Today, you’re 5! A hilarious, brilliant, willful five year
old.
You just started kindergarten. In the first week, you
learned about different jobs and shared things about yourself. You seemed
particularly excited about learning about meteorologists and telling us about
your cubby where you put your backpack.
You will likely always be the youngest in your class. I
think this is the perfect situation for you because that means you will always
be challenged by your classmates who are bigger. You’ll be so prideful, you
will consistently work hard to stay in pace with the kids around you. But, lord
knows, you’ll give them all a run for their money too.
You’re old enough now that we’ve spent some time alone
together. The last time I babysat, you were so excited that we would stay up
all night together! You also insisted that if you, ultimately, changed your
mind and went out with your Mama, that I could stay home and do the dishes.
We shared popcorn and watched The Boxtrolls and you explained every detail, so I wouldn’t be
confused. When that movie was over, you asked if I’d ever seen Ghostbusters. So we turned that on and
you swiftly fell asleep on my legs.
(We’ll save staying up all night for another time, I guess.)
I wish you all the best this year, that you face new
challenges head on, with your sharp mind and your wicked sense of humor, that
you make lots of memories with your friends and big family, that you know that
I am just one of the people who loves you so much and is here for you always.
And tomorrow, you’ll be
4! A year closer to kindergarten, to driving, to taking over the world.
I love the girl you’re
becoming: the kind of girl who wears TWO Halloween costumes, the kind of girl
whose favorite movies are Muppets from Space and My Neighbor Totoro,
the kind of girl who goes all in when it comes to licking the brownie batter
bowl, the kind of girl who will take every chance she can get to swim, throw a
ball, run, jump, and dance.
The kind of girl who
sees me from down the street and barrels into my arms, screaming “PRETZEL!”
You are one cool chick:
full of fire and wit and steel and drive.
This has been a
particularly tough year for our family: losing our matriarch (your great-grandmother)
in September last year and then our beloved David (your Kahuna) in May.
Suddenly, our invincibility
was questioned; we felt a little more fragile, a little less protected.
But our strength as a
family has never wavered.
You have so many people
around you who love, cherish, and support you and each other.
Well, that week sure went quickly! Back to the grind tomorrow, but memories of naps with the 3-year-old, battles of wits with the 8-year-old, and nights of wine and games linger as I heat up soup and look forward to showering and going to sleep in my own bed.
8-year-old, tattling on 3-year-old, who had grabbed my copy of Game of Thrones: He's trying to read George Martin!!
3YO: I am going to eat YOU for dinner!
Me: What will I taste like?
3YO: Watermelon.
Me: What will YOU taste like?
3YO: Applesauce.
3YO, entering the bathroom, as I finished: Can I see your pee?
3YO: Do you like beer?
Me: Sure!
3YO: No, you don't because there's spiders in it and spiders are yucky to eat.
Me, reading a timeline 8YO made about him and his brother: He just came out of his mommy's tummy.
8YO: I didn't want to say asshole.
Me: Babies don't come out of their mommies' assholes!
8YO: Yes, they do!
Me, to 3YO: Do you want to come to Boston with me?
3YO: Yes!
Me: What will we do there?
3YO: Run and turn and jump and jog.
D: I am going to show you something so you stop talking.
8YO: Never.
I will type quickly to save the battery of my swiftly dying computer, whose charger expired the day before I went away for a week on a family vacation, on which I vowed to stay unplugged. I did a pretty good job of it and only jotted down a few choice quotes because I mostly left my phone in my room. Brother, when I mentioned that I was hot, at the memorial celebration for our grandmother: I spend a lot of my time overdressed. Me, having an identity crisis and feeling old, surrounded by my cousins' kids, ranging in age from 3-7: We're not littles anymore. We're middles. 7-year-old, during a game of Hide and Seek: Annie's big, so she is probably hiding somewhere hard and big. 3-year-old, crying: I want to go to sexy school! But we can't do our moves! Me, to 3-year-old: What was your favorite part of the week? 3-year-old: Playing with C. Me: Doing what? Him: Doing bad things. *** Here are the remarks I shared at the celebration for my grandmother, followed by the slideshow that started off the event. (Please forgive the bad formatting. I don't have time to fix them today, but you get the gist.)
I want to start by reading a couple paragraphs from my
grandfather, Charles Hockett’s “non-obituary,” which he wrote in 1996.
“In the fall of 1941 I sat in on a course in the Foundations
of Mathematics, given by a professor Wilder. In it were a southerner (male),
one fairly pretty and one very pretty girl, and others. I phoned the very
pretty one and asked her for a coke date. She said, "Are you the
southerner?" I saidNo in
a disgusted tone of voice (ask her!). But she came on the coke date. I remember
hearing the nickelodeon play "I don't want to set the world on fire, I
just want to light a flame in your heart," a lovely song that I would
enjoy hearing again. We went dancing, and took rides in the countryside. I
asked her to marry me, and she said she would.”
…
And, six pages later, after a detailed account of the years
1942-1958, he closes with, “Much more has happened since [then] than ever
before—my bookwriting (selling about six thousand copies in all), my songs and
opera and many other compositions; Shirley’s teaching at Cornell, at Ithaca
High School, and at Ithaca College, and her bookwriting (selling over a million
copies); children through school and college and off on their own; five
delightful grandchildren; trips to Maine, Utah, Wyoming and Montana and Idaho,
England, France, Spain, Italy, China; cruises to Alaska, around the Pacific,
and around South America; the Ithaca Concert Band and Shirley’s learning the
clarinet to play in it and my switching from flute to piccolo to bass clarinet—and
on and on and on. But to tell all that in as much detail as has been given
above would stretch this essay out beyond all reason.
Besides, I’m tired of recalling and writing.
So I have given this account an appropriate title, and thanks
for listening, and farewell.”
So you see, Shirley Hockett had it all. A large, boisterous,
loving family; a 59 year long marriage to a brilliant man who was insanely
devoted to and proud of her, travels that led her around the world, and a
barrier-breaking career in a field she was passionate about.
When we got the news that Mom-Mom had passed away, my cousin posted a brief tribute to her on Facebook, honoring the matriarch of our
family in a way I had never thought to but that struck me then like a bolt of lightning.
She wrote it “to the woman who taught me that I could be a leader.”
I grew up with this picture of Mom-Mom in my head, ruling
over us from a throne. (She didn’t actually have a throne, but that was how
powerful she was.) She could be at once corrective and cutting, then burst out
laughing, swinging back her beer and getting up to dance. I didn’t see myself
in her or her in me at all.
In the days and weeks that passed after her death, we
collected stories I had never heard and my image of what a truly remarkable,
strong, brilliant woman she was became clearer.
And, interestingly, my understanding of myself became clearer
as well.
I wanted to be an actress on Broadway until I was about 20
and was discouraged to discover that I was just OK. Then I got into directing,
which I realized I was pretty good at. When I graduated from college and moved
back to New York City, foolhardy and sure that I’d take the NYC theatre world
by storm, I spent about two years feeling like an utter failure until, in great
despair and ready to just give up, I started volunteering at a shelter and
discovered that working with kids was like breathing for me. I had never taken
to something so easily or felt so fulfilled by work.
I had searched for a calling my whole life, failing to
remember or refusing to make the connection that I’m from a long line of gifted
teachers.
From what I hear, Mom-Mom was a force in front of a class.
She prided herself on learning every kid’s name on the first day. There’s a
famous story of her continuing to write OFF the chalkboard and straight onto
the wall, to keep her students’ attention. One day, late in her last days, my
mom wrote to the family, recalling a visit she made to Bridges. As she was
getting ready to leave, one of the men who was there to visit another resident
said, "Hi, Shirley." Mom-Mom reportedly did a little wave. The man
said to my mom, "She was my teacher. She taught me calculus."
I saw Mom-Mom around Thanksgiving 2011, after I’d started my
job, a job I have now been doing for almost 3 ½ years. At that point, she
already didn’t know who I was, but we talked about my work and she told me she
could just tell that I was doing the right thing. It was important for me that
she seemed to know I was doing good work in the world.
My career is important to me; it’s a part of my identity, as
I know it was part of Mom-Mom’s. She was so proud of the work she did and
continued to work for years after “retiring.” I am dedicated to the kids I
serve, to teaching them that they are strong, intelligent, hilarious
individuals, that they matter, that who they are and whom they are becoming is just
right. And that they deserve and will certainly reach full, happy lives.
It has only been in
the months since Mom-Mom’s passing that I have come to fully realize that the
example I have in my mind of a full, happy life and my own certainty that I too
will have it all one day is thanks to her.
This is what comes of
not really paying attention to what I’m eating and drinking plus working my ass
off despite weird stomach and headache issues.
After arriving in
Hyannis with H and E, I took a swim with E, we headed to a restaurant to watch
the Patriots play, and, it hit me like a freight train, I was suddenly keenly
aware that I was going to faint.
And then, I was on the
floor, sprawled out, sore neck, terrified and unaware of what had happened.
Dehydration and a
migraine were why I fainted, I found out later.
And the fall from a bar
stool gave me a good, solid concussion.
The EMTs who were
called to the scene put me in a neck brace and on a straight board. I rode in my
first ambulance ride, where they put heart monitors on my ankles and an IV in
the crook of my left arm that stayed there for 24 hours. I puked upon arrival
at the hospital and spent the next day with vomit in my hair. The lovely nurses
cleaned it out of my nose and ears as best they could, though, when I showered
back at the hotel when I got released, I did find some puke in my left ear.
The nausea I suffered
after hitting my head finally dissipated after about 3 hours in the ER and
right before they admitted me for observation overnight. Before they sent me
upstairs, I peed in a bedside “commode.”
Everyone in the Cape
Cod Hospital called the toilet the “commode.” It was very civilized.
Upon admittance, I was
given a bright yellow FALL RISK bracelet to wear and put on bed alarm, so every
time I had to get up to pee (which was very often), I had to ring for
supervision.
It’s amazing how
modesty goes out the window in a hospital.
I spent the night trying
to find a comfortable position on my back with my left arm out flat next to me
(to avoid the IV machine that honked every time I bent my arm). Finally, with
an aching lower back, I found the best position was almost sitting up with my
knees bent.
I saw the sun rise over
Cape Cod and spent the morning watching shitty TV, just like I wanted to.
The doctor took me for
a walk around the floor, inquiring as to what had been wrong with me before I
fainted. He could find nothing wrong with me (all tests came back negative and
clear except for an elevated white blood cell count which indicates I was
fighting something) and urged me to combat any nausea with a prescription, eat,
drink fluids, and deal with headache pain with caffeine, if needed.
I watched That 70s
Show, Saved by the Bell, Full House, Wipeout, and hours The Real Housewives of
Atlanta plus ate two hospital meals (if you can call them that) before I was
released mid-afternoon on Monday.
We returned to the
hotel (where H and E had stayed and played the night before) and I slept 11
hours Monday night. Returning to Boston before the snowstorm was uneventful and
I slept 12 hours on Tuesday night!
I finally woke up today
feeling good enough that I’ve had to force myself to take it easy. So I spent today watching The Millionaire
Matchmaker.
For future reference,
here is a brief list of Things My Concussion Has Taught Me:
-Eat when you’re hungry.
-Drink when you’re thirsty.
-If you feel like you
might faint, get low.
-Never underestimate
the simple pleasures of clean underwear, clean hair, a clean face, and freshly
brushed teeth.
-At the right moment, a
cup of ginger ale will seem as satisfying as the greatest feast.
-Bravo TV is pretty
much what the doctor ordered as you recover from a head injury.
-By gurney is the best
way to travel.
-Choose your In Case of
Emergency Contact Person wisely. In fact, I recommend mine.
Feeling a little in limbo, disoriented by the date and the weather, and work.
I'm definitely not back in the groove, after my break, and we're all kind of plodding through the days, even the kids.
H and E and I are running away together for the long weekend, and I have aspirations of sitting in a hotel room and watching shitty TV for half the day and swimming in a pool for the other half.
Lofty goals, I know, but I think we can make them happen.
Maybe I'll even be holding a glass of wine for part of the weekend.
Despite a little cold I acquired from kissing an irresistible two-year-old boy this week, I had a fantastic, restful, fun, and DELICIOUSLY WARM California Christmas vacation.
Just flew back and, BOY, ARE MY ARMS TIRED!
Overheard at Work:
11-year-old boy: Do you have a hammy aunt?
Me: A what?
Boy: An aunt that smells like ham? I think everyone has one.
Me: I'm going to LA tonight!
10-year-old girl: Why?
Me: I'm going to visit my cousins.
Girl: I know your cousin. Is her name Linda?
10-year-old girl, trying to come up with provocative questions for me to ask at our Annual Staff Holiday Party: If you were Mark, and you tripped upstairs and found a woman, what would you do?
Me: Merry Poopins! I'd watch that movie!
10-year-old girl: Instead of a nanny, it's a poop that comes to babysit little poopies.
Overheard on Vacation:
7-year-old, about his Grammy: Did you know she's the only person to teach me how to spell A.S.S.?
2-year-old, declaring what he is grateful for from 2013 and what he hopes for from 2014: I am happy about cookies. I ask for a swimsuit.
Cousin: I want you to eat it or put it on your plate.
2-year-old: I put it on my penis or put it on my butt.
One week from today, I will be high above the middle of the country, en route to Los Angeles.
This will be the third year in a row that I spend the winter holiday break with my cousins and their sons in California.
It's a welcome switch from my grueling routine here in chilly New England, to be on the schedule of a family of two kids under 8, whose days pass with morning playtime, afternoon naps, meals together, TV time, and early bedtimes.
I cannot wait to see that part of my family, drink lots of wine, play games, and hang with the kiddoes.
When I get back, it will be just in time for New Year's, which, despite the cliched heaviness of noting the passing of another year, has been my favorite holiday for many years.
I love new beginnings and the chance to reflect on the year that has passed.
This year was a DOOZY: turning 30 and S getting married would be enough to make it a banner year, but add to that the Boston bombings this spring, a week in Disney World with 150 people, and my grandmother passing away in late September, and I shouldn't be surprised at all that it's all passed so disorientingly quickly.
I forced myself into new situations and learned SO MANY new things about myself.
Two years ago, my New Year's resolution--the first one I'd ever really made--was to SAY YES MORE. Last year, it was to LET MY FREAK FLAG FLY. These resolutions are so closely related, they might as well be twins, but really, what I've resolved to do for two years (and will continue to do in 2014) comes down to this:
Well, perhaps a better
question is, how are you 3 years old with the mind and soul of a much older person?
Sometimes you sass your
mama with such attitude, I know exactly what you’ll be like when you’re 16. Or
you ask a question with such wisdom and depth, I could swear you’re 50.
Or maybe that you lived
a very full and adventurous past life, and now you’ve returned to this world as
a hilarious, strong, imaginative child.
A child who, I have no
doubts, will change the world.
Simply, you are
extraordinary.
You are good at
everything you try, whether it be your letters or your speech or your throwing
and catching or drumming or charming people or twirling or dancing or jumping.
I am in awe of you.
Your strength of will,
your intensity, your confidence in who you are, and your astounding empathy.
I have never met a
child so genuinely curious.
You ask, “Mama, what’s
YOUR favorite color? Pretzel, what’s YOUR favorite fruit?”
You say “NO” with such
conviction, we all stand back.
You tell stories like
you have so many coiled up inside you, you’ll never run out of words to share
with us.
You want everyone to
watch you hop. Or jump. Or dive. Or swim.
This post was inspired by this. I turn 30 four weeks from today. ***
Drag queens.
London. Busted lip and tits out. Acting in a garden. Grateful. Berkeley. Apartment
8. Making out all night. Walk of shame. Fiona Apple and scraping paint.
Flappers to Rappers. Call the cops. Climb up my balcony. Shots shots shots
shotsshotsshots. Cacophony. Splattered walls. Best friends. Going to class
hungover. He told me he was sad and I was the only person who would understand.
Falling in love with the wrong person. Writing songs. Running away. Smoking
weed and listening to Jeff Buckley. Food poisoning stoned. I need him. Breaking
down over the sink because I felt ugly. Hooking up with a freshman. Making art
and graduating. New York City.
Is this still home? Sublet in Brooklyn. Unemployment saga #1. Soliciting for
the North Shore Animal League for two weeks. Iced coffee with half and half and
sugar. 12 hour days on my feet outside in August. Quitting. 23 interviews in 4
months. Chinese food for lunch and dinner. Living on Luna bars. Dripping sweat
under a skylight. Watching Starting Over
with Iyanla Vanzant and Garden State.
Bleeding out money. Storms, dripping ceiling, fly infestation. Soho loft.
Commuting on the F train. East 66thStreet and York Avenue. Filing for
hours and ordering pizza for office lunches. Reading blogs. Mom leaving 2nd husband. Sobbing on a train platform. Frequenting
Off the Wagon near NYU specifically to make out with boys in corners. None called.
Smoking cigarettes on lunch breaks and my commute. Convinced I needed to go to
a mental institution. First and only black out on New Year's Eve. Apartment in
Park Slope. Bar up the street. Within walking distance of childhood home but
feeling a world away. Starting a blog. Heavy heart. Self-hate. Feeling lost and
alone. Writing to soothe. Crying on the train home from a bar. Deciding to
leave New York. There is nothing for me here. Grad school? Revelation of
future. Volunteering with kids, and I can breathe. Quitting my job. Moving
across the country. Again. San Luis
Obispo. No money. Living with mom. White wine and American Idol. Three
productions in eight months. Fast and furious connections. Becoming a gym rat.
Feeling hot. Grad school! Boston! Is this home? Apartment down the street from
my cousin. Who are your people? Why are you here? What is your work? Joining
Facebook. Breakdowns in class; I don't know if I can do this. Debilitating
anxiety. Talks about race and age and sex. Letting go. Teaching at camp, which
fulfills a decade-long dream. Teachers drink. Student teachers drink more.
Writing a play. Revealing a wish to be myself. Crying in despair and grief over
chicken nuggets. Champagne and cookies to console me. Graduation and tattoos.
Another summer at camp. The room changes when I am in it. Unemployment
saga #2. Hours-long interviews. Commiserating at McDonald’s. Chin hairs and
lactose intolerance. Elle is born. Defending my work experience. Feeling proud
but frustrated. Writing a novel. Fighting for a dream job and getting it.
Online dating. Falling for an alcoholic. Redhead. Gaining confidence in my
work. Getting a smartphone. Heartbreak and heart full of kids. Discovering and
gaining pride in my body. Hooking up with a cheater. And then another one.
Living with an alcoholic. Kicking both alcoholics out of my life. Brunette.
Trampolining. Yoga. Excelling in my work. Finding my voice. Always learning. Feet
on the ground and head up. Moving forward steadily.
What a whirlwind of a hilarious vacation week this has been. Full of Christmas gatherings, lots and lots of food, wine, and laughs.
Spending time with my cousins and their two boys, 6 years old and 20 months old, has been truly unforgettable and wonderful and I am so sorry my time with them is over.
Here are some of the highlights of the week, in quote form:
6-year-old, explaining to his little brother: Santa won't hurt you. Unless it's a homeless guy.
Me, to the 6-year-old, who had his hands down his pants: I'm just going to start calling you Penis Hands.
Him: I'm gonna start calling you Burpy.
Me: That's perfect!
*high five*
Him: Now you're Penis Hands.
6-year-old, while watching A Christmas Story, proving that his generation is conditioned to violence and chaos: Is the old man gonna steal the lamp? Is the lamp gonna explode? Did he get run over? Is fudge a bad word? Is she calling the police?
Me, to my cousin's stunning 88-year-old grandmother: You look like a movie star!
Her: Lassie?
Me: What rhymes with berry?
6-year-old: Perry!
Me: ...OK.
Him: No, like Katy Perry!
Me: OK!...What rhymes with orange?!
Everyone: That's so mean!
Him: ...Nothing.
6-year-old, on seeing a Rolling Stones logo on the side of a truck: Look! A kissing truck!
Two years ago today, you were on your way into this big, crazy, challenging world.
This year has gone by in a blur.
It feels like yesterday that I was carefully placing balloons in your house while you took a nap before your first birthday party.
The biggest change this year has been in your speech. You use your words (FULL SENTENCES!) now to express your joy, pain, frustration, fear, and anger.
Just this evening, your mom and I were chatting on the street. You were wearing your bright yellow chicken helmet, after having scootered all the way to JP Seafood and back from dinner! After a while, your mom scooped you up, but she and I kept chatting.
Finally, having had enough, you said, very clearly, "I want to go home."
And off you went. To take a bath, get ready for bed, and sleep through the time of day you were born.
You'll wake up a 2-year-old!
A big, boisterous, babbling 2-year-old.
This year, you have stepped solidly into your fearlessness.
You LOVE being upside down, and going down slides, waterslides, and even on amusement park rides!
I will never forget how, when you were just barely one, your mom and my mom visited me at work. I gave you all a tour of the club and then we stopped in the gym to chat with my coworker there. Your mom put you down and you walked right onto the basketball court, unafraid of the big teenage boys playing there, determined to grab a basketball.
In response to my point against Barney's transformation, My Brother the Lawyer noted the following:
"Perhaps Barney, after a lifetime of denying his true nature and his brother's influence, gave into it. The catalyst being his true love smooching with the embodiment of everything he'd denied within himself."
Can't argue with an Assistant District Attorney...and he doesn't even watch!
I literally just got home after my trip to LA, where I did MANY MANY fun things with my family including, but not limited to: Celebrating Christmas AND Hanukkah, Eating LOTS of tasty food, Seeing Mario Lopez in person, who is shorter than he seems on TV, Seeing The Muppets, which I almost cried twice at, Riding two rollercoasters and a drop ride (the latter for the first time), Drinking tasty wine and reconnecting with my cousins, Playing imagination games with their 5-year-old son, Squeezing their eight-month-old son, AND Collecting the following quotes.
CGW, age 5: When I am a dad and I have kids, I will only wash my body on Mondays.
CGW's mom: Mommy loves CGW and Mommy loves DGW and Mommy loves Annie and Mommy loves Momma! CGW: And Mommy loves butt and Mommy loves penis.
CGW: I don't want you to be the guy for this game because one of the guy's name is Woody but the OTHER guy's name is STINKY PETE!
CGW: I love you more than Pluto.
CGW: You can take this paper home. And maybe EWE (his cousin) will come to your house and draw.
CGW: Knock knock! Me: Who's there? CGW: Alligator! Me: Alligator who? (this repeats several times) CGW: Knock knock! Me: Who's there? CGW: Monkey! Me: Monkey who? CGW: Monkey is swinging on your hair! (In his defense, he explained that hair is like vines. Pretty amazing, if you think about it that way.)
CGW's mom: H, can I see your boots? CGW: Can I see your BOOBS??
It was exactly a year ago that your mom’s water broke while she was sitting next to me on the couch and your folks rushed to the hospital.
I held you when you were 12 hours old. And I cried the whole time.
I couldn’t believe you were here. That you were mewing and that I could comfort you so you’d stop.
I couldn’t believe when you stopped being kind of blobby, when you could hold your head up, and began to grab for things.
Or when you started reaching for me because you knew who I was.
I couldn’t believe it when you started really smiling and laughing.
Or when you started eating real food.
Or when your red hair started coming in. Or your long, striking eye lashes.
I couldn’t believe it when you started making lots of noise, which turned into words. When you clearly said “ball” or learned to say “bubble.”
I couldn’t believe it when you started to wave and blow kisses and push with strength and shrug.
I cannot believe what an amazing dancer you are.
Or how fast you learn.
I can’t believe how fast a year has gone. How much my life has changed since you were born. How fast you have grown. How MUCH you have grown.
I can’t wait until you start calling me by name. And when you start hugging me back.
I can’t wait to have conversations with you about your doggy and your mommy and your favorite book and your homework and boys and college and your career.
1. I survived a particularly exhausting week of work right before an awesome vacation.
2. I traveled across the country where I
a. ate tasty taco truck food at 2 AM (5 AM my time) after a 9-hour day and 6-hour flight
b. had a super tasty picnic in the park by Lake Merritt where geese began to encircle us like a Hitchcock film
c. helped the bride with important last minute tasks like seating lists and copies of directions
d. saw friends I've known for 10 years, drank wine, and giggled late into the night
e. got an updo that took 2 hours to make
f. donned a superfabulous purple one-shouldered dress
g. literally hiked through the woods to get to the stunning redwood photo site
h. read part of a poem in one of the most beautiful weddings at one of the most beautiful locales on one of the most beautiful days of weather ever
i. made a speech that made the bride and party cry and laugh at the just the right times
j. did NOT get drunk and danced for about 3 1/2 hours until late into the evening (seriously, first on the dance floor)
k. traveled to Los Angeles where I played for three days with a 5 year old, his 4 month old brother, and his two amazing mommies.
3. I returned to work after my vacation and began a serious search for a new visual art instructor, which has required several 1/2 hour phone interviews and, so far, three over-two-hour long interviews and demos.
4. At the same time, I put up the first play ever to be performed at work, with 10 weeks of sporadic attendance from the kids and three hours in this last week of rehearsal/costume making/set dressing.
5. I survived our end-of-summer event, which involved running a Spelling Bee activity in the morning, organizing the afternoon, two showings of the play, a flash mob dance to this song, and the summer award winners throwing pies of whipped cream into staff members' faces (not mine).
Now I am bracing myself for Hurricane Irene, which really means I am going to sleep early with no plans of leaving my bed this weekend except to play games with my cousin and maybe do my laundry.
1. Day of previous post being just the beginning of the shittiest week I've had at work yet.
2. Boston spring taking its sweet time to get here. Today, it is 43 degrees out.
3. Me coming down with a bad cold that is STILL lingering.
4. My cousin having a baby boy on the same day that my mother celebrated her 60th birthday.
5. This past week at work being taken over by the annual singing competition we have with the kids, which went off yesterday with only a few catastrophes mid-show:
a. 12-year-old dropped out at the last minute, despite my best youth development convincing that she deserved to compete and would do great.
b. Grandmother of 10-year-old girl (whom we had cut in the 2nd round) sneak attacked me mid-show to complain that her granddaughter was a good singer and we only had 8 competitors anyway--could she perform?
c. Friends of 12-year-old girl in section A bumrushed the stage while I was making announcements, declaring that she was ready to sing now but only if she could sing with all of them. No.
6. Having a fancy dinner with an old friend while he was here on business and reminiscing about how things have changed and stayed the same.
7. An epic evening making Skittles vodka with the roommates, which we will be consuming tonight.
(Update: It is so tasty and strong. And looks really pretty in a glass mixed with 7-Up.)
I've barely had time at my desk to write quotes down, even though I'm amused by my kids and coworkers every day.
Also, there's a long, rambling, witty nostalgic post brewing in me and I just need to figure out time and space to write it.
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