Seasonal Sustenance

I feel so lucky to be dating a man who actually asks ME to go Christmas shopping with HIM. And who is secure enough (and loves his niece enough) to spend a whole 20 minutes in the pink-and-girly plastic-toys-with-hair aisle at a large and busy store on a Friday Night while we agonize over which MyLittlePony is the right one to give a well-loved four-year-old. And then he bought her two.

Also, there are three cats snoozing on my bed right now. Mostly because I turned the heater on in my room, and cats like to be warm. The grey boys are all curled up together in a ball on one end, and Abbigale rests in majesty on her heated pet-pad with the flannel pillowcase on it (washable) at the other end. And there is a bit of half-hearted eyes-closed paw-licking going on, which is the very best kind, except when they take turns cleaning each other's faces.

AND I think I've nearly gotten my monthly expenses for the new year down to something that one might actually be able to pay with a part-time or lower-wage job. It gives me options. And hope. And if I DO get a job that actually pays me what I'm worth-- then I'll be able to pay off all those darn debts THAT MUCH FASTER!! Which is a very exciting possibility.

Why is it that Christmas has become a time of death-gripping our concentration on money, of all things?! I find that appalling. I also recently found my "just-in-case" box of little gifts I picked up here and there over the past three years because I thought somebody might like them. And that box is saving my bacon this Christmas. YAY for being so excited about giving that I randomly buy maybe someone would like this gifts, and then store them until a time when I have no money and lots of people who need to know I love them. YAY!!! (and if you don't get a little gifty from me this year, know I still love you anyway...)

And the best news of the season? When I move in with GB, I'll get to bring most of my kitchen gear with me. And he'll treat it with the same careful respect he treats HIS stuff. I can't wait to have access to my kitchen gear again!! YAY!

And finally? I'm in the midst of the second step of the three-step process one goes through to make their book ready for publication. THE SECOND STEP, PEOPLE. As soon as I've gotten a solid 50 pages-- the first 50 pages-- ready to go, I can start applying for agents again. AND EVEN EXPECT TO GET ONE. It's going to be so awesome to finally see this book in print.

Well, 2009 was the Year of Integration. I wonder what 2010 will bring. I hope it's the year I get solid in my career. That'd be nice. Or maybe it'll be the year of being Centered and Balanced. Or the year of fruitful beginnings? I like fruit. Especially apples and dried bananas.

Seasonal Sustenance. What's in YOUR stocking this year??

Growing Up Good

I copied this post from the link below. I'm reposting it here because it gives me so much hope. (Much-needed hope!)
http://community.livejournal.com/library_mofo/1175117.html
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Non-mofo award
I've been meaning to mention this one for a while, but...

To the two-year-old twin girls who come in with their mom, so well-behaved, and clean up the children's area when they're finished playing, and always push in the chairs, and wait until we're done with the patron on the computer before showing us that wonderful book they found this time, that they're so excited about getting to read... Thank you. May you grow up just as wonderful as you are when you visit us...and just as generous.

We actually have a whole bunch of awesome little kids at work, but these two really take the cake. They came toddling in one day with their mom, nearly bouncing, and came up to return their books, and handed us a bag. Inside was the majority of their joint sticker collection. One of the things we've had to cut back on is fun kid-stuff, like coloring/activity pages, and the stickers the kids get at the end of their visit, at checkout. These two little girls visit with their mom regularly, and always ask for a sticker, like the other little ones...so they donated their sticker collection from birthdays and other presents so that everyone could still get one, when they come to the library.

The Middle Child

So GB is a middle child. And my awesome cousin, KJ is a middle child... and they've had surprisingly similar childhood challenges. GB is convinced that this simply IS the middle child experience, and everybody should stop ignoring that fact-- the same way they ignore the middle child, dammmit. And he may have a point.

The oldest is the first one, and usually gets extra special everything, until the next child comes along anyway. More photos get taken of that child, more new clothing and "just for you" toys get purchased... But the second child usually gets the hand-me-downs. And any harsh rules generated by the first child's escapades. Then the third child comes along. The baby of the family.

I don't think this is always the case-- and I know the dynamics in four and five-child households are quite different... but it's been an interesting comparison to make. Especially in light of the number of my friends who are suddenly pregnant or trying to GET pregnant. I tell you, I've switched to bottled water just to be safe.

Growing Up

Everybody is growing up. I had dinner with my West-Coast family tonight. TE looks and acts like a professional lawyer-- she's wonderful. She's barely a year older than I am, too, and no longer new to her profession. Her baby is fussy and cute and 5 months old. Her oldest daughter is already more mature than last time I saw her. And taller. She's going to out-grow her mother yet, I think, and I worry that maybe she's not getting the love and careful attention her needy and dramatic little soul needs sometimes. She sure likes to shop.

My parents are older, too. They squint and help each other remember things. It's been a long time since Uncle R has changed his own babies' diapers... and here he is, at it again with grandchild number four. I guess I'm growing up, too, in a way. Learning to navigate between my old fears and my new possibilities. Learning to take intelligent emotional risks, and learning to let my body rest when I am tired.

I even got a great fortune cookie after dinner tonight-- Use your abilities at this time to stay focused on your goal. You will succeed. I don't know who wrote it, but I sure did need to hear it. I have a picture of an abundant life-- my abundant life-- in my head. Sometimes I feel it's within easy reach, and sometimes it doesn't matter how far or how thin I stretch myself, my goals remain very far away. Funny to realize that how little adults really know and control in real life.

I guess that's a learning process, too. And I'm okay with that. I think I've come a long way in the last four years, and I'm proud of me. I just want a library job... and these days, I feel that it'd be nice to have one fairly close to home-- and in an academic library or vendor service. I'd like to be financially self-sufficient, and emotionally come from a place of strength. Right now, I'm just tired. So tired I'm actually emotionally numb, and my shoulder/neck is hurting in a way it hasn't for weeks now.

I know part of that is the way I've spent the last several days-- scrambling to pull an interview together, catching up on all my web-based commitments. There was a huge day of family and their friends, with hard news about an illness of someone dear to me in the midst of the festivities, and a concert on the lawn. My Saturday ended after midnight, and I was tired and raw from navigating it all. Excited about Sunday, but nervous, too. Dating seems to have much higher emotional risks than friending ever has.

Sunday was a very good day. Longer than I'd expected, I was on my feet for nearly seven hours straight, and having good conversation with a new friend. I think we're dating, but I'm not really sure. I hope that conversation will come as easily as all the other talk has so far... It was a real success to be relaxed and not let my fears about my own shigt intrude-- for a whole day of one-on-one time with someone whose opinion of me I really value. I can't pretend the shigt isn't there... but I can decide how I'm going to act when I recognize it. And maybe... maybe this guy with so many other amazingly great qualities will be great about my shigt, too. I'd like that.

I stayed up late again, trying to work things out in my head. Trying to separate old nasties from new realities. Trying to figure out what had actually happened, what I was told had happened, and what I want to have happen next. The first person I need to be clear and honest with is me, after all. So, exhausted again, I fell into bed after midnight on Sunday.

Monday itself has been a blur of running errands, finishing web responsibilities, making the long drive to family dinner (arriving 45 minutes early, only to find that nobody'd called for a reservation) and back home again... And I realize I will sleep tonight. I'm exhausted both in body and in mind. I need time to process all I've done and felt and thought and seen and heard. I have more errands to run, and breakfast with a very dear friend in the morning-- somewhere near 23rd. Somewhere. Then there's work to do, and I'd really like to sort and stash everything from that nasty lump of crap in the middle of my floor tomorrow. It's time.

Balancing my own needs and the responsibilities and desires I feel (including the desire to make everyone around me happy, too) is yet another aspect of growing up. One I'm still working to achieve in a healthy and balanced way. I'll get there... but it may take a while longer. I'm not all THAT grown up yet, and my birthday is coming. Time enough to figure things out when I'm 3o. Right?

...let's see... that gives me a whole three weeks to bumble around in the dark here... give or take.

Hi, this is cool.

Okay, go check out this podcast of this all-girl's elementary school. It rocks. It's also kinda funny at times-- because these are kids. And kids are funny sometimes.

CHECK THIS OUT!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gVhzDJPxKKg&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Ffeministing%2Ecom%2F

YAY!

So I did my first official library event today-- my first all by myself not at the library event, that is. And I think it was a success. I feel good. And thank goodness a couple of volunteers showed up to help! I hope I didn't take over too much, because I was SO glad to have more than just me at that table. Especially with all the little kids using glue at the same time!

We made puppets. We colored in big bubble letters. We stuck stickers everywhere. And we handed out info on age-appropriate books and the Unknown Public Library. We also got to pet a turtle and a hedgehog, watch the hula dancers, and stay dry in the rain while the orchestra performed. Free face painting, too. What could be better on a Sunday afternoon?!

Oh, and I even got to read one of the storytime stories I'd brought-- to an audience of one freaked out little kindergartener, and his grateful teenage cousin. It was a definite success.

Now I just have to muster enough energy to do my homework. Riiiight.

Has it All

Driving home from work yesterday, saw a big macho truck.
And this truck had every macho or cool thing the owner could think of.
-It was jacked up.
-It was black.
-It had a skull and crossed bones sticker on the tailgate.
-It had steer antlers.
-It had a shark fin.
-It had the stickers that look like bullet holes.
-It was pretty funny to see ALL the gimmicks on one vehicle!

The little boy I nanny put in a special request for books about trains and airplanes from the "libbery" this week. He was so thrilled yesterday when I BROUGHT THE BOOKS!! Sat right down and flipped through each of them. I just love that.

The little girl took her first two steps yesterday!!! I called mom right away and told her about it, even though she was at work. She was so thrilled! Who knows how long it'll be until the next steps happen, but that was just SO COOL!!!

Migrant Birds

Spent two hours on a Migrant Farm handing out free children's books (mostly written in Spanish) and trying to understand Spanish as it was spoken today. Had to thank my ex for taking every opportunity to speak Spanish to other Spanish speakers-- I'm actually practiced at trying to understand a full-speed conversation from the few words I can recognize. And the more I listened, the more words I remembered (basic ones like Gracias and La Biblioteca and los libros-- books).

It was hot, dusty, and challenging, and I am TOTALLY EXHAUSTED. I can't imagine what it must be like for the farm workers-- most of whom do not speak any English-- to deal with these conditions-- including the lack of language skills-- every day! We went with a great group of dedicated people who brought free clothes and free food and ice cream for the kids. They offer to help people fill out forms, and they provide domestic violence intervention. The volunteers all speak Spanish, and all they want is to help their fellow people who are new to America to find her many opportunities.

I also realized that I'd been so nervous and scared about doing this because I viewed migrant workers as "those strange beings" who had nothing to do with me or my life. The thing is-- they are just normal people trying to get through their day. The clothes they wear are like ours because they are the clothes we outgrew or stopped liking and donated somewhere. These people we met with took great pride in their appearance, and many looked cleaner, and more slick than I did by a long-shot-- since I was hot, dusty, tired, and I just don't seem to control my hair very well at the best of times.

The teen aged girls had cliques and insider comments to make to each other. The little toddlers just wanted your full attention and as many books as they could hold. The parents and adult workers just wanted a little extra to put aside for hard times, or a special treat for their kids-- and free is a very good price. Just normal people.

And we didn't go to Tumbucktoo to see them, either. We went to the corner of two main streets-- where they meet about a mile from the center of town. It's the outskirts, but definitely not the boonies. There were still fences with lawns and shrubs on both sides of the street. And then we turned in to a gravel drive. There was a guard who had to approve our entry. He did this by glaring at us as we drove past, and then waving an arm at the parking area where we were supposed to set up our stuff.

So I'm glad I went. And I want to go again. But I also feel even more strongly about taking those Conversational Spanish classes as soon as I graduate. I have a lot to learn about my fellow wo/man. I think maybe we all do.

Pumpkins

I just found the most AWESOME set of blogs! The kick-off blog is called Three Beautiful Things, and it's author has started a revolution. The 3BT revolution. You will now see it as one of my labels on a regular basis. I love this idea. LOVE IT!

The other two spin-offs (much encouraged) of the original that I've found so far-- and love-- are called Simple Things, and Pumpkin Diary. I think H&J will especially appreciate the Pumpkin Diary, as it is a first-time father's account of his first child-- from conception to 2 years, so far.

The idea is that each blogger will start a blog section, new post, what have you in which they make a commitment to post three things that brought them joy or made them smile every day. POSITIVE REINFORCEMENT, PEOPLE! I love it. So-- in honor of this delicious find, here are my three things of the day:
-Three Beautiful Things
-Simple Things
-Pumpkin Diary

YAY!

Course Number 5603

Okay. Life is GOOD. I just got back from my local library (okay, from the big library in the sky that isn't so local but has a whole 50-foot room dedicated to children's books).

I was there borrowing books for my first few modules of class. Children's and Young Adult Literature. AKA LS 5603-20. Or, as the professor has titled it on the Blackboard program, "The Best Children's Lit Class EVER." So I just got to go to the library, and spend legitimate time in the Children's Library Section-- browsing children's books. I think I just died and went to heaven. Do you KNOW how much I love children's books??? I love them all the way to the moon, and back! (See Guess How Much I Love You by Sam McBratney).

And then it hit me-- I get to do this EVERY THREE WEEKS or so for the whole summer!! I tell you, I haven't felt this level of excitement since before I went back to school.
...is that wrong?

Only in Oregon

My Macintosh Computer is faster, easier to use, more intuitive, better-organized, has fewer bugs, is harder to screw up by mistake, never had a blue screen of death, has cleaner graphics, windows is based off the operating system of a mac, and on and on. I love my mac. Wouldn't trade it for the world, and I am very familiar with IBM computers. Currently, it's also my sound system, my education system, my social system (via the internet), and a piece of art.

And yet, for my schooling, I have had to switch between three THREE browsers in order to be able to access the buttons on the blackboard program over the last three semesters... because I use a Mac. And now? The only browser that currently works can't find its server. At all.

Folks, this is FINALS WEEK. In fact, I have today to write a major final paper, and tomorrow to write the last one of the semester. And I have an all-day class through my local community college on Saturday, visit my folks Sunday, and have my first day at my new internship for library world on Monday. This is a BAD TIME for my browser connection not to work.

(Update: It's not the browser-- it's the TWU server. No server. No TWU access. No library link. No paper. NOOOOOooooo....)

Not only that, but the LJ blog I'm contributing to just went live today-- YAY-- and I can't type in my own blog entries... because I have a Mac. Not the fault of LJ at all-- in fact, they've been working tirelessly to get a patch to this problem because I'm not their only mac-using contributor. And today? I can't even login to the blog tool for LJ. Great. I was going to use that money to finally get new contacts and maybe a long-overdue dental cleaning. I need my teeth.

I'm just getting fed up.

Beyond that-- this week I nannied Tuesday AND Wednesday-- two 10-hour days in a row, with a total of 4 hours of driving between work and home. And know what? Little 6 month old E. is sick with the same head cold that 2-year-old N. gave me last week. I'm not quite over it yet, and starting to wonder about things like "how expensive is ear infection medicine if you don't have health care?"

And N.? He's two. And the tantrums have started. Oh, yes. Let me tell you, he has LUNGS. On Tuesday the one that sticks out in my mind (over all the other ones) is the one where I gave him a special treat of 3 craisins (forbidden after breakfast)-- which he happily mixed into his yogurt (also a special treat-- because he finished his veggies at lunch). Then he ate the three bites of yogurt with craisins in it, and demanded more craisins. No dice. Sorry. Lucky you to get yogurt, though! ...

AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH (with a little whining at the start and end, and a lot of big tears). "Yogurt is a special treat, N. So you can stop whining and enjoy the rest of your yogurt, or you can go have a time out to calm down." He picked time out. PICKED IT OVER YOGURT. So he got to sit in his "time out chair" until he calmed down. Which was a loud process, and took a while. I spent the time cleaning up lunch. With a six-month old, that can take a while, too. N. came back to the table. Where was the yogurt?? Oh- well, you didn't want it anymore, so I put the rest of it in the garbage. That's what happens when you don't want something-- it goes away.

.... AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH..... It was a long day. That was Tuesday.

Wednesday? Yeah. Wednesday, he was really REALLY jealous of "all the attention" his little sister was getting-- the sick 6-month-old. Who just crawled for the first time, getting a black eye in the process, and has really not complained much at all about the nasty head cold she has and only gets held when we feed her a bottle now because of N.'s jealousy issues. And she just deals with it, with a smile for any attention she does get. He spent most of the day trying to act like a baby and taking toys away from E. and taking great joy in telling her NO WHINING, E.! over and over again. She was very confused. She hadn't been whining.

Luckily, this was also Wednesday. I love cats.

This is John Henry. He's the one who is bigger than the soccer ball. His brother, Scooter, is the one whose butt was the same height as the dining chairs. My hands did eventually get washed, by the way. (I have time to tell you all this and download these great photos because the TWU server is still down. I checked.)

So now I need to get online-- into the TWU online library databases and find myself 15-20 citations of recent Library Literature-- scholarly articles about library stuff, usually written by librarians, and published in library magazines-- that support my project proposal for my local public library-- which proposal was unknowingly dictated by a series of weekly projects about different facets of a professional project proposal over the course of the semester. We couldn't rewrite one of the facets for the proposal we've now decided on-- no. We had to pick five of the existing short papers we already wrote (out of about twelve), and explain why each was relevant to the project we were doing. So I'm not doing the project I'd like to do today-- one that would be easy to find Library Lit about. No. I'm doing the only topic I actually wrote a full five short papers about (or almost about).

And I can't access the online TWU library databases because the only internet access thingy that currently works with TWU's system (yeah- they don't tell you when they switch which program they are supporting, either-- that was a fun two weeks earlier this semester!-- HELP MY BUTTONS ARE DISAPPEARING... what? Use Safari? Last semester you told me to throw Safari out because you only supported Firefox for mac-users. The semester before that, all I could use was IE. You're sure? And you say it's ALWAYS been Safari?...right...) CAN'T FIND ITS SERVER.

...sigh...

Well, I feel better. There is something about just COMPLAINING without having someone try to tell you how to fix your problem that really helps it be a problem you can go back and deal with for a bit longer. I mean, really. Just getting acknowledgment that the situation sux-- it DOES suck. But that doesn't mean I don't know how to make it work anyway. And with that in mind, I'm going back online (safari doesn't support google, so I can't enter my blogs in that program...) to see if Safari is back on line yet. So I can finish my paper. So I can pass the class. And start writing the next paper.

Did I tell you about driving home from work last night? (a much happier topic than my final papers, so let's ruminate here for a bit) It was classic Oregon weather. I mean-- yeah, the Northwest is known for it's Rain etc... but each State (I've lived in them all, including some quality time in the State of Insanity) has its own flavor. And you dress a little differently for each one. In California, you bring a sweater just in case it gets cold, or if you are in a really air conditioned building. In Washington, you have an umbrella, and you bring your close-toed shoes to cross the parking lot to your car after work.

But in Oregon... so there I was, driving home from 10 hours of screaming high maintenance with about five different colors of body fluid and baby food on my shirt... The sun was out, but the wind was up. I got blown around on the road a bit. Then it started to rain. Then I had to switch the wipers to DOUBLE-HEAVY-DUTY so I could sorta see the tail lights of the car in front of me through the groundswell and the rain. Then the sun came out, and there was a gorgeous double rainbow. Which I took pictures of through my windshield. As I drove, the end of the rainbow came to rest on the hood of my car. It was magickal. Then it started hailing. Not quite the size of marbles. The sound inside my car was deafening. There in rush-hour traffic on a main highway... and the rain mixed in with the hail, and some of it hit the windshield more like snow... and then it was the HEAVY RAIN again, and then the sun came out for a while longer. After that, it was mostly wind and drizzle. Wow. I felt like I'd gone through a thorough cleansing and rebirth. The whole thing was beautiful. Happy May! And really... what good would an umbrella have done in THAT?

So, yeah. In Oregon, you layer. This is what we do every day, because who KNOWS what the weather will bring. A t-shirt in case it warms up or your car sits in the sun all day and gets HOT. A sweatshirt because it's going to be cold in the morning and cold once the sun goes back down, and cold if some fool has switched on the A/C already this year in some of the buildings. You bring a change of socks because it doesn't matter what kind of shoes you are wearing, your feet will get soaked. You bring an umbrella if you are trying to preserve makeup and a delicate hair-do. You bring a gortex raincoat if you're a real Oregonian, and you forget to put the hood up unless it's REALLY RAINING. Those zip-off pants were made for Oregonians. They save us having to find a bush to change our pants behind when it gets HOT, or COLD-- as it does frequently throughout the day here, most of the time. Of course, if you go that way, you might have to shave off that warm winter layer of leg hair... at least below the knee...

Have I ever told you about the two weeks my senior year of high school-- and all the things that kept us going home early and getting days off? Two weeks-- I kid you not-- we got out of school for high winds, flooding, snow, someone set fire to the school- twice- AND there were a couple of days where temperatures hit 80* in those weeks, too. Only in Oregon.

Okay. Time to stop procrastinating and go write papers and things. Maybe my new Legally Blonde CD will help... Nothing like a little Girl Power to get your mojo going. Especially when what I really want is a nice nap to the sound of the rain... or in the warm sun from my window... or most probably- both. Photos of said double rainbow through windshield will be forthcoming. Not sure how the ones I tried to take of the hail turned out, though...

Here's the double rainbow-- the "shadow" one is to the left of the primary. They are both amazing works of art. No, the TWU website is not up yet. So I'm playing with pictures. I might even get a shower in today if this keeps up! Wow.

The other half of the rainbow, on the way past.

Self-entertainment, thy name is "Librarian."

By the way, my mystery plant-- the one from this winter that Abbigale didn't manage to eat before I transplanted it outside (in the middle of winter)-- it is definitely a sweet pea vine. The evidence was delicious.

Circles and Arrows, and a Paragraph on the Back of Each One

Went to my dad's 60th "Old Guys" party today. His label, not mine. He and mom invited everyone they could locate (or were actually still in contact with) from their days living and teaching in a town long ago and far away. And, as a nod to who they used to be, and what they all used to do together, they made it a potluck (like the ones I vaguely remember from my pre-school days) and Dad baked his famous oatmeal cookies with the Secret Ingredient.

Seeing those cookies on the counter when I arrived let me know just HOW IMPORTANT this event was for him-- because the combined efforts of the entire extended family have only convinced him to make these cookies about three times in the past 15 years. Yeah.

When you think about it, turning 60 is the new turning 50, really. Life perspective and life goals change. Talk of latest medical procedures or tests escalates. You start to think that maybe it's time to hire that kid down the street to mow the back yard. You take up yoga or biking. You eat less and take vacations more. If you're my Dad, you take Mom kayaking and finally buy a bigger TV. In your free time, you give detailed lectures to anyone who will listen about exactly what you plan to do with that brown spot in the grass that never goes away.

Seeing those oatmeal cookies today, I realized that those specific cookies are a symbol of comfort and of family continuity for me. They are a symbol of my childhood and my dad's love for the people around him. He only made cookies when there were people he loved to share them with- a lot of people. And when I was little, the coolest part was when he'd tell us he ALMOST FORGOT to put the Secret Ingredient in this time, but he remembered at the last minute, and that's why the cookies turned out so good. Again.

Actually, a lot of my family celebration/familial love memories center around cookies. Like the first time I actually one-up'd my dad, the quintessential one-upper. I was two. It was awesome.

So there we were, making cookies together-- me and my Dad! He'd rolled out the dough, and gotten the baking sheet greased, and there were the two cookie cutter shapes he'd picked out for us to work with, and I actually was going to HELP COOK. He set me up on the counter by the dough, and gave me the circle cookie cutter. Then he explained the general idea of using a cookie cutter to make shapes in the dough. Fair enough. WHOP! I thumped that circle down in the MIDDLE OF THE DOUGH. He almost had a heart attack right there in front of me. I remember-- very clearly-- that he actually shoved his fingernails into his mouth to keep from screaming.

So then he gently and carefully explained about fitting as many circles into the rolled-out dough as you could-- very carefully-- because you didn't want to RE-roll it out too many times. It made the cookies rise funny or something. Fair enough. WHOP! WHOP! WHOP!!

It was about then that his face turned purple, and his eyes got about as big as his glasses-frames. Ay-Yi-YIE! Then he actually looked at the circles I'd cut in the dough. With fear. He really thought that little 2-year-old me (who was being trusted to help Dad Cook for the first time ever) had just completely ignored his careful directions. Silly Daddy.

I'd placed those three circles right on the edge of the rolled-out dough, so close together that the edges just touched, in about half a second. Papa blinked a few times, and then handed me the other cookie cutter to try out, and got busy putting my perfect circles onto the tray to bake.

There's even a picture that my mom took around that time in my life-- of me and my Dad, covered in flour, hunched together over a rolled out piece of cookie dough. I'm sitting on the counter on the left, he's leaning against the counter on the right, and the cookie cutter is flying.

Leverage, Says You

I've moved around a lot in my lifetime. Not as much as some folks I know, and mostly in the Northwest, I'll grant you. But... (I'm counting)... I moved five times last year alone... and ten times before that-- not including college. Everyone moves around during college.

This year, I managed a first. In the one month this year has existed, no less. I moved without being aware of it. Yes. I find that impressive. In fact, it was this weird little 21 year old banker at my local branch (who kept saying "Score Team!" whenever he entered info into a field on the computer, and it stayed there) who informed me of the change. Apparently, I've not only changed zip codes, but I'm now in a different town as well. The post office has just been nice about forwarding my mail for the past few months, apparently, because they are nice like that. (And yet, nobody TOLD me that I MOVED! I guess some things are supposed to be self-evident. I haven't even noticed any extra boxes sitting around!) I still don't know what this will mean for my taxes, either. But, I'm a veteran when it comes to moving. I know enough not to panic for the first few months if I can't find my bank statement or my birthday gifts are delivered in person (a few months after the fact) because it's just easier that way. Not a problem.

(As a side note, my cat has now given up her attempts to physically move my fingers from the keyboard with one paw, and down onto HER, where she believes they'll be much more useful, and is now informing me that it's cold in here. She does this by sitting very primly in front of the only heater in the living room. RIGHT IN FRONT OF IT. Shrinking in upon herself. Because she knows this is usually the warmest spot in the house, and it's NOT. So I've given in to peer pressure, and turned on the heat. As soon as she felt the warm spot get warm, she relaxed her posture, and started washing her paws. Success! Those big idiots can be TAUGHT!! I hope to feel the same way about my govergnment someday.)

Apparently, the part of town I was living in got too big, and had to be annexed. Rather than just giving us a new zip code, they decided instead to give us to a smaller neighboring town. How sweet. Is it legal to give my home to someone else without my consent? It is if my taxes are lower as a result, that's for sure.

Taxes. I went to a poetry reading over the weekend. Well, actually, I went to the 18th Annual International African-American Read-In at one of my local libraries. How it can be African-American AND international, I have no idea, but they did it. And it was an excellent event. I'm planning to keep an eye out so I can attend again next year. One of the speakers was a Ms. Alicia Jackson. She read a poem she'd written, and I LOVE IT. I want a copy of it. I just don't know if it's in print yet. All about how the world is... in her mind's eye... with everybody making enough money, no taxes (since we didn't make the mess we're paying for anyway) and children in all countries with food, shelter, safety and love, and reports from the governmgent you can trust, institutions to Educate, and not to Incarcerate, no drunk drivers with multiple warnings who just go out and do it again, and so on... But how that's not real. It's not the world we live in right now. It was a beautiful poem, well-read, and an appropriate reminder that there is always work for us to do, bringing our dreams for ourselves and our children and neighbors and friends into reality.

It's this annual worry about taxes that reminded me. Another civic duty. One so totally disconnected from our actual choices of leadership and interactions with our governing body's adopted laws, and hands-on volunteer efforts to make a difference on this earth, that most of us don't even connect the two in our minds anymore. We pay taxes because we make decisions about where the money goes... through voting. It's not just because we have to pay even more money later if we don't pay it now, and Big Brogther is Watching.

I don't feel the connection anymore. America is too big, too ruled by the politics of corporations and money lenders, the computer programmers and ballot counters too biased, and the whole system too unwieldy for me to believe that I actually make a difference by casting my one little vote. I think we, the people, have more voice by rioting in the streets en mass than we do by voting sometimes. But I still vote. Because just maybe, someday, some of what I see in my mind's eye will exist when I open my eyes, too. And I'd like to be a part of that.

Had an interesting conversation with a good friend about Social Segcurity today. Somehow, of the vast majority of people I've spoken with in my generation... none of us believe we'll see any Social Security payments in our lifetimes. We know the SS taxes we pay this year will go directly to pay the dues owed our grandparents and the older retirees, THIS YEAR. We know that the current average life expectancy of a woman is 97. We know our parents-- the Baby Boomer generation-- will probably see that age. Most of them. And that most of them, who saved for retirement at all, were on the "we'll live about 20 years after we retire" plan. Because back when they were my age, that was the life expectancy... about 82. Even life insurance plans don't go past age 99. There hasn't ever been any point to doing so before.

So how will they live out those last twenty years? They'll use Medicare and Medicaid, and Social Security, and loans and credit cards and second mortgages if they can. There aren't as many workers in the coming generations-- a terrible ratio between the working and the retired that does not bode well for any SS financial reserves or even any direct payments to be left for us gen-Xers, and those in the surrounding generations. (I'm not actually sure what mine is called...) So we all know how important it is to save for our own retirements. And none of us expect to stop working at age 60 or 62 or 65. We'll only be middle aged by then. Heck, my parents took up kayaking at age 60! They aren't old. No way! ... so I know when their retirement money runs out, there had better be an extra room on the ground floor with their name on the door, and a bathroom they can use down the hall. They aren't leaving this world any time soon, and I'm glad of it. (They would be horrified if they knew I plan on this happening. On them moving in with me. They are independent and capable right now. And they have planned for retirement. I think they just still look at it the way they did when they first started saving. And they don't want me to feel obligated to them in their old age. I don't as such... but with love comes responsibility, and it is not a choice they can make for me. So I borrow house plans with mother-in-law suites from the library, and ask about their latest boating trip on the phone.)

We are making more amenities and programs and resources available to our retirees because they have leverage. They are a large and growing group in our population, and they have special needs. "Leverage, says you... I feel a change in the wind, says I." (Quoting a pirate, for all that I don't believe those who fall behind should be left behind. What kind of social morals are those? ...And do we want to risk actually being one of the ones falling behind some day?)
You see, there is a ray of hope in this, if you can call it that. First, we all see it coming, so we have time to prepare. And second, the younger generations-- kids in 4th and 5th grade-- they have actually got a SHORTER life expectancy. The first generation of kids who can expect to live shorter lives than their parents and grandparents did. At that point, when they retire, SS probably won't kick in until they are about 75 or 80 anyway, and by then... most of them will already be dead from cancer or growth hormones or apathy or asthma or aids or diabetes or chronic obesity or chronic depression. Heck, half of the coming generations will probably be BORN with these challenges... and many of them won't be able to work at all ever anyway-- so again, Social Secgurity as it stands would be a moot point.

So what is our government doing to ensure that there is a new and more adequate plan in place to answer the swelling medical needs of our country? To deal with the aftermath of changing everything to cater to the retiring Boomers as we are struggling to do now... and having those changes to the system still in place after those boomers are gone, when the population of America suddenly decreases dramatically... but for the incoming swells of people with dreams, born in other countries, and needing health care and unemployment insurance just like the rest of us humans? How will we care for the ill, the homeless, those unable to hold or work a job, the multitudes of our men and women who are mentally and physically ill from the wars or from toxic work environments? How will we stem the increasing proclivity of our youth to rely on credit cards and bank loans for income and for unexpected expenses like hospitalization and pregnancy?

I don't know. But I keep voting, and closing my eyes to see the world I want to live in, and paying those taxes anyway. I don't want my parents to be homeless one day either, and I'm willing to pay into a government program to keep that from happening. Call it social security if you want.

Dozers

It's genetic. When my mom got tired, she would just fall asleep as soon as she stopped moving. It was that simple. And, apparently, it's catching.

And my mom did a LOT-- she gardened, cooked all our meals from scratch, made most of my clothes, took care of me and the house, and sometimes another child or two as well... had a part-time job, canned foods from the garden... on and on and on. She was tired a lot. So she'd sit down to watch a movie with the family, or lie down next to me to tell me a bedtime story... and she'd miss the last half. We'd have to wake her up so she could go to bed. Her bed. And the funny part was that often, when she finally went to bed, she'd start worrying. She'd worry about this and that and the expiration date on the milk and what if her daughter went out with friends one afternoon and didn't come home and... She'd be up all night thinking these horrid destructive thoughts. And the next day, she'd be tired.

Yet another chapter in "Adventures with Mom" would be written when she sat down in a nice comfy driver's seat, with a head rest and warm air blowing on her toes... to drive over the mountains and to the beach later that afternoon. After a while, she started bringing carrots and ice with her in the car, and I stopped talking so much when we drove places. I think it was quite a relief to us both.

(I did, however, come away from it all with the highly useful-- and oft used-- skill of talking about nothing for long periods of time to desperate people who need to be distracted by something unimportant. The variety of desperate situations which call for this particular skill continue to confound me.)

Genetically speaking, I find that I also need to stop and sleep when I get tired these days. I don't have a button on the back of my head or anything, but if I'm trying to read my school books or focus on the budget, and I didn't get enough sleep the night before... I might as well just go lie down for a bit and get it over with. And I keep a bag of fish crackers in the car, just in case. After all, you never know when the urge to nap may strike!

Why am I telling you all this? Well! This morning, I had to get up a half-hour earlier than usual for work. 4:30am. For those of you who do this on a regular basis-- GOOD LORD!! It was for a good cause, and I'm glad I did... but I was also very glad to get home early, and fall back into bed for a few hours. Now, as long as I don't start to worry about re-applying for the FAFSA and finishing Sue's Quilt and paying the rent on time, and what will happen if I don't check my other email for another week, and... I should get some decent sleep tonight, and be able to catch up on my school reading tomorrow. The thing is, I actually had to take a cat nap during one of my breaks. I just could NOT keep my eyes open! It's genetics. It has to be. A whole race of people who NEED THEIR SLEEP! I have a name for them, too. Dozers.

(Don't mess with my reasoning here. I'm quite happy to blame genetics for this little fact. If I think about how many different pies I have in the oven, I'll start to worry. Don't mess with it, I say!)

What Animal Are You?

I had a moment today at work. Two, actually. One moment of trying very hard not to break out with a fit of insane giggles, and one of real brain-pain. You see, I'm a nanny. And one of the children I work with is about 2 years old. Not all that funny or mentally taxing, as far as it goes... Which, if you've ever been alone with a 2 year old for more than five minutes, you know isn't very far-- they are hilarous, and they make you go through all sorts of painful mental hoops!

But you see... We were reading a book about "Senses" together-- Pooh and his friends give examples of hearing, of seeing, etc... Well, we'd read the book three times that day already, so the fourth time... I started asking my little 2 year old to tell me what noises different animals in the book make... and we went from there... "What does a kitty cat sound like?" "I can make a sound like an ELEPHANT!" and so on-- right up until the moment when I said...

"I can sound like a COW!" Taken in an adult context, this is a really hilarious statement. And at that moment, that is how I heard myself-- as an adult, claiming to sound like a cow. Calling an woman a 'cow' is a real insult-- and talking like one isn't much better... but ADMITTING IT ABOUT YOURSELF-- now that's one I hadn't heard before! Of course, I was having a serious conversation with a 2 year old... so no laughing was allowed. Boy, was that tough! I think I almost swallowed my tongue.

And the brain-bending? Well, I operate in what I term "nanny-mode" when with small children. I automatically filter out of my consciousness and my vocabulary all inappropriate material-- no swear words, no sexual innuendo that would make your friends laugh, no slang (okay, not much slang), none of that, and a soft loving maternal voice on top! It's just not appropriate to be around children any other way... unless you have to use your "mommy voice." (If you own a pet, or have raised a child, you know what that voice is. It's the "don't argue with ME, young lady!! Your behavior is WRONG, and it is going to stop-- RIGHT NOW!" voice. Smart people--and pets-- heed the Mommy Voice.) It takes me a little while to get out of "nanny-mode," once I've been in it for a few hours... I can't just snap my fingers when I get off work, and be back to talking like a normal adult to other adults... I tend to use words like "dear" and "oopsy" and "I need to use the potty" and "all-better" if I try to hold a conversation with anyone right away. It gets me some really strange looks. A bit like that look you get when you sing along to the elevator music, and the door opens before you stop singing... (C'mon- admit it!)

Today, when I got into my car to drive home from work, the radio came on with the engine. The song was one I'm not a particular fan of, but that I've never been able to NOT sing along with when I heard it... and the chorus is something like... "yo-diggity, I wanna bag it up!" My brain just couldn't take singing along with that song (all about sex and slang and booty and all) while still being at least partly still in nanny-mode. Trying to have those two very different personas share space in my one little brain was just... painfully twisted. I spent a few minutes after that just sitting in the car, blinking, and trying to figure out what was right, what was wrong, and who the hell cared, anyway! Thank goodness I wasn't already driving when it happened. I'm not sure I'd have been able to pay attention the road for a minute or two there.

So, yeah, my day was probably not one you'd label "exciting!".... but it kept me amused.

The Benefits

Okay, so the most obvious benefit-- get out of school free card-- of snow is... well... obvious. There aren't really any other circumstances where you are SUPPOSED to spend your unexpected day out of school outside, playing with friends. Fewer yet are days when both you AND your friends are out of school unexpectedly at the same time!

But there are some other benefits, too. For one, a good deep freeze will eliminate a bunch of future biting bugs. For another, snow is supposed to have even better nutritional value for the earth than rain. Go figure. And on top of all that, it cushions sound. Ever go outside in the middle of a good solid snow? It's quiet. Richly quiet.

That feeling of being wrapped in a moment-- in a small little cocoon of snow and of silence... it's invigorating, sillifying. (silly as a pronoun/verb thingy) And beautiful. I drove over to the beach yesterday, and discovered snow still resting on some of the driftwood. And in the higher elevations, in the hills you drive through and over and around to GET to the beach from where I live? There were trees. Many many trees. And each of them had been highlighted in white pen, delicate soft silvery spotlights, dusting the tops of all the branches and every twig. Magickal.

I SO wish I'd brought my camera. I'd have stopped and taken a picture-- and all the people driving 30 mph behind me for safety (since none of us has any sort of traction devices for our cars-- who needs them here??) would have a good excuse to be frustrated and delayed... until they saw what I was looking at. Then, maybe a few of them would have been glad to have a moment where it was safe to take their eyes off the road, and look up. Up at those amazing snowy leafless trees. It was like looking at lace against the crisp blue winter sky!

Anyway, I'm glad I went yesterday. Today, it snowed most of the day where I was holed up, and it was beautiful. I could even hear the occasional yell of a child on a saucer, sledding down the big hill near my place, and getting one of the healthiest rushes the natural world provides. Wow.

I still can't get over the fact that each snowflake is unique-- for all the millions and zillions that must have fallen, just to create MY 4 inches of snow... no two are exactly alike. Creativity that can't be duplicated or purchased. That's pretty unique all in itself. And don't go talking to me about artificial snow-blowers and all that. I don't want to hear about it. I'm busy. I'm listening to my feet crunch in the snow outside, and smiling at how big an impact my sounds make in the world when all the ambient noise of daily life is muffled by the clean slate of silent snow.

I guess that's part of learning to be a good listener-- learning to tune out those demanding and distracting noises of daily life, so that you can focus on just one thing-- on the impact of someone else's foot falls in the world. No hair dryer, no dryer buzz, no buzzing microwave, none of that. Just... listen... and hear how important each person is, and see what shape their lives make in the snow...

New Beginnings

I don't do New Years Resolutions-- I do Life Altering Personal Commitments to Change. (aka LAPC2)

'Tis the season, and all that. If you were wondering about the alarm clock purchase and other of my personal resolves, Read On! If you wanted to know more about my friend's weird New Years traditions (or live in the South, and want to be sure she got them right)-- here is the link.

I have started a new job to compliment the new year. Or rather, I have returned to a job I once held, but in a new form and at a new place, and with a new appreciation. I'm a nanny-- possibly even an au pair! (Totally different designation, and parents appreciate you more because you are "educated" and/or "from overseas.") On the days I nanny, I have to get up at about 5am. It's a bit painful, as I haven't gotten used to my new schedule yet. I do, however, have a new alarm clock. The old alarm had two options- radio alarm (easy to sleep through, as I used to take naps to rock music in college), or sudden heart attack at 50 decibels. Ouch! On the good side of the scale, when I finally arrive at work, I get to cuddle a really cute baby, whose nick-name is "Pork Chop," and read happy books all day to a little boy who calls me "Spicy." (No relation to the pop band, thank you god.) I tell you, life is GOOD!

Apparently, they don't make the previously coveted light-brightening alarm clocks for the common masses anymore, though I SWEAR I saw one in the last "in-flight-magazine" I read. Of course... the items available for purchase in those ridiculous magazines are not really for the people who can't afford to fly first class, anyway. (sigh)
Much preferable, and harder for my psyche to ignore at 5am, my new alarm sounds like church bells. Or, alternately, my grandmother's creepy hall clock. Both impart a certain level of moral responsibility to be at work on time. There's nothing like a swift kick in the conscience to get you out of bed! AND, as a bonus, I can go to sleep to the sound of crickets, wind chimes, or seagulls. The wind chimes are a bit too close to church bells for me, and the seagulls remind me too much of colic-y baby, so I chose the crickets. ...This is me being positive, just in case you couldn't tell.

As part of this new delightful routine, I'm practicing my Tai Chi in the mornings, followed by school work when I'm too awake to avoid it: After I work out the pre-dawn unfocused stares, and before the after-lunch yawns hit. I have a new bedtime, too-- and a new budget to keep me out of trouble between times. Yeah. Just when I thought that between office work and school work, they'd bury me with my fingers welded to the keyboard-- here comes a change of pace!

Call me a dork-- I'm actually looking forward to the possibility of getting my school work done ahead of time. I repeat-- Ahead of Time! That last-minute unedited rush worked for me in high school and even in my undergrad program... (though I'm not sure I'd even get accepted at my old school now-- their new enrollment standards give me nosebleed) but I just can't seem to get the same good grades from turning in half-arsed assignments in Grad School. And the work is HARDER this time around! Of course, this time I'm actually maintaining a home (not shoveling out a dorm room), fixing my own food (not making trips to the cafeteria), and earning my own wages (not subsisting on a combination of parental handouts and school-supplemented work-study scholarships) --in my free time between classes.

I've noticed it costs more to keep me these days, too. I guess I could lose the car and gain some house-mates... but I can't even begin to tell you how GOOD it feels to state the decisions that are best for me, and know that's the end of the conversation. (Unless I'm on the phone with my parents, of course. Then, even if they gasp!* agree with my decision, it'll be hours before they actually communicate that approval.)

*Not responsible for offended sensibilities, bad word choices, or childish situations. For a more adult assessment of my parents than I've given thus far, and their quest to help me make a good life for myself whether I want it or not, see future blog entries. Unrated, 28 years and counting.

Say What?

I believe that for each person on earth, there exists another person perfectly created to push every one of their buttons. I believe this because it makes me feel better about the fact that the pusher of my buttons is my mother. And I love her dearly. I'm not just saying that because people she knows may read this... I'm saying that because she is highly lovable in a contagious kindergarten-teacher kind of way. Nobody can help loving my mom. Which makes it that much more frustrating when she pushes my buttons. How could you be mad at someone that sweet... that gentle... that truthful... that... perfectly created to push every one of my buttons. Sigh.

When I was younger, mom and I had a joke about her driving. We called it "adventures with mom." It was a nice way to say that sometimes, the things that topped her mental "this is really important" list didn't top mine. Imagine sitting in the front passenger seat, no driver's license, maybe 14 years old. Cold morning, a bit of frost, winding back-country road, apple orchard on the right. Look to your left-- there is Mom. She is driving you down the winding road. Its a good used car-- reliable-- though the alignment is a bit off. Regularly running into curbs when parallel-parking will do that to an alignment. You glance ahead at the road, and then look back at mom. She is very focused. Her left hand is stretched out to feel whether or not air is coming-- and how warm-- out of the far left driver's air vent. Her right hand is on the climate control knobs in the middle of the dashboard. She is hunched down and to the right, squinting at the labels on those same controls as she fiddles with them. There is no way she can see the road from that position. We are driving at about 35 miles per hour down that winding road. There is a car coming. Adventures with Mom. (insert shark music here)

This nice, sweet, loving, lovable, intelligent woman has been responsible for many a spike in my adrenaline as an adult, too. She can even take me back to those childhood moments of sheer panic and helpless anger over the telephone-- and regularly does. Its not intentional. She just has different priorities than most of the people I know. I've learned to laugh at a lot of these interactions we have... though my laughter rarely has anything to do with our topics of conversation. In fact, if you heard me laughing, you would think I was heartless and deranged. Unless you'd been with me in that car on that winding road way back when... Then you'd realize my laughter is the only alternative to screaming. And its a dumbfounded kind of laugh.

My good friend, my costar in the sitcom of our lives, recently insisted that one of these conversations with my mother would make a good blog. She's seen my mother in action-- she knows all about Adventures with Mom. When I call to say-- what the heck??!-- and tell her about the latest conversation... and try to make sense of it... she stops me. She reminds me of how futile it is to compare my mom's list of what's important with mine. "IT's your MOM!"
Oh, yeah. Right.

I don't know how it happened, but this year, I've been the one to arrange our West-Coast Family Christmas Event. It includes between five and fifteen people, of which only two live in the same town, and only four keep a calendar, and may possibly know what day it was yesterday. Some live out of state. Some are in school. Some have transportation, some have none. Just like the little piggies, who go screeching back home to be tickled. (Boy, I hope you know about "this little piggy" or you are really going to think I'm whacked!) My uncle believes that NO ONE is EVER too old to be tickled. I can still remember the Christmas he made my cousin (married, two kids, very proper) pee her pants because he tickled her right after a long car ride. Her kids were thrilled. There is nothing like family to keep you humble.

Anyway- there are seven of us getting together this year. Possibly eight. And once my cousin decided she wanted to give my parents Christmas Gifts, since she'd be there with them and loves them and all... my mom felt she really needed to give my cousin a gift, too. And if she gave that cousin a gift, she had to give my cousin's sister a gift, since she is also coming to Christmas. I got a list of things that each of my cousins would like to get, decided what I would give them, and passed the list on to my mom. This is where the story starts. (Yes- all the hella long way down here.)

Mom and I are each getting my cousin a book from a series that is on her wish-list. Mom might be able to get a discount at a store in her town-- I know the whole series is carried at a store in my town. I call mom a few days after giving her the information that my cousin has the first few books in the Sandman graphic novel series. We want books between #5 and #10. It doesn't matter which ones. "So- did you find the Sandman series at your bookstore?"
She did, but they only had the latest one, and it cost $20, so she only got one.
I feel that this makes sense, as getting two of the same book is not the same as getting two books from the same series. "What number is it, so I can get her a different one?"
Hmmm... It takes a minute to find the bag the book should be in. It takes a minute to get the book out of the bag. She explains these delays as she experiences them. She looks at the book she bought. Yup-- it cost $19.95.
"What number is the book you bought?"
Well, she had trouble finding it, and then the lady at the bookstore helped her, and the lady could only find this one, but that lady really thinks its the most recent book in the Sandman Series. And mom proceeds to tell me the title of the book, and some of the authors.
I have never heard of the Sandman graphic novels before learning of my cousin's wish list. All I know are the name of the series, and that we can get her any books between #5 and #10. I don't care what the title of this book is.
"Is there a number on it anywhere? I need to know what number it is in the series."
Mom is looking the book over, and finds some more description of the book on the back cover. She reads it to me. The whole back cover. In the process, she comes to the conclusion that the person who wrote the INTRO to the book she bought was the AUTHOR to the series, so the book she bought might not be a part of the series. She explains all this to me, after reading me the back cover, and then flipping through the book once or twice. She decides she will probably have to take this book back to the bookstore and get a refund for it. She's not sure what to do or if it is really part of the series or not, but she's worried.
"Why don't I go to my bookstore, and get two books from the series-- one from me, and one from you?"
She guesses this will work-- and she'll definitely reimburse me for it.

Then she brings up her biggest worry-- the thing currently at the top of her list of important concerns. My other cousin-- the one who is giving HER a gift-- she doesn't have enough information about that cousin's guitar to get her new strings for it. (The wish-list said "anything to do with stringed instruments.") She doesn't know what kind of strings my cousin is used to, or wants to buy for her guitar. She doesn't even know if its a base guitar or what kind it is, and she would also need to know how LONG the strings should be, and.... So... She is thinking about getting my cousin a gift certificate to a music store instead. But a gift certificate is so impersonal! ... and... my cousin doesn't have a car, and lives in a different town from my mom, so she really REALLY doesn't know what STORE to get a gift certificate FROM... and ...

We've been on the phone for nearly half an hour. I'm getting a bit frustrated, and I really need to pee. I could have had this whole conversation with someone else in about five minutes. I am getting frustrated (did I say that already?), and that means I need to get off the phone soon-- because she is trying to steer this conversation, but neither of her hands are on the wheel, and its making me crazy.
"Would you like to hear what I would do if I were in your situation?"
Well... okay. Yes, she would, she thinks...
"I would go onto google maps, and-"
She doesn't know what goggle nappies are. I swear. That is what she said. And if I'd laughed out loud, she would have been really hurt, and felt stupid. Which she is not. She just prefers to do her exploring in a library. It took another five minutes to get www.googlemaps.com spelled correctly over the phone. Then I explained that I would search for music stores in my cousin's town, and find one on the map that is within walking distance of her apartment. My mom has been to her apartment a few times, so I thought that was a reasonable suggestion. Mom's not so sure, but she'll give it a try.
My bladder is killing me, and I'm getting that helpless angry chaos-is-here feeling... so I suggest that its about time for me to get off the phone as I've got some errands to run, and-
"Oh, by the way-- I'm not sure if I've mentioned it already, but I think I may have broken a rib."
Say WHAT?

In my mind, this sort of information would probably have made it higher on the worry-list than my cousin's gift certificate. But that's me. I think a broken rib is an important health issue, and should receive serious attention. Mom is simply embarrassed about it. She is thinking about going to the doctor, maybe. I want her to get tested for osteoporosis, and she decides she needs to get going now, but don't worry about it, its just a broken rib. I hang up the phone, and start laughing. Its either that or scream.

I was one, once.

Well, I had planned to tell you about my belief that my life is being recorded for a sitcom. I don't know who's writing the script, but they have one hell of a weird sense of humor-- and some horribly comedic timing. I have some friends who I know have major roles in the sitcom of my life-- and they would tell you the same thing. ...but I'm not going to talk about that today.

In my life, I've been a babysitter, a nanny, an Au Pair, a front desker who also kept track of kids in the office, ... And each of these roles has been very different. Starting with the pay. And the amount of time the parents spend telling you what "normal" is in their household before they leave. Its very confusing if you've never been a part of the program before. I just checked a website for helping folks get what they want, and half the people who want child care ask for nannies, and then want to pay for a babysitter. The other half ask what 'normal' is in nanny-land. I swear, nobody knows, and if they do, they aren't telling! So let me be one of the first. Just realize-- I only know what's normal for me.

When I lived in New York, in 2002, a live-in full-time nanny in a small town with one very high-maintenance child and two very large dogs with long tongues (this was before the pitbull, too) was paid around $500 a month, before taxes. If you actually were lucky enough to find a well-off family in New York City who wanted a nanny, you could get your own mother-in-law apartment, a car to drive, and a good living wage... but that was never me. That was the dream that the Nanny-Placement-Services dangled in front of your nose to get you to sign on with them. Before that, as a babysitter, $5/hour for two kids was considered good pay. You would consider yourself rich if you spent all evening with two kids, and walked home with a $20 bill in your pocket. Since then, I've made up to $10/hour as a part-time nanny, for up to two children. I made $14 an hour as an assistant in a business, with less important responsibilities.

I've had a lot of people be shocked at paying $10/hour for child care. Some of these same people actually pay $15 to $25 for a 20-minute visit to let their pets go pee in the yard every day. And when people consider letting you into their home to care for their pets, they DEFINITELY call your references. Want to know the odds of having a parent actually do a background check on you before leaving you alone in their home with their kid? I don't.

Anyway, Its a strange thing to be back in the world of child care, daycare, nanny and Au Pair. I love the children-- they are such a great excuse to get out the old finger paints, or buy the new water-washable color markers, and really go wild scribbling colorful nothings onto a big piece of recycled paper. Making up fun activities that require autumn leaves, lots of string, and laughter... I could live like that. The hard part is the parents. How do you tell a parent, who pays you good money to do what they do when they can't do it, that their child is never going to remember (at the age of 3) what they did wrong, after not knowing it was wrong, and doing it, and then having to stand in the corner for 20 minutes to think about it. At three-- they probably don't even know all the words to "I Like To Eat Apples And Bananas!" And how do you explain that they are crying because they are ANGRY at the age of five, when you embarrassed them by wiping their nose in front of their favorite teacher, and then telling them to "Blow!"... and telling them to stop crying really won't solve anything. It just embarrasses them worse. And at the age of 11... if you know after an hour in their company that the child is smoking pot, and the parents don't know... what you have to say probably won't make the parents believe you. If they can't see it, chances are they DON'T WANT TO. Like I said-- parents can be difficult.

Personally, I ask the parents for THEIR references before I agree to a long-term contract. And I call. There isn't a test you have to pass to be a parent. But nannies? Real nannies who read child-development books, and use baby sign-language to help toddlers communicate, and CARE that too much TV is bad for the brain... Those are hard to come by. And when you do? Usually they are too busy being moms. And since they know their own worth... you might find yourself paying a little more than $10 an hour. I was one, once.