, and George…

This isn’t what you think. It’s not a “Dear Johns” letter! Since you’re my most devoted readers, I feared you might call Detective Lenny Brisco if something didn’t show up here tomorrow. Tonight, I need to recharge my spunk; thus, this is short.



Gawd, how I loved Mary Tyler Moore. She wore polyester like it was silk. Am I right?!

Lastly, not mentioning any names (just a tall guy who runs, likes the Red Sox, and whose name begins with“T”☺), I got the following email in my "Tell the Goddess" Inbox this morning: “Your blog was nice but short for my Saturday morning V8 and coffee.” Whaaat?! Suddenly, I was beginning to feel like the Goldilocks of Blogging!

My blog was too long. My blog was too short. And now, my blog was not accommodating the duration of someone's breakfast? What’s my blogging world coming to!? Designer blogs to match the reader's activity? ☺

“Can you write a blog I can read while my turkey cooks for four hours?”
“Can you write a blog I can read while I exfoliate my dull dead skin for 15 minutes?"
“Can you write a blog I can read while listening to Tubular Bells, all 48 minutes and 57 seconds of it?”

"I may be biased," said Goldilocks, "But I think my blog is just right." ♥

Ma Bell Makes House Calls

Blog soundtrack:



If there are two things we can’t avoid right now, they are the bad economy and technology. I don’t think I really need to go on about the economy; however, it has me using coupons religiously at the grocery store, only getting a pedicure every now and then, and vetoing trips to Sephora unless a gift card is somehow involved. And, as I approach almost a year of joblessness, it has me thinking of all the ways I can creatively save money.

As I said in a previous post, I can’t believe how much Nathan and his friends communicate through text messages rather than by speaking to each other on the phone. It’s gotten so easy to talk to people without really talking to them. And, in some ways, it’s kind of sad. Though, I would be guilty of not using the phone enough and relying on these alternate forms of communication.

Today, I decided to make this “Back to the Future” Friday. I was going to be frugal and old-fashioned, where a year ago, I was not. Well, I was old-fashioned then where my wardrobe was concerned and always will be!

One of my dear friends, Suzebabe, the Goddess of All Things Babely, has been suffering from a back problem for over a week now. I couldn’t imagine the pain she was in. (Well, I could second-hand, because Marcia had just gone through a similar painful ordear.) When I “talked” to Suze via text message and email, she sounded most miserable. I really wanted to do something special for her, something unexpected and unique.

A year ago, I probably would have gone online, picked out a bouquet, and then clicked “Complete Order.” $9.99 for shipping? Oh, who cares? And upon reflection today, I thought, “Jeez. How uncreative is that?! And, $9.99 for shipping?!?!” Just then, I climbed into the Wayback machine. (By the way, if you’re like me and only go into Boston every now and then, the Wayback machine takes those Charlie cards, which would have otherwise expired way before you ever got a chance to return to Boston!)

It was 1983, and I was a junior at Brandeis. After a night at the Stein and one too many Southern Comfort Sours pre-Stein, I was puking under the statue of Louis Brandeis. Oops. I meant to go a little further back than that!

I had this sweetheart of a boyfriend all through college. His name was Robert Caputo. (I’m mentioning his name in case he ever googles himself!) He graduated three years before me, so he often came to visit me at school. Sometimes, he’d show up unexpectedly and do this thing to me. Um, no, nothing like what you're probably thinking now!

So, today, I thought, “I’m going to do that thing to Suze.” I went and bought some flowers at the local florist. (Okay, okay, I bought orchids for me, too!) And when I got Iz off the bus, I asked, “Hey, want to go see Auntie Suze? She’s not feeling well.” Iz said she did and off we went. Yes. I didn’t call. Remember, I said unexpected. Unexpected good things are very cool unlike unexpected bad things.

We drove the 20 minutes over to Suze’s. I saw her daughter’s car in the driveway, and I just hoped Suze was there, though given she was immobile to some degree, 355 degrees I gathered, I thought the chances were pretty good she was resting on a couch somewhere. I grabbed the flowers, and Iz and I hopped out of the car.

We rang the doorbell, and I said to Iz, “I so hope she’s here. Maybe just Katie is home.” Iz said, “No! I see her coming!” She opened the door and looked surprised to see us. After all, it was unexpected!

I handed her the flowers, and then I remembered I left something very important in the car. I shrieked, “Wait, wait! I forgot something!” I ran back to the car to grab what I needed.

When I arrived back at the door, I said, “Open your hand.” She did. Then I dropped a dime onto the palm of her hand. I said, “This is a personal phone call.”

Clicking “Send” and being distant in the form of a text message or an email are easy to do unfortunately; however, sometimes being there is so much better. Thank you, Economy, for reminding me on a daily basis what is most important about this life. Strange but true, I love you. ♥

Suzebabe, I hope you're hang gliding, cliff diving, fishing for Alaskan King Crab in the Bering Sea, and running with the bulls in Pamplona soon!

Thursday's Trilogy

You Say It's Your Birthday?

I knew on February 1st, that the day was more than “Rabbit, Rabbit.” The day began African American History Month, National Children’s Dental Health Month, Return Your Shopping Carts to the Supermarket Month, and Sweet Potato Month. Did you also know that the 7th through the 13th is Dump Your Significant Jerk Week and Jell-O Week? And, today is World Cancer Day, tomorrow is Bubble Gum Day, and on the 14th, it is not only Valentine’s Day but also National Condom Day. I kid you not; check out happenin’ February here.

Anyway, in my house, there were two birthdays this month. Nathan would be 17 on the 12th, and Iz would be 17, err, um, I mean, 7 on the 24th. Lately, it was hard telling who was the teenager.

For Iz, February meant only Valentine’s Day, her birthday, and the Father-Daughter Dance. She would probably say, “Happy Birthday” to Nathan on the day, but as far as she was concerned, Nathan's birthday was just a celebration obstacle in the path of her ultimate celebration.

Even though her birthday was two weeks away, February 1st began the countdown to her birthday. It was evident this morning when we were doing her math homework. When finished, I told her not to forget to put her name and the date on the top.

I watched as she wrote “Isabelle” and then “February 24.” I said, “Iz, it’s not the 24th.” She giggled, and then she said, “Ooops. That's my birthday.” Instead, those four words sounded more like “Silly me. You do know that is my birthday, Mom, right? I will be expecting several parties and lots of presents. Did you get my memo? It was written on the nice writing paper you told me not to use with a permanent black marker. Oh, I’m not supposed to use the permanent markers either, am I?! But, you won’t be mad, because it is my birthday...all month!”

I laughed. Last year, Iz could not wait to be six. This year, it seemed that seven years old didn't matter. February had become Celebrate Iz’s Birthday for a Month Month. Yesterday, there was talk of a party to plan the party, a friend party, a family party, and then a party on the actual birthday.

We were in full-fledged PPP mode; that’s Planning, PR, and Presents. We had to plan to get invitations, who to invite, what we would eat, what games we’d play, and when to go shopping for a new outfit, which was a given; you always need a new birthday suit for your original birthday suit!

Then there was the PR, which Iz handles nicely all on her own. When we were at Macy’s yesterday (no, I haven’t boycotted them…yet!), I bought a pair of gloves. I put them down on the counter, but not before Iz, plunked half her body on it.

The sales associate said to Iz, “Hi. What’s your name?” Iz said, “Isabelle!” She said, “That’s a lovely name.” Iz faux bashfully said, “Thank you.” Then Iz added, “It’s my birthday on the 24th!”

When we went to her favorite restaurant last night, Iz was greeted by our waitress, who we knew well. Anita asked Iz, “How are you doing, Isabelle?” Iz said, “It’s my birthday soon.” Anita exclaimed, “Wow, really? When is it?” Iz said, “The 24th.” I’m surprised Iz didn’t hand her a card, which noted the URL to her birthday website; on it, I was sure there was a link to her Toys ‘R Us birthday present registry!

Presents could really be considered part of planning; however, when you’re almost seven years old, presents deserve their own category. So far, Iz had asked for the pajamas for her American Girl doll, Julie, and for Julie’s bed. I was sure that there were more presents on her list; however, it seemed that presents had taken a backseat to the parties this year.

Of course, I then did the birthday math. Three parties multiplied by an average of five gifts per party equals lots of presents. Well, it’s only the 4th, so I’m sure she’ll rally and provide 13 more present suggestions by the 12th!

Children look up to and learn good things from their parents most of the time; however, for the past few years, I have found myself learning so many good things from Iz. I applaud her for being confident enough to feel she deserves such celebration and not just on her birthday; she lives her life expecting devotion, respect, and adoration, not just from her girlfriends, but from everyone in her life every day. You go, Girl! ♥

Hit Me With Your Best Shot, Even If It Makes Me Crazy

When Iz got home tonight, she was greeted by her new Barbie doll. Five minutes after opening her doll, excitement went into over excitement. She then called her Dad and left a message to tell him about her new doll.

I listened to her as she left the voice mail message; however, toward the end, she started to get a ‘tude, and I then said, “Iz, stop the sassy talk.” She clicked the “End” button on my phone and said “Well, that’s the way God made me, Mother!” I said, “Isabelle Georges, that’s not the way we speak here.” She said, “Mom, I think that flu shot made me crazy.” Ah, the insanity defense! (Good thing I watch Law & Order!)

Just then, I had to wonder whether she received a shot of inactivated viral strains or a month’s dose of caffeine. Five minutes later I heard, “Look, Mom!” I walked down the hallway, and she had a 4-cup cardboard holder in her hand. She began to shove it up her shirt, and as she did, she said, “Mommy, look! I can pretend I have breasts.” Eeeek!

Yesterday, I wanted my old son to be young again, and today, I wished my “grown-up” daughter would stay young forever. ♥

She Took Her Love for to Gaze Awhile

At 10:30 this morning, I headed off to the town I grew up in. It was time to visit the dentist for my bi-annual cleaning. I dislike (I restrained myself from using “hate,” and somewhere my Mom is smiling because of that) having my teeth cleaned.

This intense dislike (not “hatred,” Mom!) began when I developed a few areas on my teeth that had some exposed root. Unless the hygienist was really gentle and used the correct toothpaste when polishing, I sat in the chair for 30 minutes wishing I was having open-heart surgery instead, because then, at least, I’d be unconscious!

I arrived at 11:05am for my 11am appointment. I hit traffic. Okay, big fat lie, but I think my urgency to get to my appointment directly correlated to how much I liked having my teeth cleaned. Usually, before my ass can hit the waiting room chair, a hygienist comes down the hallway and asks me, “Jean?”

Today, I had the good fortune to wait. I perused my dentist’s rack o’ magazines. They were a tad better than the selection my primary care doctor offered but not by much. Hmm, read “Fly Rod and Reel” magazine or sit here and stare at the clock, noting that it is now 11:15am? I chose the latter.

Just then, a hygienist, who I had never seen before, came down the hallway. My ears perked up, thinking she might call my name. I saw her begin to speak and she then turned her head toward the receptionist and said, “You didn’t buzz me!” The receptionist apologized.

The hygienist then saw me, and said, “I’m sorry. It’ll just be a few minutes. The dentist came up behind her. He apologized to me, too. I said, “No problem.” Really, where else did I have to go this morning?!

The dentist went back down the hallway. The hygienist turned around and walked back down the hallway looking none too please. In the back of my head, I thought, “I hope her anger and being behind schedule is not taken out on my teeth.”

At 11:30, the same hygienist came out and said, “Jean?” I got up and followed her down the hallway. She brought me into an exam room and told me to take a seat. I could tell she was a bit irked. Just then, I wished I brought Iz’s teddy bear and a Ouija board with me; I needed a stuffed animal and my Mommy!

Once in the chair and reclined so far back, one would think I was ready for open heart surgery, the hygienist said, “He makes me so mad.” I assumed she meant the dentist. She said, “I was supposed to get buzzed. I didn’t. So, I took my time with my last patient. Now he’s all mad at me.” I said to myself, “Mumma!”

She then told me how much she disliked working for him. I sat up. Hell, I didn’t like him either. The only thing keeping me going to the practice, which he had bought from a dentist I had loved (Annie, you know him well), was the fact that I got a chance to visit my parents in the cemetery every six months.

The hygienist said, now that she had my full attention, “And, he embarrassed me in front of everyone earlier, just because I didn’t get buzzed.” Apparently, this had created some huge delay in the Tooth Timetable. Then she said, “I’m not one to take stuff from anyone. Sometimes he walks by me tapping his watch with his fingers. I ask him if his watch is broken!” She said as if saying it to the dentist, “Just tell me what you what to say to me; don’t pussyfoot around!”

I told her how much I loved the dentist who owned the practice before. I asked, “Did you know him?” She said she didn’t. I told her how the current dentist, kept mentioning a defect in my front tooth every time I went there. In some ways, I felt he peer-pressured me into fixing it.

There was a small pin hole in one of my front teeth. My dentist ages ago, going back to high school, had put something in it to fill it, but it had yellowed over the years. My current dentist told me that if I bleached my teeth, he would put a veneer over it, and it would look much better. It had bothered me, but then again, most of the time, I think I was the only one who noticed.

So, back when I was working, I decided to fix it. After going through the whole process, I came out with these “Hollywood” white teeth, as my dentist called them, and a front tooth that didn’t bother me when I closely scrutinized it in my magnified mirror. The thing that bothered me was that when I left after the final veneer appointment, my dentist pointed to a business card on the front desk and said, “With those white teeth, you might like to consider a makeover.”

The card was for some Beauty Consultant in town. And, I know you have to be smart to be a doctor, but as we all know, smart doesn’t equal bedside manner. I said, “No, thank you.” I was so insulted and then made that I thought, “Ah, he’s pushing his mistress’s business!”

Anyway, I did not get to share that story with my hygienist; I only got to “There was a small pin hole in one of my front teeth” before she started in on my dentist again. When she realized she was [fingers tapping on watch] very far behind, she said, “Open wide.”

I opened, and she exclaimed, “You have such nice teeth.” I responded, “That’s three and a half years of braces.” She said, “And, they’re so clean compared to what I’ve seen today. Oh, goodie.” Yes, she did say that. Well, she said, my teeth were nice, clean, and "Oh, goodie."

Before she started, I closed my mouth and said, “You do know I need the pumice*? The regular toothpaste bothers my roots.” She said she didn’t know that. The last hygienist I had six months ago was so wonderful. The new hygienist was nice, but at that point, I was wondering where the old hygienist, my teddy bear, and my Mumma were!

*The stuff is horrid. I could have probably saved my insurance $5 by bringing in sand from a trip to Crane Beach mixed with a little bit of Atlantic Ocean.

And, then she started to clean my teeth. A nice woman does not necessarily mean a gentle touch. She was very rough, and I think I still have the fingernail marks in both my forearms from holding onto them both so tightly. And, I hadn’t tasted that much blood in my mouth since I had my wisdom teeth out!

At one point, she said, “Oh, you are getting a lot of build up behind the back molars.” She took her instrument of pain out of my mouth. It was covered with some bloody muck. At that point, I wanted to say, “Look, I don’t like to see anything that comes out of my mouth, except for a tootsie roll or blow pop when I need to check how far away I am from the chewy center!” But, I didn’t.

After the cleaning, I was supposed to get a fluoride treatment. I declined. The hygienist very nicely suggested, knowing I was unemployed, that I just buy a fluoride rinse and use it every day. Her suggestion in no way made up for my pain, but it was something nevertheless.

And, I didn’t want to tell her, but it wasn’t that I couldn’t afford the $30 for the fluoride; it was that I needed to get the hell out of there! Do not stop for fluoride treatment. Pass it. Go to favorite Thai restaurant for Pad Thai and a glass of wine to celebrate surviving this brutal cleaning!

Once liberated, err, I mean, once at the restaurant, I pulled out my notebook. I ordered my Pad Thai and a glass of wine. In about 20 minutes, the restaurant was filled, almost to capacity, with about 30 people. I thought, “Whoa. Where did all these people come from?”

Just then, I thought, “Oh, yeah. It’s Thursday, a big go-out-to-lunch day for those who are employed.” I felt a bit odd sitting there. I then had to ask myself why I felt so odd. Was it because I used to be one of them?

After a few minutes, I knew it was something else. I felt like a ghost, perhaps the Ghost of Layoffs Yet to Come, sitting there silently observing the employed; however, just then I felt like I had a secret. One that only I knew. When they left, they went back to their place of employment and walked in the doors of work. When I left, I went to get Nathan and Iz, and I walked in fields of gold. ♥

H1, Anyone?

Blog soundtrack:

When I drove Iz to school this morning, she asked, “Is today Wednesday?”
I said, “Yes.”
She then asked, “Is this the day?!”

I knew she had remembered that today was the day for her H1N1 booster. She had the vaccine in nasal form in November; however, I couldn't get the nasal vaccine at her pediatrician's. Unfortunately, they only had the booster in the form of a shot.

Anyway, I could sense a huge cloud of doom and gloom in the car. And, if I didn’t know about the impending shot, I would have sworn on the drive that Iz knew she was going to arrive at first grade, be told to clean out her desk, and then be laid off with only two weeks of lunch money. Believe me, I know that feeling!

Do all kids hate shots? Both of mine do. I remember Nathan being very much the same way as Iz when he was her age. And, I do recall four years ago when Nathan said to me unexpectedly, “Mom, you don’t have to ever worry about me getting any piercings or tattoos. I hate needles.” And, thus far, he’s been true to his word.

When I got Iz off the bus at 3pm, she was usual self -- bright, cheery, and whacking Noah repeatedly with her backpack; yes, this is the way you show a boy you like him when you’re 6 years old.

She then asked me what we were doing. I reminded her about the trip to the doctor’s. She said, “No. I don’t want to go.” Oh, dear.

Once home, I offered her a snack between “I don’t want to go” statements. I knew I was going to have to pull out a really good snack along with a really positive vaccination attitude. “It’s going to be all right, Iz. I’m going to be with you. Want some gumdrops?”

She gladly accepted the gumdrops; however, I don’t think she was buying the positive vaccination attitude. Well, neither was I. It’s hard knowing something is going to potentially hurt your child, and though you’re doing it because you love them, you’re really powerless to do anything else.

In addition to the positive vaccination attitude, I also tried to remind her of our post-vaccination retail (a trip to Claire’s and a hunt for new shoes to go with her new dress for the Father-Daughter dance) and food (a trip to her favorite restaurant for dinner) therapy. It seemed that even when I dangled these activities, like a carrot in front of a donkey, they did not make her feel any better or motivate her for the shot.

When it was time to leave, I said, “Okay. Put on your coat. We’ve got to get going.”
“I don’t wanna do it.”
“Aw, Iz.”
“I’m not brave enough, Mommy!”
“Yes, you are. You’re a very brave girl.”
The tears streamed down her checks.

I went over and hugged her and said, “I know you’re afraid. I’m going to be with you.”
“It hurts!”
“It’s just a little pinch.”

And I gave her arm a little jab with my longest fingernail. (Okay, not having had a shot in ages, I could only guess at this; however, I thought it was better for her to have some idea, even if fabricated, than no idea.)

I suggested she grab a stuffed animal to bring. She ran upstairs and returned two minutes later with one of her stuffed bears. Her eyes were all red and moist from crying. I wanted to call the pediatrician right then and cancel, but I knew it would be much worse for her to get the flu. Though right then, I wish I could trade. Give me the flu and spare her the shot; it's too bad life doesn't work that way sometimes.

After thinking I’d have to carry her out of the house due to many protests, she finally climbed into the car with her bear. She immediately asked, “Why two shots?” I explained that she got the first vaccine, but then they needed to do a second one to make sure it worked. I told her she had to get the second one or her “booster” today.

She asked me why it couldn’t be one shot. I said that I didn’t know. I reassured her that it was better for her to get the shot than to get the flu.

She then asked, “If I get H1N1, will I die?
“No. But, you will get really sick, feel miserable, and miss school.”
“I was sick before, and it was fun.”
“Well, that’s because you weren’t sick!”

She said again, “Mommy, I’m not brave enough,” and she began to whimper.
“Yes. You are. I bet you’ll be flying planes when you’re older.”
“I don’t want to fly planes. I want to be a veterinarian.”
“I thought you wanted to be a teacher.”
“Oh, yeah!” she said.

After that, it appeared that my answers weren’t sufficient, because she asked, “Mom, how come they have two different kinds of shots again?” Then came “How come shots hurt?” And, I was waiting for this one, the classic “Why me?” Question! “Why don’t you and Nathan have to get shots?”

I explained that there were not enough shots, so the doctors saved them for the little kids and the older people.
“So, when you’re old, I’ll take you to get your shot?”
(Perhaps she was feeling better at the idea of revenge!)
I said, “Yes. You’ll come and pick me up at my house and take me to the doctor’s.”
She quickly said, “No. I want to live with you and take care of you!”

When we took a right onto the road that led to the doctor’s office, the whimpering began. I heard a very loud and defiant, “I’m not getting out of the car!” I said, “Iz, it’s going to be okay. I’m going to be with you the whole time. You know I’d never let anyone hurt you.” Again, I heard, “I’m not getting out of the car!”

I pulled into the parking lot and turned off the car. Iz’s was now crying and shouting, “I’m not getting out of the car!” What’s worse than your daughter being upset and not wanting to get out of the car? It’s probably having to pry her out of the car when she’s upset and not wanting to get out of the car.

I carried her in. She was clutching her teddy bear and babbling. We checked in with the receptionist, and then sat down in the waiting room.

Iz curled up into a little ball in my lap, and I began to rock her back and forth. Sitting there, I thought that one of the most difficult things I faced this last year was not unemployment, biking 40 miles most every day, or being rejected by Macy’s for a cosmetics sales associate position; this was it right here, facing the H1N1 shot with my daughter.

I think humor is one of my strong points. It gets me through tough times when a glass of Chardonnay doesn’t! In that desperate moment, and it was probably the influence of one episode of “What Not To Wear” with my Cobb salad at lunch time today, I said, “Girl, you know what you need?! A makeover! How about some lip gloss?” Iz brightened up and said, “Sure!” (Also, remember: When I’m upset, I always resort to lipstick!)

I pulled out my make up bag; this was my little bag of tricks in this moment. Okay, if truth be told, it’s my bag of tricks in every moment, especially that Erase Paste by Benefit. (No. I’m still not hawking products on my blog, but I will mention a few of my favorite things now and then!)

After she chose her lip gloss, I let her apply it all by herself using my compact. She turned to me and asked, “How does it look?” I said, “Beautiful.” But, in this instance, lip gloss wasn’t enough to make her current anxiety a thing of the past.

Just then the door to the exam rooms rattled. Iz began to cry. She said, “I’m not brave enough, Mumma.” I know she’s really upset when she calls me “Mumma.” I had run out of tricks and my positive vaccination attitude was fading fast. I couldn’t wait for this to be over; I so wanted my happy-go-lucky girl back.

Just then the door opened. A little girl with long blonde hair skipped out carrying stickers and a lollipop. I heard the word “vaccine” follow after her, along with what looked to be her grandmother. I said, trying to spin a good tale, “Look, she just got her shot, and she looks fine. And, she’s got stickers and a lollipop!”

The door closed, and when he reopened 5 minutes later, a Friendly Face (a medical technician who was the Mom of one of Iz’s friends) said, “Isabelle.” Despite the Friendly Face, Iz began to cry. Then the Friendly Face said, “Aw, Isabelle.”

I moved her off my lap, took her hand, and I led her toward the door. She was quietly crying and sniffling. As we looked down the hallway, a nurse called to us, “In here!” The Friendly Face followed us. I found out later that the Friendly Face didn’t have to be in the room with Iz; however, when she knew Iz was coming, she decided she wanted to be there.

Once we walked into the exam room, Iz began to sob uncontrollably. Everything began to move fast. I ripped Iz’s coat off, swept her up off the floor and into my lap. She started to say over and over, “No, Mumma, no.” God give me strength, I thought. And she did.

The nurse quickly asked if there was a preference for arms, and, through Iz’s hysterics, I managed to choose her right arm thinking it better because she wrote with her left. I wasn’t sure if that made any sense medically, but at the time, it seemed logical.

I pulled her sleeve up, and the second after I did, the nurse swooped down with the vaccine while the Friendly Face stood close by. One second, needle in. Two seconds, plunger pushed. Three seconds, needle out. I was amazed by this nurse’s stealthness. Surely what she did was art, medical artistry – vaccinated in under three seconds.

The second after the needle came out, Iz immediately stopped crying. It was like someone flipped a light switch. Iz then blurted out, “That didn’t hurt at all!”

I started laughing. The Friendly Face reassured her that it was okay to be afraid. And without missing a beat, Iz said to the Friendly Face, “Um, excuse me, but I saw a little girl leaving with some stickers and a lollipop.” The Friendly Face said, “Oh, of course, come with me!” I guess Iz thought she might as well collect for her pain and suffering. And, she was out of that exam room faster than it took for the nurse to give her that shot.

On our way out of the parking lot, Iz asked, “Mom, does this mean I won’t get the flu now?”
I said, “Hopefully.”
She said, “Say I picked my nose, that’s just an example (clearly she didn’t want me to think that she ever picked her nose). If I picked my nose, would I get sick?”
I said, “I don’t think so.”
Iz said, “That didn’t hurt at all. Mommy, you were right.”
I said, “No. I wasn’t right. It was okay to be afraid, Iz, because you didn’t know what to expect. You were very brave, and I’m proud of you.”
She then said, “Mommy?”
I said, “Yeah, Iz.”
“I love you.”

Today, I had one of the worse feelings in the world, subjecting my daughter to something scary and feeling helpless to make it be anything other than that. Though, I’m glad that even after our bad times today, Iz could still say she loved me. And, I hope it stays that way at least ‘til she’s 50 and I’m 91. ♥

License to Grow Up

Blog soundtrack:



When I picked up Nathan today at 2pm, he walked around to the trunk and banged on it like he usually does. In case you didn’t know, that banging means "Open the trunk, Mom." Come to think of it, I don’t even think his banging has a “please” in it. I think this is because he was absent the day they taught "How to Bang the Word Please" in his “Way to Communicate with Your Parents Using Loud Noises and Face Contortions” class. I'm now convinced this class is a prerequisite for kids 2 to 18.

Of course, little does Nathan know that I, his mother, notice all these little things about him. As soon as I see him walking to the car, I press the Unlock Trunk icon on the Saab's driver side door. I don’t have the heart to tell him that his banging is wasted and redundant on the already opened trunk.

But, as I parent, I know how much kids love to create Loud Noises. Iz mastered Loud Noises* at only 6 years of age. Though, Nathan is a Loud Noise late bloomer. He only mastered Trunk Banging three years ago; and that’s probably as loud as he has ever gotten.

*Here are some of Iz's Greatest Commotions from her Loud Noise album: Chase kitten around the upstairs while wearing high-heeled boots, sprint down first floor hallway, a collaborative effort with the dog, which triggers Monty, who barks for a full 5 minutes after said sprint, and bang feet against the TV stand doors to keep time with any song sung by Miley Cyrus on “Hannah Montana.” She is so good, she could give Loud Noise lessons!

Nathan threw his backpack in the trunk, slammed (oh, he’s good at that loud noise too!) it shut, and then he climbed into the front passenger seat. I asked him how his day was. He said, “Okay.” I asked him if he got his mid-term grades yet. He said, “Okay.” I asked him if he remembered who I was. He said, “Okay.”

I was sensing some sort of conscious coma, so I then asked, “Need something to eat?”
He whipped his head around and finally looked at me, probably remembering where he was and who I was, and he then said, “Oh, yeah! I couldn’t find my wallet, so I didn’t have lunch.”
I then asked, “Subway?” (This is his favorite.)
He said, “Yes!” while thoughts of that turkey sub kept his empty stomach on life support.
He then blurted out, “I love you.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Hey, I’ll take it even if I had to dangle a turkey sub in front of his nose to get it!

When we arrived at Subway, I asked him how much money he needed. He told me $10 would be fine. I kidded him about it being a small fortune for a sandwich. (Of course, I forgot that Nathan would get a large sub, a large soda, and a large bag of chips.) Nathan said, “Well, Mom!” I kiddingly said, “That’s $10 less for college, Nathan.”

As he went to get out the car door, he turned and said, “Oh. I forgot.” Then I heard what every parent longs to hear their child say. (No, it’s not “I got into Harvard,” “I don’t need to borrow any money,” or “I’m going to spend a few hours cleaning my room.”)

Nathan said, “I can make my road test appointment for my license after this Thursday.” Shocked, I asked, “Really?! Are you sure you’ve done all the required driving and observations?” He said, “Yes. Tony said I’m done.”

Excuse me for a moment…

Woooooooo-hoooooo!
Champagne anyone?!

As you recall, it’s been a long drive to the road test. Last February, I taught Nathan and Connor how to drive, and then I took Nathan to get his permit. By all accounts, Nathan could have gotten his license in August; however, soccer got in the way in the Fall, and I think Nathan lost his drive (oh, of course, pun intended!), too. And, I know he wasn’t looking forward to driving his car, a big red Suburban, which I liked to call “Big Red.”

I then said frantically, “Well, I’ve got to go to the registry and pre-pay your driving test. Then, I’ve got to call Tony and ask if he’ll sponsor you, and then…” Before I could get the next Get-Nathan-in-the-Driver’s-Seat task out of my mouth, Nathan said a tad perturbed, “Mom. We can’t do anything until Thursday.” (Yeah, well, I'm sorry, but I'm a planner, unlike all of the men in my life!)

Nathan didn’t know how long I had waited for this moment. It was about as long as I had waited for one of my favorite discontinued perfumes, Monsoon, to be reinstated. (And, what was up with that, Coty?! Believe it or not, there’s a Bring Back Monsoon Perfume Facebook page; no, I didn’t start it, but I should have!) Anyway, I then said, reminded by the thrilling and mandatory two-hour parent driving class I had to take last week in order for Nathan to get his license, “Oh, it takes a bit for the registry to receive your driver’s education certificate, doesn’t it?” He shook his head up and down.

He headed off into Subway. As I watched my 6’3” boy walk away, I realized that no matter how much I looked forward to this day, the thought of him going to the Junior Prom, getting his license, going off to college in a year and a half, and becoming a young man somehow rattled me. I wanted him to grow older, but I wanted him to stay with me...always. And, all these events would begin to lead him away from me and rightfully so to his own life.

When we got home, Nathan mentioned again that he really might like to go to McGill University; they had a Marine Biology major. I was hoping he was still leaning toward UMASS, because it was so very affordable. I asked, “How much is that?”

He said from his perch atop his bed with his X-box controller in his hand and his kitten, Plume, at his side, “Go to www.collegeboard.com.” I did, and I clicked the tuition link. It looked like his Dad and I, given what we saved so far, could finance 2 or 3 years.

I found it rather odd that tuition was 9K to 14K depending on his major. Was it 9K for English and 14K for Geophysics and Seismology? Because, you know, everyone treats English likes it's birdwatching and Geophysics and Seismology like it's professional football!

I said, “It’s so far away.”
Nathan said, “Mom, it’s only six hours.”
I said, “I’m used to you being here or 16 minutes away, not six hours.”
Nathan said, “It’s six hours, Mom. That’s all. I can drive there!”
I said, “Yeah, well, you can drive there if you get your license.”
Just then, I'm sure that Nathan, even though I couldn't see him, gave me one of those Face Contortions; yeah, I so deserved it.

As I perused the sports, I said, “Whoa. Inner tube water polo!”
Nathan said, “I approve.”
I then read off a few of the courses required for the Marine Biology degree.
“Ichthyology? The study of fish!” (I have to admit; it sounded pretty interesting. I had wanted to be a marine biologist, too, when I was a sophomore in high school.)
Nathan said, “Cool!”
I then said, “Phycology? The study of algae!”
This was greeted by another “Cool!”
I had momentarily forgotten how much Nathan loved to fish and tie flies just like his Dad.

I sighed. All this growing up was inevitable. I knew that. It would seem you spend years wanting them to grow up (sleep through the night, eat solid food, toilet train, learn to read and write and so on); however, when they do, you just want them to be little again. Is this some kind of parental Murphy's Law connundrum or what?

Nathan came out of his room, came over to my desk, and said, “You’re still looking at that?”
I said almost in tears, “I will miss you so much when you go away to school.”
Nathan hugged me and said again, “Mom, it’s only six hours!”
I laughed.
And then I thought, “Wherever he goes in life, I just hope he’s happy and safe.”

Sometimes I thought I was crazy for having a baby when I was 41; however, most of the time, I know how blessed I am. When Nathan’s off having the time of his life playing inner tube water polo and learning about Staghorn algae, I will be fortunate enough to still have my girl, Iz, at my side. And today, my heart said to Nathan, like your big red Suburban, long may you run, my beautiful baby boy, even if it’s only six hours to Canada. ♥

Christmas in February

Blog soundtrack:



When I woke up this morning, I knew something was different about the day. It was Monday, but that wasn’t what made the day different. Suddenly, for the first time in a year, it was February again.

After Nate and Iz went off to school, I thought it was time to do some things around the house. The tasks at hand were laundry, vacuuming, bed making, and grocery shopping. Unfortunately, at 8:30am, the couch called to me as I poured my second cup of coffee.

“Hey, Jean. Take a load off. Law & Order: Criminal Intent is on!”
“Well, I am really trying to get some things accomplished today. Maybe later, okay?
“You’ve got the whole day to do those things. Come on. Sit. Just for a minute?”
(Is anyone else’s sofa as needy as mine is?!)
I said, “Um, err, ah….”
The couch sniffled and said, “I’m so lonely. You never spend any quality time with me anymore. The only one I ever see lately is that dog who sneaks up here when you’re not around. And, by the way, you might consider changing his food; his flatulence is killing me!”
I sighed. I knew I wasn’t motivated to do much for some reason, and then I said, “Well, okay. but, just for a bit.”

After 30 minutes of watching an episode of Law & Order, for which I already knew the ending, I suddenly realized I was on the Road to Perdition once again. I got up and said, “It was nice visiting you, Couch. I’ve got to go!”
Couch said, “But, we’ve only just begun. Stay!”
I turned off the TV, and as I dashed off into the kitchen, I yelled, “No. Must go!!!! Now!!!!”

After shaking whatever that was off, I headed upstairs to collect the dirty laundry. I picked up the basket in my room, brought it out to the hallway, and then I put it down. As usual, I knew I had to go into Iz’s room and Nate’s to scan for discarded clothing that had not quite made its way into the general laundry basket.

Then, much like a military maneuver, I went into Iz’s room, viewed the perimeter, and deemed the area clear. Well, it was clear of clothing on the floor; the floor was full of land mines in the form of toys; I especially hate those little plastic animals, having stepped on more than a few of those in my bare feet!

Nathan’s room I likened to North Korea. His door, halfway opened, showed a partially visible area where nothing much seemed to be going on; this was the demilitarized zone. Once through the door, well, you could never be sure if you would make it out. Surely there were things in there that could form a small army, like his empty Barq and Fresca cans or his chocolate wrappers, and keep you prisoner for life on the grounds that you were trying to access his laptop to get more information about his Junior Prom date when you were really only there to collect his stinky laundry!

I opened the door and peered around it. I viewed the perimeter. There were used socks under the bed, used socks tucked in between the comforter and the sheet, and then there was a line of jackets, shirts, and pants strewn all over the floor. I had a different clothing retrieval rule for Nathan’s room than for Iz’s.

I had learned a long time ago, about the time Nathan used deodorant every three days instead of every day, that everything on the floor of his room went into the laundry. Yes. There was to be no sniff test. Even if it looked like it was partially folded on the floor, meaning it had probably fallen from the chair on which I usually placed his clean laundry and then landed on the floor, it still went in the laundry. Every item was guilty, and only prisoners were taken.

After Mission Dirty Laundry was completed, I enjoyed several cat smooches and kitten nuzzles. Eventually, I made it down to the basement to throw a load of laundry in. Then, I went back upstairs where I put clean sheets on both beds. Let me clarify. I placed clean sheets on top of both unmade beds; yes, it was as if the clean sheets were a yellow Post-it that read, “Change the sheets and make the beds.”

Of course, I could not pass by the kitties again without loving them up. I love cats, and some might say they’re useless; however, they are a great excuse for procrastination. And, after seeing them in snooze mode, it was quite easy for me to say, “When in the company of cats, do as the cats do.” Nothing!

So, after I walked by my bedroom, ignoring the glaring yellow Post-it, I sat down in front of my laptop. Ignoring laundry, vacuuming, and everything else, I surfed the web, checked the job boards, and sent a few emails. I then looked at the small to-do-or-to-don’t pile on my desk. The status of that pile depends on my mood, of course.

In the pile, I saw something I had printed out from the Massachusetts Department of Workforce Development two weekends ago. Oh. Yeah. That. I had highlighted the portion on the paper that read, “Your claim expires on Saturday, February 06, 2010.” I had to call for yet another extension.

I guess I knew all morning and most of the afternoon why I had gone into the low motivation zone. In two weeks, it would be the year anniversary of my unemployment. And, does the Massachusetts Department of Workforce Development send you a t-shirt for that honor?!

Then my stomach growled. Instead of having a small snack and heading to the gym, I thought, “I’ll go to the gym later.” Did later ever come? Nope. Did the laundry get done? Nope. Did I change the sheets and make the beds? Nope.

It was destined to be one of those rare “lost days,” until 2pm when I heard a truck rumble down the street. Brakes squealed. I looked out the window. A UPS truck had stopped in front of my house.

I knew I hadn’t ordered anything, so I was puzzled. As I saw the driver travel up the walkway, I bolted downstairs thinking, “OMG, is it a box from Zappos? Did some secret admirer send me shoes?” As you can see, this was my first bit of excitement all day.

I opened the door with a great big smile just waiting for that lovely shoe box to fall into my hands. Instead, the UPS driver handed me an envelope. An envelope? Whaaaaaat? As he turned and began to walk down the front steps, I wanted to shout after him, “But, where are my shoes?!”

I turned the envelope over. It was addressed to Iz, and it was from Amazon. It’s funny how one little envelope from Amazon can answer a multitude of questions.

At Christmas time, the Aunts and Uncles send gift certificates to Amazon, which both Nate and Iz love. When it came time to write thank-you notes, I made a list of the ones each child had to write. I couldn’t remember Iz getting something from my brother and his wife.

I pondered asking them if they sent something earlier last month. “So, did you send Iz a present?” I knew they wouldn’t forget her, but I still couldn’t remember anything arriving for her. It was kind of an awkward situation to be in. Anyway, as of last week, Iz still had a few thank-you notes to write, and I guess I was holding out to ask the inevitable awkward question of my brother.

When I opened the envelope, it was a Amazon gift card in a Christmas card from my brother and his wife. Then, as any good crime scene investigator does, I started to carefully examine the envelope it came in. The current address label listed the date of February 1st.

I then noted an older looking address label at the top of the envelope. It looked somewhat like the papers my high school history teacher, an activist in the 60s, received from the FBI when he asked for the files that they had on him. The label was all but unreadable due to someone's handiwork with a permanent black marker!

I flipped the envelope over. The once white address space was a dull brown. And in the left-upper corner, it looked like something damp had sat there for days and then dried, leaving a very visible puddle print. If I had access, I would have run that puddle print through the crime lab’s puddle print database right then!

Alas, I’m not a real crime scene investigator; I just play one when I’m not playing a technical writer. My novice guess was that Iz’s envelope had gotten lost by UPS, and it was only recently found. “Elementary,” I said. Thus proving, time spent on the couch is not wasted when watching Law & Order or C.S.I.!

At that moment, I was relieved. The envelope’s arrival had allowed me to avoid asking my brother an awkward question. It also meant that Iz and I could go shopping when she got off the bus! And, it was kind of nice thinking that she would get a present, in some way for no reason, after the Christmas fact.

When she got off the bus, I said, “Guess what? You got an Amazon gift card from Uncle Jack and Aunt Lisa!”
She asked, “What’s Amazon?”
I answered, “It’s this great place where you can get pretty much anything you want!” (Well, when that place is not Sephora.)

At 3:05pm, she was in my lap, and we were shopping from my laptop. We perused American Girl clothes and Liv Girls. When she couldn’t find anything of interest in either of those categories, she said, “Let’s look at Barbie stuff.” We had numerous Barbie dolls, but I thought it was her gift card to spend as she pleased. She decided on a very lovely Barbie that celebrated her birthday month, which is this month.

Immediately after ordering, I said, “Let’s make a thank-you card for Uncle Jack and Aunt Lisa now.” We got out the paper, the ribbon, the stickers, the scissors, and the glue stick. Iz wrote a lovely note all on her own; it was flawless.

She wandered off into her room to make yet another card. I read her note over and over, looking at her neat handwriting and her perfectly spelled words. It wasn’t so much that they made a note; it was that I realized that the card and every moment I spent with her since she got off the bus was so precious to me. Out of nowhere, I said, “Hey, Iz. Want to help me vacuum downstairs? From her room, she shouted, “Sure!”

We went downstairs. We picked up toys. I vacuumed. She vacuumed. And at 5pm, we decided that we would treat ourselves to Chinese food.

In a past life, I would have beaten myself up for not finishing the laundry, making the beds, and doing whatever else the house needed; but today, that was all secondary, including being unemployed, to the afternoon I spent with my daughter. And, it would seem that when you’re dragging, doing anything is always better when you have someone, especially your BFF, along for the ride.

After we picked up our Chinese food, we headed home in the car.
Iz said out-of-the-blue, “Mom, don’t tell Nathan or Dad what a good afternoon we had! They'll be jealous.”
I smiled and said, “We did have a good afternoon, didn’t we?”
She answered, “Yeah! And, I really liked the vacuuming.”
Today, in addition to belated Christmas presents, unemployment was a gift, of sorts, that kept giving to me even almost a year later. ♥