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A few weeks ago the_webmeister and I went to see a Led Zeppelin tribute band called Get the Led Out at the Quick Center for the Arts in Fairfield. It was a really mixed crowd - lots of 40-somethings likes like yours truly, a really amusing group of male 50-something buddies in front of us who were embracing each other with the ecstasy when their fave songs came on and who knew every single word to every single song, and some enthusiastic teens who, unlike my own kids, appreciate the AWESOME of classic rock.

I've played several instruments during my life, piano, cello and oboe and I taught myself a few guitar chords, but never enough to play in a rock band. As I sat there, I had one of those "Aha" moments and I shouted into the Webmeister's ear..."BEFORE I DIE, I HAVE TO PLAY IN A BAND!"

At Kindling Words, one of the things we talked about was setting personal goals apart from your career, and so when we were in the car one night after I got back heading out to dinner, I announced to the Webmeister and my kids that what I wanted for my birthday were electric bass lessons, so that some day I could play in a band and wear a black leather mini skirt and knee high boots.

My daughter totally freaked, less about the band than my awful fashion choices. "OMG! NO! Don't you know you can't wear a mini skirt after 35?!"

She even took it to the Fashion Police at her middle school. "Tell your mother if she wears a leather mini skirt I'll come slap her," her friend said.

Kidz these days.

As I was having my breakfast earlier, Daughter was watching What Not To Wear and she kept rewinding the DVR so I could see the "No MiniSkirts over 35" sign.

"It doesn't say anything about people in rock bands" I said.

"The NO EXCEPTIONS rule is IMPLIED" she argued.

So I'm downstairs working and I get this e-mail in my inbox:



Persistent little monster, isn't she? I might just forgive her if I get to play "Kashmir" live on stage someday...

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is at The Miss Rumphius Effect today.


A sleepover on Christmas Eve at the grandparents' in Baltimore is part of our holiday tradition, elegantly (if I say so myself) incorporated into our family's 12 Days of Yuletide. I got a lovely gift this year from my mother--two books of poetry, The Trouble with Poetry by Billy Collins and Voices by Lucille Clifton. Lucille (I stand in awe and yet presume a first-name basis) is one of my favorite Revered Adult Poets because of the brevity and simplicity of her writing, which enables her also to speak to the youngest children. If you don't know them, go find the Everett Anderson books soon. The variety in Voices is stunning, and I particularly liked this one and shared it with D the elder:

horse prayer

why was i born to balance
this two-leg
on my back to carry
across my snout
his stocking of oat and apple
why i pray to You
Father Of What Runs And Swims
in the name of the fenceless
field when he declares himself
master
does he not understand my
neigh

It reminded me of the following, which I once used as the basis for a writing project with Year 2 children in London:

The Prayer of the Little Ducks

Dear God,
give us a flood of water.
Let it rain tomorrow and always.
Give us plenty of the little slugs

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I wish I could blog about how thrilled I am to have completed my first semester at Vermont College, what a ride it's been, how much I've learned, how much better my writing has gotten, all of that good stuff, but today, this week's professional accomplishment has been entirely overshadowed by something so much bigger.

My oldest goes in for minor surgery tomorrow.  She's having her adenoids removed and turbinades shrunken. She's a mouth breather, is going through the joys of orthodontic work, and needs more breathing room.

It's minor surgery. Twenty minutes tops.


But it's a full anesthesia. Granted, that's what my husband does. Not that he's doing hers. Not a good idea to work on your own loved ones. He'll be in the OR, though, which is great. Still, I'm worried. This is my baby. My little girl. My responsibility.
Will everything go all right? How will her recovery be? Is the pain manageable?

I don't even want to go to that one question that circles around on the perimeter of all the other worried parent questions. It's like, if I give voice to that question, I'm inviting disaster.

I'm not the only one who worries like this, am I? Am I overdoing it? Okay, maybe. I keep telling myself it could be a lot worse. There are greater things to overcome. But denying my feelings isn't working all that well today.

So, I guess I'm going to bury myself in my writing. And when my baby gets home after school, hug and hug and hug her.

Somewhere, in all that, I hope to find my courage.

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My daughter has a summer birthday and usually everyone is away, so we often end up having a family party but she misses out on doing stuff with friends. But this year she was determined to do something, and we wanted to come up with something a little different that wasn't too expensive. See we live in Greenwich, CT, where the standard for birthday parties is pretty out of this world. When my daughter was in third grade, one of her friends took the kids to see a Broadway musical in a stretch limousine. I'm forty-six, and I *still* haven't been to Broadway in a stretch limousine. My daughter's been to parties where they drove around in a Stretch Hummer (I gave her no end of grief because she was wearing her "Protect the Environment" T-shirt that day, irony of all ironies), where they went learned how to go on trapezes, the professional manicure/pedicure fashion show parties. This is a tough place to raise kids with a sense of perspective. These sure ain't the Pin the Tail on the Donkey, Pass the Parcel, and eating Jello and cake parties that were my experience growing up.

As a single mom, there's no way I can afford to shell out for that kind of stuff, so we had to be a little more creative. Between us, we came up with a Mall Mission. I took them to the Mall and gave them each an envelope containing the mission, if they chose to accept it. (They were all too young to get that reference, sigh.)



Inside the envelope was this note:

Recessionista - Urban Word of the Day

A person who is able to stick to a tight budget while still managing to dress stylishly.

A recessionista can shop on a limited budget and still manage to be up to date on the most current fashions. A recessionista does not let a bad economy, inflation, or a strong recession damage her wardrobe and opts to search for sales and shop at thrifty discount stores instead.

Example of Recessionista shopping:

I’ve had a zillion compliments about this bracelet. How much do you think it cost?*




YOUR MISSION: BE THE BEST RECESSIONISTA YOU CAN BE!

Here is $10. Search out the best fashion finds you can get with this budget. You have until 6:45pm and we will meet at the entrance to Barnes and Noble. We will then proceed to California Pizza Kitchen for dinner and to debrief and compare our Fashion Finds.

Some of these girls had no concept of bargains shopping, and they were amazed to see what the girls who did (girls like my daughter, who are forced to bargain shop by necessity if they want to look good) managed to get for $10.

I got them all really cute bags to put their bargains in and a lipgloss at Forever 21 for $1.50 each for the bag and the lipgloss.

They all had a lot of fun, and hopefully they learned something in the process.

And the bracelet I get so many compliments on? I got it for less than $6.50 at PacSun when we were back to school shopping. For $16.50 my daughter got a necklace, I got the bracelet, and then we split a thing of two peace sign bracelets that are our "friendship bracelets".



Even if I am the most embarrassing human being to ever walk the face of the planet.

Now they're downstairs for a "sleepover". More like a "wakeover", if experience is anything to go by. Unfortunately my bedroom is right above the family room, where they are camped out with their sleeping bags.



Fortunately, while they were shopping, I slipped into the bookstore and got myself a copy of Libba Bray's GOING BOVINE, so at least I'll have something to amuse myself while I'm kept up all night.

Poor son is hiding out in his room with his video games, afraid to emerge for fear of losing his sanity. Can't say I blame him.

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What's in a cup??

This was the question of our Labor Day. Or should I say problem?

The Agonizing Labor of our Day.

No not pregnancy Labor.

Not hard labor.

Child Labor.

But not the kind you think.

No, I did NOT put any kids to work (though that's not a bad idea if you've seen my house lately!)

Our Labor Day started out quite normal and nice. Uneventful. Quiet.

The calm before the storm.

We decide to go to the zoo.

Great weather, animals, and family.

How could it get any better?

It can. Just throw in "Superhero weekend" at the zoo and you have it made.

A recipe for success?

You'd think so.

Problem #1: Instead of using our free membership, we spent an extra 40$ for Superhero tickets (money we did not budget this month).

Problem #2: Only to find out my son HATES superheros. Who knew? he loves wearing their costumes. But yes, he hates, loathes, despises men in tight uniforms. So 30 seconds in? Screams of terror.

Problem #3: Which separates the "family" for "family day" b/c hubby takes son out of show and waits outside while daughter cheers on Spiderman, Wolverine and Storm as they take out the evil Green Hornet. The show was about pollution and taking care of the environment. At the end, all kids are sworn in as "superheros of the earth." Cute right?

Problem #4: My daughter wants to wait and meet the "real" heros for a picture. In a Reaaaaaaaaaallllllly long line of screaming kids and bored parents in a hot tent. We wait in line for a long time.

Problem #5: Just before we finally reach the stage of superheros for the perfect photo op. Daughter decides she is scared and wants to leave. What a waste!

Not so bad you say. Just wait. I'm The leading up to it. Hang with me!

So family proceeds to walk around the zoo and check out more animals and get faces painted.

Problem #6: Hubby and I start to fight because I want to get food for kids b/c they are hungry but he wants to save money and rush home. Yet kids want to see more animals.

Problem # 7 - #12.5 : Meltdowns ensue. Lines to food are long. Temperatures are rising. The cute shirt I wore starts to feel like a straight jacket. I realize I forgot to use deodorant. I'm wearing my librarian glasses (BTW my contacts are on backorder - but I wont count that problem in this tally. No need to add more.) so sunglasses are not an option in the blazing sun.

Still with me? The doozey is coming. Trust me. I never disappoint my readers.

I decide (storm off) to go get food (anyway) while hubby takes kids to see Lions and Rhinos.

Problem #13: Of course, when I am not around, all hell breaks loose. (Side note: I think its b/c kids are hungry but what do I know? ah hem - maybe i was right. shhhhhhhh!)

Problem #14.333333: Son proceeds to throw a fit and throws big plastic water cup at my daughter's head, making a direct hit.

Problem #15: Evidently, the big sippy cup pummels her in the very spot you don't want it to. That's right, in the temple.

Crying begins.

can you see the escalation?? Don't worry I'm not done yet!!

Meanwhile I'm hot and mad and standing in a long line - behind someone who had 20 minutes to decide their order but now wants to change it when they get to the window - getting food and go to wait for family at designated meeting spot.

Problem #16 - #21: (b/c I am extra hot at this point, this deserves more than 1 problem) No one in my family unit shows up to meet me.

Then I get a call. On my cell. From my daughter (keep in mind she is 5!) telling me to come to the car?

Problem #22 - Hubby is in car in parking lot!??? Me? Still in hot zoo with bag of crappy expensive food after waiting for a long time!!! Now stuck alone in a huge crowd of stinky, hungry people.

I rush out of zoo to lot, even sweatier than before (did i mention food line was in the hot hot son by a hot hot grill.)

Problem #23 - argument ensues with hubby over failure to communicate over locale of meeting spot.

Problem #24 - Over my daughter's crying in the back seat, I'm filled in of my son's vicious cup attack (please keep in mind he's only 2 so during all of this drama - he's in the back seat happily singing "wheels on the bus". Totally oblivious to his offense.)

Problem #25 - Then I see my daughter's eye. A blood blister (about the size of a dime) is forming on her left temple. (Hm. That doesn't look good.)

Problem #26 - I try to lecture 2 year old about throwing cups as he is singing "no more monkeys jumping on the bed." He does not understand.

Problem #27 - ON way home, daughter says she feels tired and sick to her stomach. (wow this really doesn't sound good)

Problem #28- #30 - we get home and she won't eat. Anything. She just wants to sleep. She lays down and gets lethargic. I won't let her sleep. I think I saw that in a movie somewhere. She is not happy about that.

Problem #31 - I think she needs to go to emergency room. Hubby does not.

Problem #32 - a little later, when she perks up a bit, hubby says he is taking kids to park.(really?)

Problem #33 - #35: she throws up in car and then all over the bathroom. (I see lots of red stuff and start to freak out but hubby says it is jello?? But she only had 2 bites??)

We call the medical help line. They say, "OMG Bring her in!"

Yes I am serious? We are now scrambling wondering if she has a head injury from a random flying cup?

Problem #36. Hubby rushes daughter into car and to emergency room - which is only minutes from our house.

Problem #37-50 - I stay at home with son!!! Pacing! Freaking out. Now I am crying. What if she is really hurt? At the hand of my singing son?

Problem #51 - Just as they get in the door, daughter throws up in emergency room.

Problem #52. They are whisked away into another room and all the ER is forced to wear masks? (why? you guessed it - swine flu precaution??)

Problem #53: In the meantime, a trauma unit comes in with a kid in really bad shape from a car accident. So my daughter - who either has swine flu or massive brain hemorrhaging - waits and waits and waits. (And rightly so, b/c the trauma kid almost died but they saved him. That was definitely worth the wait. But the wait was agonizing.)

Problem 53.4 - Problem 61.3333 - Meanwhile - neurotic, worse-case scenario mom (AKA Me!) is freaking out at home. Calling family and best friend hoping to be talked out of visiting Panic-ville. (PS my family thinks I overreact so this calling drudges up family issues as well.)

Problem 61.4 - Problem 65 - Doctor does not come in to examine daughter for 2 hrs!!! Meanwhile, her brain is falling out of her head (at least to me)

Problem 65 - I am at home researching head trauma, CT scans, Natasha Richardson, and US statistics on "death by flying cups".

Problem 66 - Junior doctor checks out daughter and says she is fine. he wants to send her home.

Problem 67 - I tell (threaten) hubby. Don't leave until they scan her or I will come down there! (Do you blame me? The symptoms showed up with in 10 minutes of head impact.)

Problem 68 - Daughter has to go through scary CT scan.....without me! :(

Problem 69 - 99 - CT scan is 100% normal???? Daughter diagnosed with tummy bug!

Problem #100- My neurotic self once again looks like a hypochondriac, loony bird with entire family who I've been calling and putting on "emergency backup" notice for 2 hrs in case I have to go into hospital for brain surgery. (no not mine, hers!)

*sigh*

Blessing #1 - #100 - daughter is fine. family is fine.

Shout out #67 (don't ask about #1-#66) : to my daughter's guardian angel - you rock!!!!

Moral of the story?

We are switching to paper cups!!!!!!!!

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My daughter started the big K this week *sniff sniff*.

And, as expected, I did worse than she did.

On Tuesday morning, she jumped out of bed as soon as her new princess alarm clock went off singing. She was up and dressed before I could even open my eyes. (seeing as I had not gotten in until about 1:30 or 2 from LA.)

My daughter burst into my room and said, "I am more excited than if I was riding a huge rollercoaster." (I assumed that was big. Even though she has never ridden one, it summed it up pretty good. I got the point :)

The whole morning she was singing and buzzing around the house. She picked out her own clothes and came out and twirled. "Don't I look fancy?" She went on to explain (in great detail) why she chose her outfit and why it matched.

I think we were even 5 minutes early leaving the house, which for those who know me, know how hard that is and are probably in shock right now b/c I am always 15 minutes late.

When we got to the school, she clutched onto my hand. I did everything I could not to cry all the way into the building, down the hall, down the stairs and down her hall. Literally, I had a lump in my throat that reached my chest. I could not believe this was my little girl, going to big girl school, all day, away from me.

She was holding it together as if she was a pro. Me? squeezing back tears with every step. shaking. feeling sick to my stomach.

As we walked into the room, she slowed down a bit. She hung up her bag and turned to me: "Where are you going to sit Mommy?"

"What?"

"Well, aren't you the room parent? where are you going to sit?"

Gulp. "Oh honey. I am the room parent does not mean I STAY in the room all day."

Her face dropped. I almost heard her confidence hit the floor. "What?"

"You stay here on your own."

"But i thought you were room parent?"

And then I lose it too. I still tried so much to hold it together but when you are looking into those big hazel eyes, filled with water. It's hard!

Then the teacher walks in - and it is a SUBSTITUTE!

Are you kidding me?

She still wasn't crying but what got me the most was that her lip started to quiver. She was TRYING not to cry. She kept looking at the kids and back at me. She whispered under her breath, "Mommy? Could you just stay 5 more minutes?"

In that moment, I realized how much older she was now. A year ago, she would have cried and not cared who was around. (Usually in a public place :) Now, she was embarrassed to cry. She was worried about the kids in the classroom. She was trying to hold it in like I was.

The bell rings for school to start.

I said, "Honey I'm going to go now. The bell just rang. School starts now and you will have such a blast here."

Then, she completely lost it and gripped onto my leg like a koala bear and its mommy.

My writer-side kicked in.

I took a little leather "S" off my keychain and clipped it to her belt. "Did you know this was a magic key chain?"

She stops crying for a second. "Really? how do you know?"

"Because I use it all the time and it helps me feel safe."

She smiles and wipes her face. She sits down on the rug and watches me leaving, tears rolling down her still-baby cheeks.

I waved and walked out.

My tears started and I cried all the way to the car and in the car.

Images of my baby girl growing up flashed through my mind. My emergency delivery for "failure to progress." The hard first 6 months when we were not sure what affect her heart defect would have on her and us. The emergency room visits. Her first steps. Her first words. Her 5 years flashed in front of me.

Now she was a big girl.

I watched the clock all day, waiting until I could pick her up. I called the school a couple of times and they said if she was really upset, the counselor would visit her. It's not like PreK where I could just go get her early. make her feel better with a mommy lunch or ice cream cone. I couldn't not sneak back in the school and peek through the window to see she was OK. That no one was being mean to her. That she was not sad. In K, you have to sign in.....evidently in blood if you want to visit the classroom.

Finally 2 oclock.

I race out the door, speed to the school, and pace outside, waiting for her class to be released. Different scenarios played out in my head. What if she cried all day? what if she hated it? what if someone pushed her? what if someone hurt her feelings?

Then, I see her little face come around the corner.

A smile from ear to ear.

She runs into my arms and hugs me.

"how was your day honey? was it OK?"

I wait for the horrible day to unfold.

"Mommy, I sang I love kindergarten all the way down the hall. But I whispered it to myself so no one could hear."

The panic floating inside me all day seeped out. I was so happy for her. So excited for her to start a new life.

"And you know what else Mommy?"

"What honey?"

"Tomorrow, I want to walk myself to my classroom. Without you."

"Well let's just take it slow."

"I can do it."

"I know you can. But I'm not ready for that yet. What were the happy parts about your day?"

She grips my hand and as we walk to the car, she fills me in about music class, art, and reading. She tells me about her two new friends. And explains the word "absent" to me.

"Any sad parts?"

"No."

There it is. My baby girl was gone. Replaced by a wonderful and brave little girl.

"Well, there was one thing."

"What?"

"I missed you."

Today she did much better.

Me? Not so much.

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What with a son in a play and a daughter in a dance recital AND a play (dance recital now successfully over, one down, two to go…) plus a revision deadline at the end of the month, saraclaradara has been a very neglectful blogger. How could I have left you all hanging as to the outcome of Daughter’s fateful venture into a Connecticut Writing Project fiction workshop taught by her freakish, embarrassing MOM? Especially after said Mom had spent the day at her middle school the week before doing workshops for the 8th graders and when daughter had entered Media Center to wave hello, Freak Mom had the nerve to blow her a kiss ? (Dum, dum, dum….)

Well, the car ride up to Fairfield University was extremely entertaining. What with budget cuts, no bus transportation was provided for students (nor any teachers to accompany them, because we were told there wasn’t funding, even in tony Greenwich, CT, to pay for a substitute to cover) and since I was going anyway and am in possession of a Mom Mobile, I ended up with a carpool of six (count ‘em) 7th grade girls. Oh, the singing! Oh the texting! Oh the dialogue! Of course, if I happened to like a song, and made the slighted sign of enjoyment such as head bobbing or, heaven forbid, singing, I was rewarded with a stern glance and a hissed warning: “Mother!”

Upon arriving at the CWP, Daughter was extremely mortified to learn that her name tag had her last name on it. Horrors! What if the other kids put two and two together?

Fortunately she wasn’t in my workshop until the afternoon, so I had a practice run. Because strangely enough, as freaked out as she was about having me as her teacher, I was kind of nervous about having her as much student. I wanted her to be proud of me.



One of her good friends was in the morning workshop and was kind enough to give me a good review. At lunch, I notice Daughter eating outside in the sun with a group of her friends and I casually strolled by.

“Hello Mrs. Littman, who is not related to A!” one of her friends joked, earning themselves a dagger glance from Daughter.

“GOODBYE Mrs. Littman!” said Daughter.

I scurried away back to the land of older people, who happened to include keynote speaker Yona McDonagh

Afterwards, my daughter told me one of the other kids who didn’t realize we were related asked her: “Why were you being so mean to the fiction teacher?”

Yeah?! Why indeed?!! ☺

When the students came in for the afternoon workshop, someone from Daughter’s school saw my name on Powerpoint and called out, “Wow, she has the same last name as A – are they related?”

I followed my instructions and denied all knowledge. “I’m not sure…are they?”

Noticed Daughter smirking out of the corner of my eye.

Workshop went well, and afterwards, my daughter even admitted she enjoyed it. I asked her how I could improve it: “don’t talk so much”….hmmm I wonder if this is a daughter specific comment or a general comment – like is it just that she’s sick of the sound of my voice or do I really talk too much?



(See if you can spot Daughter. Hint: she’s the one giving the teacher attitude ☺)

So another hurdle passed successfully, and both Mother and Daughter survived intact!

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My daughter, a 7th grader came home from school yesterday all excited and said, "Guess what! My teacher picked me to go to Writers Day at the CT Writing Project!"

"Wow!" I said. "That's great! Guess who will be teaching there?"

"Oh no...not YOU?"

"Uh huh."

"What section?"

"Fiction."

"Oh NO! That's the section I wanted to take!"

I tried to persuade her it might not be SO bad. That I'm going to be doing some fun new writing exercises. She finally agreed to go, but with these ground rules:

1. I am not, under any circumstances, to acknowledge that we are related.
2. I am, however, allowed to say hello.
3. I am in no way to treat her any differently than any other student.
4. Under penalty of death, I must not make the mistake of blowing her a kiss, like I did when I was at her school last Friday giving a presentation to the 8th graders. ("OMG Mother!!")
5. I must not behave like a freak.

Of these, I think number 5 will probably be the hardest, since in her eyes everything I do seems to qualify me as a freak.

Proof, if any were needed, that you are never a hero in your own hometown.

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We spent the weekend in Harrisonburg, VA...did a little hiking and got attacked by ticks and horse flies; went to a winery and brewery, and the best part--taking my daughter to lunch! She'll be 21 in two weeks...time flies.

We came back home on the Blue Ridge Parkway. It was hot, hazy and humid but it was still so very beautiful! We found a camp ground we'd like to go back to in the fall.

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Last night Daughter, Mother, the Webmeister and I attended the Awards ceremony for this year's JDRF walk. Our team, The A-mazings won raised almost $13,000 for this year's walk, and we won individual Golden Sneakers, a Platinum Team plaque and a Sapphire level Circle of Appreciation pin. But best of all....WE WON THE BEST T-SHIRT contest!!

Just as a reminder, here's what they looked like:



I was so proud that we won that because my daughter designed the shirts herself. Of course, I had to tell everyone at the surrounding tables this fact, to my daughter's extreme chagrin. Sheesh, what does the kid want from me? I can't help being proud!

Anyway, here's Daughter with her armful of awards:



And here's me after picking up my Golden Sneaker:



Can you see my extremely groovy necklace? My daughter made it for me for Chanukah. I love what it says: "Imagination is everything.It's the preview of life's coming attractions."

Ok, I'll stop bragging about my daughter now. Even if she is smart and funny and talented and creative and generally gorgeous.

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Just a quick posting of some of the books in the new house. This is the library. The wall to the left of the picture wraps around and there are two more bookcases there plus the TV. On the right there are more bookcases as well. We painted this room red before we moved in. New furniture is on its way, a camelback couch and a pair of leather chairs. Eventually we'll redo the fireplace mantle/tile. (The entire house was a formal Italian style which isn't us.)
 

And these are the bookcases in my office.

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