Kicking Pollyanna to the curb

So today Jack is sick.

Nothing major– just a phlegmy little cough and sniffling nose. We’re surrounded by people that have had bouts of strep throat/flu/Ick… so we’re lucky to just have a day of this, I know…

But. He’s four. And fractious. And forgets to cover his mouth when he coughs. And I’m on the glum side myself today. So it’s all made for a long day.

My job has shrunk. Blame it on the economy. Blame it on the changing face of the Museum Field. Blame it on the old presidential administration or the new one. Blame it on France. It still means I’m out about four hundred dollars a month. Jack has three more months of tuition, a possible gymnastics class, and a penchant for McDonalds once in while.

As for me– and yes, I am whining, I had my eyes on a couple of things that are now out the window. And I already miss the idea of going out to eat. (Two words: Tempura Rolls. Sigh.)

It’s all made me kind of Scroogey and grumpy. At least Jack’s been especially cuddley today. That’s taken some of the sting out of the rest of the world.

Argh.

Keeping all the Obamas in our life straight…

I wrote this last week. But, apparently, my computer burped in the posting of it… so here we go again. Pretend it’s Wednesday, January 21.

Yesterday Jack and I kept the television on to watch the Obama Inaugural and all it’s hoopla, pomp, and circumstance.

Jack recognizes Barack Obama. He delights in saying his name. It’s a fun name to say, for sure. For months, when he’s seen him on TV he’s announced, “Mommy! Daddy! That’s Barack Obama!”

I’ve typed it before— but I’m so glad that Jack will never question that any man can truly be president. (We’ll have to work on getting him to believe that a woman could do the job, too.) He’ll grow up taking for granted that “all men are created equal” and have to be taught that there was a time that wasn’t the case. What a great lesson plan that is—much better than, “well, yes, in theory anyone can grow up to be president…”

Of course—that he gets to take all that for granted has a downside. He’ll take it all for granted.

That’s what occurred to me yesterday while the military troops lined up and the masses and masses of people waved their American flags, and poor Ann Curry couldn’t hear anything from the feed in her ear but gamely joined in on dancing to “Shout!” while she navigated the crowds… I tried to explain to Jacky what was happening.

“This is a special day, Jack” “This is a special ceremony Jack— Mr. Obama will say special words and become our President” “See all the people? All the people are in Washington, DC—it’s a very big city where the President works and lives.” “What’s that building Jack? Yes! It’s the White House—that’s where the President and his family lives.”

Jack is four. For the most part, his Playmobile knights and little Cars vehicles held much more appeal than the insights of Matt Lauer, Meredith Viera, Brian Williams, and Tom Brokaw. Still, some of it made an impression.

Late in the day the Obamas were tucked into The Beast of a new armored presidential car and headed down Pennsylvania Avenue. With the promise of the parade in sight, I showed Jack the car and explained that the flags and the seal meant it was just for the President. Jack is a boy, through and through, so the car had some appeal.

Me: Who’s inside the car with the flags, Jack?

Jack: The little girls? Mrs. Obama? And Barack Obama?

Me: Well, I’m not sure if the little girls are in the car right now… but yes, Mrs. Obama is in the car and so is Barack Obama.

Jack: Mommy! Not just any Barack Obama! PRES-ident Barack Obama.

Me: Yes, Jack. President Obama.

We’ll see what the next four years bring. But this week has seemed so hopeful, so optimistic that it bodes well. For our little household, we’re hoping the next four years brings about good change and good discussion. And media tidbits about the adventures of the little Obama girls and life in the White House.

And as for Not-Just-Any-Barack-Obama-But-President-Barack-Obama, well, so help him God.

 

Stirring Creatures.

We’re still quite a few hours out till Jack is nestled all snug in his bed with the sugarplum dreaming… (not that he’ll dream about sugarplums. My money would be that any food dreams of his involve Little Ceasar’s pizza pizza or the little heart cookies my mother brings him from France…) We’re in pretty good shape. The last two days have been a frenzied attempt at getting everything done and ready so that tonight and tomorrow we can just relax.

Enjoy our pretty tree.

Light a Christmas Wreath candle.

Eat our weight in frosted cookies.

Everything is wrapped. Delivered even. All that’s left, after Robby runs the vacuum, is to rearrange the little creches so that Jack can find baby Jesus in the morning. Put the presents under the tree. Hang our stockings.

First off tonight is Jack’s Christmas choir in the children’s service at our church. Sunday’s version was a hoot. My little son brought down the house with his perfect, if exaggerated mimicry of his poor choir teacher’s gestures urging the children to sing louder. And the weird little dance he did in the middle of Away in a Manger.

Tonight, with his grandparents and AunT  and great Granny and our friends in the congregation who knows what he’ll do.

After church we’ll eat beef and noodles. I made the noodles this morning as my Granny taught me and used her rolling pin to roll out the stiff dough as thin as possible. (One batch I left thicker for my sister who doesn’t like them thin.)

We’ll light a candle on my Dad’s grave. Put out cookies for Santa, carrots for the reindeer, and sprinkle glittery oats on the snow for Rudolph to better find our house. Read our new Christmas book and put on our new jammies. Tuck Jack into bed. Help Santa with the Christmas.

To us all a good night.

Merry Christmas.

Mmmmm. Delicious are my words I’m eating

Okay. I was wrong.

Yay.

[For his part Jack went to the window this morning, pulled back the curtain and said, "Wow! Mommy! How'd that happen!?"]

Even deathrow inmates get outside, don’t they?

Jacky is torturing the dog. We’ve been cooped up all day. Jack is a little conjested and it’s biting cold outside… so we’ve stayed in and played inside.

And now he’s stored up a little too much energy for his tired Mommy.

The dog isn’t too happy, either.

Happy Anniversary Robby!

Today’s our anniversary. Fourteen years ago we were married in a relatively simple ceremony and a roomful of friends and family to wish us well.

It was a good day.

Then we went off on our Honeymoon which was a grand adventure. We went to Alaska. In November. We seemed to be the only non-residents there at the time and got quite a reception everywhere we went. It was fun.

Then– when we were brand new– we couldn’t imagine that every anniversary wouldn’t be as magical as our wedding day. We imagined years ahead of champagne corks popping.

Today has been somewhat ordinary and a little extraordinary. I got to “be the Mommy” in Jack’s class today. So my morning was spent with tempura paint and little scissors and happy little four year olds. They’re nice kids. I like being with them. The Mommy Helpers are minor celebrities in their world. It’s fun being a rockstar for the day.

While I was tidying up their little tables after snack (bananas and graham crackers and juice boxes if you’re curious) a delivery man brought in a bouquet of daisies and a mylar balloon wishing me a Happy Anniversary. The other Mommy Helper and Jack’s teacher agreed that I have a good husband.

AunT took Jack and I to lunch at McDonalds. The new Madagascar toys are in– so it was a fun lunch. And the nice men with the tall ladders have come to do our eavestroughs so, also, a good thing. Tonight is Jack’s little choir practice and dinner at church (hamburger gravy on mashed potatoes. Again– yay).

No champagne in sight but there was theme music this morning by way of my sister and nieces singing, “Happy Anniversary!” as the Flintstones did.

And isn’t this what the goal was 14 years ago? The two of us still happy. Still Us. Under our own roof and with the JackRabbit?

Happy Anniversary Boy!

The internet shouldn’t be accessible to crazy people

Okay. I’ve given you all a day to absorb it. Now get over it. It’s no longer about who you voted for or who you didn’t it’s about moving forward.

Yesterday I overheard a conversation that I still don’t know what to do with… two older people horrified that Barack Obama was elected president. The woman said things like, “I read on the internet where he’s going to take all the young black boys off the street and put them in uniforms and have them patrol the city streets like an army! They’ll go after all of us!”

No. I didn’t make this up.

The man said he wasn’t surprised. And added that he’s been telling everyone he knows to make sure they get their social security as soon as they can because the cut they’ll take in pay is better than nothing and now “they’ll get all our money!” By they it was clear he meant black people.

Again. Didn’t make this up.

“You know that there won’t be any of us one day! I read on the internet that by 2040 there won’t be any white people!”

“How could people be so stupid as to believe all his lies? The people that voted for him just don’t want to work– and he’ll let them just sit there while the rest of us do!”

It went on. And on. I was frozen to the spot unable to react. My mind was reeling with what I could say or what I should say and what I wanted to say. Their venom scared me so that I didn’t say anything.

And then– and this is the kicker… a little black girl walked in and the man adopted the voice you use with very small children– and cooed over her pretty hair. WHAT?

The people I overheard, I hope, are the extreme example. But there are lots of people grumbling. The facts, however, remain the same– Barack Obama is our president-elect. America gives us the right to disagree and to protest but it also charges us with the responsibility of all those freedoms. It would be nice if all the passionate energy of the campaign could now be channeled into a, “What can I do?” attitude.

It’s good to have someone in the White House that didn’t come up through a privileged dynastic system. It’s nice to think of small children in nation’s greatest home– and a president who will be keenly aware of how important education is. It’s good to have a huge investment into the country’s future made by the 18-24 demographic that came out in droves to vote. It’s very good that all children can believe, “You could grow up to be president if you want!”

And it would be really, really good if people could realize that the race is over– a winner emerged– and that, in a place where we all get to cast a vote and choose without fear of retribution, we all won.

Maybe the crazy lady will read THIS on the internet.

I voted

I walked to the polls yesterday. It was a beautiful Fall day here– lovely, big yellow leaves wafting down and unseasonably mild weather.

I didn’t take Jack to the polls. I should have– should have held his little hand and shown him the process… but really, in our town, the process isn’t very exciting. There aren’t any curtained booths– just cubicle-like dividers as though you are keeping your neighbor from copying your third grade math test. And there aren’t any neat machines with levers or touch screens– we have to fill in little bubbles with a black marker attached by string. The most exciting part is probably the machine that sucks in your ballot at the end…

I left Jack at his grandparents.

All morning the news reports warned of long lines and delays so I came prepared. I carried a book with me and relished the idea of an hour or two of uninterrupted reading.

Turns out our polling place was entirely too darned efficient. Extra quasi-booths had been set up and extra volunteers were in place. It took me longer to fill out my little card then it did to wait in line. My book wasn’t ever cracked open. Sigh.

And now, almost 24 hours later, with the results in I wonder why we have this long period of limbo. I’d hate to be George Bush now (or any sitting president)… I know that president-elects have lots to do. Cabinets have to be formed and plans made but do they need 3 months?

Life this week

Life throws a lot at you sometimes.

In the space of a week there’s been a reunion, a funeral, a wedding, and a vigil.

Joy and sorrow get all mixed up. A bittersweet smoothie.

My high school reunion was disorienting. The girl I was and the woman I am collided in a room full of strangely familiar yet strange faces. Some of my classmates have accomplished impressive feats. Some are far more attractive now then when we were teenagers. (“We really missed the boat on him, didn’t we?” my pal Gail and I agreed.) Some are more interesting, some are more kind… Still. I felt a little lost somehow. And ordinary.

The funeral was for a newborn– his little life was measured in days and hours yet the church was full. Is “good funeral” an oxymoron? Because it was. Our pastors are good people and they grieve, too. The homily that day started, “A life is a life no matter how long or short…” or to that effect. The parents wrote a letter that was read to us– an eloquent sermon in itself about remembering and about the wide ripple their little son made in the world.

The wedding was my friend Brad’s. Brad, at middle age, met Beverly and shed his bachelor trappings easily. I’ve typed before about weddings– how sometimes it’s difficult to witness the utter oblivion in which many couples cast their promises and intentions. Brad wrote his vows and he spoke them loud and clear with conviction. His new wife did the same. There is something to be said about age and maturity. Our joy at their union wasn’t tinged with the usual pangs of hoping they know what they’re doing. In this case they do. We drank our champagne with gusto knowing that each “May you always have this happiness” toast was more than wish– it’s expected that they will indeed.

And now a vigil– my friend’s mother is dying. Cancer, in it’s insidious way, is spreading and wreaking it’s havoc. So my friend is making the decisions and arrangements that must be made while her family gathers and prepares itself. It is a Christian family, for the most part, who agree on what happens next– her soul goes back to God while her body will be the subject of all kinds of arrangements.

Like I said. It’s been a busy week.

Crash and Burn

My laptop crashed.

My hard drive went to wherever it is hard drives go… as did the ridiculously named “Back Up” feature. HA! Yesterday is an entirely lost day of dealing with various computer people– a smug lady from India, and two entirely seperate local computer companies… all with little avail. About 8% of my files/images were recovered.

The rest is, well, gone.

I cried a lot. Screamed some. Ate some chocolate. Rode the centrefuge ride at the county fair. And finally resigned myself to the fact that I can’t do anything about it.

It’s the photos that other people sent me that I’ll miss. And the little home movies with the webcam of Jacky. And the guilty realization that I’ve now been paid for hours and hours of work with nothing to show for it.

Robby’s done everything he can do. Jack’s patted my arm and said, “It’s okay Mommy. There, there. It’s okay” in the same hushed voice I use when he’s upset. My boss and coworkers have been very supportive.

I think, however, that I will use a quill pen for a while.

Argh.