Caterwauling

From the ever-eloquent Amalah: “You know it’s been a good playdate when nobody is wearing pants by the end.”

The same applies to adult play dates as well, my friend. 😉

When I was little, I cursed a lot. (Clearly I haven’t yet taken a hiatus!) So my family used to give me substitute words to squeal so I’d feel better and I wouldn’t humiliate them in public. It makes sense to me now in adulthood why non-relatives used to look at me funny when I’d get indignant and shout “bolts!” when I really thought I was saying “bullshit!”

So my friend’s got an astute 3-year-old who loves the word “ass.” Her substitute word is “turkey.” So when my friend catches her daughter using the bad word, she asks her to repeat herself. The little one dutifully says, “I said turkey, Mommy.”

The other day, the wee one announced, “Daddy’s a fucking ass!” And per the usual, my friend asked her to repeat herself.

So the little one said, “Daddy’s a fucking turkey!”

And my friend encountered the age-old conundrum — how to laugh to herself and correct the munchkin at the same time. And on top of it all, she didn’t want to lie to her and claim he ISN’T one!!! 😉

I like to travel not because I just don’t have enough stress in my life already, but because I get to meet people I will never see again yet will never forget.

Airports are small that way — we sojourners might be taken in myriad directions to the proverbial four corners of the earth, but each of us is taking an invisible treasure trove of stories and experiences that gets stowed away once we set foot on those 747s.

I was in a gift shop at National Airport (like most liberals, I won’t name the dead president whose name has been tacked on to it), buying a stupid little Washington, D.C., pink babydoll T-shirt because I was bored and it was on sale. The cashier was kind enough — seemed a tiny bit preoccupied but brightened up when we started talking.

And then? She fell silent.

The shop was in the America West/US Airways wing, and it overlooked the tarmac. A plane went driving by and the pilot backed it up a bit. She freaked. Absolutely went into silent panic-attack mode.

I didn’t know what the hell to do. I just wanted to go drink my Cinnabon coffee in peace. But I stood there quietly, looking around for the phone so I could call for help, just in case. I noticed her first and last name on her tag. Mamie.

When Mamie recovered from her moment, she seemed surprised that I’d stood there. (What can I say; I really did wonder where she’d gone in her head.) She went on to ask me if I’d remembered the plane that had crashed into the Pentagon on 9/11. An odd question to ask someone who lives here, but I nodded, almost terrified to hear what she had to say.

She asked if I had known that an 11-year-old boy had been killed in the crash. I vaguely remembered hearing a child had been on board, so I nodded. She said that it was her Rodney — her grandson.

I looked it up in the WaPo when I had a chance — Rodney Dickens.

I had a million questions for her, but I felt like all she needed was someone to give her a moment to process. She said she had just started working at the gift shop — she’d thought it would be a good place for her to meet travelers and wish them well on their way out of town and to welcome the people who managed to make it in safely.

Or maybe that’s what I thought she was there for, because that’s what she did for me.

She did say, though, that she jumps every time she sees a plane — it’s pretty unfortunate that her shop happens to overlook the tarmac. (It’s a tiny airport, not like those mega-mall types like Pittsburgh and Minneapolis, among others.) Instead of inspiring her and helping her to overcome her fears, though, she thinks that she’s just about through with this job. It’s too hard on her.

I looked for her when I flew back a few days later, at exactly the same time of day. Maybe it was her day off. Maybe she’d had too much already. I don’t know. I do know that she will never forget her beloved grandson, and with that mere three-minute conversation, she became someone I would take in my heart during my travels as well.

On the opposite coast, I had the fortune of meeting someone who was catching a connection at SFO after leaving Hawaii post-earthquake last week. His home had suffered some damage — he told some stories about it but didn’t seem too bothered by it. He was very much of the “shit happens” mentality about it all. I admired that.

As we were being stripped of all dignity and shuffled off into a little glass-partitioned area to get dressed again, I asked him if he were heading somewhere safe for the time being. He said yes and that his destination was in Georgia, for his 45th high school reunion.

I’d wondered whether he’d intended to go to it or if it just happened to be a place safe from Mother Nature for the time being. He shrugged sweetly and said he never talked much in school but had a funny feeling that with his life and the stories he had to tell, he’d be remembered this time around.

I wished him well and saw him scurry off to the gate leaving for Savannah. And I never dreamed I’d see someone wanting to run like hell away from Hawaii but, admittedly, my world is a small one.

But it’s expanding.

I went to the local party. And had an amazing time.

I had a few high-school moments, which I won’t go into. (What strange memories can wash back over you 15 years later when you’d thought you’d never feel that way again.) It was nothing anyone said or did — I just retreated very far into my head once or twice and it was familiar, supposedly forgotten, territory. Bizarre.

Minus my “Inner Goddess” moments on the deck (where I saw a shooting star!), there were a multitude of magnificent moments, wherein the girls and I were discussing “conference crushes” that nearly everyone had developed while we were out of town. (Well, I’m not implying that I had anything to add to the discussion. …) 😉

Anyway, I’ve also been on a big Stevie Nicks kick, and unexpectedly, our humble hostess turns out to be a fabulous singer/guitarist and she started singin’ some Stevie. A sign that I was definitely in the right place.

As if I needed more proof that I picked the right party …

So …

… I met a boy.

Heh.

Well, he made sure to give me his business card, which probably means he’s really trying to sell me something and not necessarily indicate that he’d enjoyed our conversations. Because, really, isn’t that always the way? Or maybe he’s gay and just wants to give me a makeover or something. And let me tell you, I wouldn’t turn one down!

Actually, I’m pretty sure there could be a real business opportunity at hand here, so that’s what I’m expecting — a further discussion.

In all, I wish I could have gone to the psychic at the far-off party, but why wait for some strange person to tell me when I’m going to start having good things happen to me when I can, instead, HAVE good things happen to me?

Strange and wonderful the flood of good people the universe has recently washed ashore in my life, bringing incredibly dynamic souls who were previously on the periphery into my heart with deft, almost-imperceptible force.

I’m worth it, as my girlfriend reminded me on the phone tonight during a quick call between glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon. And as she posited, I need to make sure everyone else is equally worthy of me. …

My friend called to tell me a story about her 3-year-old daughter (the one I was supposed to fly out t see today. *cough* Pray nobody gets on my last nerve today because homicide is justifiable in my mind).

They went to church, which is a feat in and of itself, and the sky was gorgeous. So the precocious little one pointed up at the sun and asked whether God made that. My friend said yes, and the little girl nodded thoughtfully, processing it. She declared, “Good job, God!” and got into the car.

She reminds me of a colleague’s 10-year-old daughter, who wants to sell something to make a profit. She wants to put a note on the flyer that half of the proceeds will benefit the Red Cross. When her mom asked her how she came up with that (as she was proud that her daughter was becoming so civic-minded), her daughter replied, “Because more people will buy it if it means they’re supporting a charity.”

Her mom’s a marketer. The dad had said, “Those are YOUR genes showing through!” And he’s right.

I seriously don’t remember being that smart at those ages. Hell, I’m not that smart at THIS age, either. …

What a weird little day. I awoke before 6 a.m., sobbing. Which usually denotes a weekday, so I was understandably confused. 😉 I don’t know what the hell I dreamed about that made me nuts, but seriously, I thought the ritual was to cry oneself to sleep and not into waking instead!

I do remember one of my dreams. I was in Old Town Alexandria, at a wedding. My own. (Stop laughing — I dream in fiction!)

It was a breezy summer day and I was wearing white (Dear Peanut Gallery: I KNOW. Move along now.) and a bunch of us were at The Chart House, hanging out on the pier and laughing, drinking and being merry.

I’ve never eaten there, as it’s out of my price range. But I used to love to go hang out on the boardwalk and sit on the rocks of the Potomac River and watch planes descend into National Airport, so it seemed right to be there.

I saw lots of familiar faces (several of you bloggers were there, even if I’ve never seen you before, I recognized you from your profile pictures). But more importantly, I saw the groom. So, any man who meets me in the next 100 years should be forewarned that I will be peering into his face to see if there’s a match or even a passing resemblance. 😉 I don’t ever see faces in my dreams, so this was strange in and of itself.

But the real bizarro part of it all was that everyone was doing a champagne toast, and I announced that I would be leaving the workforce to be a full-time wife and mom.

*faints*

*loads gun, cocks barrel, splatters brains on wall*

So I was telling this dream to my mom today (she requires encouragement that I’m not entirely disinterested in the concept), and she swears she had a dream the same night of me with two little boys. Hahahaaaaaaa, funny! *shudder*

Talk about taking dreams and turning them into nightmares!

CHEERS!

I expect I was thinking about kids because my best friend had called when I got home and we talked for a few hours, well past 1:30 a.m. She told me how she’d handed sippy cups to her kids, ages 1 and 3. The 3-year-old sat next to the younger one, put her arm around his shoulders, clinked her sippy cup to his and said, “Cheers!”

My friend was stunned because she’s never had a drink in front of them. But before we knew the first one was even in existence, she and I had done many rounds of clinked glasses. (We clink both the top and the bottom. It’s our rule. Not sure why — we were drunk when it came about, and it stuck.)

So, I’m sure her daughter learned it in utero. In any event, we’re so proud!

“Jesus, (Goddess) — you have more than enough scandalous underwear. It’s time to create some SCANDAL!” — Mom

Via my best friend, a conversation with her daughter, age 3:

Friend: If anybody ever tries to hurt you or get at you, you just tell me, and I’ll make sure they don’t bother you anymore.
Alex: OK.
Friend: OK, now if somebody scares you — if the boogeyman bothers you, what will you do?
Alex: Get Mommy.
Friend: Excellent. And what will Mommy do?
Alex: Piss them off!

(I swear, you can’t make this stuff up.)

I’d had a mental post all ready to go about fools and freaks (hat tip to Sabre), but I don’t have four hours to write. 😉

So instead, I’ll honor a special little girl who turned 3 years old today, my niece Alex. Here she is with the caterpillar book that I’d bought for NICU bonding sessions. She was two full months early and was at 4.6 pounds in this photo. Her veins had shut down and the NICU nurses had to shave her head and hook up her IVs that way. Which, she promptly ripped out, the brat. 😉

Whenever I want to get all pity-partyish about my own widdle life, I remember this kid’s entry into this world. I remember her mom, my best friend, borrowing money from her parents so she could run out and buy a video camera because the doctors told her that Alex likely wouldn’t live through her second night on this earth. I remember the horrible pregnancy and the almost-relief that at least when Alex was born, my friend could feel better physically, even though she was dying emotionally, watching this baby fight every minute of her life to stay alive.

Alex spent the whole first year of her life on monitors and medicines. I can count on about 12 hands how many overnights were spent in the emergency room because of her breathing or heartbeat or chronic pain that came from having nodes and needles taped to her fragile skin at all times.

And today, she’s 3. It’s been that long since I drove maniacally to GW Hospital to get to see her the afternoon she was born. I wasn’t able to hold her for months — with the stress and the mental exhaustion and the 24/7 care, my friend sort of dropped out of sight for awhile. We are both alike in that if things are going REALLY terribly, we fade from view. It worried and it scared me when she’d go silent, but I understood.

Actually, I take that back. I’d just had surgery a month after Alex was born and was fairly suicidal about it. When I woke up in the recovery room, Alex was on my chest and my friend was at my side. Both of us were hooked up to IVs and monitors, and it was just a moment I won’t forget. I figured if she could get through all her crap, I could get through mine.

Alex doesn’t like anybody other than her mom and maybe even her dad holding her. But she took to me instantly. (Per Sabre, all babies do. And I suspect she might be on to something with that.) I always joked that she heard my voice throughout the pregnancy as her mom and I made big plans for her and for ourselves. That had to be it. Alex is my girl, plain and simple. I would have given her my heart if it would have helped her to get better. And believe me, she holds onto that heart tightly. When she wasn’t flipping us all off, of course.

She never wants to go to sleep. It’s always an ordeal. (Yes, I am the reason for every piece of denim that child owns. Denim rules!) We theorize that she doesn’t want to miss a minute of life. And while we don’t blame her, I hope that when I have a kid, it enjoys taking naps. Because I know I would if I had the chance!

And today, she’s a happy, healthy and completely energetic kid. No complications, no nothing that the doctors had forecast. She’s even got an adorable little brother. So, happy birthday, Princess — don’t grow up too much between now and October when I get out there to see you!

Oh, the bizarre dreams I have. This one seems spurred by my mom’s and best friend’s gentle nudgings to find them a son-in-law/brother-in-law, respectively. 😉

I dreamed it was my wedding day. I’d chosen a sunset time, so we had the whole day to get ready. I didn’t know my four bridesmaids — they were sort of inherited from the groom as all I had chosen was my matron of honor.

I was calm but getting more and more panicked as the supposedly magical hour approached. The wedding was in a church (odd given that I would probably elope if I could), and I looked out into the sanctuary, searching for familiar faces. Well, I guess there was just one in particular. He had his back to me, and all I wanted was to see him — apparently, I would know whether I were doing the right thing or whether my search wasn’t supposed to end that night.

I saw the groom before the ceremony, completely bucking tradition but not caring because I needed to see him — I guess for my dreaming mind’s eye, I needed to know how I felt about him. And I liked him. I thought he rocked. But. … Yeah. Exactly. No sparks. None whatsoever. Not even when I closed my eyes and tried to conjure them. And everyone seemed to know it.

Someone who was milling around in the dressing room with me overheard me talking to my best friend. The unwanted person volunteered rather unhelpfully, “Get married. You’re already here, so why not? You can always have an affair.” And we turned to her, horrified. Not because we’d been overheard, but that WTF? No, just … no. My friend went up and smacked her across the face. I loved that moment, mostly because one of us probably WOULD have smacked someone for less than that. 🙂

I went to look for that mysterious someone again. By now, he’d left. I wanted it to be because he didn’t want to witness my wedding, but I’d had no indication that anything could ever have happened with him or otherwise I wouldn’t have been there.

And that was a moment that jarred me. I remember asking myself if I wanted to be married if I were always going to be searching and wondering and looking for a way out. I wondered if I needed to pursue that other person, whomever it even was because I truly couldn’t figure out who he was — I just knew that I needed to talk to him. And now he was gone.

I actually let my own indecision make the decision. The four bridesmaids had traveled in a limo together to the church, and my friend came over to tell me that they’d been in a terrible accident. They survived, but their glamour and poise was compromised, to say the least. One of them needed to go to the hospital, and the other three said they weren’t going to go to the wedding — they needed to go with her. And I smiled at that, because here was a wedding that looked like 500 people had shown up for, and they were so loyal and committed to their friend that they didn’t even consider for a moment not being at her side.

At that moment, I decided it was time to call off the wedding. The groom truly thought I was being nice, that I just couldn’t let the show go on without the bridesmaids. And I realized what a big, dumb idiot he must be to not have a fucking clue what was running around in my head — four girls I barely knew who were perfectly fine couldn’t show up. Big deal. All you need is the couple and the person of the cloth to make a wedding happen. It was the marriage I wasn’t certain I’d be able to pull off.

It was almost like a movie, how my friend (and her kids, the flower girl and the ring bearer, and yes, she’s offered them to me to use. Her exact words in a real conversation to me were, “Get married while they’re still young enough to want to be in your wedding!”) left the church in our gorgeous formal-wear, free and happy and light. And I really did end the day with people I loved — just not the ones I expected to be leaving with.

I was bummed, of course, that I didn’t know what the next steps in my life would be. But my waking self knows that’s half the fun.

In any event, I’m (really) headed to Pennsylvania today, so enough with the dreams and now on to more important things, namely scrubbing my butt and gettin’ the hell outta Dodge. 🙂

I just spent way too much money and had WAY too much fun buying birthday gifts for my nephew, who just turned 1, and my niece, who’s turning 3 next week. There went the new-dining-set fund, but seriously? SO worth it.

I look at these two and am hypnotized by The Cute:

Yeah, I know I missed the wee one’s birthday, but luckily he’s too young to know that I run on my own time zone. I like to think of it as he will have presents to open on his sister’s day. That’s always been important to me — when he was born, I made sure she had lots of cool stuff because all eyes weren’t on her anymore.

If/when/yeah right I get my slush fund re-established, I’m going to go visit them. And my friends in Seattle (you know who you are!). Maybe November/Decemberish. Yes, that is a nice goal to work toward. I’ve missed out on enough of these important people’s lives — time to rectify that. And it’ll give me another excuse to buy more presents! 😉