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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?

Parenthood or Age?

This is totally what I look like.  Really.
Reprinted from toonbarn.com.

When I was a kid, I was occasionally annoyed by my parents (well, my dad, really) falling asleep on the couch in the evenings.  Well, maybe not annoyed so much as disappointed.  There was so much to do!  There were games and movies and playing and eating that could be done!  How dare they (he) fall asleep when spectacular me was there!

Fast forward a decade or two (fine...or three or four).  Having a kid is tiring.  Being old is tiring.  Multiply the two, and your body doesn't stand a chance.  Which, as you know, I have fully acknowledged over the past several months.  I am going to be tired.  And as much as I love my kid and love spending time with him, I am very lucky that he goes to bed early.  Especially lately, as you will see.  But I have fully acknowledged that it is reasonable for me to want to nap a bit.

Over the past few weeks, though, it's more than nap.  I have been physically INCAPABLE of staying awake.  About 8:30 (yes, I know that's pathetic), no matter where in my house I am or what I am (or should be) doing, I will completely pass out.  We're talking snoring, drooling, offensive sleep.  And there's nothing I can do about it.  For a short time, my paranoid self seriously wondered whether I had been accidentally drugging myself.  I seriously pass out and wake up hours later, in a painful heap on the chair or couch.  And it's completely involuntary.  Sad.

So I guess I owe all adults an apology.  I hadn't realized.  At all.  And it makes me worry about the other involuntary body reactions that are likely coming.  Is this the beginning of the end?  Will I soon end up a drooling mess while in line at the grocery store?  Is an oxygen tank just months away?  Is my physical reaction to parenthood or age?  Either way, good to know there's yet another thing I can't control in life.  Awesome.

The Christma...Er...Holid...Um...Christmas Spirit

As you may have noticed, there are many things that differ in living in a smaller community than a big city.  One of the funnier ones to me at the moment is the whole "Christmas vs. Holiday" debate.

When I lived in Chicago, I found the stories about the "war on Christmas" to be hilarious.  The concept that people find it offensive that people are trying not to be offensive, cracks me up.  I couldn't fathom that anyone cared whether an obnoxious evil empire such as Wal-Mart says "merry Christmas" or "happy holidays."  Either way, aren't they saying "enjoy your time for these few weeks and pretend that your crappy paycheck is bigger than it is so you can buy things here and give us less-crappy paychecks"?  So the whole thing was funny.  Plus I distinctly recall that, when I went to law school (a religion-based school) after years of public schooling, it was cool to see nativity scenes in the halls and have "Christmas" be ok.

Yeah, well, things are a bit different here.  I now work for a government organization--about as "politically correct" as you can get.  Even more, I am in charge of said "political correctness."  So when a few weeks ago my office got a call from my predecessor, asking for his Christmas tree back, I was dumbfounded.  Not only that this guy thought I had his tree hiding somewhere under my desk, but because HE HAD A CHRISTMAS TREE AT WORK.  Don't get me wrong, I had a little one in my firm in Chicago.  The building itself decorated.  But we were a private organization.  The fact that it's ok in government to go ahead and celebrate CHRISTMAS?  Crazy.  But it's more than that.  I am now worried that my Christmas cards say "Happy Holidays."  I truly believe that there will be some people here who will be offended.  They will view my lack of "ho-ho-ho" as a full-on assault on the lives of their children and grandparents.  Even when I sort of bring it up to my superiors, their eyes get big and they immediately make sure we are clear--I am not allowed to touch "Christmas."

Which is fine with me.  I love Christmas.  I am rather spiritual, when the mood strikes me.  And I don't see the big deal, either way.  But every time anyone says "Christmas party," I can't help but take a sharp breath in.  It is hilarious.  How did I become this person?  I finally get to fa-la-la my way around an office, and instead I worry that someone is going to (rightfully, per the law) complain. 

Am I now the Grinch?  Or is he even allowed to exist?  Apparently here, he is.  Which is great, and unnerving, and wrong, and odd.  So if you happen to live here, please don't sue us.  I'll be forced to report you to Santa.

And...We're Back

Hi Folks!
Thanks for your patience over the last several months!  Things have been running and running, in the Carpool lane.  So much for being the "slower" lane.

We're doing well here in Montana and sort of settling in.  My kid absolutely loves everything about his new life.  He has the world's greatest nannies--particularly Grandpa!  He's getting big fast, and has started chatting up a storm.  He loves running around outside, even though it's getting cold here (like really, really cold).  And the whole Christmas light thing is making each day worth living.  So overall he's pretty happy.

I'm doing pretty well, too, though I miss those of you in Chicago (and Arizona) terribly.

I promise to get back on track with my updates here, as there are plenty of crazy stories to go around!!  Thanks for tuning in again and looking forward to our chats!

Hope you are well and stay tuned for more posts soon!

Just...Wow

I believe I have mentioned my understanding that, were my child to be prematurely famous, I would most likely join ranks with the Dina Lohans and the Drew Barrymore's-moms of the world.  I suspect I would be obnoxious (well, more than I am).  So while I don't know that I would walk away from the situation, I certainly don't seek it.

So what about on a smaller level (and one that is less about ME)?  We in Montana have been absolutely blissful about our darling Little League World Series team.  This group of 12-13 year olds has had us all enchanted for weeks now.  They made it all the way to the US Championship game, undefeated.  Which is incredible, particularly as Montana had never previously had a team in the series.  They were awesome.  And they gave the entire state something to cheer about.  Everyone has a story, from "I live down the street from #12," to "I know the coach well," to "I dated the uncle of the pitcher when I was in high school and he looks just like him and it cracks me up every time I see him."  It has been fun.

But the parent in me is (insanely?) worried about the situation.  These kids are in junior high.  Within weeks they went from about to start school to national spotlight, parades, front page of the paper every day.  I can't imagine what is going through their heads.  They are hometown heroes.  And they're just little kids.  Awesome?  Totally.  Worrisome?  For me.  I can't get past the fact that these kids can't believe that this is the pinnacle of their lives.  Or, worse, that they expect the next decade to be just like this.  I know, I know--I'm nuts.  Am I?  Am I completely insane to both want such an event in my kid's life and be grateful that it's not him?

I am fairly confident that most generations freak about the speed with which their children grow.  And I mean in terms of "zero to adulthood."  Fourth graders are in gangs.  Sixth graders are being sent home from school for dressing like garden tools.  And twelve year olds are being given parades.  Are we nuts to think that this stuff should slow down a bit?  Could it be done, anyway?  Am I just exceedingly OLD?  For once I'm not sure who's crazier--me or the rest of the world.

That Ship Has Sailed

I'm not certain why, but for the most part, I don't like being social.  At all.  And if I were to be honest, I never have. 

Well, that's not exactly true.  I like the company of other people.  During the day.  But once 5:00 hits, I have absolutely no desire to leave my house (lately, 5:00am).  That's one reason why I loved being a litigator.  Most of our socializing occurred during daylight hours (sure, they often passed into nighttime hours, but I was typically out of it by then).  A vampire I could never be.  I used to drive my friends insane because I wouldn't want to go out at night, unless it was a continuous motion from the earlier part of the day.  I always had a good time when I did.  But getting me out the door was a chore.

Truthfully, it was also a reason why I was excited to have a kid.  I had a built-in excuse.  What I hadn't realized, though, is that many people don't have kids and many others don't parent the same way.  So I still come away with the guilt, though it is about a million times more difficult to leave my house than it was previously. 

This has not been an issue for the past few months.  At all.  I have been blissfully ensconced in my house, alone with my kid.  But now it seems that I am getting more and more invitations to leave it.  And the thought makes me nauseous.  Seriously--what the heck?  People are being nice.  I have opportunities to have fun and get to know people.  And I have absolutely no desire.  I see it as an obligation, not as a chance.  I had thought I would someday enjoy getting out into the world.  But now I am thinking that the ship has sailed.  I am perhaps destined to be the little old woman who never leaves her 12 cats.  I will become that person who growls at kids when they come to the door, peddling things.  And I will be in heaven.  Goodbye ship.  Hello island.

Quote of the Day

The art of being a parent is to sleep when the baby isn't looking.

-Anonymous

Really?

This weekend, my son and I went to the park.  It was a beautiful day, though a bit warm, but the bulk of the slides and things were in the shade by the time we got there.  We had a blast.  But, naturally, I left the park only after having an altercation with another mom.

I say "mom," but the woman could have just as easily been a nanny or a cousin or a stage manager--I don't really know.  I'm guessing mom, though, based on several factors.  Anyway, my kid and I were gleefully going down the slide, when a little boy and his "mom" walked over to the playground.  I heard her say something about it being hot and she sat on the bench and told him to go play.  The little boy ran over and, desperate for companionship, started talking to me.  He was 5 and his name was Grover.  His name wasn't actually Grover, but (a) I'm not putting a little kid's real name in here and (b) I can't remember it anyway.  So, I was saying.  Grover was 5 and told me all about his brothers and how he wasn't going to school until he's 6.  He was a funny, clearly smart, personable kid, so we let him follow us around to the slides and the swings, and chatted with the kid.

I should mention that "mom" watched the entire time, so I felt better about it.  I smiled at her, and she ignored me.  Because I was in a particularly generous mood, I relfected on that morning when I asked my own kid to leave me be on the back steps, while he ran around the yard.  Parents get tired.  Fair enough.  So anyway, Grover was a total champ, talking to my own son and being extremely gentle with him.  I loved the kid.  I seriously was blown away at how considerate a 5 year old could be.  So we played and played. 

Finally, we had to go.  I said goodbye to Grover, trying not to let the look of disappointment on his face make me cry.  I told him we would see him again at the park.  As we walked away, I decided to swing by "mom" and let her know her kid rocked.  So we took the long way around, got within about 20 feet, and half-whispered "Grover is an awesome kid."  She looked at me as though I had informed her that her second head was gnawing on her shoulder.  She (not whispering) said "it's none of your business, and you should stay away from other people's kids."

Really?

While I, of course, came up with a million rebuttals later, I have to admit that for once I was at a loss for words.  We simply walked away.  But, really?  What the heck?  I justify it with typical "parenthood is hard" and "people are going through things" pep talks.  But, really?  I'm stepping in and doing YOUR job at the playground, and I get yelled at?

As you know, I'm all about justifying things that people do that are crazy.  But today, I'm just going with "people are crazy."

The Wild Wild West

Badger, Badger

A while back, I gave a glimpse into the beauty that was my new neighbors parroting my old, and doing construction at all hours.  Well, I am happy to say that they have sold their 12 bedroom multi-pool mansion and the new people are not yet in.  It's heaven.  All quiet and peaceful.  Well, sort of.

It's not loud, per se, but there is a noise that sort of runs under the nights here.  It's animals.  Sure, some are the cats and dogs of the neighborhood.  But there are others.  Last night I heard an owl.  Many nights when it's warmer, the crickets come out.  I swear to all higher beings that I once heard a bear.  Or it may have been a mountain lion--regardless, I am sure it was scary and had teeth.  And it totally, totally freaks me out.

When in Chicago, I had a relatively fine time wandering around the city at night.  It didn't happen much, but I wasn't particularly afraid as I walked home from a bar, found my car after a concert, or roamed the alleys after finally finding a stupid parking space at 3am.  I probably shouldn't have been as relaxed as I was.  The tavern owner a few blocks away was killed in his alley behind the bar one night.  Muggings are prevalent.  It is, in fact, Chicago.  But blissfully I never had any problems.

So that's why it is so stinking funny to me that I am terrified to go out of my house after dark here.  Sure, everyone is packing, but that doesn't bother me.  I am instead afraid of the animals.  Seriously.  Even the stupid cats.  It scares the hell out of me, and I've even had nightmares about fighting off a tiger in the backyard.  When I was a kid, we had a badger under our back porch.  Now I sit and fear that one will pop out at me (dancing, of course), rip my head off, and take my child to go live with the badger colony and be raised as its own.  And while I'm all for Bucky and friends visiting, I'm fairly certain that they're not as friendly here as they are in Madison. 

Yes, I admit, this makes me a huge pansy.  If either of my grandfathers could hear me now, they would be appalled (though not likely shocked).  Why am I such a chicken?  It's not like I'm not used to animals.  I didn't have a particularly bad experience with one, other than a few donkey lawyers.  So why am I suddenly afraid of the wild, wild west?

While you answer that, I'm huddled in the corner, waiting for daylight, listening for Bucky to emerge....

Should I Not Do That?

As I have mentioned (repeatedly) I have a bit of a sweet tooth.  And as I have also mentioned, it is growing.  Yesterday I mentioned my newfound talent of offing an entire cake or batch of cookies.  But the funny thing is, this desire for sugar generally only kicks in after my son has gone to bed.  Case in point.  For the last few nights, I have baked cookies.  For my kid, of course.  But this logic is sort of flawed when I manage to devour each and every one, before he wakes in the morning.  The moment his head hits the pillow, I desire anything and everything sweet.  And for better or worse, it's hit-or-miss whether that "anything" is in my house.  Therefore, what many of you won't think is funny are the thoughts that sometimes go through my head as a result.

I guess you could say it has actually crossed my mind to go to Dairy Queen and pick up a Blizzard.  Or to the grocery store and get a cake.  After my kid is asleep.  HORRIBLE!!!  I guess it's debatable how serious I am.  I mean, I haven't actually done it, so I must not be completely awful, right?  But, man, do I want to.  The conversations in my head are priceless.  "You know, he's just going to be asleep...."  "Are you INSANE?  You can't leave your kid alone in the house!!!"  "Of course not.  But, he's just going to be asleep...."  For all law enforcement, DCFS, newspaper and other authority figures freaking out, I of course will never actually leave my kid alone.  Heck, I freak out when a sitter is here.  I'm just sayin.  Sometimes the desire for a Butterfinger Blizzard is so overwhelming, a teeny tiny little voice says "go ahead."  AGAIN--it won't happen.  Please don't come take my child.  Just sayin.

Mmmmm...sheet cake....
I know I have a problem.

Is It Bad to Eat an Entire Cake?

I will wait until you leave,
then eat the entire thing.
Ugly flowers included.

I've never really paid that much attention to what I eat.  I'm about 9 feet tall, so there has always been plenty of room for the food to go.  That said, my weight has ballooned over the past several years, as it often does in women of a certain age.  And, of course, there's the gift of a 3rd stomach that my child gave me.  It's the gift that keeps on giving.

Generally I can say that since my son was born, I haven't had the time or the inclination to eat a lot of bad things.  Until now.  Recently I have been doing what I assume you can only call stress-eating.  Worrying about the past, the future and everything in between, I find comfort in having a cookie.  All of them.  I get absolutely livid when the women at the grocery store don't have the individual slices of cake sitting out, and so I buy an entire cake.  And eat it.  What?  It helps.  So I keep doing it.

And, man, I can feel it.  I must weigh about a million pounds.  But I can't stop.  Yesterday I was around people who were having a celebratory cake.  Most of the women either obligingly declined, or took small pieces or even scraped off the frosting.  Yeah, I had seconds.  And I even thought about scraping off the excess frosting from the cake board. 

I guess it's fine if it makes me happy, right? Ok, even I don't buy that one.  But I guess I keep thinking it will stop when the stress stops.  Which should be any second now, right?  RIGHT?

Culture Wars

What?  They're cute.

When I was a parent in Chicago, there were about a million things I wanted to do with my kid when he was old enough.  Almost all included cultural experiences that would (hopefully) open his mind and expand his world in ways that I couldn't alone.  I was (am) very excited to show him different foods and museums and music experiences and hope that some of it becomes the wonderous world that I had experienced, too.

Things are a bit different here, though I am first to say it's not that there is no culture.  It's just that the culture is different.  Very, very, very different.  I believe I mentioned there is one Indian restaurant that I have found, and they sadly don't deliver.  And I won't even get into the "museums."  BUT there are other experiences that Chicago simply doesn't have.  For example, this week is the continuation of the state fair.  We are considering going, in order to watch a friend's nephew show his pig.  Never seen someone show a pig before.  It will be a cultural experience (shock) to both of us.  Can't say there's much pig showing in the Loop.  I will reserve my lawyer jokes for the moment.

My point is this--I am deeply concerned about giving my kid a worldly experience.  Because there is not much travel money, for a while at least, we will have to satisfy ourselves with in-home learning on the subject.  But that said, there really are things here that offer great opportunities, as well.  For example, apart from the pig experience, I would wager not many mid-westerners know the true story of Lewis and Clark.  Here it's pretty standard.  And hiking and skiing aren't prevalent along Michigan Avenue (though, truthfully, they're not with me, either).  History surrounds you, no matter where you are.  Are the cultural experiences equal?  Heck no.  But I lived here until I was 22 and don't think I am a complete idiot about others and history, so I'm guessing it's all stuff you figure out.

Now excuse me.  A pig is waiting for my attention.

Big Surprise

Needless to say, there are many aspects of being a parent that surprise me.  Ok, fine, ALL aspects of being a parent have caught me off guard.  Everything from how much I would adore this kid to how completely my life would change.  You name it, I didn't see it coming.  But at the end of the day, you learn a lot about yourself in the process.

But.  At the moment I am struggling with something that really has thrown me off.  In short, I worry that my kid won't like me.  I know, I sound insane.  Generally, I'm not one to spend a heckofalotta time worrying about whether a guy likes me.  After many years and many experiments, I have generally come to the conclusion that you either do or you don't.  Not much to do either way.  But with him, it's sort of always in the background, now that he's developed his own personality and can voice his opinions.  And, as is pretty much always the case with toddlers, his opinions are extreme.  Really, really extreme.  If he likes something, there are squeals and giggles and fist pumps (maybe I shouldn't have watched Jersey Shore when pregnant?).  If he doesn't like something, I am slightly embarrassed to say he has started the foot stomping and swinging of plastic golf clubs.  I have no experience with such things, but it is my understanding that this is normal.  But to me, it's an entire world of craziness.

The worst part is that it has opened up a box of total apprehension, as well.  In myself.  I have never really had anybody express displeasure at my daily activities the way he does (I believe I mentioned I am not married).  And while it's not a huge deal on a daily basis, it does sort of wear on me overall.  And particularly when worrying about everything I do--eventually going back to work, day care vs. sitter, EVER leaving the house (you get the picture)--I start to fear that he won't like me. 

It's insane, I know.  Totally, totally insane to worry about whether a one year old dislikes you.  Even more insane to worry about whether a one year old may eventually dislike you, for decisions you haven't yet made.  Even, even more insane to think that a kid can go even days without disliking something about parents.  I mean, come on--who wouldn't dislike someone who does things generally boring without explaining why, including making us walk around in our own pee and forcing us to get off of the kitchen table when it's so much fun??

Maybe I should drink more.  Or less.  Either way, if every day of parenthood is filled with these crazy thoughts and fears, it's going to be a bumpy, bumpy ride....