My own Mother's Prayer for Her Daughter (in addition to all that great stuff Tina Fey has already written)

Dear Lord, Please watch over my dear girl, as she learns that Math is Hard, not because she's a girl, but because she's not a computer.  Give her strength to keep doing the hard stuff anyway.  Place at least one teacher in her life who thinks everything she does is golden, and place at least one teacher in her life who thinks she has an attitude problem, from day one of class, even though she doesn't say a word.

Guide her away from exclusive groups, i.e. cliques, gangs, cults, the Illuminati, and Mommy Groups that look down on moms who don't breastfeed.

May she find someone who she will call her Bosom Friend, and may that friend understand the reference to Anne and Diana, instead of looking at her kind of weird when she says "Bosom Friend" out loud.

When the time comes that she has to make a decision between a bikini and a one-piece, may her decision be guided by the color or cost of the swimsuit, and not by societal pressures to be sexy, or pure, or any other word used to describe women that gives me hives.

May she never blame Thee for not giving her a strong singing voice, or thick eyelashes, or violet-colored eyes, but may she thank Thee daily for giving her Whitney Houston songs to delusionally sing along to anyway, mascara from Target that works just as well as the expensive stuff, and colored contacts, if those are the things her heart truly desires.  

May she find the humor in Quentin Tarantino films, when the timing is right, but may she never look at any of the characters as her personal heroes.  May her yearbook quote be something from a great poet, or thinker, or a John Hughes film.    Anything is fine, really, as long as she stays away from hate speech or Grateful Dead lyrics.

Watch over her when the time comes for her to pick a college major.  Give her the foresight to not pick her future career based on the boy she likes, or the rumors of easiest professors.  Basing it on how cool it sounds when she talks about it at family reunions is fine, obviously.

We thank Thee, Heavenly Parents, for giving her a quick mind, and a strong, able body.  May that combination become quickly apparent to anyone who thinks they can take advantage of her gentle, giving spirit-- preferably in the form of clever retorts in response to harsh words, and swift kicks to the groin in response to unwanted advances.  

May she learn to love her kitchen, not because of any dumb idea that that's her Place, but so that she understands that McDonald's and Taco Bell don't care what she feels like an hour from eating what's in their kitchens.

Give her courage to ask if she can hold babies that don't belong to her, confidence to keep holding those babies, even if they cry, and character to give those babies back to their moms when everything in her tells her to grab a strong hold of those chubby little thighs and make a run for Mexico.  

I'm sure I'll have more things to ask of Thee when stuff comes up that I could have never anticipated.   (The Future isn't seriously going ahead with that idea to make robots made specifically for people who need to cuddle, is it?  If so, expect prayers concerning that).  Because it seems that that's the nature of Mothers who have Daughters.  We just never stop worrying, and there is always something we just never considered needing to worry about.  I know that somehow, that's part of your Grand Design.

Grant me the strength to resist thinking that I have nothing more to worry about... even if the time comes that she thinks everything I do is great and perfect, and I can do no wrong, and she never puts up any resistance to me or my ideas of what she needs.  It's then that I know she's the most lost.  Amen.

My Relationship With Yer Dad

For some reason I think it's funnier to say "yer" instead of "your" right now.  Sorry that it's kind of annoying.

This is Post Number Three in the series of 30 Things I Want You To Know About Me.  I'm supposed to tell you about my relationship with my husband,  AKA your dad.

Something that we hear a lot from family and friends is how smitten I am with your dad.  I really do think he's just about as perfect as a man can get.  He's very handsome, he's smart, he's hilarious, and he does everything he can to keep us safe and happy.

We are alike in many ways.  We find the same things funny, and we have the same taste music and art. We share the same values, and we struggle with a lot of the same flaws.

We've been married for ten years, but before we were married, we were best friends for five years. When I was 16, because I was a big nerd, we would talk on America Online instant messages (holy crap, we are so old.)  I used to get very excited about receiving an e-mail from him.  He was funny, and always gave good advice when I needed it.  Sometimes he would help me with homework assignments, or we'd play Beatles lyric games, or we'd message back and forth until late at night until one of us was the decided victor in an unspoken contest of which one of us is funnier (him... always him.)

When we finally met in person, I thought he was the cutest guy I'd ever seen, not counting Ewan McGregor, of course.  I loved being around him, and he always made me laugh.

When we FINALLY started dating, after a year of being "just friends," I decided that I really liked kissing him.

We were best friends, even when we took a break from dating.  It wasn't always easy being in a relationship with the male version of myself, but over the years we found out what our differences were, and we discovered that changing the other person into our more perfect selves was not only impossible, it was even desirable.  We love each other because of our differences, and we encourage each other to be our best, but we aren't interested in changing anything.

I really hope you two find someone who loves you for who you are.  The best advice I can give is to keep your eyes open for the person who is always there for you, even when you're at your lowest.  And try to be the kind of person who can be there for someone else.  And find someone funnier than you, that you like to kiss.  Everything else just kind of falls into place.

3 Legitimate Fears

This is #2 of the 30 Things series that I now realize I should have introduced a little better.  Organization is never going to be my strength.  This is for you, Lennon and Harrison.  I want you to stumble across these posts someday when you google your own name.  I hope you find out a little more about what makes your mom tick, and I hope it offers more insight about who you two are.

So #2 is where I'm supposed to tell you 3 legitimate fears I have, and how they became fears.  One thing I want you to understand about fears is that they are a totally normally part of being a human being.  You can't avoid them, everybody has something they fear, and you should never apologize for your fears.  Your fears are very real to you, and if you hide them, they will never get easier to deal with.  Your personal fears are part of what make you, you.  And not all fears need to be faced.  I hope that if you're afraid of fire, you don't feel some need to walk into a burning building to overcome that.   But you can always remember that your fears can't control you, and they should never keep you from doing something that would make you happy.  I also don't want you to use them as an excuse to avoid doing things that are hard for you.  Doing hard things, in the face of fear, is what will make you a stronger person.

1.  I'm legitimately afraid of ghosts.  I don't know how this fear started, but I know it was perpetuated by all the horror movies I know better than to watch when I'm feeling brave.  As I get older, I become less afraid, because experience has shown me that even in really spooky places where ghosts are most likely to make themselves known, I've still never encountered one.  I just really don't ever want to.  I'm pretty sure if I ever saw a ghost, I would die of a heart attack, and that's just not how I want to die.  If I DO die of a heart attack (which is likely, since that's how most of my ancestors died), just know that it was because of ghosts.  And I've decided that if ghosts are real, I want to be one, and I'm going to haunt you two.  But in a loving way.  Nothing spooky, except for on some Halloweens when I'm bored, and maybe also when you're doing something you shouldn't, like sneaking out of the house, or making out with someone you just met.

2.  I'm afraid of being totally blind.  I don't know what it will be like, not being able to see anything ever again.  I'm afraid it will make me feel claustrophobic.  Even thought this scares me, I'm also fairly sure I'll be fine when it happens, because I'll have no other choice but to be fine.  That's how most fears go.

3.  I'm afraid that something will happen to you two, and I will be helpless to make it unhappen.  I just always want you to be safe, and healthy, and happy.  I don't really know how to get over this fear.  I'm pretty sure it will be around until the day I die.  Maybe even after.  I guess that's another reason I'll want to haunt you.  If anything is going to scare you, I guess I want it to be me.

20 Random Facts About Yer Mom

Hey kids.  It's your mom.  Once upon a time, I used this blog so that people could be like, "Man, she's funny.  She should come write for my popular NBC sitcom."  Then, I started talking about ghosts in my kitchen, and so I stopped blogging altogether, so that the government didn't come take you away from me (for being a crazy woman who thinks her grandma, who died a long time ago, would care that her granddaughter would make cake.)

But I'm back!  I have a good friend named Keiko who has been loyally updating her blog about her own kids, and she started a series of 30 Things She Wants Her Kids To Know About Her.  I thought it was a good idea, so I'm stealing it.  If for some reason, you want to know about Keiko instead of your own mom, you can read her blog here.  If you wish she was your mom instead of me, don't tell me that to my face, or I'll probably cry.

This 30 Things series starts with me writing out 20 Random Facts About Myself.  I'm no rule-breaker, so that's what you're going to get.  Oh yeah, and I'm including stuff about your dad.  Because he doesn't write blogs, but he should.

1.  I like mimes.  Your dad has little patience for them.

2.  When I was a little girl I spent a lot of time playing alone in my room with dolls and little animals.  I made up personalities for all of them, and some of them even had different accents.  I wasn't athletic, or easy to get along with, so about 90% of my memories as a kid are of me playing in my room.  I consider it time well spent.

3.  Your dad, I'm told, was pretty much the same way.  He used to play with Legos and stuffed animals too.  When he was a little older, he became pretty obsessed with basketball, and later, playing the guitar.  What I think I'm saying is, you poor kids have the DNA of introverts, and if either of you ends up being an extrovert, we apologize for how weird you must think we are for giving you so much alone time.  (I'm pretty sure neither of you are extroverts, by the way.)

4.  Ten years ago, your dad and I started working on watching the Top 100 Films, according to the American Film Institute.  We're almost through the list, but it's taking us forever because so many of the movies are way boring.  For example, we both ha--aaaated Yankee Doodle Dandy, and we still don't get why it made the list.  Hopefully it's been bumped by the time we make the attempt to watch all of these again with the two of you.

5.  I never really learned to drive, and your dad was 18 when he finally got his driver's license.  I have a really good excuse, but your dad doesn't.

6.  I used to be really obsessed with TV theme songs.  I can still tell you how the theme song goes to any show made between 1960 and 1995. My favorite is probably the theme to The Mary Tyler Moore Show, although the theme to  Good TImes or Laverne & Shirley is pretty high up there.   Let's be honest, with themes like The Golden Girls, The Jeffersons, Facts of Life, Full House...  how do you really pick a favorite?  I don't know this for sure, but I bet your dad's favorite would be the theme to the Dukes of Hazzard, or maybe Sanford and Son.  My least favorite is the theme to Law & Order.

7.  The obvious choice for favorite theme song would be the theme to Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, because that is still my all-time favorite show that has ever been on television.  I love the way Mister Rogers speaks to people.  I see him as my own personal hero.

8.  I have no idea who your dad's personal hero is.  Probably me.  (I'm joking...)

9.  My favorite sport to watch or play is baseball.  If I had better vision, I think I'd be pretty decent at it, because I'm good at guessing what other people are going to do.  Instead, I settle for being good at Rock, Paper, Scissors.   Your dad's, like I said, was basketball, but now he loves nothing more than taking you kids to baseball games.

10.  I am pretty good at baking, and your dad is pretty good at cooking, but neither of us think of the kitchen as the most favorite room in the house.

11.  Dad grew up in Utah, and I grew up in Arizona.

12.  Your dad's (and now Harrison's) middle name is Bradford, after the Bradford side of his mom's family, which goes back to William Bradford who was on the Mayflower.  I think this is a pretty cool Fun Fact, but your dad always seem less than impressed by it.

13.  The first argument your dad and I ever had was because he said that the song "Glory of Love" (from the movie Karate Kid Part II) was from the band Chicago, and I corrected him and told him it was Peter Cetera.  I don't remember how long we argued about it, but we all know that I won, because duh, it was Peter Cetera.  But also, he won, because correcting people, no matter how right you are, is an annoying thing to do.

14.  For our wedding dinner, we ate Kentucky Fried Chicken in a shopping center in Edinburgh, Scotland.  The next night we ate pizza in Liverpool.  I apologize that your taste buds were determined by our genetics.

15.  I prefer colored lights on a Christmas tree.  And I like live trees.  And I like stars on top, instead of angels.

16.  Your dad is really photogenic.  I'm not.  At all.  I usually have to apologize for ruining people's perfectly good pictures.

17.  If I could be a teenage in any era, I would have picked the 1950's.  I think I would have been a beatnik.  Your dad and I have talked about this, and we both agree we would have been awful at being hippies in the 1960's.  Except for the Loving Everyone part.  We'd be super good at that (unless they were annoying us with their self-involved hippie dancing.)

18.  When I was a kid I really wanted to be a lawyer.  Then I found out other people don't like lawyers, and it was kind of boring.  So I wanted to be a filmmaker.  Then I found out filmmakers have to be good at filmmaking.  So I wanted to be a character voice for animation, or a puppeteer (or, to be more specific, a muppeteer).  Then I found out I don't really have a good voice for that.  Then I wanted to own a bed and breakfast in England, or a record store.  I still secretly want to do all of the above.

19.  Dad really loves old pickup trucks.  I think it would be the first thing he would buy if he ran into a lot of money.

20.  Ever since I was little I wanted a blond daughter and a dark-haired son.  When I drew pictures of kids, that's how I would draw them.  Whenever I got a baby doll, I would ask for one with blonde hair and blue eyes.  My dollhouse dolls had a blonde little girl and her younger, brown-haired brother.  Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would actually have kids that looked like that.  I guess it was meant to be.

AP Cake

Lennon had a school assignment this week that asked her to bring a baked good from her culture/heritage. I made about six decent jokes mocking myself, my family, and the assignment, and then I really got to thinking about what we could make. Eric is Swedish on his mom's side and Dutch on his dad's side (not to mention about a gazillion other European things... he's related to William Bradford of Plymouth Plantation fame, and he's probably descended from the hunkiest court jesters in Euroland, because, hubba hubba, that man can make me laugh). (And that's how you ruin an otherwise decent blog post you could proudly share with your children someday).

I am half Mexican and half German. This would explain why I desperately love accordions. I am closer to the Mexican side of my family, because I grew up around them, and I have really only visited my dad's side a handful of times. I still feel very close to my German roots, and absolutely love all things Pennsylvania, where both sides of my dad's family have planted themselves ever since the first of them came to America in the 1700's.

For the most part, I relate to this side of my family through food. My dad introduced me to TastyKakes, Cheez Whiz and pretzels, and funnel cake, and I was pretty much sold. Excuse me, but you like to fry dough and eat tiny cakes? Yes, okay, please.

I remember my dad making something called AP Cake. My mom had the recipe from his mom in her recipe box, but it was never a regular thing in our house. I only specifically remember one night in particular when my dad made it for everyone. It's one of those memories you don't know you have, until it's triggered by something as random as a school assignment brought home by your kid twenty years later, but it's there, golden and warm, and as easy to recall as what you did this morning. It wasn't important, or eventful, and there's no reason it should be so easy to remember. But I do.

When Lennon and I were talking about all of her different cultures, I knew I wanted to share AP Cake with her, the way my dad shared it with us. So I asked my Aunt Jean if she had a recipe, and she sent me one she found online that had all the same ingredients. And in true Aunt Jean fashion, she didn't hesitate to offer some back story. My grandma, she added to the bottom of the recipe, used to make these cakes and sell them. She mixed the ingredients by hand, and she used Gold Medal flour. She could remember exactly how her mom looked in the kitchen, making these cakes. And she admitted to tearing up about it.

So this afternoon, Lennon, Harrison, and I gathered the ingredients and started making some cake. We talked about my dad, and where he grew up, and what little I knew about my grandma, having never met her. I told them about how my dad made this cake for me when I was a kid, and how I could remember the way it smelled more than anything else. Harrison loved cracking the eggs and mixing the dough by hand, and Lennon loved packing the brown sugar and measuring the Crisco.

At one point, just as we were adding the milk, the kitchen started to feel ... how can I describe this? Even more full. Not exactly crowded, but just on the verge of that. And then, my grandma, who I had never met, and who I know very little about, suddenly became very real to me.

It was a quick moment, lost to Harrison's desire to add twice as many eggs, but it was special, and I hoped that it would stay with me, until one day, it was recalled with the same golden, warm clarity as the memories that made it possible.

Nerd

Lennon hates Spirit Week at her school. But of all the days she despises, it turns out Nerd Day is at the top of her list of Days That Should Be Nevermore.

I asked her to get ready this morning, and reminded her that it was Nerd Day, so if she wanted to, she could wear one of Harrison's button-up plaid shirts, and a pair of his church pants.

She went into his room, and came out a minute later crying.

"Mom, I HATE Nerd Day. It makes me feel like I'm making fun of someone."

My sweet, sweet Lennon.

So I explained that most Nerds nowadays are pretty darn proud of their nerdiness. Some of them would even walk in a parade to declare it, if that opportunity ever arose.

Ahem.

But she wasn't buying that for a dollar. She said that it felt like she would be making fun of someone, just for being smart.

And I saw her point. Nerd Day is a little bit about mocking the set who chooses academics over fashion. You see a lot of kids, who would otherwise never wear such a thing, with white shirts, highwater pants, and pocket protectors, and, Lennon's least favorite part of Nerd Day... the fake glasses. We had this issue a couple of years ago, and decided to make amendments by adding white tape to her own glasses. It, apparently, was not enough.

So I explained my own definition of a Nerd. A Nerd, I stated, is someone who loves something so much, they learn everything they can about it. He or she might devote a major part of their life to the pursuit of more knowledge on that topic. The things a Nerd loves most become more important to him or her than Being Like Everyone Else, and so, a Nerd distinguishes him or herself from the rest of the pack. A Nerd is just someone who likes something with passion.

I told Lennon there were different types of Nerds. I explained that my favorite type of Nerd is the Star Wars nerd. I'm not a Star Wars Nerd, by any means. I have no idea how many crystals are necessary to properly focus the plasma through the hilt of a lightsaber, or how to do a decent impression of a Wookie, but I admire those who do know those things.

So I asked what kind of Nerd she'd like to be, and we could make an outfit that Honored that kind of Nerd, instead of making fun.

She asked if I had any shirts with Star Wars. I did have one, so I fished it out of the back of my closet. She also wanted to wear some of my socks, so I gave her a pair of argyle ones that, oh my goodness, so sad, FIT her (She's getting so old.) And she searched for her Converse and asked me to do her hair however I want (I went for a modified Princess Leia thing). Then she said she'd make sure everyone knew that she wasn't "making fun" of someone who likes Star Wars. She said, if anyone asked, she would tell them, "I'm going as my Mom for Nerd Day."

Aw shucks, Lennon. I'm honored.

Oprah

This conversation just happened and I rushed to the computer to write it down so I could always remember that time I was a moron:

Lennon: Mom can we go see Oprah?

Me: Um... we'd have to take a plane to Chicago.

Lennon: Is Oprah only in Chicago?

Me: Yeah. And actually, we couldn't go see Oprah, because Oprah doesn't have a show anymore.

Lennon: That's sad. What do all the singers do?

Me: Singers?

Lennon: Yeah, like (does what I think is a Celine Dion impression)

Me: Are you talking about Celine Dion? I don't know what she does. I'm sure she'll be fine without Oprah.

Lennon: Is she in Chicago too?

Me: (Beginning to question how we got here) No... Las Vegas I think....

Lennon: So but you said you can only see Oprah in Chicago?

Me: Lennon, are you talking about Opera?

Lennon: I think so.

I'm Awesome

I'm doing so much better this weekend, after spending time with friends and family and realizing that I'm not alone. Thank you so much for all of your kind comments and e-mails. I feel the love, and it makes a difference.

I got this text from my friend Becca after a really hard night, and it wasn't anything more than just a few simple words of encouragement and love, and I recognized that I hadn't been telling myself those words, and that's what was missing. I usually joke around that I'm the funniest person I know, and I'm everyone's inspiration, and even though I am saying it to be silly, I think it makes a difference in my attitude. I really think I'm just going to have to remember that I'm the best.

Alright, not "the best." But I'm dealing fairly well with a pretty major thing, and I need to let myself know that I'm doing alright. And also that I'm funny and I tan easily.

I'm also going to have to stop listening to people who make me feel bad. Lame people are just going to be lame. I don't think think they understand RP, and I don't think they want to understand. So, enough about them. More about me, and my near-saintly patience, super soft hair, and that unfailing ability to find the best people in the world to be my friends.

In Which I Answer An E-mail On My Blog About My Far Too Vague Blog Post

Rachel,

Oh, I got the belly laughs from your e-mail. Belly Laughs are way more fun after gaining holiday weight.

So, I guess I've been pretty sad about losing more eyesight. And it's manifesting in ways that make absolutely no sense. Like, when I stepped on a toy in the office, I got so upset that I cleaned out the entire room, and it took me a whole day. This is HIGHLY uncharacteristic of me. Cleaning, I mean. And I've been watching movies like crazy, so I can "remember" them better when my sight is fully gone, even the bad ones I don't care about (hence Mrs. Doubtfire). I've gone back to staying inside a lot, because I'm afraid of car traffic again (even with my cane). So my kids keep begging me to take them to the park, and I come up with excuses, like "Oh, we haven't looked you tube videos of piglets yet!" but Rachel, you can only watch so many piglets. And it's been 75 degrees every day, and I waste it, and then feel horrible.

I don't really want to blog about any of it, because it makes me feel like I'm complaining, and I don't feel complain-y. Just sad. And I think those two things are different, but they don't really come across as different on a blog.

My world just feels like it's closing in, which makes me feel like I should hurry up and be useful. And then I say something like that and want to punch myself, because it implies that blind people aren't useful, and hello, yes, I totally know that they are. My friend Adam, who has RP, is playing a show this Saturday to raise money for disabled veterans with his blind friend Mike (who, by the way, climbed Mount Kilimanjaro to raise money for a school for blind children.) So if I'm not useful after losing my sight, that is completely on me.

I also feel like I have to be nice to everyone all the time, because once I'm blind I'm going to be very dependent on the information others give me, and if I'm known for being a total b-word, people are going to be like, "Oh yeah, there's no pole there, keep walking" when there very much IS a pole there. And then they'll laugh and run away and I'll just stand there rubbing my nose and wishing I had been nicer, but also wishing they get hit by a car.

It isn't that I have to try really hard to be nice. But sometimes I feel like my life is dependent on my niceness and likability. Which is a weird thing.

I'm just about to wrap up this e-mail, and I realize I should probably just post this on my blog, because it's probably the most real thing I've written since I stopped trying to write a book about losing my sight. And people like real. And maybe if I post this, people will feel less like letting me run into poles.

Yeah, sorry Rachel, this is going public. Also, I hope your "rash" has cleared up. So gross.

Love you,

Renee

I do a great impression of a hot dog

Just to give you an idea of the past two days I've had, tonight I stayed up late to watch Mrs. Doubtfire on TV. And I despise Robin Williams. And what's worse? I LAUGHED at stuff. Like, pretty genuinely. Oi.

If you'd like to schedule an intervention, please note that I'll be home always, because I go nowhere ever. Which is really, very much, the underlying problem.

Also, somebody, besides my husband, needs to know that I knew it was Mrs. Doubtfire in the first two seconds of the movie, when you hear the first note of "Figaro." Scary and sad, and I should not even be proud of that, but I really, really am.

When Smart is Scary

Sometimes Lennon and I do this thing where we pass notes to each other that start off really nice, like "Mom, you are the best," "Lennon, you are a beauty queen," and "Mom you are full of rainbows," and then we get sort of silly and pass notes like, "Mom, you are a beautiful turtle" and "You have hair like a gorilla that is pretty." It's good clean fun.

This morning Harrison wanted a note, and because I was in a silly mood, I wrote, "You are a special butterfly," thinking he can't read it anyway, because he is THREE.

But, you guys, he took that note, and then threw himself on the couch and started crying, like SOBBING, and when I asked him what was wrong, no joke, he says, "I'm NOT a butterfly!"

It scared the crap out of me. Turns out, he knows how to read the word butterfly like a pro.

I'll get to the bottom of this, and report back, because the only other explanation I have right now is temporary demonic possession. Demons are all about creepy premature literacy, I bet.

It's a New Year, Nothing New Here

Happy New Year, Nerds. Nice to see you again.

My lovely sister-in-law, Stephanie, took this picture of our family on our VERY last minute trip to San Diego to see my sister get married. It was such a nice wedding (especially for being planned in about a month). My sister officiated. Lennon dropped petals. Eric played Love Me Tender on the guitar. The groom arranged the bouquet about an hour before the ceremony. It was like a game show. 24-Hour Wedding. No... Matrimony Madness. The Nuptial Games. Ready, Set, Marry. Something like that anyway.

What you're seeing in this picture is the very best faces we were willing to make after getting up at 4:30am to drive six hours and make it in time to find our hotel room, get dressed, and make it to the beach. I'd say we look pretty good, considering.

Santa's List

Nothing like a little bit of last minute Christmas preparation to keep a girl up all night, right? So I made a list of things I needed to get done, and put it on my dresser. It felt more manageable to actually write down "Charge Camera" than to actually go and find the charger and plug the dang thing in.

This morning Harrison somehow got his hands on the list and came into the kitchen to tell me he found Santa's List in my room.

"Let me see it," I said, expecting to see another drawing (which, don't get me wrong, but I can only take so many pictures of monsters eating blood before it becomes sort of ho-hum.)

"NO! It says something you can't see."

"Harrison, let me see it." Now I'm worried it's a receipt I'll need or a bill I intended to ignore until January...

"I don't want you to see." And he runs off down the hall with something behind his back.

So the chase is on. I catch him, and he starts CRYING.

"No Mom, PLEASE DON'T SEE IT!"

I spy my To-Do List, and take it from him, asking him what he thinks it says.

"Santa put my name on there," he sobbed.

And he pointed to his name and started crying again.

Poor thing just learned how to recognize his own name. Unfortunately, he can't read "Need To Buy" as a column header. And it uses an awful lot of the same letters as "Naughty."

All he knew is he had gone through the effort of pulling out a stool, sneaking into my room, and climbing to the top of my dresser to retrieve a toy I took from him, and he found his worst nightmare, calling him out by name.

Funny Girl

We had a church Christmas Party on Friday. It was a dinner/talent(?) show type thing, and when you do that sort of thing with Mormons, you're fairly likely to get one Evolution of Dance, one to three whipped cream pies to the face, a reference to a PG Will Ferrell moment, and at least twenty unnecessary wigs.

During the skit changes (aka waiting for someone to tie shoes to their hands) we had an emcee who told bad holiday-themed jokes. "What falls in the North Pole but doesn't get hurt?" "What do monkeys sing at Christmastime?" "What did Adam say on December 24th?" Yeah, those exact jokes.

So, Lennon is sitting there with us, listening to these terrible jokes fall flat (as they should, even among Mormons), and she is looking clearly frustrated. So, I ask her what's wrong and she says, in her most serious Lennon tone, "These jokes are the worst. I have funnier jokes than that."

I ask her, "Like what?" And she tells me, "Better than that guy's."

Which makes me laugh. And I tell her that I bet she does, and that she should go tell him one during the skit, so he can say it on the next break.

But Lennon is a shy type. Doesn't talk to people she doesn't know. Never in a million years would she actually go up there and tell this guy she could one up him.

Except that, as soon as the curtain opens up, and the boy scouts start singing about tying kids to trees and their cross-dressing leaders (Mormons are weird), Lennon gets up off her chair and heads straight for the stage. I watch her whisper something to the emcee, and he shakes his head no, and she says something else, and he points her back to her seat, and I think to myself, "I shouldn't have said anything. Poor kid."

She comes walking back to her seat, and I just pat her on the head and she looks up at me and shrugs her shoulders. And then I comfort Harrison who is crying because someone is throwing candy at the crowd, and he's nowhere near it.

As the curtain closes, Lennon gets up from her seat and goes straight for the stage again, and I think, "Oh no." But she's looking determined and I figure I should stay out of the affair, because the last thing I want to discourage is perseverance.

But there's no issue. The emcee tells a bad joke, sees Lennon standing there, and he just picks her up so she can reach the mic, announcing that his assistant has a joke too.

"Where do you find a turkey?"

Pause for beat.

"In Turkey."

She is let down off the podium, and as she readjusts her sweater, she walks back to our table, like You're Welcome.

The rest of November

Well, let's just say it. Gratitude Blogging was a bust.

Between the 16th of November and today, I've been thankful for a great deal of things: Family-Karaoke, Harrison's Kevin Bacon impression, pumpkin cookies, Lennon's new teeth coming in straight, Tivo catching the Lifetime channel holiday movies, friends and family who were willing to give me odd jobs so I can make Christmas work, my best friends, my hilarious husband, my health, my family's health, my mom and dad, my home, my brother-in-law's garlic cream cheese mashed potatoes, and so on and so forth.

I just didn't blog about any of it because I was too busy enjoying it. Whoops.

I am incredibly lucky. It shouldn't have gone without saying.

November 11-15

November 11 was Veteran's Day, and I was pretty grateful that my mom loves a parade, because she took my kids to see one, and I got an entire day all to myself. Granted, I wasted the day on computer games and trying to get soap scum off the shower door, but I did it alone, and that was HUGE. You know what else I was grateful for? Getting my kids back. I'm honestly a wreck without someone to care for.

November 12, I was grateful for my family. We went to my uncle's house for a shrimp boil, which is really not delicious (except for the potatoes) (Disclaimer: I think shrimp are just glorified bugs. Everyone else seemed to think the ocean bugs were great), but the point is, we got to spend time together, and it was really nice being around my cousins. We mostly made fun of the fact that my limping aunt looked like a zombie, and how everyone is a lush, but that's how Mexicans bond. Lennon felt pretty cool too, now that she knows she has "teenage friends."

November 13, I was pretty grateful for my cornbread. If you had eaten this cornbread you would understand. I was also grateful that my kids are so curious. On the way home from my in-laws' house, we managed to discuss core similarities and differences between the five major religions, the phases and colors of the moon, weather patterns, sound waves, and a rudimentary overview on the beliefs of Wiccans (most of which I was trying to remember from a discussion I had at work once with a Wiccan who was offended by Halloween Witches, but loved Harry Potter). Okay, so in the moment, I wasn't so grateful for their curiosity, but after, I felt pretty proud of the way the questions didn't stop until their last yawn.

November 14, I was grateful for the time I get with Harrison, before he goes to school. We spend a lot of time snuggling on the couch, reading books or watching Disney Channel, and it's honestly priceless. He is so warm and snuggly, and I know that that's not something that lasts forever with little boys.

November 15, I am grateful for the fact that Lennon can pretty much do everything required for getting to school on time, but that I still get to be there to make sure her shoes are on the right feet, and she doesn't forget to put some cookies in her lunchbox. It really is the best job, and it really does get better the older they get.

November 8-10

On November 8th and 9th I was probably thankful for Tillamook cheese and God (who made such a cheese possible), but I want to hurry up and get to today.

Because today I am thankful for perspective.

The other day, there was a pre-sale for tickets to a concert I declared on Facebook to be a "MUST." I think I said something about how my 16-year-old self would kick my butt if I didn't go. I woke up on Wednesday and got on the computer about a half hour later than the tickets went on sale (because daughters need breakfast and sons need pants), and I saw there were some available, and I breathed a giant sigh of relief, only to begin the 40 minute task of clicking the Get Tickets button from hell. Again, and again, and again. Each time, I got the message that there were no tickets in my cart, no, none. I went on Twitter (in between refreshes) to see if I was the only one having the problem, and found that most people were getting the same message, but they only needed to hit refresh, and then tickets would come up, and they would buy them, and then move on with their day, a couple of Radiohead tickets richer.

My sister even called me when I whined (a little) on Facebook about it, to tell me I was probably just doing it wrong, and she got them without an issue, and her friend just got tickets five minutes after I posted, so just keep trying. And I got a tiny teeny weeny insy bit peeved, because I WAS DOING IT RIGHT AND WHAT THE HECK DID THE UNIVERSE HAVE AGAINST ME GETTING TICKETS TO A CONCERT OF A BAND THAT NEVER COMES TO ARIZONA AND I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO SEE MY ENTIRE MUSICALLY-AWARE LIFE. But you know, I just kept my cool, and hit refresh.

And then I got the message. The one that had been waiting patiently for me all morning. The one the universe was keeping in its shirt pocket the whole time it was telling me to pick a hand (the dirty sneak). Sold. Out.

And I made a couple of really firm frowny faces, and said, okay, I will try again Saturday. I WILL go to this concert. They were the soundtrack to my teenage existence. (Well, okay Oasis was, if we're being honest, but Radiohead was a close second, and everybody knows Oasis mostly just spit all over her audience anyway.)

But today, I got to really thinking about it. My husband works 40 hours a week at a job that doesn't pay him enough, and every other night, he is at school until well past bedtime. He has literal bruises on his arms from selling plasma so we can get Harrison a winter coat, and I am working a ca-rappy job from home to cover Christmas. We are in absolutely NO (as Harrison would say, "No way, no how, not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin") position to be spending any amount of money on a concert ticket. I'm pretty sure the kids and Eric would organize an Occupy Mom's Side of the Couch in protest. And they'd probably be playing radiohead songs on the ipod, and the headline would read "Family Crushed By Too Many Layers of Irony."

So, today, I got perspective. And a solid appreciation for Divine Intervention. And, I'll bet, two tickets to any movie I want to see on March 15th, because Eric is probably going to need to distract me from thinking about it.

November 3-7

November 3rd I was thankful for funny television. Crappy days are easier when you get to laugh a ton at the end of them.

November 4th I was thankful for blankets. Harrison and I were both getting a cold, and the blanket made it that much easier to hide from the rest of the world. Also, it was pretty fun wrapping Harrison in a burrito and pretending to eat his feet. Blankets made that possible.

November 5th I was thankful for my mom. I understand, more and more, the sacrifices she made to give us the things we loved. Lennon is taking ballet lessons, and when I see her up there, learning french and how to keep her back straight and tall, and running around on her tiptoes like a durn fool, I totally get it. My mom just loved the crap out of us.

November 6th, I was thankful for my little girl, who was so helpful at church. She had a pretty big responsibility to help the two of us find a seat, since Eric had to stay home with a sick Harrison, and she did it so thoughtfully and without a hint of resentment for being given a task so outside of her comfort zone. I spent the entire hour just sitting there so happy she was mine.

November 7th, I am thankful for rainy mornings, and crisp afternoons. I took a walk on my own while the kids were in school, and felt a great deal of gratitude for that alone time. The thought also passed my mind that I was grateful zombies aren't a real thing right now. I've been watching Walking Dead.

November 2

If this were November 1, I would have told you how I was going to post every day in November (or at least until Thanksgiving Day when the gratitude wears off) about something I was thankful for, and how I usually hate blogging like that, but how I'm kind of a sucker for when other people do it, and besides, who am I to pretend I'm somehow ABOVE that sort of thing? Right? I also would have done a generic "I'm Thankful that Halloween is over." And then maybe talked about how I enjoyed Halloween, despite myself.

Also, I would have put up a cute picture of my kids, dressed up like freakin' cutie pies. Probably a picture like this one:

I would have explained that Lennon went as a black cat, which consisted of a pair of black leggings, a black shirt, a pinned-on tail I made in ten minutes with a scrap of black fabric and some pillow batting, and a pair of cat ears she's owned for three years. Harrison went as a dog, which was pretty much brown clothes, and an $8 costume I found at Target. So I guess what I was really thankful for was that I didn't have to sew anything this year, and they still came out looking classic, and exactly like I pictured in my head. At least that's what I would have said.

But it's not November 1st, it's November 2nd. So all that stuff I would have written on November 1st, didn't actually get written. Instead you got a lot of what would have been written, had I written it.

It's November 2nd, and today I'm thankful that I just BLEW YOUR MIND.

(Harrison, by the way, was frowning because he realized, just before we started trick or treating, that Halloween was almost over. My kids and me: We're the type to just embrace the moment, you know?)

If I Fell

Lennon got a scooter for her 7th birthday. It was a great present from her aunt, because it came totally unexpected, and her cousin/best friend has one exactly like it. Plus, it came in a big box. Shiny, awesome scooter. And it sat in our closet for a good two months.

She didn't really get a chance to ride it over the summer. We live in 115 degree weather, and it's not the smartest thing to go working up a sweat on a metal rod on wheels in that kind of heat. So practice was not in the cards. When the weather dipped below 105, I would let her take it out around the carport, and she'd get a chance to figure out where the feet go, and how to adjust the height.

Then, a couple of weeks ago, she started asking me if she could ride it to school. And I got weird.

Because she can't ride it. She really can't. She's the kid who holds onto the bars, one foot up on the board, and with the other foot, abruptly stops and steadies herself every half-second. Push. Stomp. It looks incredibly tiring, but even more importantly, it looks like the kind of thing she could get made fun of for. Stomp, Push, Stomp, Push, Stomp, Push, Stomp.

But I let her do it, because I'm trying to be the kind of mom who says, "Who cares what people say? You have to practice and be bad at something before you can be good at something." Push, Stomp, Push. Yeah, I stutter on those words. Because I'm a perfectionist (something I only recently have been willing to admit, thanks, Sarah.) I never thought I was good enough at anything to call myself a perfectionist, and then I was told, "Duh, that very observation, makes you like, Queen of the Perfectionists." Freakin' psychology....

So anyway, there I was, completely snail-pacing my willingness to let my kid make mistakes. Stomp. Push. Stomp. "You just have to keep yourself balanced. Center your body. Ignore the kids behind us. Just keep looking up. Look up, Lennon. Okay, try letting your other leg go up. Give it more of a push. That's it. No, stop, and wait for the other kids to pass. There you go. Okay... try again. Just keep looking forward. Look up!" Stomp.

We stomp-pushed the rest of the way to school that first time. The second time, she got off the scooter and just carried it to the bike rack about halfway to school. She didn't care about riding, so much as she wanted to have something to park.

So yesterday, I announced that I was going to let her take her scooter, but I wasn't going to walk with her. I was just going to watch, and make sure she got there okay. I was going to have to be the first one to stop stomping. I gave her a hug, handed off her backpack, and said, "Just try to keep your body straight up and down, and let your other leg lift up every so often. If you get scared of how fast you're going, you can always stop it with your foot. And if you feel like you want to go faster, you can use that foot to help you push off. It's up to you. Just look up, and know where you're going. And lift up your leg more."

And so she was on her way. Stomping and pushing as usual. Until I saw her body correct itself... She wasn't looking down anymore, and her back was straight... and then she was kind of, well, scooting. And her body got tinier and tinier as she moved further away. Push. Scoot. Push. Scoot.

And then I saw her lift her leg off the ground, knee bent at an awkward peeing-dog angle, and she was balancing on one foot. For just a second. And she stopped, turned around, and I heard yell out, "MOM! Did you see what I just DID?!"

I did see. And I saw her do the weird peeing-dog leg the whole rest of the way to school. Scoot. LIFT. Scoot. LIFT. Scoot. LIFT.

"Have a good day," I called as she approached the gate.

"I'll have a GREAT day!!" she called back, leg high in the air.

And I walked home, thinking about how good it felt to give her a leg up, without any pushing or stomping.