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....