I love the beach.
For boogie boarding.
To walk to.
For walking on.
To walk away from.
For the dunes.
To jump on.
And dance on (they were singing J. Geils Band's "Just Can't Wait").
For the umbrellas.
To ride bikes to.
To cover your legs in wet sand.
Even in the rain.
Even when you can't swim.
To play games on.
To build sand castles on.
And sand birthday cakes on.
To play with drift wood.
I love the beach.
Really. I will.
We spent over two weeks away. It was lovely.
Then we returned to a flooded basement thanks to the water boiler exploding. Not so lovely.
And two boys started second grade today while a little lady started pre-K. And the grown-ups in the house had to go back to work. So we are all playing a little catch up right now.
But I will be back. To share stories of the beach, drives and the island hospital. Because for the first time, I had to take one of my kids to the Emergency Department while on vacation on this island.
I'm only emerging from our blissful vacation to honor my sons' 8th birthday. And as I did last year, I wrote each of them a letter. So this breaks my no-too-long rule for posting. But hey - it's their birthday today.
Happy Birthday son,
I've been slogging through Doris Kearns Goodwin's large and heavy biography about Lincoln. In fact when you had to bring it from the car into the vacation house you exclaimed "When are you going to finish this book?"
I have learned so much about America during the early to mid-1800's, Lincoln's life and events leading up to the Civil War. But I've learned something else.
You are a classic boy.
Early during the Lincoln family's days in the White House a family friend wrote in her diary a description of Willie Lincoln, one of the President's sons. Last month I nearly fell off the train seat as I read:
"Healthy and high-spirited, he had a blazing temper, which disappeared as quickly as it came. He was a 'merry, spontaneous fellow, bubbling over with innocent fun, whose laugh rang throughout the house, when not moved to tears.'"
That is you.
You continue to be incredibly generous (you gave your brother your gift certificate so he could combine it with his to get an insanely expensive Magic Kit), loudly mercurial and downright cuddly. I'm always a bit startled when you take my hand or even put your arm around my waist in public. I have to try not to tear up because I fear it will be the last time you will display affection in public.
And then you do it again a few days later.
I love you,
Mama
Happy Birthday son,
You are the family showman. You now have a Magic set thanks to your brother's generous giving of his gift certificate. You are determined to figure out how to hide a coin inside a sack locked in a box, pass the wand without it being seen in the hallow part of another box, or tell what number an audience member has chosen on a card. In addition to being determined to play in a band, star on Broadway, pitch professional baseball, illustrate books, win a gold medal at the Olympics and still live with me as an adult. Apparently part of your life plans involve your parents moving with you to where ever you go.
Your wide-eyed view of the world is inspiring. Your sense of what you can and will do is exciting. Your belief in the inherent goodness of people makes me wish the world was indeed the place you think it is.
By being here you make the world just such a place. A place where all kids regardless of their abilities are friends, a place where music is constantly played, a place where life has to be lived fully (and loudly) from the moment you wake up until the second you collapse into bed at night.
I'm not sure I'll be following you around in your twenties. But I'm sure having fun following you around as you turn 8 years old.
I love you,
Mama
Last month I came up the stairs from the basement during a particularly loud thunder storm to find two little eyes staring at me from under the dining room table.
"Mommy?" the owner of those eyes asked, "Were you scared of thunder when you were a little kid?"
Yes I was and she was promptly invited to sleep in my bed.
This year the boys were lobbying hard for individual birthday parties. I was trying to stave off it off for one more year so I relented and allowed plan B. They invited every single kid from each of their first grade classes for a 4-inning game of baseball.
They had a batting order and a spreadsheet of where each kid would go on the field to make sure everyone played. The plans had to be revised since some families were either on vacation or had other plans.
But what was most touching was the thought by them that went into making sure the kids who are not very athletic would have a good time. One guy was particularly worried that a classmate who is known for not attending parties (his family can't afford presents) would not come. He bugged me every day after the invites were mailed if the friend had called. I finally called the family and asked if we could pick him up for the afternoon. We got him and his presence was the present.
And is our custom, every kid who joined us got a CD of the boys' favorite music from the last year. Every year I think it will be the last one we do. This year the boys themselves were plotting which songs to include on the CD, helping to compile them and eagerly handed them out as the party ended.
1. Tessie (Radio Version)- Dropkick Murphys
2. Get Up Off Our Knees - The Housemartins
3. Life Is a Highway - Rascal Flatts
4. The Lollipop Guild - The Wizard Of Oz
5. Born in the U.S.A. - Bruce Springsteen
6. Good Morning Baltimore - Hairspray
7. Walking In Memphis - Marc Cohn
8. Tennessee - Arrested Development
9. Seasons of Love - Rent
10. Rosealia - Better Than Ezra
11. True Colors - Cyndi Lauper
12. Chelsea Dagger - The Fratellis
13. Lake Michigan - Rogue Wave
14. The Battle Of New Orleans - Johnny Cash
15. I Got It (What You Need) - Galactic & Lyrics Born
16. Love Stinks - The J. Geils Band
17. I'm Shipping Up to Boston - Dropkick Murphys
And the parents seemed excited about the CDs - especially with the Dropkick Murphys on it.
All in all a great day. The first sunny day in a week, kids in a great mood, an afternoon on the ballfield and new loot to boot.
Singing anything new lately?
Tomorrow, August 9th is my 2nd anniversary of blogging. It started as a little experiment for myself, to see what this blogging stuff was all about and how I could explain it to low-income, primarily homeless, women. I ended up leaving that job but I'm still blogging.
And while my first year was of experimenting, learning and fumbling through the blog-o-sphere, this second year was marked with something pretty radical.
I met several of you in person. One of you even agreed to multiple get-togethers. I met one of you while you played tourist in the big city. Another two agreed (in separate cities) to meet up for drinks (now Ambassador and Flower Child were present for those but they don't count - they've been friends of mine before email or text messaging).
But the big journey was traveling over the ocean to be hosted by Jenn in Holland and her family, who didn't know me except through blogging. It was the biggest act of faith and generosity shown to me in a long time. She even rigged a surprise day of play with Fourier Analyst who spontaneously welcomed us into her family. I still think I was the luckiest person in the world that weekend.
Then Jenn in Holland came to visit me and my family. It was such fun to show her my actual world, not the virtual one.
I have been laying low with comments these few months due to work, new found commitment to exercise and spending time with the kids. I continue to write and post and am grateful for those of you who keep leaving comments even though I haven't been around to visit you.
And, to celebrate my 2nd year, here is a list of a few of my favorites posts from the past 12 months:
Love (the boys' birthday letters)
Hairspray
Inspiration by Brown
Farewell to a bee
Got a call from Newsweek Magazine
Day to Read
A boy in the hospital
Lorraine Hotel, 2008
Happy Birthday (little lady's birthday letter)
We're just beaming here
Show and tell
Pink Hearts and Bad Connections
Am I missing a post or two that you really like?
And what am I doing tomorrow to celebrate the 2nd anniversary of my blog? Spending the afternoon with over 20 second-graders on an elementary school baseball diamond for two boys' 8th birthday party. All my sons want to do is play a baseball game for their party.
I knew you would understand why I missed the blog party.
Amazing Guy left the hotel room for the New York City Half Marathon last month at 5:30am to be on time for the 7:00am start. The boys insisted on wearing their Red Sox shirts while little lady wanted to wear her brand new sandals purchased the day before. So now I had to hope there would be no mean words to little boys or blisters on toes.
We got to Central Park in time to see the leaders run by. It was very exciting.
We were also able to find Amazing Guy in the midst of the crowd. Much cowbell ringing, yelling and hand slapping ensued.
And several yells of appreciation from runners wearing a Red Sox shirt or hat.
Then after a quick ride on the subway to Times Square to find Amazing Guy again. The kids did their usual sticking out of their hands for runners to slap as they go by. It continues to amaze me that people will cross the street to seek out a hand to slap.
At one point, a tall man completely crossed the large street in Times Square, clearly seeking out the kids' hands. He got to one Red Sox clad boy and lifted his hand while saying "Oops", slapped little lady's hand, and then avoided the next boy's hand with the explanation "I don't touch Red Sox fans."
After yelling for Amazing Guy in Times Square, we hopped on the subway again and got to the finish line just a block away from where the Twin Towers once stood.
His shirt reads "Sikhs in America".
This was our third time seeing "Lobster Hat Man" as my kids called him.
This guy was juggling as he approached the finish line. Amazing Guy told us about one guy who dribbled a basketball the entire time.
Once again a fun day. Although now little lady has asked both Amazing Guy and me, "when do we get to cheer for mommy in a race?"
The last weekend in July the family and I went to New York City to support Amazing Guy's run in the half marathon. The day before the race we played tourists which included a short ferry ride around the East River to see the latest public art installation. The New York City Waterfalls are four large metal towers which spew out water.
There is one under the Brooklyn Bridge.
By Pier 35 near Rutgers Street.
By the Brooklyn Piers.
By Governors Island.
It was a lovely little tour, especially after we nearly missed it due to many subway delays. Nothing like dragging three kids down multiple blocks of Fulton Street, which is completely torn up due to construction. But we made it and split up because there was no way little lady was leaving the air conditioning. And there was no way I was going to try and take photos through dirty windows.
Amazing Guy graciously sat inside with little lady and one big man while I sat outside in the back with the other big man. I rarely get time with only one son so it was another treat on top of a lovely little tour.
At one point he turned to the older women next to us and on his own said "We're from Boston." He then talked to them about our visit, why we are there, what we had done and asked them questions about their own visit. I was speechless and floored as my son showed conversational skills and social grace I didn't know he had.
The cherry on top of the treat on top of a lovely little tour.
As I've written, there was a shooting last week at the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church in Knoxville, TN. The shooter wrote in a letter that he wanted to get "liberals and gays" and specifically targeted this congregation.
Most UU churches do not hold services during the summer. Growing up we would joke that God went to the Cape for the summer (as in Cape Cod). When telling that story as we moved into our new town seven years ago, I was corrected that here God goes to Nantucket, a much more exclusive island off the coast.
Back in the spring our church decided to experiment with summer services organized and led by parishioners. Yesterday's service had been completely planned by a woman who then graciously put aside her efforts to help create one that responded to the Knoxville tragedy. But as often happens when you suggest an idea, you have to do it.
Which is why I ended up leading the service. Here is what happened:
I. Prelude - usually our music is performed on a huge organ by an incredibly talented woman. This summer our music is being played on a piano by an incredibly talented high school student. He is not Unitarian Universalist but still attended a candlelight vigil in the big city on behalf of the victims of the shooting. I encouraged him to chose the prelude and postlude. He picked several lovely songs, and kept playing until we had settled down a few minutes later than planned.
II. Chalice lighting - every UU service includes the lighting of a chalice. My daughter was the only child in attendance and I asked her to come and light the chalice in honor of the children who witnessed the violence last Sunday and our resolve to provide a safe, affirming space for all children.
III. Unison Affirmation - all UU churches have their own affirmation. Ours is:
Love is the spirit of this church
and Service is its law.
To dwell together in peace,
to seek the truth in freedom
to serve humanity with love
is our covenant with
each other and with God.
Yup, this weekend I was back in New York City just 9 days after the Yaz concert. The entire family went this time to yell and ring cowbells for Amazing Guy as he ran the Half Marathon through Central Park, down 7th Avenue into Times Square and down to Battery Park.
I did my own marathon - getting three kids between ages 4-8 from the hotel over to Central Park to yell for AG then on to the subway to get to Times Square to yell again then back on the subway to Battery Park to find AG in a sea of over 20,000 people. All between 6:30am-10:30am.
I'm a bit tired so the photos will go up later in the week. But in the mean time I am humming a tune since this was little lady's first ever trip to NYC. And she really liked it.
Especially since she got two new pairs of shoes at Century 21 (the clothing store, not the realtor).
I opened today's Big City paper and found part of yesterday's post in the Vox Op section of the Editorial Page.
What is weird is I didn't submit it. They just found me.
The following was reported on the big city newspaper website the afternoon of July 23rd:
Facing foreclosure, Taunton woman commits suicide
By Michael Levenson, Globe Staff
TAUNTON -- The housing crunch has caused anguish and anxiety for millions of Americans. For Carlene Balderrama, a 53-year-old wife and mother, the pressure was apparently too much to bear.
Police say that Balderrama shot herself Tuesday afternoon 90 minutes before her foreclosed home on Duffy Drive was scheduled to be sold at auction. Chief Raymond O'Berg said that Balderrama faxed a letter to her mortgage company at 2:30 p.m., telling them that "by the time they foreclosed on the house today she'd be dead."
The mortgage company notified police, who found her body at 3:30 p.m. The auction had been scheduled to start at 5 p.m. Balderrama used her husband's high-powered rifle, O'Berg said.
She left a note for her family saying they should "take the [life] insurance money and pay for the house," O'Berg said.
He sat across from me on the train. He was facing in the direction of where the train was going. I was facing the direction of where we had been.
He looked to be in his late 50's or early 60's. Thin, tall, he still had a fair amount of hair on his head. He wore a proper light blue button down shirt, tan pants and sensible brown loafers. On his left ring finger was a plain gold band and on that wrist was a black sports watch. He sat next to the aisle and had completely taken over the seat next to him with his laptop, Blackberry, papers, newspaper and other items. He also wore an earpiece for phone calls.
During the first hour or so I tuned out the sounds of his phone conversations, either by listening to music or reading my book, or both. Then something caught my eye.
His wristwatch had moved up his arm to reveal three Gothic green letters spelling "Pam". These were not small letters but large enough to cross over the top of his left wrist.
I was transfixed. I would glimpse at his wrist whenever I could and wonder who was Pam. Why did he have her name tattooed on his wrist? He looked like the last person on earth to be sporting a visible tattoo, especially one that could pop out during meetings talking about the business strategies of well-known companies (which were the topics of his multiple and lengthy phone calls).
Was Pam a daughter? A wife? A lost love? Did he just love the cooking spray? I think such a drastic, permanent act is born from grief, or hope. Maybe she died and he wanted a permanent reminder that she really did exist. Maybe he promised to do this drastic act in order to prove something to a desperate person.
I went back to my book and after several pages looked up again to see the words but they were gone. Hidden behind the thick sports watch. Eventually the next station came and he got off the train.
So some of you may know that I went to a concert last week. In New York City. Near the piers. To hear a band that was together for 15 months in the early 1980's and never toured for their second album.
And it was at this concert that I learned I was not their biggest fan. By a long shot.
I was also suppose to go to the concert with one of my dearest friends. A friend since college. We hosted the 3am-6am show on the college radio station on Friday mornings our last semester. A friend who was in my wedding. Who tolerates my mommy life while she continues the kid-free adult life. Who rearranged her life to come to this concert with me.
And then a dear high school friend of hers lost his dad to cancer. And the funeral was Thursday morning. But she had it all planned out. A 40 minute plane ride leaving at 3:20 would get her back to NYC in plenty of time to meet me at the hotel and ride the taxi to the concert. We planned to get there before the doors opened so we could be right up front.
4:00pm. Her flight still hasn't taken off. 4:30pm she calls to tell me she'll meet me at the show. 6:00pm I'm waiting for a cab outside the hotel and she calls to say she doesn't think the flight will ever leave. I get in the cab and the driver argues with me that the address I gave him doesn't exist. I hand him the actual ticket with the address printed on it and he repeats back to me exactly what I said and ends tersely with "Why don't you say that?"
She calls back. She won't make it in time. She's crushed. So am I. I promise to dance hard for her.
The cab driver turns a corner and the street goes under the expressway. There is a huge line, over 100 people, starting on one side of the street and then going to the other side due to construction. "Is this the club?" I ask. "I don't know" he replies.
I pay him, get out and ask folks in line if they are there for the Yaz concert. They were. Quickly the line stretches past me. It is half an hour before the doors are suppose to open. At one point a woman walks by and declares "Are we going to end up in f*cking Jersey?"
Everyone around me is with at least one person, some in groups. I figure I traveled the trains through Europe alone. I traveled through South Africa alone. I can see Yaz alone.
I learned that some of these folks had been standing outside the door for three hours. I thought I was so with it by getting there a half an hour before the doors opened. I finally get in, grab a beer (I needed some fortification) and realized the crowd at the stage was only 4 people deep and I was taller than all of them. I was in good shape. Now I only had to wait until 8pm for the show to start.
I was still standing at 9pm.
And then these young children, who clearly hadn't been born when Yaz existed, tried to cut ahead of me. Only two got by. I blocked the third. I wouldn't let him past.
A second one went back behind me (that's a good little boy, I thought) but the first one, the one who was so excited that he had cut ahead of us wouldn't budge. And he was just the right height to block my view.
By then the only other person who was clearly alone made some space for me. He said he felt bad that he was blocking my view. Chuck from Connecticut was my fill in gay friend for the concert. Not that he took the place of a best girlfriend but he made the remaining half an hour of standing around fun as we talked about Yaz, our favorite songs and other concerts we had been to.
Then, a little after 9:30, bliss began. Alison Moyet and Vince Clark came out in all black, she sporting to the cutest pigtails and he completely bald, and they played 19 songs.
1. Nobody's Diary (The crowd went nuts as the first notes were played.)
2. Bad Connection (How appropriate since my dear friend's plane never made it.)
3. Mr. Blue
4. Good times
5. Tuesday (which was only released in the UK and I was the ONLY PERSON WHO KNEW THE SONG!!)
6. Ode to Boy
7. Goodbye '70's
8. Too Pieces
9. In My Room (Alison sang this song from a comfy chair clutching a pillow with a video of a swinging light bulb behind her. She sang it with a crazed look in her eyes.)
10. Anyone
11. Walk Away from Love
12. I Before E Accept After C remix ("played" on a big reel to reel tape player as Alison and Vince walked off the stage for a short intermission. Once again, only the die-hards - like me and Chuck from Connecticut - knew what this was)
13. State Farm
14. Sweet Thing
15. Winter Kills
16. Midnight (Alison started to sing and then stopped saying "Sorry. Sorry! I lost the beat. I figured it would be terribly rude to continue and not be honest. Can we start again?" The audience insanely cheered for her and proceeded to sing with her louder than any other song up to then.)
17. Unmarked
18. Bring Your Love Down (Didn't I) (I told Chuck before the show that this was the one song I really hoped they would sing. When it started he turned to me and gave me a big grin along with a high five.)
19. Don't Go (We went collectively nuts.)
They then met at the center of the stage, hugged, then turned to bow. They walked off and the stage stayed lit and the club remained dark.
That's when I realized I truly wasn't their biggest fan. Large pink paper hearts were suddenly being passed from the very front row back into the crowd. I got one as did the folks around us. We weren't quite sure what was going on.
Alison and Vince returned and we all waved our big hearts over our heads. There were over 100 in the crowd. She just stared out and then said "We had nothing to do with this. This is lovely and I am overwhelmed but it would've been weird if we did this so I just want to make it clear that we didn't do this."
Only their biggest fan did. And I loved that whoever it was let me be a part of it.
Encore songs:
20. Only You (and yes, we swayed to the song waving the pink hearts high in the air.)
21. Situation (and did we DANCE!!)
So with my brown concert shirt in my bag, I left the dance club with the crowd, talked to Amazing Guy on the cell phone the entire time it took me to find a cab (over 3 long city blocks) and desperately wished my friend was with me. I had no one to talk about the concert with.
Pink hearts and a bad connection. The bad connection in the song was about a phone call. Hers was a plane.
My organization is heading into the end of the legislative session and one of our most important bills is in a do-or-die situation. However, we all took a step back to reconnect as a group. There are days when I spend more time with my colleagues then my family. It is a good thing that our boss puts a premium on us having fun together once in a while.
So we closed the office for the day and everyone - including the grad school interns - went to a museum and sculpture park deep in the leafy suburbs. We had a picnic and played lawn games.
And Dominican Dominoes. That was a brutal game.
(photo by David L. Ryan/The Boston Globe)
Yup, this photo ran in the big city newspaper yesterday under the headline Support shown for state's immigrants.
One of the things I do is attend other groups' events to show support and learn what they are doing. According to reporter Maddie Hanna, "the goal of the 'Welcoming Massachusetts' campaign, which organizers say is backed by more than 60 groups and 40 elected officials, is to promote tolerance and signal that support exists for legislation benefiting immigrants."
"The truth is that the political environment has been completely and totally poisoned by the loud voices of a few," Maria Elena Letona, executive director of the Latin American organization Centro Presente. The question of how the United States should handle illegal immigrants, a debate that has escalated in recent years, has at times provoked anti-immigrant sentiment in cities across the country.I've written in the past of how horribly our nation treats immigrants. I took my children to a rally in support of the over 350 workers who were rounded up last year in a raid of a manufacturing plant making, no joke, backpacks for armed forces in Iraq (just think about that for a minute). This week I was proud to stand as part of a heart on the Grand Staircase of our State House to show support for immigrants.
Organizers must first detoxify that environment, Letona said, or efforts to enact legislation will fail. "That's what this campaign is about," she said. "It's about demonstrating that most people in Massachusetts are hospitable, are caring. We're created equal, no exceptions." In between chants of "Yes, we can! Si se puede!" and "Today we can, tomorrow we vote," speakers at yesterday's press conference focused on equality.
Nothing like watching a kid dance an Irish jig to the Dropkick Murphys* Shipping off to Boston.
In the tub during bath time.
I'm finally doing something about my less then stellar cholesterol levels. I'm doing something after several years of pleading from my physician to start getting active.
For the last week I've been getting up at 5 in the morning and walk three miles. The first time out I decided to do something my body really hates.
I jogged. I hate jogging and running. But Lake Michigan by Rogue Wave was playing in my ears and I couldn't help it. I also couldn't run for the entire 3 minutes and 13 seconds of the song. That is how pitifully out of shape I am.
So after more walking (and gasping for air) I decided to try running during Hilary McRae's Consider me Gone towards the end of the outing. I figured I would run until the end of the 4 minute 18 second song or until I got to a particular street. Whichever came first.
Here is a play-by-by of my thoughts during that run -
You were wrong from the start
Cheating your way while we were apart
You took from me more than you gave
Same old story
Too little, too late
Not bad. Nope not too bad.
Wasted time was spent throwing it all away
The pleasure's never worth the pain
Pain. Yup, starting to feel pain.
I know that you ain't gonna change
What made you think that things would stay the same?
And what will you do when you're on your own?
Won't be long
Consider me gone
Crap. Where is that street?
Woah-woah
Got your number, there's no doubt
How long did you think it'd take me to figure it out?
If I know one thing that's true
Won't waste another day depending on you
Wasted time was spent throwing it all away
The pleasure's never worth the pain
I know that you ain't gonna change
What made you think that things would stay the same?
And what will you do when you're on your own?
Won't be long
Consider me gone
Oh no. A musical bridge. When is this song going to end?
A million words I could write
But you'd still be wrong
Why don't we just stop holding on?
If I can't be strong
Then I'll go back to where I started from!
Oh NO! An instrumental solo!
This is when that little "you are such a wimp" voice suddenly woke up and started fussing at me.
"You rowed three miles in the Head of the Charles when you were 19 years old. That was pain!"
But I was 19, I reply to the voice. I'm 20 years older.
"So? You've also given birth WITHOUT AN EPIDURAL! Now THAT was PAIN!"
Wasted time was spent throwing it all away
The pleasure's never worth the pain
I know that you ain't gonna change
What made you think that things would stay the same?
And what will you do when you're on your own?
Won't be long
Consider me gone
I got to the street. The song was still playing.
I kept running.
Seven days later I ran 1/2 a mile, walked 2 miles, then ran another 1/2 mile for a total of 3 miles.
And the "you're a wimp" voice isn't quite so loud during Consider me Gone.
Got a song that inspires you to push yourself? Or just makes you smile? Do tell.
I was so excited to watch the recording of the Nelson Mandela 90th Birthday concert with my kids. Held over the weekend in Hyde Park, London, we just couldn't jet over for the show. We already had plans and our private jet was in the shop for repairs.
The newspaper coverage specifically mentioned that Annie Lenox, Peter Gabriel and Johnny Clegg were performing. So with much excitement we sat down on the sofa Tuesday night to watch the 90 minutes version on VH1.
There was no Johnny Clegg. Perhaps one of the most famous South African musical performers. Ok VH1 is culturally insensitive.
There was no Peter Gabriel. The man only wrote and performed Biko since 1980 in honor of 30-year-old anti-apartheid activist Steven Biko who was murdered by police while in custody. Ok. VH1 is historically ignorant.
There was no Annie Lennox. Annie Lennox is Annie Lennox. Now VH1 is f-ing clueless.
And there is no good footage of her speaking or performing at the concert. Please bear with the sound being a bit off from the footage I could find on YouTube. Her words and the children's performance should have been seen in the United States. The concrete story of a little girl with HIV regaining some health after only five months of simple treatment including medicine, food and nurturing care should have been heard. It makes real the difference our donations can make in the lives of people.
Want another reason for why my dad is amazing, terrific and downright wonderful?
He got the permanently logged Housemartins CD out of our minivan player. So now we can listen to Neil Diamond, Annie Lennox and Papa Grows Funk to our hearts' content.
When I excitedly asked him how did he do it - with visions of tools, complicated body contortions and some swearing in my head - he replied simply,
"I hit a button and it came out."
I have made it clear that I don't like to shop. Particularly for clothes. I don't pay attention to what passes for fashionable and don't want to try to fit my given-birth-to-three-kids body into styles that are meant for anorexic 13 year olds.
There is actually one place I do love to shop. It is only open three weekends a year, the clothes are organized by color and the changing area is a big space in the middle of the place.
I go to a warehouse sale for a clothes company near our house. Early last month was the big weekend for the spring/summer clothes. The next one isn't until November. I had to bring my 4-year-old daughter with me and planned to strategically bribe placate her with food praise during my excursion.
What I didn't realize is what an asset she would be.
Less than a minute in the warehouse, she charged a stranger who was holding up a skirt against her legs and assessing the look in a mirror. She asked nicely, "Can my mom have that skirt?"
I nearly died. The woman very politely explained (to a 4-year-old - what is it with this kid that she gets adults to rationalize with her?) she was considering it for herself but if it didn't work she would find us and give it to me. A little later she appeared and handed me the same skirt. "I liked it but was worried there were only a few left. I went and got it for you."
Little lady was thrilled when I put it on. I got tons of compliments from the other women also trying on clothes and many queries as to where I found it in the racks.
For $25, it was a steal. And I think only the beginning of my daughter telling me what clothes to buy. 
I wrote a novel, and I am still editing it.
