Happy Birthday to Me!!!

The Ring Bear

My parents are approaching their 50th anniversary.  To celebrate, they are renewing their vows and throwing themselves a lavish wedding, since they never had one.

My mom has been trying to find a role for all her littlest grandchildren to play, so that they feel like a part of the festivities.  And so it came to be that Brendan became the ring bearer.

As we drove home from my parents' home yesterday, I told him the good news.  He seemed excessively happy, clapping his hands and cheering.  Then, he turned to me and said, "so when do I get my costume?"

"You don't get a costume.  You'll wear a type of suit called a tuxedo."

"But you said that I was going to be the 'ring bear'!  Don't I need to get a bear costume?!?"

And, suddenly, the happiness was explained.

Those Who Do Not Learn From Their Mistakes ...

They say that the truth peeks its head out jest.  And one of my husband's running "jokes" is that although I have multiple degrees, I often don't "get" things.  At first, I laughed along.  After all, what fun is life if you cannot laugh at yourself?  And, let's face it, oftentimes it takes me a second or two to get a joke or to figure out how to put something together and my sense of direction blows.  I am often "literal," where "abstract" is the word of the day.  I get that.  But after 10+ years of being the butt of the "she doesn't get it" jokes, my laughter has dried up.

Case in point:  my birthday is coming up, so I compiled a list of things that I need, but am too cheap to buy for myself and sent the list to Big Bren.  At the top of the list is Microsoft Office for Mac.  Within seconds, he calls me and the coversation goes like this:  "I got your list.  Didn't you buy a copy of Microsoft Office a few months ago?"  "Yes, but that was for the PC."  "But it had multiple permissions, right?  And we only used one."  "Yes, but it was for the PC."  "How many permissions did it have?  Can't you use that?"  Sigh on my end, "No."  "You don't get what I'm saying.  You can be so dense sometimes."  Click.

I looked at the phone for a good minute, trying to decide what to do.  Should I let this go?  The more I considered letting it go, the angrier I got.  Soon, a blind rage filled my mind.  I dialed his number and called him a few choice names that were a lot worse than "dense."

Of course, the irony of it was that it was he who was not getting it:  I could have purchased 10 copies of Microsoft Word with 100 applications each -- the fact is that you cannot make software formulated for a PC load onto a MAC as they have two different platforms. 

Granted, I am extremely sensitive on the intelligence issue: during alcohol-fueled rages, my father would say that we - the three girls - didn't deserve his last name because we weren't "smart enough."  He would say that it was a waste to have so many "dumb" girls.  He could never remember what he'd said once the alcohol wore off, but even now, 30+ years later, I can still remember every single word.

My dad would argue that his words, however mean, had a motivating effect, because every one of us "dumb" girls have gone on to earn multiple masters' degrees and even doctorates.  However, aspiring to something and running away from something else are two different things altogether.  When I went to school, failing was not an option, because I knew that somewhere within my father, he expected me to and would be standing by to say "I told you so."

So to hear this man, whom I have vowed to spend the rest of my life with, pull out the "smart" card is like sticking a knife in a barely healed wound.  I truly wonder what has earned me this "dumb" label with him.  I am an attorney and a productive member of several professional associations, where I am often asked to organize events and chair continuing legal education programs.  I have authored chapters in a legal treatise.  I have published articles in parenting magazines.  I am an avid reader and am always trying to find ways to better myself.  When asked to describe me, not one person who knows me would utter the word "dumb."  So what exactly is it that I am not getting?  Could what they say be true that those who do not learn from their mistakes are doomed to repeat them?

Occupy Wall Street

I worked from my firm's downtown Manhattan office today JUST so I could go lend some support to the Movement.  Unfortunately, I picked a rainy, miserable day, so the Movement was a sodden mess.  Even so, the protesters were out and their spirits would not be dampened.

I don't know where you stand on the issue, but I can tell you that what is being reported by Fox News and the like is mostly lies.  The park is not "smelly" or "dirty."  There was no "mob" scene there.  And the people are not littering all over or belligerent in any way.  In fact, the Occupy Wall Street "Good Neighbor Policy" is posted all over the park, as a constant reminder to protestors to clean up after themselves and treat everyone with respect.

This country was built for the people, by the people.  Yet, the few "haves" have consistently continued to amass and multiply their fortunes off the skin of the "have-nots'" backs.  Enough.  This is our generation's Civil Rights Movement.  Power to the people!

Why Me?

Ever since Bren was born, I have always had him on my computer desktop.  Some picture of him is always the background.  That way, I feel like he is with me, even when I'm at work.

The other day, I was working from home and left my laptop on while I went to cook dinner.  A few minutes later, Bren comes running into the kitchen and said, "Mommy, your computer is on!"  I continued to stir the pot of rice I was cooking, "yes, I know.  I left it on." 

"But Mommy, I'm on it!" 

I glanced over at him again.  I wasn't quite sure what the excitement was about.

"Yeessssssssss ...."

"No, seriously, Mommy.  A picture of me is on your computer."

Finally, I stopped stirring and faced him.  "Yes, you are on my computer.  You are always on my computer.  It's my way of keeping you close when I'm working."

He paused a little bit and then said, "But ... why me?"

After I finished explaining to my child that I love him so much that I never tire of seeing him, he went away, shaking his head at my silliness.  And I had to shake my head at the fact that he had to ask why him.  Funny, how the people we would give our lives for never realize how much we love them.

Sleeping with Pistachios

Despite my daddy issues, I have always found myself gravitating toward men with a sense of humor similar to my dad’s.  My dad has a rapier wit and a quick comeback to anything anyone lobs at him.  Big Bren is the exact same way.  And I am finding that my pen-pal does, too.

The other day, we were engaging in our usual incessant digital chatter.  Someone was making my life miserable and I needed someone to commiserate with me.  After I detailed everything this woman was doing that I found objectionable, he responded:  “She’s sleeping with pistachios.”

I cocked my head to the side and tried to figure that one out.  Was he even speaking to me?  Maybe he got his e-mails mixed up and this was addressed to someone else.  Who would sleep with pistachios?  And if this was someone else he knew, who the hell would call themselves -- or tolerate anyone else calling them -- “Pistachios”?

A split second later, he sent another message:  “She’s fucking nuts.”

Ah, I get it.  Way to commiserate.  J

Prayering at Sunset

When Hurricane Irene battered the East Coast not too long ago, we -- like most people -- were left without power for a few days.  The day the power went, I went into full-blown panic mode thinking about having to bathe, feed and entertain Brendan without electricity.  I didn't worry much about myself.  Having grown up partly in Honduras, I know what it's like to live without the luxury of running water and electricity, but I thought it would be a real hardship for Brendan.  Thankfully, Brendan saw it as an adventure and easily found ways to pass the time without television, electronic games or DVDs.

On most evenings, Big Bren was out trying to score a generator.  The big stores, like Home Depot and Lowes had long since sold out, but he was methodically going to every hardware store and tractor supply place in the area trying to find one that somehow was miraculously still available.  Most of it, I'm sure, was him trying to "provide" for us; but I'm also sure that at least some of it was him finding a way not to be home with a restless 7 year old and no power.

On the evenings that Big Bren was gone, Brendan and I got into the habit of sitting on the deck to watch the sun go down.  It was so absolutely peaceful and beautiful, that it was only fitting that it became our meditation and prayer time.  We would sit quietly, shoulder to shoulder, for a few minutes and watch the sun make its way down.  Then, just as the sun was about to set, we would say our prayers.  In the midst of all the craziness and hardship, those few minutes every day became Bren and my favorite time together.

And, it's funny, because not once during those six days did Bren or I ever pray for the power to come back.

Now, with Hurricane Irene but a distant memory, Brendan and I still make time for, as he calls it "prayering" at sunset.  I rarely get home from work before sunset during the week, but every Sunday now, we sit on the deck, shoulder to shoulder, and watch the sun go down.  And, today, just as the sun went down, I whispered a "thank you" to God -- for my home, for the sunset, for my amazing little boy.