Happy 6th Birthday Meredith!

...And it seemed real. It seemed like us. And it seemed like well... our home... If not Arizona, then a land, not too far away, where all parents are strong and wise and capable, and all children are happy and beloved... I dunno, maybe it was Utah.

-"Raising Arizona"

Happy and beloved.

"It'll be so easy to find her birth parents," I said to Roger this morning as Meredith was eating breakfast while simultaneously humming a happy little tune under her breath and beaming at three grumpy, sleepy people.

"What do you mean?" he muttered, desperately shaking the coffee pot to see if any remained from three days ago.

"We'll just take her back to Wuzhou and ask, 'Who's the happiest people in town? The ones who walk around with a perpetual smile on their face?'"

"I've never seen a baby lak that," commented my friend Lisa, Masters In Child Development, when we brought her home. "Why she just sets around grinnin' all day."

Happy Birthday Meredith!

You are the happiest child I've ever seen. You take a happy pill in the morning and go around all day spreading happiness. You love to give, you love to help people, and I know that you sincerely wanted to give your sister the $20.00 received as a birthday present, but I most sincerely want to whop Madeleine's tiny Chinese butt for extorting it from you. You will be forced to take this money back whether you like it or not.

I am not a mother blinded by fatuous love. You're whiny and way too sensitive and a tattletale and you need to learn to stand on your own two feet. Also, you prefer Daddy over me, and that shows extremely poor judgment.

But I honestly cannot remember a mean thing that you have done to anybody at any time, in your entire little Shiny Happy Life.

You love everybody and everything. I'd feel comfortable sitting in a bomb shelter with you. You'd be singing and organizing a game of charades.

Your teacher told you about the World Trade Center this year. She was crying because one of her friends died. You came home and told me about it and spread your hands wide and said, "How did they arrange all the burials?" and stared intensely into my eyes.

You were concerned.

You are straighforward and sincere, unlike your cunning and devious sister. Madeleine is my doppelganger, my mini-me, my partner in crime.

You are a ray of sunshine shot straight from heaven, a place where all children are happy and beloved.

Oh you are.

In The Sky Lord, In The Sky

Will the circle be unbroken?
By and by Lord, by and by,
There's a better home a-waitin'
In the sky Lord, in the sky.

I rehearsed all day on Monday.

Ahem. Ok, Dr. E, my youngest bil is..um..gay.

His partner of SEVENTEEN YEARS died suddenly on Friday. (Feeling guilty about having to emphasize the length of the relationship. If it was his wife, it could have been a Britney-Spears-one-day thing!)

Ahem. I know I don't get official bereavement leave, and this doesn't quite fit into any neatly boxed category, but he's FAMILY, and I need to go to the funeral, and I'll find SOMEBODY TO COVER MY CLASSES.

And I'll totally come down to teach the night class! (You just do not miss night classes unless the fever blows the thermometer up).

Dr. E was totally cool and very understanding and sympathetic. I LOVE YOU DR. E.

The funeral was well attended. John worked at a bank and they gave everybody who asked a couple of hours of leave, I think.

John's mother Margot is a stunningly beautiful woman. She got up to speak with heavy makeup hiding the tear stains.

"I was only 16 when John was born, a bouncing baby boy of 8lbs 8oz," she said. "He was the light of my life. He stood beside me when I buried my mother last year, his Nana. I now turn him over to my mother's loving arms."

Tears ran down my face.

Six Weddings And A Funeral

If you had happened to ask me at 12:01 AM Saturday if I thought consenting adults should be allowed to formalize their union in the eyes of the law, I would have looked up from my computer and said, "Um, oh yeah, whatever, sure, but why? After all married people pay much more in taxes. Hey, can I have some of that dip? And will you stop talking abstract philosophy and hang some freaking party decorations already?"

WRITTEN SATURDAY EVENING
Phone rings at 12:02 am. It's Roger's mother. Not too surprised since she's a night owl, but never THIS late.
"It's an emergency! John just died!"

"WHAT?"

Roger's youngest brother Mark is gay. His partner of..oh..16-17 years...John..age 40... Just. Keeled. Over. And. Died. 40 years old.

Mark was on the phone with John's mother chatting. He walked into the kitchen to get a drink and found his partner dead on the floor. Mark called John's mother back, she speeds over the the house, sees her son, faints, and goes to the hospital in an ambulance. The paras can do nothing for John.

He is dead.

Roger flies over to their house. The coroner is there. They're waiting for the Body People. John is lying on the floor. 2 hours later the Body People show up and load John's mortal remains into a bag and take him out the door on a stretcher.

They did an autopsy this morning . It was an enlarged heart, although he had a physical 2 years ago and did fine on the stress test.

We are awaiting the guests for Mad's first slumber party. We cleaned the house, I baked a homemade cake and decorated it, visited Mark, and now the party.

The most frustrating thing is that Mark can't even legally take a second of bereavement leave since he isn't any "relation" to John. However, fortunately, he works for the post office and I'm sure he can line up some time off, but.....how awful, when your lover of 16-17 years dies and you're not even given the dignity of formal bereavement leave.

Thank God that Mark and John's mom are the very best of friends, because Mark and John never signed any of the documents that I offered to prepare for them protecting their legal rights.

Roger is one of seven kids. Six weddings have been celebrated.

Mark's first church ceremony will be Tuesday.

He will bury the love of his life.

Into The Abyss

Jane wrote a post yesterday about her son becoming a manager of the football team and how in her day that was a job reserved for dorks, and it started me thinking about how we bring our childhood along into parenting, for better or for worse.

I had a great childhood. Of course adolescence struck and I changed overnight into the geekiest dork evah, at least in my own mind. Looking back I remember parties, shopping trips, friends, etc...so why? I guess it's the nature of the beast. You remember the bad things about adolescence because it's such a tumultous time.

I have this thing about kiddie parties. They make me nervous. Don't mind attending them, but I've been terrified to throw one for my kids lest nobody show up and it ruins their lives and causes them to spend extra years in therapy.

Two years ago, I thought I had solved the problem. Mad's friend Kara was having a party right about the same time as Mad's 6th birthday. Eureka! We could have a JOINT PARTY and SPLIT EXPENSES!!

"I love organizing parties," said Karen, Kara's mother. "Why, one time, I organized a ball for 1500 people for my sorority."

"How much do you want?" I said, ripping my checkbook out of my purse with trembling fingers.

It was a great success, but the next year Kara wanted her own bash. I managed to put Madeleine off with vague promises of maybe a party sometime in the future.

The time, my friends, is now. Madeleine will be hosting a slumber party on Saturday. And, miracle of miracles, most of her friends have RSVP'd that they will attend.

See you on the other side.

About That Homework? Never Mind...

Roger came home yesterday, handed me a glass of wine and a cigarette and pointed towards the back porch.

"What is it! Tell me quick!" I demanded frantically.

"Meredith...is a first grade dropout," he stammered hesitantly, cowering against the wall like a little girly man.

Ok.

Here's the deal. Meredith attends a Montessori school that started a "G&T Third Grade" program 2 years ago. The deal is, you send your kids to their 1st and 2nd grade, and they pretty much guarantee your kid will start into the 3rd grade public school Gifted and Talented program. It's a mega-super-accelerated first grade program.

Meredith couldn't cut it. She's the youngest in the class, with a Sept. 28 birthday, and is already falling way behind.

Wanna know what the spelling words are for the 12th week? (this is the 2nd week of the program) They are: landed, happily, quite, sneaked, scratched, breezy, easily, wildcat, growl, snapping.

No way.

She isn't eligible for 1st grade in the public school because of her age cutoff.

So she's a dropout...back to the Montessori 3-6 classroom for another year.

I took a sip of wine.

"I knew she couldn't cut it at home but you know how they do so much better at school," I began. Roger agreed, you parents out there know the home performance and school performance often is muchly different.

"Whatever is best for her," I said piously. Roger looked a little stunned that Teh Crazy Ejucashun Lady wasn't having a fit. But heck, she isn't ready, so she isn't ready. Trying to push her would ruin her joy, spirit, and confidence and be futile anyway.

Oh well. One more year of no homework.

I can live with that.

I See Dead People

Okay.

So Madeleine celebrated her 8th birthday with an...IPOD SHUFFLE. I got it free by opening a Citibank Visa card last December. That's the only reason she got such an expensive gift. Her father immediately loaded the Mary Poppins soundtrack on it, fearing a repeat of the terrifying "Shit Is Bananas Hollaback Girl" episode earlier this year, so you can rest assured that Madeleine is enjoying wholesome, G-rated music.

She also begged to download some love song from High School Musical, so after she put away one week of family laundry I let her. It was a good deal for me.

And so it's time to cut out the orgy of materialism and turn our attention to the education of our fine young citizens. Which brings us to homework.

Last week Meredith's 1st grade homework consisted of the following:

Monday-Put 10 words in alphabetical order and write each word 3 times. Some of the words: like, sick, alone, time, tree.

Tuesday-Write definitions for each word.

Wednesday-Write sentences for 5 words.

Thursday-Study for spelling test on Friday.

She struggled mightily with all this and sadly confessed that she missed 7 out of 10 spelling words on Friday.

Now I had an interesting academic career. I attended the creme de la creme of schools for 1st and 2nd grade, Durham Academy. My dad was pursuing his PhD from the University of North Carolina at the time. (He got a job as a professor at VPI for 3rd grade and I never set foot in a private school again).

Durham Academy bound our work in hardback for us, so I have two black books filled with the dewy promise of a brilliant young mind (cough) (moi). Same brilliant mind that rocketed to fame as a community college instructor in the state that is ranked 51th in education, but, ANYWAY.

So I pulled out my work for the first semester of 1st grade.

The first week I copied this off of the board:
I see.
I see.
I see.

The next week: I see a (drawing of some animal, 3x)

The next week: I see Jim. (3x)

The next week: I see Sue. (3x)

I saw people for two TWO FREAKING MONTHS. I saw everything but dead people. I didn't take my first spelling test until the second semester.

I see one thing here.

I won't be freaking out if Meredith doesn't see a 100 on a spelling test. That is a lot for a little girl who won't even be 6 for 2 weeks.

Happy 8th Birthday Madeleine!

From the minute the nanny placed you in our arms you have been pure joy with a side of whipped cream and chocolate.

Somehow--although I swear I wasn't there when you were conceived--you inherited your mother's squirrel like buck teeth, complete lack of athletic ability (and the consequent disinterest in same), snarkiness, love of the ballet, fierce fascination with books, ability to spell (and you know why I was bawling during Akeelah and The Bee, because I'm seeing you holding the trophy one day in my dreams), propensity to get hopeless crushes on Da Boyz, and sense of humor.

You're fiendishly clever in devising ways to eff with your sweet, loving baby sister, who will be 6 in two weeks and possesses a generosity of spirit and relentless good cheer that annoys and puzzles (and secretly awes) both of us. Your way of dealing with this has progressed from simply removing the toy du jour to talking quietly with her a la Dr. Hannibal Lecter. Yes, when I hear you speaking to her in an undertone I'm reminded of the scene where Dr. Lecter talks a fellow inmate into insanity simply by the soothing sound of his voice.

You get my jokes. That's worth more to me than the fact that you can't seem to clean your room properly.

In the words of that sappy song that I heard once and can't locate again...

Today is your birthday
And my gift to you
Is a promise to always
Be there for you
Blow out the candles,
and stay in my view
Because I can't live without you
I know that that much is true

Jesus Was At The World Trade Center

So somebody once wrote to me when I bitterly questioned the existence of God. I wrote back "It would have been better if He had been in the cockpit of the planes."

The center of His will is our only safe place, let us pray that we can always know it!...Bessie ten Boom to Corrie Ten Boom while at Auschwitz, from the book The Hiding Place

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil....The Lord's Prayer, recited by Todd Beamer and Lisa Jefferson a few minutes before Todd died.

"Ted, what should I tell the pilot?"..the witty and wonderful Barbara Olson, after her plane had been hijacked, to her husband Ted, the Solicitor General of the United States. Sadly, Ted had nothing to say to help Barbara stay alive. Mortal man, no matter how powerful, had nothing to stay the planes.

"Oh God! Oh..." Kevin Cosgrove shouted as he met his terrible death in the WTC. I regret to say that the words were not a shout of joy at being reunited with his Creator, but a scream of terror beyond terror.

"You can make me go to church, but you can't make me believe!"....me at age 14 right before my Ghandi-like father slapped my face as hard as he could, sending me reeling across the room and ensuring that 33 years went by before I set foot inside a church again except for weddings and funerals.

I want to talk about God, but I don't want to tell you what I think about Him, because I haven't the slightest idea whether or not He really exists. Does He?

I so envy you who truly, fervently, without a doubt, believe. Because I just don't.

I so envy all you who truly, fervently, without a doubt, believe that there is nothing after death but..well...death. Because I just don't.

I want to think that there is something out there.

"I'm too young to die! I'm too cute to die! I'm too ME to die!" - Snoopy

Today, as I fill the gas tank and contemplate weekend plans, and prepare for tomorrow's lecture, and supervise homework, today I have to believe that..... the souls who met their Maker five years ago yesterday......I have to believe that they met Somebody.

Because I can't bear to think otherwise.

email from husband 4:29PM on 9/10/01

we didn't go

This Used To Be My Playground

This used to be my playground (used to be)

This used to be my childhood dream

This used to be the place I ran to

Whenever I was in need

Of a friend

Why did it have to end

And why do they always say

Don't look back

Keep your head held high

Don't ask them why

Because life is short

And before you know

You're feeling old

And your heart is breaking

Don't hold on to the past

Well that's too much to ask

This used to be my playground (used to be)

This used to be our pride and joy

This used to be the place we ran to

That no one in the world could dare destroy

-Theme from "A League Of Their Own"

I shot this picture in 1986 from the balcony of my boyfriend's apartment at Independence Plaza, 310 Greenwich Street, NY, NY. I pulled it out of my photo album--you can see the aged page it's on..and scanned it. See the broom handle at the bottom? I was probably sweeping the terrace and ran back inside to get my camera and take the picture. Eventually I moved in. I lived there for 2 years.

I want to write a little tribute to the World Trade Center. I have nothing new or exciting to say about September 11. I was devastated! (yes--only person in the world to feel like that) I will never be the same! (cry me a river, I did not lose any friends or relatives)

I went on holiday to New York City in the summer of 1985 with a friend. I met a guy and we looked at each other and fell in love, blah, blah. By the end of the week we were inseparable. The only thing was that he was....wait for it.....

African American.

You can imagine the thrill and joy that generated. Remember this was 20 years ago!

My mom and dad were beyond furious. Apparently all the talk about We Are All God's Children and All People Are Equal had a clause (unless one of those dark types is dating your daughter).

But that is a story for another day. During this time of upheaval, I commuter dated for a year. I'd fly from Columbia to Newark. Then after arriving in Newark I'd take the bus into the city. The stop was at the World Trade Center.

I'd always look up at the towers and a thrill would shoot through me. I'm a sophisticated woman, I'd think. Look at me, a goober from South Carolina. I'm in the most exciting city on earth. If I can make it there, I can make it anywhere...hey, that sounds as if it would make a good song.

When I waited, weeping, at the bus stop to go back to South Carolina, the Towers would always speak to me. We'll be here for you, they'd say. We'll always be a beacon. Come back soon.

When I got lost in the city, I'd always look to the Towers for guidance. I could get my bearings. Towers--south. Anything else-north.

Such a thrill to get into the special elevator at the WTC that didn't stop. It was for the tourists. It shot 88 stories into the sky.

"Remember the story about the plane that crashed into the Empire State Building back in the 40s and some people were trapped in the elevators," my boyfriend said as we boarded.

"It's worth it!" I replied, shivering with delight. "WHEE! I CAN FEEL MY EARS POP!"

"YOU CAN SEE THE WHOLE WORLD FROM HERE!" I said, running all over the observation room like a five year old.

And the last time I visited the Towers, I was with my husband of four days. We did the elevator, we did the observation deck, I looked up at the Towers and said Thank you. I'm living in South Carolina now, but I will bring my children to see you.

And on September 10, 2001, at 4:26 PM, I clicked "yes" to Priceline air tickets. We would take Madeleine, age 3 1/2, to see the Lion King on Broadway before her baby sister arrived at Christmastime. Then I ran to teach my night class. Yes! I really did. Honest to God. September 10, 2001.

My children will never see the Towers. Goodbye old friends.