Dispatches from the mountains, Part 1

Charles, Zoe and I are in Boone, NC, to attend a friend's wedding (but to all you would-be criminals who want to rob our house knowing we're out of town, please know that our house is protected by a FIERCE and FEROCIOUS dog, as well as wonderful neighbors who are VERY attentive). A couple months ago, when we heard about the wedding, we decided to make a proper vacation of the trip and rented a small cabin on a river for a full five days.

So here we on in the mountains, where it is breathtakingly beautiful at all turns, where little tourist traps offering gem mining and fossil factories line the windy roads, and where Charles would love to live.

Really, it is gorgeous here. We got our first view of the mountains yesterday about four hours into our five-hour drive, and it was sooooo nice to be out of the lowcountry where we live. And then, our ears started popping. And then Zoe, who had been damn near angelic for most of the trip, had just about had it. And then, to get to our cabin, we turned down a gravel road that is lined on one side with one house's private art (junk) collection. And I've seen the movie "The Last House on the Left" far too recently, and I began to freak out. A little.

So we got our bearings in the cabin, then headed out to find some food. We wound up eating dinner at a Japanese steakhouse, Zoe's first hibachi experience. It was totally random, and not what we'd have typically picked while on vacation (we like fancy food, I'll admit it), but it was perfect. Zoe loved the "cook on the table" show, and we relaxed, me with two glasses of strong red wine.

So then, we came back to the cabin, and we tried to take a walk on the river. Which I cannot do when I've had two glasses of wine. At least not without sitting down hard on my bottom after slipping on some algae. Whoops. I felt even more insecure.

We let Zoe stay up late to try to look for fireflies (she'd never seen any) but it apparently gets dark super-late here, so suddenly it was 9:00, Zoe was falling apart and so was I, and still, no fireflies.

We learned last night that you cannot expect a child to sleep in an unfamiliar, dark, kind of creepy room on her first night in a little cabin. She finally fell asleep on the couch, but not after one of her most impressive meltdowns ever.

Oh well, lesson learned.

I'll be honest, I was ready to throw in the towel by then. I was exhausted, frazzled, and I swear I kept expecting to see a creepy face out every window I saw. I wanted my own bed in my bright, sunny house.

But we persevered, and things were much better this morning...except for a dizzy-spat I can only attribute to the much higher altitude here...my head was swimming for much of the morning.

But still, we persevered more. We headed out to explore the Blue Ride Parkway and it was AMAZING. We stopped at a "Craft House" (gift shop) and explored around this old mansion a bit, and even got to pet some horses. A few miles up the road, we stopped again to hike a "moderate to strenuous" trail that was so much fun I wish we could do it every day. Zoe kept up with us for a full mile (half mile out and back - we were afraid to push her much further than that) and was hilarious, hopping over and off of large roots and tree stumps. She only fell once, and hopped right back up to keep on hiking.

I'm glad we've found something we all love doing together, and I've already gotten much more comfortable in our cabin. Zoe's still having some sleep issues (translation: no nap) so tonight's wedding might get a little hairy for us, but still, it's going to be beautiful.

Oh, and the weather? When we left Charleston yesterday at 9 a.m., it was already pushing 90, with near 80% humidity. Here? Oh, it's been in the 70s. All day. I hiked in jeans and a hoodie. AMAZING. So we'll be staying the full five days.

You, me and an accordion makes three

I love a good accordion.

I have several theories as to why. For one, they're super-cool and have you ever heard anything more mournful than an accordion well-played? (OK, maybe bagpipes, but the pipes are also creepy, so the accordion wins.) Second, I've heard stories of my dad playing the accordion as a kid, and as a life-long daddy's girl, of course I love it. And my brother rightly pointed out that when we were small, our grandfather kept his radio tuned into an a.m. polka station at all times. And polkas frequently feature accordions. Since we lived with him...well, let's just say I have a secret love of polkas, too. Don't tell.

So when Charles and I arrived at the Music Farm in downtown Charleston last Friday night and there was a gorgeously shiny accordion right there in front of me, less than five feet away, well, I of course took a picture of it and texted it to my father immediately.

And then...well, to give this story its just due, I should back up a second. It was date night, and Zoe was at my parents' house to spend her first night there, so I was super-pumped. I'd also had three gin and tonics (over my normal two-drink limit). We were there to see Neko Case, a longtime favorite, and I'd gotten so close to the stage I could lean my thighs against it. I WAS RIGHT THERE FOR NEKO CASE AND I WAS HAPPY AND TIPSY AND READY TO HAVE A GREAT NIGHT!!!

Seriously. That pretty much sums up me in that moment.

So when the opening band came out, I was even happier. Music! And some of the guys had been at the restaurant where we'd grabbed dinner! So these strangers were old friends already!

And OH MY GOD THE ACCORDION!!! A guy had picked it up! AND WAS PLAYING IT!! RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF ME!!

There were so many ALL CAPS moments and exclamation points for me right then. It was fantastic.

And the band! They were called Y La Bamba, and they were super-fabulous! Groovy indie/folk tunes, some great singers (the lead singer, Luz Elena Mendoza has a tremendous voice), and that wonderful accordion.

I was smiling, dancing, making eye contact with the band (especially the accordion player because, well, he was playing the accordion!!!), and smiling some more. It was a great set and they kept me dancing through the whole thing.

Awesome.

So then they were done with their set, and I sadly waved goodbye to the band as they left the stage. Then I ran for the restroom because OH MY GOD I had to pee.

When I came back to find Charles and re-take my spot against the stage, I got the text from my mom that I'd been waiting for. Zoe. Was. Asleep. Fabulous!

I turned around and waved my phone in Charles's face, then commenced bouncing for a few seconds, stopping only when there was a tap on my shoulder. I turned, expecting Charles to tell me to stop hopping.

BUT NO!!! IT WAS THE ACCORDION PLAYER!!!

In my stupor, I almost fell over (thank goodness I'd chosen flip-flops that night).

"Um, hi!" was about the best I could manage.

I don't remember exactly what he said, but Eric the Accordion Player told me that he'd had to come see me because he'd had fun playing to me, that my smile was "engaging" (I do remember that), and various other amazingly nice things.

Seriously, you guys. I about cried. When was the last time a complete stranger complimented ME? And a stranger who I'd just watched perform for a couple hundred people and make everyone happy? Um...never?

It was a moment in life where I was completely tickled. I gave him a hug, thanked him a ton, and he came back later to hang out with us while Neko Case sang her face off (really - she's great - if you don't know her, you should).

And I have to hand it to my husband, who took my silly happiness in stride and was completely un-fazed by it all.

Anyway, I'm babbling, I know. But if you take nothing else out of this goofy post about a fun fun fun night, take this...Y La Bamba puts on a GREAT show and I need to buy their album and so do you. And Neko Case sings her damn face off (even though she was wearing shorts, flip flops and a hoodie...), so you should buy her albums too.

Also, accordions and accordion players are awesome.

An ode to balance (or lack thereof)...

In my office, there are weekly lunchtime yoga classes. I love yoga, but don't love the idea of doing it at work, so I don't participate. Still, I occasionally run into the teacher when I have a meeting in the conference room immediately following the class.

One day, another coworker was chatting with the teacher when I wandered into the room. They were talking about yoga (shocker!!), and asked me if I practiced.

Ever looking for a moment of amused self-degradation, I laughed and said, "Yep, most days. But I tend to fall over a lot."

The teacher laughed, too, which made me feel good, but then she said, "You know, that's probably a good thing. I mean, with yoga, if you play it safe, you'll never fall down. But if you push yourself to the next level, to go just a little further with a pose... well, sometimes you fall, but you almost always get better."

I kept laughing...but I also thought about what she said afterwards, because it had the ring of a Major Life Lesson. Because...well...she was right...

I mean, look at me. I have a reasonably full plate even at my baseline daily routine. I am mother to an almost-three-year-old, super-active girl. I am a wife to a man who loves to talk about music and books and, this week, trees. I work near-full-time hours, and I have a house and dogs and cats to take care of. Lots of laundry, lots of ball throwing, lots of cooking, lots of dirty dishes.

But I can balance it. No problem.

But it's not quite enough for me.

So last year I started working on my "writing career" (in quotes because I've yet to publish anything other than this blog)...and my yoga...so that every night, after dinner was eaten and baths were given and the dogs were fed and the child was in bed, I had a full night's work ahead of me. A thirty minute workout and at least an hour of writing were added to my daily routine. Because I had to push my limits to see what would happen.

And...I definitely fall down sometimes, there's no doubt about it. Sometimes the pressure of daily life builds up until I'm ready to explode, or punch someone. The guilt over never quite doing any ONE THING to the best of my ability, including parenting Zoe, sometimes makes me cry.

But sometimes...I feel better. I get better. In the past year, I've lost about 5 pounds, gained a bunch of muscle and flexibility, and I've written a whole novel. And Zoe hasn't fallen apart. She knows I love her, and she gets as many hugs and kisses as she can handle on any given day. Charles and I still get along great (most days) and have fun times on random date nights or just hanging out on our couch together, watching TV.

So I think, most days, that I've gotten better. But then, sometimes something throws me off balance. And then I fall back down again.

Like tonight. Tonight we got home super-late. I had a haircut appointment that I desperately wanted to keep, and instead of taking two cars to work, which would have allowed Charles and Zoe to get home on time, we took one car since the weather was supposed to be terrible. Quentin, my dog, was inside our laundry room instead of in his outside dog run, again due to weather. By the time we got home, he'd pooped and yakked all over the crate in his room (probably due to fear of thunderstorms), and it smelled like death. So I cleaned that up (he is my dog). Then I made dinner. Then Zoe was wired and didn't want to go to bed. Then even when she was in bed, she kept needing just one more thing. Then I couldn't do a silly yoga pose I've been working hard to master. Then I procrastinated working on my book by writing this post. Then I realized I'm just all-around tired from a few nights of interrupted sleep.

Yep, tonight, I'm falling down.

But tomorrow, I'll get back up. And maybe I'll get even better.

Passover, Easter and me: all served up with a big old slice of double standard

A long time ago, Charles and I agreed to raise Zoe in a multi-cultural, multi-religiously educated house. We agreed not to label her, to let her choose her religious ideals as she grew up and into them.

With that in mind, yesterday I almost posted on the Internets that I was an equal opportunity book buyer - I'd just purchased a Passover and an Easter book for Zoe. Clearly, I'm non-biased and am educating my child equally about multiple religions/traditions at once.

But yeah...tonight I was glad I didn't post that, because really...not so much.

The Passover book was called "Max's Four Questions" and we read it tonight. It told the tale of a little boy named Max as he negotiated a big family Passover Seder. He asked the Four Questions (Why is this night different from any other night: Why do we eat Matzoh? Why do we eat bitter herbs? Why do we dip the bitter herbs in salt water? Why do we eat reclining?), and through the answers to the questions, he learned the basics of the Passover story. Jews were slaves in Egypt; they escaped; their bread didn't have time to rise and baked into crackers in the hot sun; the bitter herbs remind us of both spring and the bitterness of slavery; the salt water is a reminder of tears; we recline because we are free and we can.

It's really a brilliant little book and I highly recommend it to anyone who wants to learn the Passover story in a kid-friendly way. I even learned a bit, or at least got reminders, and this is a story that I've known and embraced since childhood.

So...that was my Passover education for Zoe. I even made a (terrible!) attempt at singing the Four Questions for her in Hebrew. I felt like a good person.

Then, I took a look at the Easter book I'd bought...

Yep. The Easter Beagle Egg Hunt. Snoopy and the gang went on an Easter Egg Hunt...

Shit.

I honestly did look around the Barnes & Noble for a slightly more educational Easter book, but they all...started with the word Jesus. Sigh.

All the stories from the Old Testament have been a part of me for my whole life; the New Testament? Not so much. I don't know how to frame Jesus and his teachings for my not-yet-three-year-old daughter. I'm not comfortable buying books about Jesus.

And I realize that this is a total double-standard in that I expect Charles to be ok with me teaching Zoe the religious side of the Jewish holidays, while I teach her the secular side of the Christian ones. Zoe knows all about Santa Claus and his reindeer, but she also knows what each letter on the dreidel means. She knows about the Easter Bunny, but also about Jews escaping slavery in Egypt. She knows nothing of Jesus.

This is not balanced, and I get that, but I don't know how to fix it. And I'm sorry about it. I am, really. I wish I had it in me to be more balanced.

But to tell you the truth, I think I'm just all kinds of muddled about what Zoe is and how to raise her. Tonight, right before bed, this happened:

Me:

Zoe: Mommy, are you Jewish?

Me: Yep, I am.

Zoe: Am I Jewish?

Me: Um...hmm...ummm...yeah, sort of, technically, but we'll talk about it more as you grow up.

I don't know what to call her, teach her or tell her, but we'll figure it all out as we go...I think? Help?

Imagination mayhem

Ohmigosh, it's a HANDFUL having an imaginative little girl. I love it, for the most part...after all, I'm a writer, right? (I'm still practicing saying that and not making a snarky-face...I. Am. A. Writer. I think...) And writers appreciate imaginations, right?

Zoe has been busy over the last few weeks coming up with new ways to make herself laugh, and freak herself out.

Not long ago, we were home alone on a rainy Friday afternoon when, desperate for a new form of entertainment that did not involve a puzzle, I pulled out Zoe's Sock Monkey Tea Set (cutest tea set EVER!). We sat down at her little table in the den, and Zoe immediately set to making some tea. With her tea set. Fancy that!

Anyway, it wasn't so much the fact that she was making tea that was strikingly creative...it was all about the ingredients which which she chose to create her teas. I watched, speechless, laughing, before I thought to grab a little notebook to record her recipes. Here's they are:

• watermelon, peanut butter and jelly
• chocolate, vanilla and orange juice
• vanilla, ice cream and whipped cream (seriously, I wished that one was real!)
• almond, cranberry and apple juice
• chocolate, a plate, vanilla, milk and Doozer (our cat)
• banana, strawberry, pear and a musical instrument
• chocolate, a cup, vanilla, strawberry, orange and some Legos
• coffee, vanilla, a plate, an octopus, a helicopter, a rocket ship and a handful of monkeys.

As she said each ingredient, she picked up an imaginary something from the table or the floor near-by. Then, she'd carry the cup of "tea" over to our bookshelf, where she set it down to cook. I had to "drink" each cup, even the one that included an octopus, and pretend it was amazing. It was a fabulously fun game for both of us.

Another recent game she's developed includes one of her other favorite tasks: drawing. Zoe takes one of her Magna-Doodles and draws a random shape or two (frequently two joined circles, but sometimes she branches out). She then thrusts the doodle in my general direction.

"TurnitintosometingputthewordsonitMommy."

The first time Charles heard her say this, he made Zoe repeat herself three times until he got it. Turn it into something. Put the words on it, Mommy.

I am supposed to turn her random shapes into some sort of recognizable picture and label it with the appropriate word. I draw cats, boats, dogs, rockets, ice cream cones, armadillos, and so on and so forth. I tend to get stuck on animals, and we tend to laugh a lot when playing. But the great thing about this game is that now, before she even turns three, she can sight-read about a dozen words. Cat. Hat. Dog. Turtle. Mommy. Daddy. And a bunch of others. It's FABULOUS. She understands what she can do, and wants to learn more. I can't wait until she can read more! And this all came about because she made up a silly little game.

Of course, you may know that there's another side to the imagination coin, right? And that's the sheer terror that comes with not quite being able to draw the line between real and make-believe.

Last week, when Zoe was sick, we watched a LOT of TV...it's not my favorite pass-time for her, but when you have a feverish child, there are only so many books you can read...so we watched Snow White and Sleeping Beauty, both of which are well-equipped with a terrifying evil witch. Then, this week, Charles put in The Wizard of Oz, after Zoe and I spent some time singing the songs in the car on the way home from school. And, well, the Wicked Witch of the West is maybe one of the scariest bad-guys in children's movie history, right?

So now Zoe is looking for witches everywhere she goes...she will no longer go into her closet on her own, and when going into a new room, she has to yell at the top of her voice, "Go away witch!!"

So far, we haven't had to deal with any nightmares, but I do know that's coming. She is my child, after all, and I've had nightmares my whole life, probably due to watching scary movies before I was quite ready for them...

You'd think I'd learn, right? But really, I love my child's imagination, and I'll take the bad with the good, any day. I love her.

*whine*

So I'm sick.

I haven't been sick in a long time, I think. It's probably just a cold, but I just feel...blah. With maybe 30% of my typical energy level, and a sore throat and stuffy nose. And I need to be better by next Friday when I get to see an old college friend for the first time in years.

I think I can, I think I can.

Anyway, I have a theory on why I'm sick. Wanna hear it?

Well, you could assume that I have the same cold Zoe has, since she woke up with a goopy nose yesterday, and I've been covered in her boogers ever since. But no. I would much rather assume that it's the fault of the girl at work who, when I saw her on Thursday and said, "How's it going?" replied with, "Sick." And then she proceeded to close-talk me for five minutes. IN THE BATHROOM! I couldn't escape!

Sigh.

So this brings up an interesting point, right? Which is...why was she at work if she felt bad enough that her answer to a generic question was to fuss about being sick for five minutes? All that does is spread around germs, and I know this because I was once very guilty of being Typhoid Leah and spreading bronchitis around my general cube area because I refused to stay home...all while getting very little accomplished office-wise.

But why do we all do this?

It's because our system here in the United States values money over people, and no one with a family has enough vacation or sick time to really be able to take care of themselves for an entire year.

Think about it. I have less than eight sick days per year (my company offers eight but my part-time status means I only get 80% of my time off). That is NOT enough to take off every time Zoe is sick or I am sick. So Zoe goes to school with the sniffles, and I go to work when I don't feel well, just to conserve my remaining vacation time.

It's weird to me, right? Because, that one time, I really did take out almost my entire team....somebody should have sent me home. But they didn't, and I was just another part of the problem instead of the solution.

Anyway, that's my rant about the American workplace...

And now that it's over, let me just say that my troubles pale to ghost-like colors in comparison to what people in Japan and all over the Pacific are dealing with today, and will continue to deal with in the foreseeable future. My REAL thoughts are with them all, hoping for the best for everyone who was touched by the earthquake and tsunami.

Family

My oldest brother, Jonathan, has been in town this week.

The last time we were together, Zoe was pretty afraid of him, which I think broke my heart, and Jonathan's, just a little. Jon and I were super-close growing up, and even though he's six years older than me, by the time I was a teenager he sort of took me everywhere with him...including to Woodstock. He also was always a magnet for little girls (not in a sketchy, dirty way, I promise)...our little cousin Alissa adored him. Friends' little sisters loved him.

So I always assumed, even though he lives halfway across the country in Oklahoma, that my little girl would pretty much worship him. I did, you know?

Hence, I was a little sad that they didn't have that dynamic last August when we were in Tulsa for Jon's wedding.

But this visit...holy cow, there it is!!! She LOVES him! We talked up his visit ahead of time, and on the first night, within about 30 minutes, she was hugging and kissing on him, singing "Happy Birthday" and playing. That night, she insisted he take her up to bed. Every time we've seen him since, it's been the same. She's happy to see him, hugs and kisses him, and tonight I watched him playing guitar while she played piano, and I saw that adoration in her eyes.

And I am SO FREAKING HAPPY about this little fact. Family is important, and mine is scattered around the world right now, so every little piece that pulls us closer together is amazing. And so I will treasure the memory of Jonathan carrying Zoe to bed Monday night...at least until the next time we see him and we make new memories.

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With family being so important, what do you do when family members aren't here anymore for a young child to meet? I've struggled with that since Zoe's birth. Charles's father passed away long before I even met Charles, and neither of us has any grandparents left. How to explain who Grandaddy Chuck is? Or my Nana? Or Charles's Granny and Poppa? These were super-important people in our lives, and helped to create us, and therefore Zoe.

Apparently, I don't need to worry.

Zoe tends to ask Charles to tell her stories during our time in the car together every day. It's great, because we have a long commute to and from school/work. She used to ask for Curious George stories, then after a day when Charles told her a story about getting hurt as a kid, she started asking for "Daddy getting hurt" stories.

And then recently, he mentioned Poppa in a story, and now all she wants are Poppa stories. So Charles is having a great time (I think?) telling her stories about fishing and shrimping, learning to drive on an old farm where Poppa used to take him, and so on and so forth.

I guess so much of our heritage is still in the stories we love and share. As Zoe gets older, she'll learn more about Grandaddy Chuck flying helicopters in Vietnam. She'll learn about my Nana going out on dates which took her all over Manhattan at all hours of the night. She'll hear about Granny's cooking and even more about fishing with Poppa.

Basically, even though she won't have met them, she'll know them. And that's what matters.

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Finally, a ghost story for you.

My father's brother, George, died when George was 12 and Dad was 6. It's a tragic story - he drowned, and could have easily been rescued by a local fisherman.

This was up in New Jersey. All my life up there, Dad always told me stories of how George continued to visit him even after his death, which always simultaneously freaked me out and made me happy. It's nice to think of Dad's big brother still keeping an eye on him, you know?

But I always figured the stories ended when my parents followed me to South Carolina. Do ghosts travel, after all? I doubted it.

Not so much, though.

So, a long time ago, Dad lost a pocketknife in our old house. He searched up and down and all around, and the knife never showed up. Until years later, that is, when Dad pulled up a carpet in (I think) my bedroom, and the knife was in the center of the room, under the carpet. Weird, right?

Here's weirder...apparently Dad has already been pretty convinced that there's something going on in his current house, and when he told Mom recently about a light turning on by itself, she said, jokingly, "Oh, I guess George finally found you again."

Ha ha, right?

Hmm...

Dad has a dresser drawer in which he keeps t-shirts and a small box holding his collection of pocketknives. One of those knives, which has been shoved in the way back of the box, was George's old Boy Scout knife.

Shortly after Mom's comment, Dad opened his drawer to find, front and center, George's Boy Scout knife.

FREAKY! And still...sort of nice, right?

When one Facebook update just isn't enough

My day started at 4:00 a.m., when Zoe woke up to pee and refused to go back to bed until about 5, when Charles went down to get his coffee. Zoe climbed back into the bed with me and we fell asleep for about 45 minutes more.

Needless to say, though, that wasn't high-quality sleep, so it's been a long day. I ran, cleaned bathrooms (ugh...), ran by the office for a meeting, and ran some other errands. Then I picked up Zoe from school and we went to the park for a while.

Since the point when I left the house, I've had at least four status updates that I thought about making to Facebook, but I never had the chance to make them. And now, I want to make all of them, but that would be a bit excessive.

So I'm blogging instead.

Here goes:

• Today, I had to run to the bank to deposit checks, buy "neutral" Chuck Taylors for Zoe, and pick up toilet paper. What actually happened, though, was that when I ran to the bank, I hadn't endorsed the checks I was depositing, and I didn't have a pen, so I left with checks in hand; I got Zoe red and black ladybug sneakers instead of the black or beige Charles requested; and I forgot toilet paper. So it goes.

• Today, for Show and Share at school, Zoe brought a plastic Daschund dog dressed up as a hot dog, left over from Halloween. On the way outside with her class (they were seeing if their Show and Share items fit inside the school mailbox), she dropped the dog, and it broke into multiple pieces. Zoe's teacher said they could take it to Mr. Ray, the school handyman, to see if he could fix it. Zoe looked right up at the teacher and said, "Yes, Mr. Ray has to screw the dog to fix it." Huh....

• Zoe had a tremendous fall from a ladder at the park today. She'd climbed it twice before, and was shooing me away from my nervous-mom-stance underneath her. So I stepped about three feet away and was talking to another mom while she climbed. She made it about four rungs up when she slipped and tumbled, and I was not fast enough to catch her. She flew down about 5 feet and thankfully landed on her booty in the soft sand. It was traumatizing for both of us - even thinking about it is making me choke up. But do you know what? As soon as she'd settled down, before she'd even let me wipe the tears away (but after I'd made sure she could walk and wasn't seriously injured), she walked right back up to that ladder and, determined as ever, climbed right up to the top. I was AMAZED by her courage. She is incredibly brave.

• We've had a mole problem in the backyard for months, years even. They dig these little underground trenches that make our grass weirdly soft and lumpy. I can't stand them. And I've encouraged my dog, Quentin, who spends lots of time out there, to dig them up and eat them, but he never has. Today, Charles's dog, Molly, the Dalmatian, stayed out in the yard and when Zoe and I came home from the park, Molly came trotting to the door, mole in mouth. She'd finally found one. There are several large holes in the yard now, but at least we are one mole less thanks to Molly's tenacity. So yay for her, but then...moles are kind of cute when you actually look at them. Darnit!

OK, those were stories. Please know that, had they been actual Facebook statuses, they'd have been shorter and maybe funnier. But still...that all happened today. Really. Today.

Dispatches from London, the final chapter

I'm sitting at my gate in Gatwick Airport. It's Wednesday morning, I've barely slept, and I've already been on two trains and a shuttle-tram-thingie today. I think it's 8:00 a.m. local time...meaning it's 3:00 a.m. where I'm headed.

It's going to be a long day.

Anyway, I mention the day/time as there's no wi-fi here at the gate, and I know I won't post tihs until either late tonight or tomorrow morning. Right now, I'm writing in NotePad as my little pink laptop doesn't have Word.

So, you know, I'm having fun, as always.

This will be my final dispatch from London, as I am heading HOME today, so I thought I'd provide some last reflections.

First, although I've been ending with Charles and Zoe throughout my prior dispatches, I will start with them today. Yesterday afternoon/evening, I Skyped with them for one last time. They'd been to work/school, and Zoe had not napped and was exhaustedly immersed in Sesame Street and Elmo's World. So, she didn't want to talk. And,in fact, she told me that I shouldn't come home for another four days! I know you can't let things a two-year-old says and does hurt your feelings, but I have to say, that made me a little sad. Just four days ago, she wanted me home RIGHT THEN, and now she's ok with another four days? I'm going to hope she didn't really know what she was saying.

On the other hand, Charles, while still tired, looked so amazing and cozy that I wanted to fly through my computer screen, sit in his lap, and fall asleep with my head on his shoulder. Guess I'll have to wait until tonight, huh? What a bummer.

Anyway...London...that's what I've been writing about, right?

London.

What a city! What a trip! It's been so overwhelming in some ways, it's hard to even think about.

Like...in the first place...I grew up an hour outside New York City, so I spent a lot of time there as a kid. I'm no stranger to cities, even though I've been living in the semi-rural suburbs (come on, my parents keep horses 5 minutes from my house - it's semi-rural!!) in South Carolina for eight years. But still. London felt bigger. Fuller. More crowded even than Times Square at Christmastime. It both impressed and intimidated me, and I quickly found that native Londoners would as soon knock you down as look at you. I kid you not! I am typically able to make people smile, particularly children, but in London? Not so much. Not that I tried hard - I mostly just tried to keep to myself. But the only time I've made any connections with unnamed strangers here has been with a Swedish woman on the way to the airport this morning. We were both a little overwhelmed by travel, and even in that five-minute, semi-language-blocked time span, it was nice to have a friend with whom to find a damn elevator.

Also...so yesterday, Daniel and I spent a couple hours walking through the Bethnal Green neighborhood, which I loved. It's heavily Indian and Middle Eastern, and there were sari stores in whose windows I could gaze longingly (I think saris are about the most beautiful form of clothing on Earth), the smell of curries and tagines drifted from restaurants and street food vendors, and I felt almost like I was back in New York, in the Village. It just had that laid back, eclectic feel. I felt comfortable.

And then, moments after thinking that, I saw a small handful of women walking down the street in full-length black birkas. I'll admit...I was taken aback by it, as it's something I'd honestly never seen before. Only on TV, and typically only on the news. And, upon reflection a bit later, I realized that while I fully support the freedom to express oneself and one's religious beliefs, I just find birkas over the top. They seem more to me a symbol of repression than of religion. I found myself wondering about the houses in which these women lived. Birkas do not have to be worn to be safe on British streets, so the fact that these women wore them made me question why. Did they really feel it appropriate streetware, based on their religions? Or did they have husbands/brothers/fathers at home who insisted they wear them, sometimes in the name of religion, but possibly in the name of ownership and repression.

I don't know. It just made me think.

Incidentally, Daniel had downloaded a documentary called Women, Weddings, War and Me earlier in the day, and we watched it yesterday evening. It follows a girl named Nel whose parents fled Afghanistan's wars back in the 80s, moved to London when Nel was just 6 years old, and raised here there. She grew up having every opportunity afforded to London kids, but as she reached her early twenties, she began to question her identity. Not really British, not really Afghani...so she took a trip back to Afghanistan to see if sometimes you can go home.

She couldn't. Between birkas and arranged marriages, war and women burning themselves to escape abusive husbands, she was overwhelmed by the realities of her homeland.

It was an amazing documentary, and I hope I can find a link to it to post here - yesteray I only found the BBC version/listing, which you can't watch from the States, and I really think anyone interested in the politics of the Middle East should watch it.

Sigh. I must be tired. I'm contemplative.

Anyway, then...yesterday's more normal recap!

We slept in!! We were exhausted! We didn't leave the flat until after noon, when we wandered down to the V&A Museum of Childhood, which was really cool, if a lot crowded. They had tons of exhibits of toys throughout the ages, including ancient Victorian dollhouses that were so intricate that no child today would be allowed to touch them for fear of choking, and an array of scary, creepy, crazy dolls and clowns. We had fun poking around for a while, but then needed to flee the massive amounts of screaming children.

After that was when we walked around Bethnal Green, Brick Street (I think??) and down to Liverpool Street. We passed cool music and bookstores, cafes...really, it was my kind of town.

Exhausted, we headed back to the flat after only a couple of hours...all our walking for the prior three days had worn our legs completely out. We relaxed, watched nature documentaries, and then went to a pub for dinner, where I finally had some fish and chips. Delicious.

I'll say that I ate enough cookies and fried food yesterday to make up for any of the weight I'm sure I lost with all the constant walking earlier in the trip, but that's ok. Every bite was totally worth it.

And with that, we should begin boarding soon. I hope. It was a great trip and I had an awesome time with Daniel and Zeke, but I'm ready to get home to Charles and Zoe. Aw, love...

Dispatches from London, Part 3

Hmm...so it's the middle of the night again, but this is less about insomnia and more about a Really Scary Dream in which thugs broke into a house in which I was staying with some friends, and I had to try to protect Zoe, who was sleeping upstairs.

I'm sure that's an easy analysis for anyone with a background in Freshman Psych courses, but whatever. It was scary enough while I was in the dream that my heart is still pounding...THUMP THUMP THUMP...not fun.

And now I am awake, trying to shake of the freaked-out-ness of a nightmare, so I thought it was the perfect time to contemplate Day 3 of my Big Trip.

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So...I was in London only once before this trip, back when I was 19 years old. It was May and I only had about four days (sound familiar??), and back then, the big highlight of the trip was the day that the sun came out and it hit 80 degrees F, and I spent the day walking through Hyde Park.

Today, it was maybe about 40 degrees F, and the sun tried real hard to come out for about 10 minutes, and Daniel and I spent a bit of the day walking through Hyde Park...and it was again (still?) a highlight of the trip for me.

We got on the road early today, hopping on the underground to get up to the Victoria & Albert museum, which I LOVED. Lots of old artifacts, a cool design room, and this gallery filled with plaster renditions of huge world monuments that people created hundreds of years ago by making plaster casts and dragging them back to London so that even the poor people could see the amazing sights of the world. It was really impressive. While there, we had tea in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the museum cafe. Mmm...jasmine green tea and a scone with clotted cream and jam? Reasonably Proper British Tea? Check!

After the museum, we headed to Hyde Park, which we were just supposed to briefly touch on our walk towards Buckingham Palace, which I had never seen. But then we got the idea to look for the Peter Pan statue, as Zoe is currently obsessed with Peter Pan and I wanted to get a picture for her. A couple miles and LOTS of bird photos later, we found him and turned around to retrace our steps.

And a word about the birds...seriously, London parks have the most impressive collection of semi-domesticated waterfowl that I have ever seen. Many flavors of ducks, swans, geese and gulls literally FILL their lakes, and where in the States, feeding birds in parks frequently feels discouraged, here there are designated areas to feed the birds (tuppence a bag....wait, I'm singing in my head again!! Mary Poppins!!! ). Some of them are so tame that they walk right up to people, literally begging for food like a dog. And I even saw a squirrel who was so used to being fed by humans that it was taking food from an old woman's hand! It was really fun to watch, all of it, even for me, the girl with the bird phobia.

We walked for miles and miles, it seemed, and skirted some big tourist/important sites like the Palace (from which we kept our distance, due to the huge groups of people surrounding it), Trafalgar's Square, and Picadilly Circus. We made it to SoHo for some shopping, even going to Hamley's Toy Store (London's FAO Schwartz) which was SO PACKED that it was UTTERLY TERRIFYING. We left quickly.

Some of the smaller shops were much more fun, and we kept on walking and walking until we needed to have a drink in a proper British pub. Yum! I even had a beer, which is a rarity for me (I love my red wine, but you probably already knew that). It was a nice break, but then we had to walk some more to find the underground station that would take us to a restaurant for dinner.

Dinner was fun. My super-cool mother-in-law had requested that we go out to dinner "on her" one night, so tonight's dinner was sponsored by the lovely Nana. We went to a Brazilian restaurant which featured meat, meat and more meat. DELICIOUS!!! That plus a shared bottle of wine and my cheeks were PINK by the time we left.

We stumbled home (less from drink than from the utter exhaustion from walking for 10 hours), and both of us crashed within an hour. Not a bad way to spend a day, no?

I have no new observations about Londoners, other than to say that I can't keep straight from which direction cars are flying down the road at all times. Luckily, being a tourist town, the London infrastructure at some point added "look left" and "look right" signs on street crosswalks for confused travelers like me. Of course, being me, even this confuses me (I am notoriously bad at knowing my right from my left), so they've kindly added arrows as well. Thank you, British Government! You saved my life at least once today.

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Meanwhile, back at the ranch...Zoe's behavior was apparently less than stellar today, but still, they are surviving without me. We had a nice, long chat this evening, which I totally needed after being cut off from them all day. I miss having a working cell phone...

They will go back to work and school tomorrow, and I imagine the return to routine will help give them each a breather. So that's good.

But ugh, I miss them so much. Skype/Google Video Chat have been lifesavers - I can't imagine how I'd feel if I hadn't been able to physically see them every day!!!! On one hand, I'm still having an amazing time, but on the other hand, I can't wait to be with them again. But you know me - I always feel conflicted about something, right?

Dispatches from London, Part 1

I like the title of my post today - it makes me feel like a reporter, like Ernest Hemingway.

Anyway, I am in London! Holy cow, that still feels weird to say/write. I haven't been here for twelve years!

The trip here was relatively uneventful. I did cry just a little when my plane took off from Charleston towards Atlanta for the very first leg of travel. Luckily, the man sitting next to me was dozing at the time, so no one saw me sniffle. The overnight flight from Atlanta to Heathrow wasn't bad either. It wasn't a full flight so I had a little two-seater to myself.

Of course, I didn't go right to sleep on the plane. The novelty of watching a movie while miles up in the sky has never worn off for me, so I searched through the list to find something I could watch guilt-free (i.e. Charles would NEVER want to watch it with me). I settled on Eat, Pray, Love, as I am a closet Julia Robert fan (come on, you know you love the Pretty Woman, too!), and it wasn't horrible, at least not thematically. You know, travel the world, find yourself, fall in love - I can understand it, I think. Plus, I got to see Bali, so now I am determined to go there some day. Charles, add it to my list of places to go.

Anyway, I finally landed in London, just a bit on the late side, and wandered down to Customs, where I fumbled through the Q and A session with the customs agent.

Her: What are you here for?

Me: I'm visiting my brother.

Her: Is he a permanent resident?

Me: Ummm...I don't know? Wait, yes, I *think* he is.

Her: How so? On what basis?

Me: Umm...I don't know? Oh, wait, I think his partner is a citizen, and they're all legally married.

I'm surprised they let me in.

But they did, and I met up with Daniel and we took the longest, most ass-backwards journey to find his flat. Apparently, the London Underground system has been shutting down pieces of itself every weekend, wreaking havoc on those of us taking cross-city journeys. It took us over two hours to get to East London, but we finally made it, and then we ate lots of curry. YUM!

We stayed pretty low-key for the rest of the day as I was pretty much wrecked from all the travel. Daniel and I went to the grocery - one thing I've noticed already in London is that they have LOTS more canned foods. Like, canned macaroni and cheese, canned Shepherd's pie, etc. It sort of grosses me out, but I imagine it goes back to what one guy told me last night - that "the war" is still a really important piece of the British psyche, and so it makes sense that they would have almost everything canned so they can stock up in the event of an emergency.

Still, though...hot dogs in a jar? *Shudder*

I am really enjoying being in a city again. I like the whole "take a subway for a while, then walk 30 minutes to reach your destination" thing, even though it's cold and rainy. I also like the diversity. It's almost rare to hear people speaking English here. I've heard what I assume is Russian, Polish, Spanish, French, Italian...you name it, I've possibly heard it already.

I am also enjoying watching the fashion choices of today's young Londoners. It's pretty funny. So far I've seen a chick rocking some purple jeans and pink LA Gear high-tops (the kind I'd have KILLED for when I was eight years old), and lots of cut-off denim shorts (jorts, anyone??) with tights. The skirts here are definitely shorter, and the shoes are definitely taller. Seriously, I'd break my ankle wearing some of the high heels I've seen girls wearing while booking down the street.

Oh, and punk-ish London boys really crack me up with their mowhawks and their boots and (argh! really!) their tapered, gathered, skinny jeans. It's hysterical!

Anyway, that's about it so far. I slept for about 10 hours last night (thank you, Melatonin!!), and am feeling ready to face the cold, rainy London day to do some sightseeing!

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Meanwhile, back at my ranch...Charles and Zoe have not yet imploded, which is FABULOUS! We skyped last night, and Zoe put on a dance-party-show for me, and I loved every second of seeing her bounce around. So all is well in Charleston, so far as I know, even though I'm not there to see it. I miss my babies.

I think I am neurotic

What a week! I was completely distracted by the peaceful overthrow of the Egyptian government, which was amazing. And now I'm learning more about similar protests occurring throughout the Middle East. People talk a lot about how after the Iranian revolution in the 1970s, the result was an extremist government that has since ruled with an iron fist, but I think (I hope!!) this is different.

Anyway, that's really not what's on my mind tonight. What's on my mind is that:

a. I haven't written here in a week!

and

b. I LEAVE FOR LONDON ON FRIDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Ok, can you tell which I care more about right now??)

So...I'm all over the place. I haven't written because I've again been immersed in my book, because apparently for me, writing the vast majority of a story has opened up the floodgates, and the ideas keep coming. I had the whole story written, but some feedback from my brothers got me thinking about gaps, and how to fill them, and now I can't stop! So I just keep on writing, fully knowing that much of it may come back out based upon whether or not I've gone over the top.

Which I maybe have.

Also, I have ideas and characters for the sequel already sketched out in my head. Um...what? See what I mean about the floodgates?

And with regards to London...HOLY SHIT I'M LEAVING ON FRIDAY!!! That's really where my brain is right now. I'm struggling to comprehend it.

Like...I could use a break from all the responsibilities my daily life entails, but I can't deal with the thought of how much responsibility I am throwing onto Charles for those five days I'll be gone.

And...sometimes having a two-year-old is exhausting, frustrating, and infuriating...but I'm going to miss my little Zoe every minute of every day!

UGH! I think I'm neurotic.

And seriously...something about becoming a parent makes you no longer care for your own life with regards to yourself, but oh my GOD, if something were to happen to me while I was gone (terrorist attack? plane crash??), I would hate to leave Zoe and Charles alone in this world. I know they'd manage and move on, but I also know it would be damn hard on them. And I'd hate to do that to them.

Don't even get me started about the possibility of something happening to THEM while I'm gone...that's literally unfathomable.

See what I mean? Hello, neurosis!

All that said, I'm also REALLY excited to go see my brother and brother-in-law for a few days, to just hang out and sightsee and laugh (because when my brother and I are together, we laugh a LOT). And I know it's going to be fabulous.

But what if, what if, WHAT IF???

Sigh. I'm definitely neurotic.

I Heart Food: Sean Brock, Mike Lata and the Charleston Awesome Dining Scene

Growing up, I took good food for granted. Around the corner from my house was always an Italian restaurant (or three) that served fresh, well-prepared food. Chinese food was light and spicy. Mexican wasn't just shredded beef covered in gooey cheese. And if I happened to be in the City (Manhattan, or any of the other Boroughs), I learned at an early age that the best Indian food could be found at little hole-in-the-wall restaurants that looked sketchy but were always friendly, cheap and excellent.

So then I moved to Charleston, and the food here is...different. Not bad, per se, but the ethnic foods I loved never have felt as authentic as they do back up North. There are exceptions (Red Orchid Bistro, Al Di La, and Nirlep are all great), but as a rule, I've frequently missed the foods of the Tri-State Area.

And then, I started dating Charles, and we started branching out. We both love food, and have had fun trying new places through the past several years.

One of the first places we tried was Chef Mike Lata's FIG (Food Is Good). We went there for my birthday probably four years ago, and it was one of the best meals I've ever had. Fresh, simple food, perfectly prepared...what more could you want, right? The short rib ravioli that Charles ordered as an appetizer that evening remains one of his all-time favorite foods, I think. We've been a few more times since, and each time we love it more and more.

Then we discovered Chef Sean Brock, and went to McCrady's for our anniversary two years ago, and it was awesomeness. McCrady's was less simple than FIG, but was excellent in its own way.

Since then, Sean Brock has opened Husk, his tribute to all things Southern. (There's a really nice write-up in the New York Times today, ironically enough.) Every single ingredient he uses comes from somewhere in the South. Most of his produce is grown on several local farms (full disclosure: one of the farms is owned by a friend of my parents). Charles and I tried Husk right before Christmas, and I will never forget the plate of Country Hams with spicy, grainy mustard that we devoured with relish (literally and figuratively!). AAAA-mazing.

So...I will admit now, publicly and openly, that I have a bit of a celebrity crush on both Sean Brock and Mike Lata. Both of them were recently on Iron Chef America (well, they filmed sometime in 2009, I think, but both episodes aired this past December), and Charles and I watched every minute of each show. And I am a big dork.

So imagine me fumbling through half a sentence when, at our trip to Husk, we ran into Sean Brock himself walking between the bar and the dining room! I sounded like SUCH an idiot.

OK, so now, fast forward to this past weekend. It was our anniversary again, and Charles really, really wanted to try the Charcuterie at McCrady's, so that's where we decided to go celebrate FIVE AMAZING YEARS TOGETHER! We had a drink at the bar, then headed back to our table.

Looking at the menu, I was excited by one entry on the Chef's Tasting Menu - it was swordfish with fennel and parsnip, and included the phrase, "Prepared by you." When I mentioned this to Charles and our waiter (a super nice guy!), the waiter said, "Oh, the tasting menu has some fireworks right now." So we decided to go for it...seven courses? PLUS the Charcuterie? Bring it on!

Seriously, we were not disappointed. The swordfish course was by far the highlight for me. Three small pieces of fish served with a hot salt block on which you cook them yourself...then you season, sauce (a citrus-y sauce - YUM!), and garnish, and eat - it was incredible.

We had the wine paring, as well, and all the wines were surprising and interesting to me. And since I love wine, well, that was also a high point! All of them!

When Sean Brock himself walked through the dining room, we both smiled and waved, and he stopped, smiled and waved back. So I threw caution to the wind and made an ass of myself to our waiter. I asked, "Um, does Sean ever come out and talk to the customers? Like, so we can say thanks for an excellent meal?" (Yeah, I'm that smooth.)

But the waiter just smiled and told me Sean had just left to go back to Husk, but that we could come and see the kitchen once he was back.

WHAT??? AWESOME!!

So we finished our meal (each course was cool in it's own way, and fireworks included dry ice and liquid nitrogen - I had a very cold lap at one point!).

By the time we finished dinner, Sean Brock had returned, and we were taken back to the kitchen to meet him. He was gracious and welcoming, and gave me some gardening advice (let cilantro go to seed...the seeds themselves are coriander!), and said he recognized us from somewhere. I can only assume that it was from Husk, since I'd never met him before, and it almost made me feel like a stalker, but what can you do, right? I was just excited that he recognized us. See? DORK!

What it all comes down to is this...I will always miss New York and New Jersey for all the amazing food they offer, but I'm happy to say that both Mike Lata and Sean Brock are filling some voids for me with their three fabulous restaurants. Guys, I'm not a stalker, but I think you're both amazing.

The dangers inherent in childhood programming

I never knew what a lifesaver a television could be when you have a toddler in the house.

Does that make me a bad mom?

Hear me out...when kids are sick or over-tired, or when you just. need. a. break. there is nothing better than just letting them relax in front of a show.

I also never knew how easily my own feathers (and Charles's) could get ruffled by the things which appear on TV, or by the things which come out of my own mouth (and Charles's). It's insane, how much I want to keep Zoe the sweet and innocent little booger that she currently is, and how much life seems to combat that desire!

Think about it. Zoe currently loves (LOVES!!!) the movie Annie, and I know I loved it when I was small, too. I remember belting out "Tomorrow" nonstop when I was three, and I totally wanted to be an orphan. I was thrilled that Zoe loves it so much, too.

But then, the first time Charles sat down to watch it with us, he (an Annie virgin) was actually, literally horrified. And, to his point, I sort of get it. Mrs. Hannigan is an absolute trollop, dancing around in her nighties and her pancake makeup, trying to get Mr. Bundles to take a roll in the back of his laundry truck. The sweet little orphans beat each other up and dance suggestively around their rooms, mocking their sole caretaker. And Rooster - he actually tries to KILL ANNIE!!

Ohmigosh, how can I let my sweet little goober watch that anymore?

And then tonight, in an effort to keep an overtired Zoe (two days in a row without a nap at school, God help us all!) from melting down after her bath, I randomly started singing another song I remember loving when I was little. Without even thinking, I belted out:

"There was an old lady who swallowed a fly...I don't know why she swallowed a fly...perhaps she'll die!"

And then I looked around guiltily, hoping against hope that Zoe wouldn't ask, "What does die mean?"

I just wasn't up for that conversation.

My mom would say that kids Zoe's age only understand what their little brains are capable of handling, and that she'll take a lot of good out of movies like Annie and songs like the old lady song. And I tend to agree...but then...

I remember...using her own (good) logic, my mom never censored (within reason) what we watched or read as kids. I started reading Stephen King's It in the seventh grade, and it took me all year to read, since I could only read a chapter or two before being SO SCARED that I had to put it away for a couple weeks...I got a lot more out of that book than I imagine my mom guessed...

So what if...my little innocent Zoe starts dancing suggestively or trying to wear pancake makeup and dance in little nighties? And what if that sweet turkey wants to know what it means to die? I'm still not ready for that conversation.

But then, as I started to go crazy about the implications of all this STUFF, I realized...Zoe is walking around belting out "Tomorrow" at the top of her voice, and her favorite part of Annie is when Punjab climbs down his turban and plucks the Annie from the top of the railroad bridge. And when I sang the old lady song, all Zoe cared about was the spider wriggling and jiggling, and that she had NO IDEA why that crazy old lady swallowed that fly in the first place.

I think she's going to be ok.

Still, though...I dropped the "Perhaps she'll die" line every time I sang. I'm not risking that conversation just yet...

Running out of words

Here's some self-analysis for a Saturday night.

(Speaking of analysis, have you ever seen Fame? I can't think of any sort of therapy/analysis without picturing Montgomery MacNeil talking about his analyst...I love him, and wish he was my friend. Ralph Garci? Not so much...but I digress...)

Anyway...as a mom who works (almost) full time (i.e. 32 official hours per week), I have come to realize that I talk a lot. A LOT. I mean it. Even though my job involves a lot of sitting at my desk, quietly testing software, I still go to meetings and have co-workers with whom I enjoy chatting. Plus I have a very verbal, precocious (everyone thinks their kid is precocious and very verbal, right?) two-year-old who thinks that if she is conscious, she should be talking. And she requires responses. All the time.

I also have a husband with whom I really like talking, parents, dogs, cats...the list could go on. It sometimes feels like I never really stop talking. Ever.

And I think of myself as a fairly quiet person, so that's been a bit of an adjustment for me.

Typically, by Thursday afternoon, I feel like I'm running out of words. Conversation starts to feel more forced, I start to be more irritated by just about anything said to me, and I begin to run out of the clever responses that tend to make people smile. But then usually, I have Friday off, and even if I keep my chatty Kathy child home with me, there's a whole naptime worth of quiet-time for me to regroup a little.

What a luxury! Sometimes upwards of two hours in which I DON'T HAVE TO TALK! I never knew how beautiful silence could be.

It's funny, because I know Charles must run into this as well. He is, after all, an officially full time working dad. But he's maybe a bit smarter about things than I am, and he grabs his quiet time in dribs and drabs throughout the week. An hour downstairs before Zoe or I get up each morning; lost in a book while we girls play a game outside. He's got the hang of it.

Anyway, when I start to run out of words, I simultaneously start to notice all the other things in my life which feel stressful. My dog whines a little more forcefully; my cat throws up a little more loudly. And the laundry feels more pressing, as do the fuzzies covering my carpet.

In other words, I get pretty grumpy, when I start to lose those words.

This week, I ran out of them sooner than usual. It was a busy week, and I was sick, and every night we went somewhere after work (to Charles's mom's, to a friend's shower, down to the farm where my parents keep their horses - all fun, but all SOMETHING). I was running out of words by Wednesday morning.

Then I worked Friday, and had a birthday party for one of Zoe's classmates this morning, where I had to make friendly small-talk with people I don't know very well (NOT a skill-set of mine). Zoe wore herself out, and was therefore completely needy/weepy for the rest of the day, even after a nap.

"Mommy, I NEEEEEEEED you."

I am so completely out of words, even carrying on small-talk with Charles now seems like an insurmountable task. I couldn't even summon the energy to ask what he was watching on the computer a few minutes ago (it sounded interesting...honey, what was it??), and I can barely grunt in response to any questions.

The good news is I am planning on running in the morning. Five miles, so about 50 minutes, alone with my iPod? Heaven! It should be just enough so that I can find my ability to converse on at least a basic level again.

Wish me luck!

Bunnies and shit

I'm sorry, I cannot write what I want to write because I just can't spit it out! But I want to write something. Because I need to write something.

And no matter how hard I try, I cannot make sense of the world right now. Politics is vicious, right? The left hates the right; the right hates the left; and no matter what is said nor how it's said, the left will pick apart the right and the right will claim persecution.

Ridiculous.

So I am going to write about bunnies or something else fun.

Bunnies are cute, right?

You know what's not cute? Blood libel - that's a pretty crappy term for a national figure to use, right? Especially in the guise of calling for a toned-down discourse, after using some very great words spoken by a very great President (Ronald Reagan - I may be blue, but he was my first known President, so I will always love him...and Bonzo). If you don't know what blood libel means, read this. It's pretty heinous, right? Let me be the first to promise that I've never used the blood of any of my Christian friends to make matzoh...possibly because I hate that chalky stuff...but more likely because it's a vicious myth.

So to invoke it, whether knowingly or ignorantly, is pretty much the exact opposite of toning down the rhetoric, in my humble opinion.

But wait...that was not about bunnies. That was content. Oh well.

Bunnies are cute, right?

Shit.

I'll end with this (more content coming: beware!!). I thought President Obama's remarks at the Tuscon memorial tonight were incredible, and if you find fault with them, I challenge you to take a deep breath and follow his wishes. Let's honor those who have fallen by just...being nicer to each other, ok? Let's be nice. Because being nicer is...nice.

Bunnies. I love 'em.

Good night.

Strange days indeed

OK, you have to admit it's been a really weird few days, right?

In the first place, I'm absolutely still reeling from Saturday morning's events in Arizona. Gabrielle Giffords, the other victims and their families have been in my thoughts almost constantly. I've been trying to wrap my head around the random act of insane violence so that I could write something even remotely coherent, but I've been unsuccessful. I just...don't...get it. I don't think I ever will.

So instead of trying to write about it, I'll just point you to three amazing pieces I've read:

A story about the intern who saved the Congresswoman's life

An opinion piece about the political rhetoric that possibly added to this tragedy

And David Brooks' call for reason and rationality

Please don't expect me to talk about the little girl killed that day. I just can't do it.

Anyway, in the midst of all this craziness and sadness, we had an anomaly down here in the South. An "ice storm" (translation: patchy, icy roads, and icicles hanging from Zoe's play set in our yard) closed district schools, and Zoe's daycare, today, and Charles and I took the day off. I don't trust the combination of southern drivers and ice, so I literally did not leave the house today, which is totally out of my norm. Typically, a day like today would drive me stir-crazy.

Instead, today was...fun. We had a great time together, all three of us. There was a movie, popcorn, lentil stew (YUMMY!), and a lot of dancing. It was such a treat, this surprise, lovely, snug day in our house, that I didn't even mind the horrifically gross weather outside.

So there you have it. My brain is muddled, I'm still (possibly irrationally) sad about the shootings in Arizona, but we had a lovely day. It's odd, sometimes...being me. Don't you think?

This is how my mind works

By now everyone has heard about the mysterious dead birds dropping from the sky all over the world. There were dead birds in Arkansas, Kentucky, Sweden and Italy, and then there were the dead fish too. Thousands of them turning belly-up in rivers not far from the dead birds.

At first I thought the dead birds were a little creepy, but I was sure there had to be some logical reason for their deaths and knew that by the end of the week some scientist would come on TV and explain the whole thing.

But then I heard about a second crop of dead birds, and then a third, and no one was explaining it. Where were the scientists to tell me this was nothing to worry about?

I tried to push all the crazy thoughts from my mind. Were there invisible UFO's hovering over us? Was there a terrible virus that would turn against humans? Was the government testing something and the dead birds were a side effect? Was it the end of the world?

I tried all week not to think about the dead birds. Every time a thought entered my mind, I would push it away. I was successful in my avoidance of the issue until I checked Facebook this morning. A friend of mine spent last night posting theories about the dead bird phenomenon.

I wanted to read her theories but knew I shouldn't. My mind was too ready to runaway with a conspiracy theory or world-ending prophecy. I tried to look away, I did. I told myself not to read the theories of a non-scientist as they would only create more hype and the last thing I needed was to worry about invisible UFO's. But my eyes locked in on the words "end of the world", "pack my bags and prepare", "Nostradamus 2011", "massive earthquakes." The more I read, the more my heart rate elevated.

I turned my fear into anger. Why would she post all this stuff? This was not for the weak. I seriously considered defriending her right then and there.

How could the world be coming to an end? There was so much I want to do, to see, to experience. The very thought that Max wouldn't have a future might send me into a panic. What if I never saw my family and friends again? Would I ever be able to sit on the beach and soak up the sun again? Was it really all coming to an end? If so, I'm going to be really pissed I didn't eat that piece of chocolate cake I wanted last night.

Luckily, I met Leah for lunch and told her about my newfound fear of the dead birds. When I arrived home this afternoon, I had this nice little link from Leah waiting for me. FACT CHECK: Mass bird, fish deaths occur regularly

Phew, thank goodness. I'll sleep sound tonight.