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Has anyone here ever been called out by a kid?  I don't mean "your butt is big" called out---I am talking about questioning-every-life-choice-you-have-made-and-hitting-every-insecurity called out?  By a five year old?  Because if you have, you know that it resonates with you for days.

Recently I was watching my friends' kid.  He's a sweet, quiet, awesome boy and my son absolutely worships him.  When it comes to role-models for tots, he's at the top of the charts, as far as I am concerned.  Anyway, due to the fact that life doesn't always ask for your input, his parents have been out of town and he has been staying with Grandma and Auntie.  So my kid and I took him out for the day.  We had a blast--we hit Burger King (where they both got crowns, glow-in-the-dark fish, and I am pretty sure some of the nastiest looks I have seen coming out of adults because they were a bit noisy), we grabbed some ice cream, and we headed to my house for some Incredibles and Batman.  It was fantastic, really, every second of the day.  Even when little Skippy proceeded to systematically ask every question that I have avoided since moving back here.  And, because you don't really expect such questions particularly out of someone 4 feet tall, I did what any mature grown-up in such a position would do.  I lied.  Allow me to demonstrate:

Skippy:  Why is your car a mess?
Me:  Oh, we had a party last week in the car and I haven't cleaned up yet!
Real Answer:  I am a single working parent who is most days too lazy to shower or smile at people.  I couldn't possibly give a s*&t if there is mashed Cheeze-it/banana milkshake buffet smeared on the back door handles.  Leave me alone.

Skippy:  Why is your house so small?  Where is the upstairs and the downstairs?
Me:  We don't have them because we like to be able to find everything!
Real Answer:  I am broke.  Leave me alone.

Skippy:  Where is [my son]'s dad?
Me:  Ummmm....what?  Oh, um....well...um....Africa.  (Aside--THAT will make for fun gossip in this town)
Real Answer:  Ummmmm....oh, um.....  Leave me alone.

You get the picture.  Fortunately, the mini-Nancy Grace did leave out the topics of religion and politics.  He must have felt they would be pushing things a bit.  But I have to say--hitting my laziness, financial strain, and ineptitude as a parent was really not a bad go for an afternoon.  I also have to say that normally I am a MUCH better liar.  There's just something unnerving about those huge eyes "innocently" looking up at you and legitimately wanting to know.  And the best part is, he didn't want to know in order to serve his own purposes.  He was just genuinely curious.  Maybe some day I can ask real questions of those I love.  Maybe some day I will have answers for those asked of me.  All off the record, of course.

Puh-Leeze

I'm sure that there is more than one person at fault, but whomever told me to teach my 2 year old to say "please" should be run out of town.  Seriously.  The word is an abomination.  Allow me to tell you why.

First, there is the over-use and clear manipulation that comes with the word.  For example, when he says "candy?" and I reply with "no," things are easy enough.  But when he follows up with "please?  please?" well that is another story.  Sure, you have to stick to your guns on such things.  The kid can't be running around 24/7, hopped up on sugar.  Trust me.  But then there's the flip-side.  You want the kid to be polite and have been preaching "please," since birth.  He now uses it.  Do you really want to discourage such a huge step into the grown-up world?  Do you reward the manipulation or do you move forward with the no exceptions method of parentology?  A semi-softball on the parenthood scale, and I don't personally think there's a horribly wrong answer.  But still a hurdle that will keep you awake at night.

But here's the killer with "please."  It's really hard when he actually means it.  Yesterday I had to attend a work meeting that would keep me from putting my son to bed.  I hate these.  I hate not being there when he goes to sleep.  And, of course, lately he has been a bit clingy, so we hadn't spent much time apart over the weekend.  So as I walked out the door, for one of the first times in his short history, he began to wail and cling.  Seeing his little face scrunched up in very real pain that I was causing sucked enough.  What is so horrible about your kid wanting to be with you.  It killed me to walk out the door.  But when I heard "mommy, please!  no, please!" my heart exploded into a million tiny pieces.  Please.  Ouch.  He was literally begging me to do something so simple as sit with him and read books and tuck him in.  And I couldn't do it.  Mommy, please.  He was fine, I was fine, the world was fine.  But I don't think I will ever get that little voice out of my head.

And so, dear friends, you see the issue.  For my two cents, I recommend raising a manner-less child who never uses the word "please," over having your heart ripped from your chest when little Timmy uses it in his arsenal of guilt trips that makes the Kardashian sisters look like Thomas the Train characters. 

Then again, it's possible that I need to buck up.  So forgive the new mommy.  Please.

Mine!

I have always been a teensy bit possessive. 
Ok, fine, I am an only child and cannot possibly deal with the concept of any other person on the face of the planet touching my stuff.  It makes my skin crawl.  I want to get physically abusive at the thought of it.  I am insanely paranoid about it, and really have no problems locking myself and my stuff in my house and keeping the rest of the world out.

So maybe it's this possessiveness, or maybe it's a "mom-thing," but what I heard this morning absolutely set me on-edge.  I have an awesome friend who is working her butt off running her own business.  She worked really hard to get where she is, and she's doing great.  She also has one of the most beautiful little girls in the world.  Subsequently, she also has a nanny who helps her out during the day.  Well, apparently, this morning the nanny said one of the most horrific things I have ever heard.  She referred to herself, to my friend, as the child's "second mom."  Moreover, one of her friends commented that her nanny calls her two boys "my children" to others.  Seriously.  She claims, in public, that these little boys are her own.

Ok, ok, I shouldn't be so worked up over this.  But I am.  Who does that?  I'm quite certain that my friend doesn't recall the woman trading off on the contractions and pushing a year ago.  I know for a fact that the woman wasn't opening presents at my friend's shower.  And I am quite certain that the woman, while she loves the child certainly, wouldn't be capable of throwing a tour bus of sumo wrestlers 500 feet if the child was in danger.  She is NOT the baby's mother and she doesn't get to call herself that.

I am fairly certain that my rage comes from the part of me that hates working and being away from my kid.  And it's pretty much all of me right now.  If there were any other options in the world, I would take them in a flash.  So maybe that's why I am so upset (naturally, it all comes back to me...).  I hate that someone else is helping to raise my kid.  My nanny is the most awesome woman I ever could have been blessed to find.  I am eternally grateful to her.  But I also know that I am more than a bit sensitive about missing so much of his day and what he does, while she gets to experience it.  But.  She is not my child's mother.  End of story.

Is she "mothering" him, maybe even more than I am?  Probably.  Do I hate this fact?  Absolutely.  Does that mean she gets the "mom" title?  While she may deserve it, it's not one I am willing to share.  He is my child.  MY child.  I make the decisions (good or bad), I try desperately to give him everything he could possibly need to be as happy as is possible, and I love him more than it is possible to love another human being.

Am I being a 5 year old?  Absolutely.  But what these women don't understand is that words can be weapons, just as they were on the playground.  And no matter how a child becomes part of a family--conceived, adopted, informally raised--nobody gets to invite themselves in.

Now I'm taking my toy and going home.

Privacy Please

Many of you know how I feel about privacy.  I have...issues...when it comes to what others know about me.  Sure, I will "anonymously" tell my innermost fears and thoughts and joys to all 4 of you, but I'm such a freak, I won't even join Facebook.  That's right, I am the last human being under the age of 80 who does not have a Facebook page.  More than that, I ask my friends and family not to post photos of me and my kid on their pages.  I am a huge, huge, hermit.

When I moved back to Montana, it was with no small amount of reservations as to the intimacy of the place.  Sure, it's huge.  But I can tell you it doesn't feel that way.  Everyone is related to everyone else.  I'm actually not kidding.  I can't tell you the number of people who turned out to be long-lost kin when I walked around meeting the people in my office.  It's hilarious and disturbing at the same time.  So I went in with my eyes (my very frightened eyes) wide open.  But, still, I cannot wrap my head around the amount of time here spent talking about everyone else.

Many of you have heard this before.  So what has set me off this week?  A story told to me by a friend.  She oversees a number of employees at a local bank.  Apparently, one of her employees was busted doing something that still makes me want to cry.  The woman walked up to a customer who she casually knew and said "Oh, hey, does Cindy cut your hair?  Mine too!"  When the customer was startled by the woman's statement, the woman continued, "Yeah, I saw the check you wrote her."

I wish I was kidding.

A less outrageous, but still bizarre, example comes courtesy of a family acquaintance.  This woman loves nothing more that to dish on people about town.  She clearly takes an unhealthy joy in telling stories about people.  One day she asked me if I had met the couple around the corner from the house I am renting.  I had and they are very nice.  She proceeds to tell me all about how she works with the brother of the guy and it turns out that the wife just found out she has colon cancer and they're debating treatment and it's going to put off their fertility treatments.  Are you kidding me?  These people are nice, decent people I have talked with a handful of times.  Why in the world do I need to know about their medical histories?

In what world is all of this ok?  In fairness, it wasn't here, either--the employee was reprimanded and the acquaintance was scolded for taking joy in the trials of others.  But, still!  Why others feel as though they have the right to know each and every detail about their neighbors' lives, is beyond me.  And from what I understand, it's not just a Montana thing.  And sure, I'm guilty of minor gossip offenses.  I have been known to recount some of the crazy things I come across in my job (without names or descriptors, and only to Chicago folks, of course).  BUT.  Am I off-base in thinking that the detailed sale of information is NUTS??  Do you know people who are like this??  Please send detailed stories, with names.

Maybe, Just Maybe...

I have no idea whose baby
this is, but he seems happy.

Like all children, mine gets his fair share of compliments from perfect strangers.  From "you are so cute," to "I love your hat," to "wow, you really managed to demolish that grocery aisle in record time," people aren't shy about expressing their opinions.  But in all seriousness, there is one compliment that takes my breath away.  I can't get over when someone says "he looks like a really happy kid."

To dissect this into its most awful form, I probably like this sentiment because it has something to do with me.  Don't get me wrong--the grocery store one does, too, but I ignore that.  But as a control freak, I am fully aware that, apart from a lot of praying and a daily bag of mini donuts, I had nothing whatsoever to do with my kid being cute.  None of us does.  And they're ALL cute.  As much as I would like to claim otherwise, I didn't make the monster hat that gets rave reviews.  And I certainly didn't have anything to do with his ability to "whistle" in a high-pitched squeak that makes Papa chuckle with pride.  But I do like to hope that I have something to do with him being a happy kid, and so I get choked up every time someone says it.

But don't get me wrong--I am not under ANY illusion that I am doing anything right.  Oh, no.  I am not aware of any parent who does think so and, if you do, you are probably one of those parents whose noses I secretly want to shove pencils up.  And by the way, your kid is likely a jerk.  Anyway, you see, I get all emotional at the thought of confirmation my kid might be happy, because maybe...just maybe...today I didn't completely screw him up beyond all repair.  Maybe we can get away with a few thousand in therapy when he's older, as opposed to visiting him in prison.  Sick, right?  Well, welcome to parenthood. 

I don't think we're particularly hard on ourselves in recognizing all of the many, many, many, many opportunities we have in a day to screw our kids up.  I just think this is...well...hard.  When you make little decisions like whether to allow him to ride forward-facing in the car or whether he can watch TV, society is on your back.  When you make big decisions like packing him up and driving to an entirely different planet, you are on your back.  Are any of your choices right?  Unfortunately you'll never really know.  But if you can have little tiny confirmations that your child may actually be enjoying his life, well, that is everything you could possibly want in the world.  And maybe, just maybe, everyone will be ok after all.

Out of Focus

I am working on two years into this whole "parenthood" thing, and I can honestly say that I am still surprised at what a huge deal these little buggers are.

What I mean is, I am still surprised at what a massive overhaul he has done on my entire way of thinking.  I'm not going to lie--I had this mental image of my life not really being all that different, but-for a cute tiny creature that sat docile on the couch and watched me prepare the world's greatest legal briefs while the foremost restaurants in Chicago brought me food and my friends and I grabbed cocktails before dashing home to our perfectly balanced lives.  Um, yeah, that's totally what reality looks like.

But the funny part is, apart from being REALLY crabby about missing my friends and Chicago food, I don't really mind that my life doesn't look like that.  It's unsettling, though.  What is the most strange part is that I am retraining the focus of my brain.  For over a decade, my entire life was my job.  It defined me.  It took up all of my time (blissfully, with my friends in tow).  It was my entire world.  Sure, guys came and went and sort of drifted through the world.  But the world was mine and it centered on being the best lawyer I could possibly be.

Now, I still want to be the best I can at my job.  But.  I'm also finding myself unwilling to make it be a 24/7 thing.  Or even a 24/5 thing.  In fact, 4/3 would be nice.  Lately I have been putting in more hours than expected.  And it's this strange tug-of-war in my head and soul and I always know who is going to win.  I have the impulse to stay as long as needed and do whatever it takes.  But I know that I won't.  There's a little guy sitting at the door, waiting for me to walk through it.  And not letting him down beats out any of the goals my ego sets.  It's just so strange to me both that it's an internal battle and that the old me loses hands-down.

Oh, it manifests in other strange ways too.  I used to fantasize about having enough money to travel the world or buy whatever I wanted in terms of clothes and accessories and stuff like that.  But this morning, I literally told the nanny that I fantasize about having enough money to buy a much larger refrigerator.  And I do.  Seriously.  I scour the papers for the exact one that I want and I sigh as I stare longingly at it.  It's very, very weird.

Like any time your focus goes awry, it's a bit unsettling to let go of your previous notions of what life looks like.  I'm sure that is true of any big change.  Doesn't make it good or bad (though I certainly consider mine good), it's just different.  Guess the control freak needs to stop trying to make it clear, and just keep walking.

Bed Bug

Argh.  My kid has always been a pretty decent little sleeper.  Within the past 6 or so months, he feels as though he must first protest the concept of sleep, but that lasts about 3 minutes, then he is fine.  Usually.  But lately a new issue has arisen that promises to turn both of our worlds upside down.

A while back his caretaker informed me that he had taken a header out of the crib. I may have mentioned this--it totally freaked me out.  Naturally I responded in a calm and collected manner--I promptly emailed every parent I know and asked what the heck do I do.  Of course I knew what to do.  It was time to put him in a big boy bed.  But I couldn't do it.  A big boy bed meant that he would be free.  Unrestrained.  The world was his.  Danger was imminent.  And, as awful as this sounds, it meant the few precious minutes between his bed time and mine weren't, well, mine.  Besides, it had only happened once.

Until now.  That's right, it has happened again.  Not to mention the at least once per day acrobatics that come with him pretending to hurl himself out of the crib and onto the floor.  Plus now he's older and taller, so it is much scarier.  And so, with a sigh, I resigned myself to the fact that he is growing up and so should his sleeping arrangements.

The funny part is, I keep thinking of excuses not to do it today, while at the same time having a coronary that he'll fly again.  It's a weird tug-of-war taking place in my head and my heart.  Really?  THIS is complicated?  What the heck?  Nobody told me that something as simple as "change his bed" would be a life-altering issue full of guilt and worry and irritation.  What if he doesn't sleep?  What if the nanny can't get him to sleep?  What if he hurts himself roaming his room?  Where should I put the night light?  What if he gets out?  When should I do it so it's least disruptive?  Why didn't anyone tell me this about parenthood?  They did?  Oh.  Well WHY DIDN'T I GET IT?  Not that I would change a thing, obviously.  It's just so strange to me that a seemingly small, bizarre event can send shock waves through my life.  Parenthood is strange.

Now excuse me, I have to take a nap under my desk.  Better stock up while I can.

A Fresh Start

Happy New Year carpoolers and fast laners!!!  Here's wishing you a very happy and healthy 2012.

I have been thinking a lot about the whole "new year" thing.  Really, the entire concept is very arbitrary.  Someone at some point in history decided that our lives should be divided into calculable periods.  And, hey, as a control freak, I love that.  It's kind of funny, though, how much stock we put into it.  Birthdays...holidays...years...it is all meaningful to us, and is all some random unit of measurement decided upon by prior cultures.

BUT.  It's all in how you look at it.  This year I decided that the turnover to 2012 would be a real start for me and my many, many friends in need of a new beginning.  And it's been great!  For all 2 days, things have seemed fresh and hopeful.  And I love it.  I really do think it has a lot to do with your mentality on it all, but who knows.  And who cares.  All I know is that so far 2012 has brought new babies for those praying for a little one, new jobs for those floundering, and new hope for me that everything is going to be ok.  I love that we are given this clean slate--regardless of the fact that we choose to do so. 

The other day I mentioned to a friend the fact that we have 366 days in 2012 of opportunity.  (Yes, I suck at math, but this one was intentional--2012 is a leap year).  Anyway, that is a ton of chances for really good things to happen to each of us.  Each day brings the possibility that something awesome will happen.  And most of us already know that we can survive the bad stuff if it happens to be an "off" day, so that's no concern.  So, I'm trying to think of it as each day brings a chance for awesomeness.  We'll see how long that lasts, but for today, it's a good time.  And, really, what more can we ask for than a good day today?