When the Light Seems Dim…

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



♥

Food is Love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Just Called to Say...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In Your Eyes

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Follow Your Heart

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ouija Phone

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cougar Camp

I never went to camp when I was little. Well, I did go to a camp for one Summer as the camp nurse’s daughter. I spent a Summer in Saco, Maine with my Mom and my two siblings.

My brother, Jack, was old enough to be a camper; however, Julie and I were only old enough to be the “nurse’s daughters.” When I got older, I wondered why on Earth my mother packed us all up for a Summer and left my Dad at home. So, one day I was bold, and I had asked my Mom about “that Summer.”

She simply said, “That was the Summer I thought about leaving your father.” I said nothing. In her response, enough was said.

If truth be told, it wasn’t a bad Summer at all. I liked eating in the dining hall, drinking “bug juice,” (a dumbed down name for Kool-Aid), and buying candy with a punch card at the camp store. It was also the Summer I learned about the monthly curse when a young girl came into the infirmary yelling in pain.

I said to my Mom, “Oh, no. She’s going to die!” My Mom said, “Oh, no. She just has cramps!” Being a nurse and one not to shy away from anything medical, my Mom whipped out a book on menstruation the next day holding Julie and I as her captive audience for an hour or so as she flipped through the pages and asked every two pages or so, “Do you have any questions?”

I was a bit horrified by the whole puberty thing I have to say. Julie and I had no questions. But, in hindsight, I’m glad my Mom was who she was especially in that regard; kids need to know these things, and, in a perfect world, their parents need to be the ones to tell them these things and be there for them when they do have questions.

Anyway, I sit next to a lovely young man at work; he’s only 22 years old, yet he’s smart, polite, self-confident, family-oriented, compassionate, and I think he’s going to be a Vice President in the corporate world by the time he's 26. Sometimes I want to say to him, “Your parents have done so well!” but I restrain myself, because like with Nathan on Facebook, I don't want to be deleted via the Internet or via cube space. The other day, he muttered to himself, “If it keeps raining, maybe the running camp I coach will be cancelled.”

Being an avid runner, I asked, “You coach a running camp?” He said, “Yeah,” and then he popped into my office and then told me to Google the camp. He then said, “Here’s what we do,” and handed me a sheet that broke down two hours worth of camp by minute intervals during which all sorts of sprints and drills would occur.

When I saw the word “suicide” next to one drill, I laughed. If there was ultimate fighting, then this must be ultimate running. I then said to myself, “Two hours of running around like this? That sounds like fun.”

I asked, “Is this just for kids?” He said, “Well, it’s for ages 10 to about 20.” I said, “Oh.” He then hesitated for at least 5 seconds, and it was not like him to have immediate words, and said, “Well, when we had our meeting the other night, we were thinking of starting a cougar camp.”

I laughed out loud. I said not knowing what to say, “I thought cougar camp was sitting by the pool drinking Cosmopolitans! Err, well, when you do that, let me know.” He looked outside (the storm had passed) and said, “Well, I’ve got to get going.”

I sat there still laughing. Then I thought, “Does he think I’m old?” And then I thought, “Does he think I’m a cougar?”

Up until then, I always thought a cougar was an older woman who looked like a younger woman. I googled “cougar.” Apparently, I was wrong.

I told a friend about the fact that someone had suggested I attend a Cougar Camp. He said I should knee this young man in the groin for such an insult. It was funny, but I wanted to hug the young man for thinking I was an older woman who looked like a younger woman.

My friend was adamant about the fact that I was insulted. But, I knew this young man well, and I knew he’d never insult me. As I read the definitions in context of young men, I knew the only young man I was ever after was the one I was related to, who was my son; and, I was only after him to save more money, clean his room, cut his hair at least every three months, and get the oil changed in his (MY) car every three months.

I read further and wanted to think I was someone who had her “shit together,” but, alas, I wasn’t. I had actually been trying to get my shit together for the last seven years. Obviously, I was only a very slow “shit together” cougar. Perhaps I was not even a cougar but a tortoise!

If truth be told, my friend’s reaction made me feel a bit badly but only according to definition. In my heart, I knew my cube neighbor meant no harm. I would strongly consider attending cougar camp if it ever was open to enrollment, because I had already taken my definition of "cougar" and who I really was to heart. ♥

Bring In 'Da Noise, Bring In 'Da Funk

Blog soundtrack (not for the faint of auditory heart!)

Noise. You can love it like the sound of Billie Holiday singing “Crazy He Calls Me” or you can hate it like when your neighbor is having gravel dumped into his yard at 7:30am on a Saturday morning complete with the beeping backing up truck. One of the most interesting experiences I had last night was when dumping gravel became as pleasing as Billie Holiday singing.

A week or so ago, I saw my brother, Jack, for a Fourth of July celebration. He casually mentioned that he was going to playing at some venue with his friend, Steve. Jack had recently begun to learn how to play the drums, so I thought, “He’s playing in a band. ”

I said to him, “Oh!” thinking that it would be really nice to watch my brother play. I asked for the details, and he mentioned an event notice on Facebook. I told him I’d think about attending; however, when he said, “Well, I might be banging on a coffee can,” I only thought, “Oh, he’s a little doubtful there will be a drum kit there for him.”

During the middle of the week, I e-mailed him to tell him that I’d be attending after saying “Yes” to the event invitation on Facebook. He then replied, “I think it is funny that you are going to a noise fest.” I read his sentence again trying to read, “I think it’s nice that you’re are going to a jam fest.” But, when I read it again, I knew I was going to a noise fest, and I thought it was pretty funny, too.

If I didn’t know it then, I did after I read Jack’s, “You might want to bring ear plugs. I hear the shows are loud.” Ear plugs? I only thought the Rolling Stone roadies who stood next to those huge speakers needed ear plugs. The last time I wore ear plugs was, well, I had never worn ear plugs; and, as far as I knew, ear plugs went with no outfit that I owned!

In preparation, Jack told me to go to http://www.youtube/ and search for +DOG+. I did, and I watched the first video shown. At first, I looked high and low for audio subtitles, but when I saw one of the guys slam down a metal sheet, I thought, “This is something I could totally get into after a
l-o-n-g and frustrating day of documenting custom destination and subdestination mappings for Call Detail Records!”

One of the best things I like about music is sharing it with people. Actually, I’m open to most things, and I especially like when people open me up to things I never would have heard of had it not been for them sharing it with me. After absorbing +DOG+’s noise, it reminded me of some other noise that I really loved.

I e-mailed Jack back and asked him if he had ever heard of beatboxing. When I saw Imogen Heap (electronic) a few years ago at the Paradise, a musician named Kid Beyond opened for her. I loved Imogen’s show, but Kid Beyond mesmerized me with his ability to produce all these sounds sans instruments and, in the link I sent to Jack, be a drum set.

Jack then told me that he thought it was going to be “fun to beat on something.” After watching +DOG+’s video another time, I had to agree. Jack then said, “I think I will be beating on something and was thinking of bringing a saw.” The more I read, the more intrigued I became.

When I was driving home from work yesterday (big deadline), I was trying to think about all the things I had to do to get out of the house to make it to Jack’s gig. I needed to shower. I needed to bring my camera, and I needed –crap– ear plugs.

At 4:54pm, I pulled into the Aubuchon store in my town. I walked in and was greeted by a teen employee who looked very happy that I walked in only so he would have something to do. I asked, “Where are the ear plugs?”

I thought he might look at me funny, but he jumped off of the large cardboard box containing a table saw and said, “Follow me!” I followed him for about 100 feet, he stopped, and then he pointed to Aubuchon’s ear plug section. They had the single serving, the party pack (a set of 6 ear plugs), and the single serving with the head band.

What to choose? What to choose? Having never had to accessorize with ear plugs, I chose the party pack, thinking that any noise fest newbies, like me, might need a helping plug. Fortunately, Jack had warned me, but others might not have had such pre-fest brotherly love imparted upon them.

I went to the register with my party pack. It reminded me of buying condoms but in a totally different way. I expected to feel somewhat guilty thinking that this young man is wondering what a person like me is doing with 6 sets of ear plugs.

Instead, he punched a few buttons on the register, said “$3.69,” and then said “Have a nice evening!” If I had perhaps bought the party pack of condoms, I knew I’d be having a nice evening. But, with the party pack of ear plugs safely tucked away in my purse, I wondered what the hell my evening was going to be like!

At 7pm, I got into my car, and courtesy of my Droid found my way to the venue. I was somewhat irritated that the GPS, who I named Gertrude on the way there, had a tendency to repeat herself over and over again. After I heard “Take Exit 35A toward Nashua, NH” about five times, I said out loud, “Chill, Gerty. I know!”

When Gerty made sure, after 5 times, that I was in the right place, I pulled over and parked on the road across from the venue. I was in a sketchy section of Lowell, and I seriously wondered if my car would be outside when I came outside after the gig. But, I threw caution to the wind and said, “Hey, I have insurance, and if it gets stolen, perhaps I can get at 2008 instead of this used 2007!”

I locked my car and crossed the street. I didn’t know exactly where the venue was, as Gerty only told me I was near it. As I walked down the sidewalk, I looked in an open door, and I saw my brother, Jack.

Yeah, it was definitely a 1+1=Jack’s gig equation. I walked in, and I looked around. There were about 10 people scattered across two rooms, and I walked back to greet Jack, who greeted me with a big hug.

I had no idea what to expect of the night, and despite any expectations, it was really good to get a hug from my brother who had expected to see me. He and Steve had set up their table of noise tricks; Jack showed me a miniature drum set and a small piece of metal that he was going to whale on with his drum sticks.

I went to stake out my space and parked myself on a folding chair. As time passed, the room became more crowded, and not too long before show time, Jack came over to sit with me. He said that he had never had to be in front of this many people before.

I was a bit surprised by his admission, though, like my profession (technical writer), he largely dealt with people one-on-one being a goldsmith. I told him that he’d do fine. And, then I shared my only public speaking experience with him; I had to explain the new documentation strategy to 75 HP people who were fed up with our archaic one.

I said that I was scared to death; however, unlike Jack, I had baked two batches of my butterscotch sprinkle cookies the night before to sooth the savage audience. I told him that while I shook in my chinos, I knew that half their attention was directed toward their coffee and my great cookies. I’m sure this was no consolation to Jack, because he had no cookies and, unlike me, he had no great plan to improve noise (or in my case, documentation).

I said, “You’ll do a great job!” It was all I had, and I knew he would. Did I really know that? No, but I knew he would, because after so many years, you don’t know these things, you feel them.

The first noise-icians came on. The leader of the Noise Pack described what they were going to do by saying, “When I was little, I heard this sound. I got out of bed and my brother asked me if I had heard it, too. I went downstairs to ask my Dad about it. He had had a drink or two and was half asleep on the sofa and told me that it was only an airplane. I thought it was aliens, and so here are the sounds that I thought I heard that night.” Fifteen minutes later, I felt as if several times in my young life that aliens had indeed landed at 188 Haynes Road in Sudbury!

Three guys stood there and banged on things, hit buttons, and made noises. I was tapping my foot as they did. When they finished, I clapped my hands together hard, because their noises were indeed what an alien invasion would have been in my head.

Steve and Jack went on after them. As Steve wrapped something around his mouth with tape, I had visions of Hannibal Lector. When they started, I had no idea what to expect, but that’s what I liked about these noises. Like life, did you ever know what to expect?

Steve began. Jack improvised with his drum set and a small piece of metal. I sat there watching, listening, and thinking, “This is not odd. This is the sound of life when you’re trying not to listen.”

When they finished, I clapped. No, I didn’t because I had to hit the “Stop” button on my camera. The audience went wild, and then I heard a “Fuck yeah,” and I thought that’s the ultimate compliment that any artist can receive.

After they dismantled their stuff, Jack and Steve sat down with me. Steve gave me the thumbs up. While I was a Mom to much younger children, I wanted to hug them both and say, “OMG! You were so good!” but I just smiled instead.

The next noise-icians came on. While they were warming up, I thought, “Ear plugs now!” When they began, I let the ear plug party pack invade my ear space. While they were “playing,” I closed my eyes a few times, and I thought, “Wow, this is what it’s like to be on the Amtrak Northeast Regional train…but louder.”

This group was the loudest by far; however, when I closed my eyes, I was with them. I was sleeping and hearing gravel dumped, I was on the train when it was going 70 mph down the tracks, and then I was dying thinking this is what the white light sounds like but only that much louder. And, I loved it.

Jack and I weren't that close when we were growing up. Last night, I realized that perhaps my brother and I were closer than life would have us believe. Neither of us was good at public speaking, yet we both loved music, were laid back, and we appreciated noise, in whatever form in came in, even after all these years. I love you, Jack. ♥

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. ♥

Shall We Dance?

Do you remember your prom? I remember mine. I went to my Senior Prom with my friend, Doug.

When I was in high school, the prom seemed like a big deal. Unfortunately, I never had a boyfriend in high school, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. My last attempt at boyfriendom was with a boy named Eric.

Eric was a tall curly-headed brunette who played hockey and lacrosse. I didn’t even know him, but I saw him as sweet, tall-like-me, and somewhat resembling a teddy bear. I guess I knew he was out of my league being that he was a popular guy and I was an unpopular girl; somewhere between 16 and 17, I threw caution to the wind and subliminally wooed him.

This was pretty wild for me back then, because I was not the outgoing and talkative individual that I am today. Believe it or not, when it came to boys, I was stupefied. Okay, I still am stupefied, but back then I had no idea what I was doing; today, I still have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m older, so that must count for something -- like legally driving but still driving blind!

I had a plan of woo attack. Whenever Eric walked by me in the hallway, I was going to look him in straight in the eyes. I was no General Eisenhower in my plan of woo attack; I had no idea if my plan was working, but deep down, I liked to fantasize that I was winning the Battle of the Beers.

Just when I was about to give up, I was waiting for the late bus after winter track practice. Eric wandered into the hallway where we all used to hang out to stay warm and wait. He leaned up against a wall, saw me, and said “Hi.”

Immediately, I said, “Hi” back. No, I didn’t. Years later, I still wished I had eeked out a “Hi.”

I stood there in shock. I kept thinking, “Eric talked to me. Eric talked to me.” And, in a moment, the buses arrived, and it was too late to say anything.

A few weeks later, I was working at my part-time job at First National supermarket. I was a cashier. I was a dinosaur cashier, because it was before we scanned bar codes; I punched in the $1 key, the 90-cent key, and the 9-cent key for $1.99!

(By the way, why did it take us so long to scan those bar codes? I remember my Mom shopping, bringing home groceries, and me asking, “What are these lines on the back of this?” She said, “Someday, they will just wave a wand and the cash register will know the price of something from that.” I’m sure my jaw dropped and then I asked, “Really?” Of course, the sad thing is that this was 10 years before I became a cashier at the First National.)

One afternoon, I was working my cash register when I saw Eric and his Mom get into my line. I was excited yet horrified at the prospect. I rang their order, bagged their items, and then turned back to my register to see what had happened to my woo gun in this surprise heart attack.

All of a sudden, I felt someone tap on my shoulder. I turned around, and there was Eric’s mother. She said, “Hi!”

Once again, I froze. My woo gun went off in the pocket of my First National smock and stunned me. I said nothing and just glared at her; she smiled, turned around and walked out with Eric.

I stood there waiting for an emotional rescue; however, nothing came to me except five more customers in my line. I fretted thinking that I blew it and by now Eric’s Mom must be saying to Eric in their Ford station wagon, “Are you sure she’s not an exchange student from another country who doesn't quite understand the English language yet?” A few months later, I found out that Eric had begun to date one of my sister’s friends; my woo had become a big boo-hoo.

Anyway, when it came time for the Senior prom, I was Ericless. I wanted to go, because I’ll admit that I wanted to be a princess for a night. I asked my good friend, Doug, and he obliged me. In hindsight, I couldn’t have asked for more; I was with someone who loved me dearly, even if we were just friends.

A few months ago, Nathan was asked to the prom by a friend. She had a boyfriend in college; however, she didn’t want to bring him. When Nathan told me he was going with her, I wanted to say something like “Shouldn’t you wait and see if there’s someone special you might want to ask,” but fearing Facebook deletion and eyeballs rolling Heavenward, I decided to stun myself with my Mom gun.

Last Friday, I received a text message from Nathan. It said, “Can I ask for some maternal advice?” Instead of “Aw, he wants my advice about college,” I was like, “Oh, shit! The prom has come back to bite him!”

I took a deep breath. I sent him a text message back which said, “OMG! I knew this was going to happen. It’s about the prom, isn’t it?” No, I only said, “Sure.”

Within 3 minutes, I had a text message telling me that he regretted accepting the invitation from his friend. He really wanted to go with another girl. He said while he liked the girl who asked him, he knew he’d have a much better time with this other girl who was a close and dear friend.

I took a deep breath. I then immediately headed into the cube of my co-worker, Dave, who had two daughters in their early 20s. I thought he may have been through this before, so I told him the dilemma.

But, before I traveled the four feet to Dave’s cube, I knew I already had an answer to Nathan’s question. I just needed someone to bounce my idea off of. I told Dave that I thought Nate should speak to the first girl, explain the situation, and then go with the second girl.

The first girl had a boyfriend who could take her. Nathan had a lousy time at his prom last year. He wanted to enjoy his prom this year with someone he liked.

Dave agreed. Once I was validated like the parking ticket I felt I was, I went back to my office. I told Nathan to talk to the first girl and explain the situation.

Of course, after I told Nathan what I thought, I then doubted myself thinking he should honor his first commitment. Then creativity struck. Why couldn’t he take both girls?

I sat in my office and texted him my creative prom wooing idea. He texted me back saying, “No way!” And then he told me that his backing out didn't go over well with the first girl and that the girl, who he wanted to go with, didn’t want to go with him, because she didn’t want to create any “drama.”

I knew that girls now went to the prom without men. They went together, which I wish had been popular in “my day.” (Wow, “my day,” I am old!) I wondered why in this day that a man going to the prom with two women was frowned upon; in the 70s, Hugh Hefner was a legend for the very same!

After feeling like a failure in the “maternal” advice-giving department, I went to drown my sorrows at beer o’clock. My barbecue meatballs were a hit, yet I couldn’t help but feeling like a miss all over. After my first glass of porter and surround by six men, I frowned.

One male friend instantly knew why I frowned and asked, “What’s going on now?” I said, “It’s not going well.” Who said women like to gossip?

I then had six men asking me about what wasn’t going well; thus, I explained the whole prom story. Most of the men were amazed that Nate had potentially two women on his arm; however, most agreed with me. He needed to follow his heart not his obligation.

When I arrived home that night, I went to pick up Iz at Ellen's house. I was upset; therefore, I kept quiet. Nah, I told her everything.

She mentioned that she might speak to her son who was Nathan’s friend. It was thought that perhaps he could speak to the girl Nathan wanted to go with who he was friendly with. Meanwhile, I fretted that I had screwed up Nathan’s life forever.

On Sunday, I received a text message from Nathan; I read it and heaved a sigh of relief. He was going to the prom with the girl he wanted to. His friend, Ellen’s son, had acted as Switzerland and had admirably won both their hearts.

Nathan and Ellen’s son had been so close for years. In 7th grade, they had parted ways, and in the last year or so, they had become the best of friends again. Interestingly, they were both so different, but time had shown them that each gave the other one a strength that nature had not given them; as Ellen’s son said, “They would be friends for life,” just like Ellen and I. Our differences had bound us and would always make us stronger…together.

Within ten minutes, I received another text message from Nathan. I noticed that it had been forwarded on to him. I opened it, and it displayed a picture of his prom date's dress; I wanted to text back, “Your girl is lovely, Hubbell.”

I told Nathan how happy I was for him. He told me he was happy but; I always knew I raised a good son, but I knew it again in that moment. Despite feeling good about going to the prom with someone he wanted to, he felt badly about the girl, his friend, who had first asked him.

This morning, I worked at home due to a miserable cold, which kept me on the couch most of the weekend. (Yes, I’ve been sick for pretty much the last three weeks. Uncle!) Nathan took the car at 1pm to go for breakfast. At 3pm, I heard the Kings of Leon’s Birthday blaring in the driveway from my car; Nathan was in the house or the driveway as it was.

I knew I had locked the front door, and I wasn’t sure if he had his house key. I ran downstairs, unlocked the door, and then peered out the window to see if he was near. I saw him looking at his cell phone and then raise his arms. I opened the door, and then before we even got to say anything to each other, he shoved his cell phone in my face.

It was text message from the girl who he originally asked to the prom. Basically, she said that her boyfriend was taking her, there were “no worries," and she understood why he backed out. I told him that she was a very good friend to have realized that, though Nathan said, “I don’t know. I’m pretty sure she still might want to slit my throat.”

I laughed, but I was optimistic. I had worried about Nathan when he developed this horrible head tick when his paternal grandfather was dying. Now I worried about his prom life.

My friend, Ellen, said, “All the worrying us mothers do!!!” I knew then, like I was renewing a library book, that this wouldn’t be the first time I worried, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. This was my life; this was motherhood, and despite its difficulties, I loved dancing with it. ♥