Sprite's Keeper

Homecoming

He was home. His business trip was finally over.

I hung up with him as I turned into the airport's entrance.

"Okay, Sprite. Daddy's here. Wanna go get Daddy?"

I peeked at the rear view mirror and saw her staring dimly at the DVD player. It was late, too far past her bedtime, way too far past her logic's threshold. We were both running on fumes by now and  I had the feeling that I could have dangled the Princesses in front of her face and her reaction would have stayed the same.

Once we parked, the tired child immediately demanded a ride in my arms as we steered toward Baggage Claim.

I looked around, slowing my steps down, trying to peer through the throng of people  congregated around the only working carousel. "I wonder where Daddy is." Sprite's head stayed glued to my shoulder, not interested in my one-sided conversation.

Then she heard it. A whistle coming from about 100 feet ahead of us. She straightened and looked into my eyes. "Daddy?" Her voice sounded hopeful after a week of only seeing him through the computer camera.

The whistle sounded again. This time, I spotted him in the crowd.  Stopping, I put her down and pointed him out to her.

"Daddy!"

She had spotted him. Forgetting about the distance and the people she would have to navigate to get to him, she bolted.

He leaned down, his arms opening wide while I fumbled for my camera to try to capture the moment they made contact with each other. I didn't quite get what I wanted.

 

I watched them embrace and heard her scream with excitement and him exclaim over her dress and her hair, compliments he knew she wanted to hear, the musical voice he knew she loved. He pulled a Belle doll out of his carry-on bag to present to her, but the doll played second fiddle to him. She was much more interested in him.

I walked over to the two of them lost in their greeting, one spilling over with words she didn't quite understand to fill him in on everything he had missed in her week, and the other studying her closely for any signs of change that may have possibly happened while he was away.

Reaching them, I stole a kiss for myself, happy that my partner was back, my co-pilot in parenthood. We secured his luggage and walked out of the airport quickly, as if that would expedite out return to normal, at least the normal we knew.

A few moments later, I realized they had stopped. I turned around and caught them still chatting and soaking up each other's essence. This time, my camera captured exactly what I wanted to see.

 

Only he can make her smile like that. And only she can make him smile like that.

Happy Father's Day, John. Sprite and I love you very much.

And a happy Father's Day to everyone else out there too, especially if you can make your kids smile just by coming home.

This one goes out to Narf* in New York

Wednesday

"Hey, Mom."

"Jen? Is everything okay?"

"Yup. Just checking on when you're leaving for New York."

"Tomorrow afternoon."

"All the way through Sunday, huh?"

"Yeah, your poor dad."

"What's wrong with Dad?"

"He won't know what to do without me."

"He can always visit with Lee and Bryan."

"Sure."

"Or watch a movie."

"He could try, but your father needs me around. He can't relax without me here. He goes stir crazy."

"Stir crazy?"

"He doesn't know what to do with himself. I'm more worried about how he's going to be without me here than the trip."

"Well, you better hurry this trip up and get back home."

Thursday

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dad."

"Hi, Jen."

"Did Mom make it to New York okay?"

"She should be calling any minute, but she's landing in D.C. Your uncle is driving her to New York later this weekend."

"Oh, well-"

"Hey, Jen? Can I call you back?"

"Uh, sure. What's going on?"

"I'm shampooing the carpets."

"You're what?"

"Well, with Mom gone, I can move things around a bit and get it done without stepping on toes.'"

"O-kay."

"All right, Jen. I love you. Bye bye."

Friday

"Hello?"

"Hey, Dad."

"Hi, Jen, I just walked in the door."

"How is everything going?"

"Okay. I have to put things back after the shampooing. The rugs are dry now."

"You know, Mom told me you were going to go stir crazy without her. Instead you turned the house inside out to clean."

"Well, she's right. I couldn't sleep last night at all. And with all the furniture moving I did, I should have been so tired it wouldn't be a problem."

"Because Mom's not there?"

"It has to be."

Is it wrong to hope John has the same reaction while I'm in Chicago?

(Plus, my carpets REALLY need a shampooing..)

*Narf is my mom's nickname as bequeathed by her brothers. Simply Fran backwards.

I want my Mommy.

The other shoe has dropped. (John's trip being the first foot in need of a Dr. Shull's.)

When we heard about John's upcoming (read: now) trip, I pulled an Ace out of my sleeve to keep my life semi-normal. I dangled the grandchild card in front of my mother and she took the bait, offering a week of services ranging from plain ole' house sitting to child distraction to company to another body to make the house a little more full to detract possible intruders who would somehow KNOW there was another body in the house and decide to pick on the house two blocks over. (This is the way my mind works. Scientists are looking into it..)

She and her arsenal of quilting crap rode into town late last week and all was good. John left, Dad came and left, and the toddler turned to Baba for everything, somehow realizing that even though I make the rules, I call Baba "Mom", and since I call someone else "Mom", I am no longer the  "Mom" Sprite thought I am, therefore my throne has been usurped in Sprite's eyes, and Baba is now Supreme Ruler. She's WRONG of course, but two year olds tend to skip steps when it comes to logic (kind of like men when reading instruction manuals), so we'll let it slide for now. But still! All was good!

Then the call came. (In the middle of us watching Harry Potter, no less. So rude.)

An issue had arisen, not one I can speak of since it's not my business to speak of it, you hear? Or not? (Everyone's fine. I'm not even fully aware of it myself, but everyone is fine. And that's all I know about that.) Anyway, my mom was needed back on the East side of the world that is Florida, and she asked me if it was alright if she left, even though her plan was to stay on through Sunday morning.

"If you have to go, go," I answered. "We're okay here. We love having you, but if you're needed, then you should go."

Crap. She believed me. I was hoping she would call my bluff and see how much I wanted her to stay.

Mom left yesterday morning and I texted John to tell him the news. He wrote back that he will gladly take the child off my hands for all of Sunday when he's back safe and sound. (Especially since once Sprite realizes it's just me and her, she will turn the dogs into her little minions and stage a coup on my sanity. And you know what? I think she'll win.) He had offered this little prize on Sunday morning when I drove him to the airport, but I laughed it off since Hello! My mom will be here! This is gonna be a cake walk! I have since had my lawyer draft a contract insuring John's agreement to take over toddler watch on Sunday and am waiting for the fax from John and his notary.

This post may come off as a little (a lot? My judgment is skewed.) whiny, but I am only in the "breaking the ice" stage of my pity party so allow me a few vents. (Plus, it's my blog. I'll whine if I want to.) (Sorry for the subconscious song download into your frontal lobe.. I should go back and delete that last tangent.) (Nah.) As much as I love my independence, a trait Sprite surely inherited from me, I have also realized that sometimes it's just NICE to be able to depend on my mom. It's nice to be able to "tag out" when I need a breather. And it's sobering to realize what a cake walk my life has been so far.

I always take John's presence for granted in the fact that I can bitch and whine about him putting the kid to bed since "it's been a day" and sometimes, when John sees a certain look on my face predicting the ensuing night will not be a fun one, he even offers it just to give me a break. Do you know how lucky, truly LUCKY I am to have this kind of teamwork in my home?

So when he has to leave town on business, do I take on the extra responsibility without complaint? No, I call my mommy. And I was getting away with it too. But, she's needed back at home. She's wanted here, but not needed, truth be told.

After my mom called me from the road on her way home and I realized Sprite and I would not have our favorite Mom there when we arrived home, I suddenly became very tired as I pictured a long night and an even longer bedtime as Sprite ran rampant over my inert body splayed across her hopscotch rug. I also imagined I was about twenty pounds lighter, so the daydream wasn't ALL bad.

Once home though, things weren't bad at all. The dogs were walked, the toddler was bribed with M&M's to eat one stupid piece of ground turkey fed, got a dunk in the tub, and even had a video conversation with John on the computer, before she asked for endless stories got one book and tucked in. The night ran long, but we survived! And we will survive tonight, maybe even tomorrow. And Friday night? I am going to stick a DVD on repeat play and hope she stays still while I crash somewhere nearby, maybe even on the hopscotch rug, which seemed pretty comfortable in my daydream may even have a sleep over with her!

Basically, we will get through this. I will man up and parent my kid like so many single parents do out there without the option of giving themselves a time out. I honestly respect the hell out of my sister who does it day in and day out with my nephew.

So no more complaints! I'm going to be a manmom and suck it up until Saturday night when I arrive at the airport with a bathed and nightgown-ed toddler in my arms ( I swore I would never take my kid out in public while dressed in pajamas, but this vow was made before I found out that Sprite has a penchant for her sleepwear. I'm willing to be "that mom" for a couple of minutes and may even go the extra mile and let Sprite ride the baggage claim belt for a few. Only if she's good, of course..), and when I see John come up the concourse with a big smile on his face and his arms opening wide, I will shove said toddler into his waiting arms and excuse myself for a stiff one welcome my missed and under-appreciated husband home with a big kiss and THEN shove the kid into his arms and buy myself a drink.

Now, I'm asking all of you. To the married's whose spouses sometimes skip town for a few, what do you do to  make things easier on you and the kid? To the singles who I am raising my glass to, how do you keep it together the way you do? I have until Saturday evening and I don't want to resort to counting down minutes. (The hours have already been calculated.)

Is it Saturday yet?

Handprint

I never understood Mother's Day as a kid. Sure, it was a day to honor Mom, make her breakfast, call a 24 hour truce to the sibling wars to remind her that motherhood is not only about breaking up fights, and lean a little more on Dad to mediate the battles that just couldn't wait for sunset.

Mother's Day presents meant a trinket, either a mug with "#1 Mom" written on it, or a photo album, whatever we could buy with the allotted amount Dad slipped us before letting us loose in the mall. Of course, this gift usually shared the receipt total with an Archie comic book or little something for us, you know, commission..  And of course, the homemade gifts, usually assembled in art class, a "required rite of childhood", a construction paper card scribbled with a slapdash poem,

"Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
You're my mom,
And I love you."

I didn't think anything of these crudely assembled gifts, just considered them a contribution to the holiday andsomething she would treasure because it was made by me, something she would cherish because I took the time to draw a silhouette of my hand or a stick figure representation of Mom. She would love it because it came from me. After all, I was the reason she was a mom, no?

I was so freaking selfish when I was a kid. Only, I was right. About everything. I just didn't know it until now.

I received a "gift" from Sprite for Mother's Day. It was taped to her cubby when I picked her up from daycare on Friday.  The 8 x 11 magenta colored construction paper was the background for a flower picture, Sprite's pink handprint acting as the blooming flower. The same corny poem was glued to the stem that they had provided last year, just another art project. I rolled my eyes and detached it from the cubby's door before I began to remove her blanket and sheet for weekend washing. My eye caught the pale pink of her handprint once more and I studied it more closely as I stood there in an empty classroom, Sprite and her classmates just outside in the hall, tormenting their teacher.

When had her handprint become so big?

For a moment, I tried to process all that had happened in the last year between 2008's handprint and 2009's. There was too much to consider, too many little memories that had already slipped away, eclipsed by the bigger events of time. I actually teared up a little, holding onto that paper present. I knew this was the only gift actually coming from Sprite this year, it would be many more before the mugs and photo albums would be unwrapped for Mother's Day. But this gift meant so much in the fact that it was tangible evidence of my child, a landmark of sorts. I would store this card right on top of last year's in a safe place. And next year's handprint flower will join this one until she's old enough to print out a message in her own words and sign her name at the bottom changing the look of the card, and on and on as these homemade cards become their own Mother's Day time line, each year more elaborate than the last as she adds another piece of herself to the gift. 

Now I get it. I will treasure these "required rites of childhood" because they came from her. Every scribbled "I love you, Mom" will trump the flowers and candy. The messy glued hearts on construction paper will warm my own heart so much more than the mug she decides to get me when John lets her pick out my present. Every personalized Mother's Day card will be kept and honored. Because it came from her. After all, she IS the reason I am a mom, no?

(taken with my Mother's Day present. Thanks, John. I love it!)

Happy Mother's Day, everyone!

Since when did the Easter Bunny take to shopping at Toys R Us?

Please forgive me. I'm about to bash Easter. Kindly, though! Please do not light your torches until after the comments section has been opened. (That is, if I feel brave enough to open the comments section..) And remember, this is a non-smoking blog. Thanks.

Considering Easters past, I can recall Sundays of little girls and boys in their Sunday best, collecting Easter eggs from hidden spots where the hollow ovals would be opened to reveal either candy, a coin, or if they were lucky (or had rich parents), even a dollar. Sometimes, they got a bum egg and they accepted it anyway. (Unless they had rich parents or were spoiled. Or both.)

The Easter baskets would be filled with Cadbury eggs, jelly beans, and maybe a little stuffed bunny or chick or whatever animal was prone to repeated reproduction and left for the kiddies to find.

Now, of course, being the one Jewish family on the block, we did not participate in the Easter finery, or get our yearly picture taken with the Easter Bunny, but Lee and I still received a small consolation basket from my mother, who was determined to make sure we would not be completely left out from the merriment. (And she had a yen for jelly beans.) (Yes, you did, Mom. Caught you a couple of times..) Sure, we were allowed to play along when the school ran it's huge egg hunt and had a ton of fun with that, but Easter for us usually meant that our friends would most likely not be able to play that day.

As we grew, Mom stopped buying into the entire candy routine. I believe her reasoning was, "You get an allowance. Buy your own damn candy!" or something to that extent. (My teen years are a little fuzzy..) (Okay, maybe I'll close down the comments section to just my mom... Can I DO that?)

Now, being a parent myself and being married to a Catholic man, I get to join the legions of parents trying to prove to their kids that the Easter Bunny does exist, although Sprite didn't look too convinced when she saw him at the mall on Saturday.

When Sprite was old enough to walk and grab at the brightly colored plastic eggs, we brought her to the city's celebration where we stuck to the outskirts of the enormous crowd and let Sprite mosey around in her own little area and pick up what she pleased. We didn't entertain the thought of making her an Easter basket, because, Dude, she was hardly 18 months old, she wouldn't appreciate the chocolates like we would so why shell out the money? I never looked into it.

This year, it was a different story. I knew we would be making a day trip to Nana and Papa's house, so I started eying the pre-made baskets that the grocery chains had to offer. And tripped over my own sputtering. Toys? And not just little stuffed animal toys. Big toys. Regulation basketballs. Barbie dolls. Little-est Pet Shop dolls. (I really hope Sprite completely sails past that particular trend. I don't think my vacuum could survive that many little parts.) I saw baskets playing up to the sports minded, the princess minded, the farm animal minded, the video game minded, the CRAWLING minded. If you have a kid who fits into any genre, I'm sure there's a basket out there for you. These baskets were overflowing with offerings, mostly plastic, and of course, the candy was represented. (Yo yo, and a Yum.)

Some of the baskets retailed for $9.99, although their content would suggest you're getting it for a steal. Some of the baskets went all the way for a cool fifty, with two Nintendo DS games nestled in the fake grass, right next to the M&M's. Intimidated, I backed away from the baskets and re-thought my strategy. We're raising this kid Jewish for goodness sake. Let her have her egg hunts at the day care, some candy at Nana's, and don't play into this hype. It's not her birthday, it's not Christmas, It's not Hanukkah, Hell, it's not even Arbor Day, let it ride! She's two, she won't even notice.

Sunday morning, we dressed her nicely, (Of course, I would acknowledge the Easter finery, plus her photographer uncle would be there, so I was hoping to snag some pictures from him. Um, Ryan? Does this count as a request?) (I know. I'm so bad.) (Please, Ryan?) and delivered her to her grandparents' door to have some fun with her aunts, uncles, and cousins. As soon as we entered though,

Hi, Easter baskets!

And to top it off, the very object of her affections, a Sleeping Beauty Barbie doll was sitting high and regal above the other prizes and candies. And not to give all the attention to Sprite, her baby cousins collected some nice loot too.

So, where is this post going? Good question. I could throw a couple more cute photos at you to deter you from trying to gain a point from this blathering on, but I actually have a question. (Or two.)

When did Easter succumb to the excess? When did gifts (and I don't mean the candy) become the norm? When did people start treating this religious holiday as an excuse to buy presents? Sure, egg hunts are a great way to get kids involved and the Easter Bunny is the biggest mascot I can think of other than Santa Claus (or the Cleveland Indians) (Sorry, but that mascot immediately comes to mind.), but buying plastic toys to fill the basket? Doesn't that take away from the holiday when you have kids clamoring over each other to "open!" their toys while you're trying to have Easter dinner or partake in Mass? Can't people just buy smaller baskets and keep it to only candy?

Or is that it? The competition of the baskets... Yeah, I can see it. The kid with the bigger basket won. So, everyone started getting larger baskets. Then it became a problem of filling the baskets with just candy, so they turned to toys...  and the snowball picked up speed. (Can I blame this on Mattel? From the abundance of Barbie dolls decorating the baskets, I have to think they had a hand in this.)

Easter, to me at least, has always represented a celebration of family, a celebration of church, a celebration of the very thing that makes Christians believers. Now, again, since I am Jewish, I am in no way slamming the faith at all. I respect it very deeply. And while I appreciate the fun aspects of celebrating Easter, I just can't get my mind around the burgeoning Easter baskets or the excuses we parents use to heap more excess upon the kids who would most likely be just as happy to get a Peep as they would to get a Wii. (Of course, this would be dependent on the child not knowing they had the choice of a Peep or a Wii. Because if the child knew they had the choice, I would seriously doubt the child would even acknowledge the Peep.) (Unless that child was Sprite. Bright colors? She's all over that. And marshmallow? Score.)

Unfortunately for Sprite, (Or fortunately. She probably won't cast an opinion for another year at least.) John and I are not joining the basket barrage and her only prize will be what she collects in a plastic egg or gets from the grandparents. (Since we have no control over how they spoil their grand-kids.) (Yes, I know we have some control, but come on! I'm denying her the coolest thing! If they wanna slip in some spoilage, let them.) (I know that thought will come back to haunt me..) We're going to celebrate the way we remember it, and toys are not the way we remember it.

Ooh, look! a cute picture! Just look at it for a few minutes and all will be right in the world...

 

(The three "princesses" of the family. Sprite, Alyssa-9 months, and Daniela-4 months, or as I spent Sunday calling them, "Small, Medium, and Large".)

(Are we good?)

(Phew!)

In A New England State of Mind

Six and a half years ago, I started working for my current company. In the beginning, I was shipped off for a month of training in 2 week installments to Tampa to learn the ways of my employer. I met Yvonne pretty early on and something clicked. We just caught on.

Now, the fact that Yvonne lived and worked in Indiana and I was a Florida gal didn't mean much. It wasn't an effort to pick up the phone once in a while and chat, and having our jobs in common made for some pretty good topics.

Along the way, our lives changed as time lines dictate, yet we always kept in contact. Then the news came. Yvonne wastransferring down to Florida. To work in my office! I was so stunned by her announcement, I hated to drop my own bomb. I was leaving to move to Ft. Myers since John and I were building a home on the West side of the state. Within a month of my vacating the Ft. Lauderdale office, Yvonne moved down with her husband.

We still kept in contact, having even more in common now that she and I knew so many of the same people.

Then I became pregnant with Sprite. Not long after, she became pregnant with her daughter Addison. Our two were born 3 months apart.

Play dates became cross-county affairs, each side sacrificing 4 hour round trip drive so the girls could play together and we could see each other. We were able to make this work for almost two years, until the economy pulled a one-two punch.

Now Paul, Yvonne, and Addison are moving up to Massachusetts. Today in fact. Realizing we had little time left to see each other, we scrambled to rearrange our schedules and met last weekend for some lunch and a last play date before they left.

 

Yvonne and me at my baby shower. She was five months along, I was eight.

 

The results of that baby shower picture, playing in the sand at Ft. Lauderdale Beach last weekend.

We promised to try to get up to their new area to visit, but my heart breaks in the knowledge that the Recession makes that less of a possibility than we'd like. At least for the next couple of years.

Sorry for making things personal today, but I want to wish a final Bon Voyage to Yvonne and her family as they begin a new life in a beautiful part of the country.

We miss you already.

Not Whole

I feel it when I'm gripping the steering wheel. I notice it when I'm typing. It's the first thing Sprite goes for when she's playing with my hands. And it's gone.

I've retraced my steps physically, mentally, verbally, ANGRILY, nothing has turned up my wedding ring.

I have only me to blame. John told me to take it off numerous times due to my weight loss. He told me to resize it when I rejected the suggestion of just going sans ring. I cannot blame John for this. I can apologize, but I'm not quite there yet.

This is not the first time I've lost my wedding ring, but it is the same reason. Back in 2005, I lost around 80 pounds and my ring to go with it. We never found it, despite searching throughout the house. Even to this day, I would still surrepticiously watch for a glint here or there when cleaning the house or the car, hoping, even though John replaced it with an even nicer one, it would turn up after an almost four year hiatus. It never has.

And now, the even nicer one has joined the original in that mysterious abyss of reality, the "last place you look", the area "right under your nose" that avoids inspection until all hope has been extinguished and a replacement has been procured.

I can only narrow down the timeframe of its disappearance to between 5PM and 9PM on Thursday. I fidgeted with it during a meeting right before I left work, and then while sitting on my bed, messing with the Spin Cycle during the start of Grey's Anatomy, I ran my right hand over my left and something felt wrong.

I've checked every piece of clothing I went through while folding laundry that night (maybe the ring came off when I was pulling sleeves out of Sprite's shirts), the sweater I had shucked off during the ride to pick Sprite up from daycare (it could be between the driver seat and the console, or maybe in the storage fold of the driver's door, or what about the glove box? I didn't open it today, but stranger things have happened..), I even walked back down to the mailbox checking the driveway, even though I had merely rolled down the window and leaned out from the driver's seat for the parcels upon driving in. Nothing.

I feel undone, vaguely diminished, not whole. I'm missing a piece of me. I'm missing a piece of John. This entire thing is making me restless with the lack of success in my metal mission. My eyes scan everything, everywhere, everyone. Sprite is a prime suspect, but only due to the choking hazard if she were to find it first. I think (hope) she's completely out of the "mouthing" phase by now, but my "what if" is in overdrive.

John has offered (graciously) to replace the ring yet again. I accepted the offer on a contingency basis, that he give me two weeks to find my missing jewelry, and if it doesn't turn up, I want the cheapest 14K gold ring he can find, no stones, no flash or embellishment to fancy it up so I don't feel so God damn guilty when version 3.0 invariably winds up with 1.0 and 2.0, floating just beyond my grasp.

I need to feel better. What have you lost? Or found? Does it still gnaw at you? How long did you search before you found it/ gave up?

I'll start. John gave me a diamond for our engagement, which was nestled in a princess setting so high, it was almost a given that the small  -er  -ish  speck of a  are you sure that's a  I didn't think they could be that tiny diamond would come loose from the claws. I just looked down one day and it was missing. I had no idea when or where I had last noticed it, so my search was meandering and stilted. Finally, one day, about 10 months later, when we were cleaning the apartment we were moving out of, I looked down into the debris I had just swept into a pile and caught a glimmer. Sure enough, it was my diamond. I became convinced that it was fate that let me find it since I was reaching for the vacuum hose to clean up the dust pile when I saw it, and I was sure my vision had gotten much better considering it was a VERY TINY diamond. Which is now sitting in a safety deposit box since I CAN'T BE TRUSTED TO HAVE NICE THINGS!

*sob*

A Tale of Two Topics (Or Message In A Post) (Or Proof That Jen Is Certifiable)

Would you believe I offered myself up for another meme? The new year is only 6 days old and this is my second meme! I'd tell you to do the math, but I just realized this is actually my seventh post which puts the numbers at odds with easy fractions, so I'll save you from doing unnecessary finger counts.

Anyway, I really liked this one. One of my more frequent stalking routes brings me over to It's Sherendipity and yesterday's jaunt proved interesting. An interview meme! I had never seen a meme like it before. It was a meme that practically wrote itself! So, I commented (TWICE!) and expressed my interest (begged) and Sher sent me some questions (a cease and desist) (but it wasn't notarized, therefore not legal) (and I thought those law courses I took would never come in handy, ha!).

1.  Do you remember your first kiss?  C'mon, dish.

There's two that have to count as one. When I was in middle school, we had the usual school dances with boys on side and girls on the other side of the room with only the brave (ones who had made it to first base) in the middle intermingling. Someone started the game of sending a boy and girl into the pitch dark bathroom with to find each other, "make out", and come back with tales to tell. I went in, got popped a peck on the lips, barely registered what had happened even after it was over, and then the lights were flipped and he was gone. I never found out who it was, but I had a clue. (He had braces.)

The second one? Ninth grade. I was pretty close friends with a boy my age down the street, we had spent the summer trying to get our hamsters to hook up, (never worked) and he finally expressed his interest in me. I had had a clue, but was also trying to match him up with my friend. One day in his garage, his mother called him in to dinner, and we were saying goodbye. As if it happened all the time, he leaned in and kissed me, short and quick, but definitely to the point. I told him shortly after that I wasn't interested, he turned to my friend for a relationship, grabbed my breast in the middle of a busy school hallway a year later, and the resulting backlash of me reporting it caused a huge rift in my friendships with several people that took years to repair. Good times..

 

2.  What lesson did you learn from your parents (good, or bad) that will, or has, influenced your style of parenting?

I watched my father earn his college degree while still maintaining a full time job (and even a second job at one point) and also MAKING the time to be a caring and involved father. I don't mean that he had the time. I mean, he made the time. This has taught me that no matter how cluttered my life is, no matter how busy I am, no matter how many hours in the day are already dedicated to work and whatever else, I will make time for Sprite and John. My family will always come first.

My mother taught me that no matter how much I should use my head to make decisions, my heart should also have a say in the matter. My mom is known for being a soft heart, and having a hard head. (Do too, Mom.) I'm proud to say I take after her in a big way. By the way, today is my mother and father's 35th wedding anniversary. My mom has used the same joke for years that she will never divorce my father since she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction. I've stolen that joke sometimes. I hope to keep stealing it, no matter how many times John rolls his eyes. (That was the second topic.) (And the message.) (And if I'm certifiable, it's strictly evidence that the apple not only didn't fall far from the tree, it bounced a few times.)

3.  Was there ever a time in your life that you passed on an opportunity that you really wanted, only to realize later that it was more of a benefit that you didn't take advantage of it?

Hm, this may be a two parter. The next question fits very well. I had the opportunity to continue my education in Criminal Justice, work for a governmental agency in some form, and live the single life that I had grown to like. Then I met John. My entire world as I knew it crashed down around my ears, showing me that I was capable of so much more than I had figured. I wasn't selling myself short on my plans. I had been selling myself short on my dreams.

 

4.  The year is 1999.  Ten years ago, today, what were doing?  Better yet, what did you THINK that you'd be doing ten years later, and how close were you?

I was working at American Express in the claims department, also going to school full time (with a 4.0 GPA, thanks) and holding down weekend job of leading bus tours of Miami and the Everglades with a travel company. I had achieved the vision of Miss Perfect and was working insane hours to keep it going. I thought I would finish my degree, continue on for my graduate degree, intern with the FBI, and become a profiler. (I did my research and knew there was NOT an X File department in the basement of the J Edgar Hoover building, but liked the show anyways.) I also thought I would play the single game, not let myself get attached or trapped or, gasp!, settle for someone. And kids? Out of the question. I would not be tied down. I am so far from where I thought I would be, I would need to get my passport renewed just to be in the same time zone. Thank goodness, I met John in the late Spring of 1999 and now, I love where I am. I keep accusing John of settling for me, my family typically threatens to dump me and keep John if things ever go sour, and I am vocal in my desires for another baby.

5.  If you could write a letter to the future you, reminding yourself of anything at all, how would that letter read?

I put aside some money in a MM account and a couple of CD's for me. They've matured and I've got about fifty thousand waiting for me now.The papers are in the safety deposit box. I'm welcome.

 

I lu-huved this meme! Thanks again, Sher. I am inviting you to participate. Leave me a comment letting me know if you want to be interviewed and I will gladly send you some questions. Be prepared though. I may look through your site first for some inspiration...

Oh yeah, and happy anniversary, Mom and Dad. You're a marital force to be reckoned with. We love you.

 

A Moment

"This isn't an emergency, but-"

"I'll be right there."

I need to stop interrupting the receptionist at Sprite's daycare and let her finish what she needs to say. This could help determine how messed up my day truly needs to get and keep the receptionist from getting pissy with parents like me. (...Nah.)

I quickly find out that ants had used the heavy rains to invade the one year old playground and wreak havoc on the jungle gym. (And making a perfect example of the song, "The ants go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah...")

Toddlers were bitten. Sprite was found to be particularly sweet and palatable.

I'm expected to stop by the school and just check her out to make sure she's not having any reactions. (Because the word "Mommy" must be the "M" in "MD", right?)

I think about this. My day is full. Too full.

It should only take a moment, I rationalize as I quickly move my schedule around to allow for 20 minutes so I can get in, get out, and get on with my day.

I plan my route to stop by at 10:30 as lunch is beginning so she'll be distracted and I can quickly get back to my busy day. Little do I know that 10:30 needs to have "-ish" attached to it.

"Oh, perfect. You're here. They're just finishing up in the lunch room," the receptionist says as I walk in.

I smile and look at my phone. Nope. 10:30. Did they jump the clock?

I walk into the lunch room and see Sprite getting ravioli pieces yanked from her hair as she sits in her seat. "Mommy!" she exclaims, seeing me and waving.

"Hey, babe!" I steer around the tiny tables and give her a small kiss while the teacher finishes cleaning her up.

"Sprite's left leg was covered in ants," the teacher explains, pointing out the red marks on Sprite's lower leg. I examine the area, tsk over the slightly swelling spots, deem it acceptable to survive the rest of the day while in daycare's clutches, and try to gracefully disappear.

Not so fast.

Sprite's hand immediately grabs mine. "Come!" she exclaims and leads me to the door which goes out. She thinks she's going home, I conclude. Silly child..

"No, no, honey," I respond, steering her away from freedom and toward the one year old room. "Let's go here." I'll just escort her in, I think, it should only take a moment.

I open the door and see the darkened room is already decked out in mats and blankets, ready for full bellied toddlers to tumble down and give the teachers a break.

Sprite leads the way to her mat and blanket and pulls me down to sit with her.

I'm trapped. There's no easy way to get out of here as the rest of the woozy tots clamber in and collapse on their respective real estate. (How much did Sprite pay to score a spot by the window?)

Now resigned to helping Sprite settle down, I stretch out a bit. Seeing me get comfortable makes Sprite more at ease knowing Mommy's not going anywhere. She lays down and starts to play with my left hand as my right hand carresses her cheeks and hair. Her eyes start to close and open a little more slowly every time she tries to come back from that point of limbo, sleep one moment away.

My mind starts to drift as I keep the pattern going, my fingers combing through her soft curling hair, occasionally running into small bits of her lunch. (Memo to self, the kid gets a good scrubbing tonight.)

Her eyes are now closed, but her fingers are still moving, playing with my engagement ring and stroking down my fingers in her own pattern.

At this moment, I should be thinking of the unfinished work I have waiting for me at the office. At this moment, I should be making mental notes of the calls I need to return. But, at this moment, all I can do is focus on her fingers slowly stroking mine, all I can do is stare at her peaceful face as her chest slows down and she draws deeper breaths.

All I can do is think about how, at this moment, there is nowhere else in this entire world I would rather be.

Her fingers are now still. She's asleep. I suppress the urge to peck her cheek and slowly, quietly arise to leave.

I slip out of the room and go back to my day where all of the piling paperwork and waiting phone calls suddenly aren't so important anymore.

And it only took a moment for me to remember what truly is.

Neat and Tidy Boxes

This entire job thing has had me wired.

John is doing everything he can and more to make our lives a little more stable, so this is more about me than anything else.

I just want to clean.

That's right. I want to clean. My house. Hell, I'll clean your house if you don't mind me yelling at you for spilling something on the freshly mopped floors afterwards. And take your shoes off! Where do you think the dirt is coming from anyway?!

Last night, when I got home with the child, I shoved some food into her mouth, then shoved her, still chewing, into John's arms and banished them both into John's office/man cave, pausing in the slamming of the door for the briefest of seconds to make sure Blue's tail didn't get caught as she and Harry were forced in as well.

Once my hostages were secured, I attacked. The floors.

They needed it anyway, so I'm glad I was inspired enough to tackle such a project. (Think about it. A wood floor, a Beagle, a Yorkie/Rat terrier, and a toddler who likes to share her food with certain canines in the direct vicinity. Such a combination makes for necessary daily swipes with the Swiffer, but the Swiffer went on strike a couple of months ago and we're not negotiating. So, it's good old mopping now.) (My arms need the workout anyway.) 

I swept, I vacuumed, I mopped. The floors never got such TLC. I went to sleep last night feeling somewhat calm and wishing we had some guests over, if only to see the clean floors.

I woke up this morning and eyed our bathroom. "You're next", I whispered as I got ready for work.

Talking with a co-worker this morning, I described my latest urges and documented the almost frenzied Martha Stewart hour I had endured and enjoyed last night. My co-worker looked at me and said, "Well, Jen. That's just you. You like everything in its place. Your desk is like that here. Everything is in neat and tidy boxes. You're just trying to make yourself feel better while John is looking for a job."

I swallowed her words and pondered the aftertaste. I get it. This is about control.

John was laid off on Tuesday. I have no control over that. Neither does he. So, I am amping up my efforts on what I can control. I can control the clutter in my house. I'm almost anal about it. Now, it's taken on a compulsive life of its own while we're still reeling from the job issue.

I hate uncertainty. I have no control over it. That's why I hate it. I have no control over death. That's why I fear it. I have no control over John's employment status. That's why I obsess over it.

I have control over how clean my house is. That's why I revel in it.

The unknown scares the hell out of me. There are people out there who throw all caution to the wind and take chances, even if they know the wind may steer them into inclement weather. I am not one of those people.

I am a planner. I am a list maker. I am a list checker. I am realistic with a healthy dose of pessimism.

We're all on this path of life. When things like a loss of a job or the loss of a family member or the uncertainty of war, economy, gas prices (You see where this is going..) throw a blanket of fog over the path, we can't see what's ahead, even with the help of high beams. Our steps become more uncertain as we weigh the obvious choices. We can keep walking the path, even though we may take a wrong step and plunge into the abyss, or we can stop altogether and try to wait for the fog to clear, even though this may delay chances we need to take to keep us on the path in the first place.

John is forging ahead on his path, armed with his resume and his warm personality which won me over almost a decade ago.

I just hope he doesn't mind me cleaning up a little after him.

(If they made an Air Wick candle with a bleach smell, I would be ALL over that.)