I'm Booked.

Over Labor Day weekend Mac Daddy and I heard a thumpity-thump-bump-CRASH one night while we were busy vegging on the couch with a bottle of pinot grigio (a farewell to the lazy days of summer wine, none of that white stuff in the fall and winter months will do). We shrugged it off as a book falling off of Deal's bed, a common occurence considering he goes to bed with a veritable library cache of reading material. It was the CRASH that stirred us from our pre-kid-like vegging euphoria. We rushed upstairs to discover two snuggly sleeping boys. One freaked out 16-year old cat whose hair would have been standing up had we not gotten her shaved recently, and a bookshelf toppled in my office, books littering the floor.

Sigh. Labor Day was indeed a day of labor.

I just reorganized all the book shelves in my office. I purged (not in the Sarah Palin sense) and boxed up some goodies to share with my book club and put some in the Goodwill pile. It took me longer than the average bear to reorganize because I found myself flipping through the dogeared, marked up pages, checking out my changing handwriting (I always write my name inside the cover of my books.), admired the unbroken spine (One of the byproducts of my self-diagnosed OCD is that I cannot stand for a book spine to be creased or bent, requiring me to read very gingerly. This is why my friends just buy me a new copy of a book instead of returning the trashed spine book they borrowed from me.), and even burying my nose into a few, the smell taking me back to Ms. Smith's English class or Mr. Harrison's British poetry class.

I was the kid who eshewed Cliffs Notes, even for Jane Austen, whom I loathe. I was the kid who laughed at kids who couldn't get through the summer reading list. I was the kid who was repeatedly told not to bring books to the dinner table. I was the kid who crept under the covers with a flashlight and got lost in Ramona's adventures until the wee hours. I was the kid who oohed and aahed over gifted books at my birthday party. I am still that kid.

I love words. I am in awe of people who can put words together to spin an enthralling tale, paint a vivid picture, mend a troubled psyche, or create a character so real you feel you should add him to your Christmas card list. Words inspire me. Excite me. Tempt me. Poor use of words infuriate me. Words are powerful little buggers, whether spoken or written. They invoke emotion in ways moving pictures cannot because they leave us to our own devices. Words take us on a journey, challenging us to create the pictures and images and people that accompany them. Words are instruments that few people can master.

Books are my escape. Cheaper than a plane ticket, more engrossing than television, often more effective than therapy, and they don't talk back.

The one gift I hope to impart to Bird and Deal is a love of books. So far so good. One of my proudest moments was when Bird was about 3 or so. I offered him the choice of going to the library or the park, and he enthusiastically chose the library. That's my boy, I thought to myself, smiling. Both Bird and Deal devour books of all kinds. Bird's driving force behind his kindergarten excitement is that he will learn how to read. Right now he's memorized a million books so he often sits with Deal and "reads" The Lorax and other such jewels. The bounty we bring home from the library would leave me $64 dollars poorer if I were checking those books on a US Air flight.

My friend Norman gave us one of the best baby gifts ever. Not the standard Goodnight Moon, Mother Goose, or Chicka Chicka Boom Boom. He gave us Honey for a Child's Heart by Gladys Hunt. The book is a clever, delightfully written guide to help choose age appropriate books for your kids. Hunt also writes candidly about topics such as censorhip and what makes a good versus bad book. Honey for a Child's Heart is peppered with the old standbys that I love to read to my boys. The House at Pooh Corner. Where the Wild Things Are. Richard Scarry. Shel Silverstein. Mercer Mayer. Even if you are a voracious reader like I am, this book will serve as a handy guide should you ever need a kick in the pants to actually go to the library with a list.

Oh, in case you are wondering what books Sarah Palin supposedly wanted to ban (rather "purge" since that sounds less like censorship) from her library, wait no more. Check 'em out. Thanks my old buddy Mike for passing this along.

Sarah Palin's Book Club - Asterisks* are by the ones I've read. You'll see that I am clearly a heathen who has no business being a card carrying library book checker outer.

*A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess
*A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle
Annie on My Mind by Nancy Garden
*As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner
*Blubber by Judy Blume
*Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
*Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
*Canterbury Tales by Chaucer
*Carrie by Stephen King
*Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
*Christine by Stephen King
Confessions by Jean-Jacques Rousseau
*Cujo by Stephen King
Curses, Hexes, and Spells by Daniel Cohen
Daddy’s Roommate by Michael Willhoite
*Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Peck
*Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller
Decameron by Boccaccio
*East of Eden by John Steinbeck
Fallen Angels by Walter Myers
Fanny Hill (Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure) by John Cleland
*Flowers For Algernon by Daniel Keyes
*Forever by Judy Blume
Grendel by John Champlin Gardner
Halloween ABC by Eve Merriam
*Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone by J.K. Rowling
*Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling
*Harry Potter and the Prizoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling
*Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling
Have to Go by Robert Munsch
Heather Has Two Mommies by Leslea Newman
*How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell
*Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
* I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
Impressions edited by Jack Booth
* In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak
* It’s Okay if You Don’t Love Me by Norma Klein
*James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
* Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D.H. Lawrence
*Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman
*Little Red Riding Hood by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm
*Lord of the Flies by William Golding
Love is One of the Choices by Norma Klein
Lysistrata by Aristophanes
More Scary Stories in the Dark by Alvin Schwartz
My Brother Sam Is Dead by James Lincoln Collier & Christopher Collier
My House by Nikki Giovanni
*My Friend Flicka by Mary O’Hara
Night Chills by Dean Koontz
*Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
On My Honor by Marion Dane Bauer
One Day in The Life of Ivan Denisovich by Alexander Solzhenitsyn
*One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey
*One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
*Ordinary People by Judith Guest
*Our Bodies, Ourselves by Boston Women’s Health Collective
*Prince of Tides by Pat Conroy
Revolting Rhymes by Roald Dahl
Scary Stories 3: More Tales to Chill Your Bones by Alvin Schwartz
Scary Stories in the Dark by Alvin Schwartz
*A Separate Peace by John Knowles
Silas Marner by George Eliot
*Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
Tarzan of the Apes by Edgar Rice Burroughs
*The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
*The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
The Bastard by John Jakes
*The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
*The Color Purple by Alice Walker
The Devil’s Alternative by Frederick Forsyth
The Figure in the Shadows by John Bellairs
*The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson
*The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
The Headless Cupid by Zilpha Snyder
The Learning Tree by Gordon Parks
The Living Bible by William C. Bower
*The Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare
The New Teenage Body Book by Kathy McCoy and Charles Wibbelsman
*The Pigman by Paul Zindel
The Seduction of Peter S. by Lawrence Sanders
*The Shining by Stephen King
The Witches by Roald Dahl
The Witches of Worm by Zilpha Snyder
* Then Again, Maybe I Won’t by Judy Blume
*To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee
*Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare
Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary by the Merriam-Webster Editorial Staff
Witches, Pumpkins, and Grinning Ghosts: The Story of the Halloween
Symbols by Edna Bart

And now, I am peeling my fingers away from the keyboard to open up my latest crack. Plan B by Anne Lamott. Must see TV? Nah. Not for me tonight.

Bringing the Swagger Back One Hot Man at a Time



Dude, I love this commercial. I've watched it over and over again and crack up every time. Granted, I have a pretty lame sense of humor but I laugh with/at Mommy Pie with the rest of 'em.

Here's what I love about this ad:

1) The product name Swagger is pure genius. Swagger is a word we don't inject into our vernacular nearly enough. I suppose it's because few men really swagger anymore. Really, can you name one man who swaggers and gets away with it? Mac Daddy is a Leo so he should swagger, but he's the most un-Leo of any Leo I know. If Mac Daddy swaggered he'd just look like he had been riding a mechanical bull in an out-of-the-way airport bar on the outskirts of Pittsburgh for way too long. Or he'd look like someone stuck a gnawed corncob up his butt.

2) The tagline is perfect. "The scent that makes a difference." It totally goes with the commercial, the brand personality, and all the psychological consumer marketing mumbo jumbo stuff that account planners work very hard to figure out and copywriters and art directors work very hard to make come to life. I rank it second to the best tagline ever.

3) The squeal. More perfect than Erkel. I cringe when I hear it. Perhaps because I can relate. Since I'm on the cusp of 40, and my extraordinarily geeky middle school days are about 17,029 exits behind the road I travel on now, I can admit this publicly; I was the girl version of the squealer back in the day.

And the final reason I love this ad:
LL Cool J. Really, need I say more? I might go into heat if I do.

RNC Highlights from the Peanut Gallery

My whole being is over saturated with politics right now. I am sweating, bleeding, and drooling blue but seeing red. I could not bear to watch the Republican Convention. The two nights Mac Daddy had it on in the background left me unable to sleep with dizzying, paralyzing thoughts of my children's oppressive, right-wing future. Images of a King Kong size Sarah Palin haunted what fitful sleep I managed to capture. All snark aside, I am truly afraid. I am afraid that the constitutional fabric that weaves this country together is unraveling before my eyes and no amount of clear nail polish is going to fix it.

Since I am fed up, scared, frustrated, bitchy, and maybe a tad bit negative, I thought I'd post my friend KC's convention insights instead of my usual crazy liberal woman ranting. KC is more moderate than I am and tends to view the world with less criticism and snarkiness than I do. She is certainly a voice of reason and gives the benefit of the doubt, which is definitely not my nature. So here are excerpts from an email she sent me post-RNC:

"Did you watch the Republican convention last night? I watched some of it, in the interest of fairness. Here are some of my thoughts about Tuesday night's offerings:

It looked like a freakin' Klan rally. I think the only non-white person I saw was John McCain's adopted daughter. Not particularly representative of America. No wonder they're so hot to keep illegal immigrants out - they know the children of those immigrants ain't gonna vote for them! The notion of Internet voting must just make them break out in the screaming meemies.

Nobody cared much what George W had to say. What an embarrassingly lukewarm reception from his party's most rabid supporters!

Fred Thompson reminded me of a used car salesman. Lots of folksy chatter but not much of substance. The only interesting part of his speech was when he described McCain's injuries and torture in vivid detail. On PBS, they cut away to a crowd shot during the most gruesome part of that speech to a group of people who were LAUGHING. Some cameraman having a little fun, I think!

The loudest, most enthusiastic applause was for a Democrat (Joe Lieberman). Although the audience got really quiet when he started talking about the necessity of putting partisan politics aside to accomplish great things.

Republicans can't dance! Sheesh, how hard can it be to bop around to "Johnny B. Goode"? It looked like half the attendees were taking that opportunity for a potty break, they way they were scrambling over each other. The ones who stuck out just kept shouting "Go Johnny Go", even after the refrain was over, through the guitar solo. I think it's the first time half of them ever heard that song. Come on people, this is Chuck Berry. We sent that song up into space on Voyager as a greeting to anybody else who might live out there in the universe! What a contrast
to when they played "Ain't No Stoppin' Us Now" at the Democratic convention - people were swaying back and forth, waving their signs IN TIME WITH THE MUSIC, and just enjoying being with each other. That's the America I can identify with.

I watched again last night to see what Rudy had to say and to watch a little of Sarah Palin. According to Guilliani, we are under attack RIGHT NOW and ALL THE TIME and we need a leader who is going to FIGHT THE BAD GUYS. Then he talked about the economy for about 30 seconds. And he talked so fast and so quietly that I could barely hear what he was saying! It was like at the end of a commercial when the super-fast-talker guy runs over the terms and conditions. And then it was back to FIGHTING THE BAD GUYS, this time by drilling in the Alaskan Wildlife Refuge. You want to know what the crowd started chanting? "Drill, baby, drill". I kid you not.

I watched several minutes of Sarah Palin's speech, but honestly, I had to turn it off. Something about her voice has the effect on me of nails on a chalkboard. Plus I kept watching her hair, trying to figure out what the heck was going on in the back. When I could focus on her speech,
it was mostly tearing down Barack Obama, which I guess is the role the V.P. is supposed to play, but so many of the things she said were untrue that I stopped listening. Oh, she told the following joke - Q. What's the difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull? A. Lipstick. Well, I for one don't want a lipstick-wearing pit bull in charge of my country."


I admittedly did not watch much of the 3 days of mockery, sarcasm, and fear fest thanks to KC, I feel like I was there.


And one last thing, even if you have had enough of Sarah Palin, I urge you to still read this and this. You'll be glad you did. Trust me here.

5:00 Fridays

I'm a bit obsessed with this year's election. Hard to tell, I know. I'm a card carrying Obama Mama and I want nothing more than a blue streak covering CNN's map of North Carolina come November 4. We have a Senate seat open and a heated governor's race this year. Women are running on the Democratic ticket for both races. An exciting time? A resounding yes! My worry is that both camps are running rather lame campaigns. They lack consistent and compelling messaging. There seems to be no positioning or personality. In essence, both candidates lack a brand. What they need is good old fashioned brand strategy. But that's just me the marketer talking.

I present today's drink in hope that my state will soon bleed blue. I don't care what shade, as long as it's blue.

Carolina Blue
1 oz gin (I'd use plain ol' Tanqueray here.)
1 oz Blue Curaçao (have lots left over from last week)
1 fresh lime (I repeat, not the cruddy fake stuff in a plastic lime-shaped bottle!)

You know the routine. Fill a shaker with crushed ice. Squeeze the juice from the whole lime into the shaker. Add the gin and Curaçao and shake well. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass garnished with a twist of lime.

Drink to a new definition of Feeling Blue!

Today I Learned of Suicide

I found out some heartbreaking news today from a long lost friend (praise Facebook for the reunion!). Our old friend Randy committed suicide.

It happened in 1995. I had no idea.

I left my hometown almost 20 years ago and have been back only twice in recent years. Not because I don't love it, I simply have no family there anymore. I still consider it "home." My so called formative years were spent there. I fondly recall our close circle of friends.

We were a mixed bag of kids who came from various cliques and backgrounds. A common sense of folly and intellect brought us together. We were smart (though not geekily so), athletic (though not in that annoying jock way...and for the record, I was not one of the athletic ones), and ambitious (college was a shared goal and expected milestone). We used to go swimming, have parties, devour movies, eat doughnuts, and dance. We laughed until our bellies ached (doughnuts being a contributing factor) and shed tears over the maelstrom of life's uncertainties and curveballs that come our way in our teens.

Randy was the most earnest and thoughtful of the gang, keeping a watchful eye on me since he was a few years my senior. His smile was grand and popped whatever funk bubble enveloped you. He was often the voice of reason among the rowdy grain alcohol experimenters and skirt chasers. His spirit was kind, mature, charming, and sensitive. And don't think for a minute that there wasn't a healthy dollop of mischief tossed in.

I've been out of touch with those old friends for decades now. Once in a while I catch myself grinning over a fleeting memory from back in the day. Back in the day when friends sat around til the wee hours talking about our futures, how unfair our parents were, the cities we wanted to visit, who was breaking our hearts, and where to go on the next beer run with a fake ID. Back in the day when friendship came with no obligations, judgments, or competition. Back in the day when we were young and foolish. Back in the day when we had not tasted our own mortality and no idea that we were anything but invincible.

Randy went on to teach high school history, he was a captain in the Army National Guard, and a volunteer at crisis counselor centers in town. On paper and in life he was accomplished and
admired. He would blush and say something self-deprecating if he read this.

I am deeply saddened for the loss of an old friend, even a friend with whom I had lost touch. My heart physically hurts from the news. I am not writing to seek answers, point fingers, or uncover regrets. I simply want to remember a friend who touched me.

His Future's Not Bright, Take Off the Blinders

I do not wish for a future like Levi Johnston's for my sons. The Republicans are saying "Life happens." In my world, Levi's situation feels more like "shit happens."

Take a look at Levi's MySpace page. He sounds like a typical uneducated, smart ass, punk, jock of a guy. Not the kind of gracious souled gentlemen I want my boys to become. I realize boys will be boys. The saying does not proclaim, however, that boys will be heathens. And if I had a daughter, hell if I'd want her to marry a guy like Levi. Take a look for yourself.

Excerpted from his MySpace page, Johnston boasts, "I'm a fuckin' redneck" who likes to snowboard and ride dirt bikes.

"But I live to play hockey. I like to go camping and hang out with the boys, do some fishing, shoot some shit and just fuckiin' chillin' I guess."

"Ya fuck with me I'll kick [your] ass," he added.

He also claims to be "in a relationship," but states, "I don't want kids."

His folks must be whiz bang proud. Yeah, I'm hip like the cool kids saying things like "whiz bang." I'm just happenin' like that, ya know.

I happen to know a few 18-year old boys. They are gracious, ambitious, polite, witty, and charming (not in an Eddie Haskell way). They have bright futures. The boys I knew when I was an 18-year old myself were as randy as the rest, but none would have sounded as egotistical, rude, and plain neanderthal as Levi Johnston. Nope, not son in law material for my girl (Granted, I don't have one.).

I'm simply saying that as a mother, I am appalled. Granted, perhaps naive too. When I read that MySpace page my heart jumped with a tinge of shame, worry, embarrassment, and even empathy for Mrs. Johnston. I am certain that she envisioned a different future for her son, as I do for mine. I am just struck my his seeming lack of empathy, brute ruggedness, and gross display of testosterone. What insecurity lurks behind all that machismo? I do not think those statements necessarily make the boy, but they sure lay one hell of a foundation.

Oh, and so much for not wanting kids. Is this guy really ready for fatherhood? I find it so unfair that we don't choose our parents. This child will come to the world with many strikes against him/her. Love is critical, yes. But what life lessons can a teenage mother and father impart when they have yet to experience life themselves? Cliche, perhaps. True, indeed. I write this without political motivation. I write this as a mother. As a 35-year old first time mother who still found herself floundering, hormonal, overwhelmed, awestruck, confused, excitable, moved, and impressionable.

Teaching abstinence in schools is plain irresponsible. The people who believe that teaching abstinence equates to taking the moral high ground might as well move to the lush savannahs of Africa and put their heads in the ground among a flock of ostriches.

Kindergarten: Beginning or End?

I wrote about the unofficial start to kindergarten last week. Today was the real deal. Does today's milestone mark the end of a beginning? The beginning of an end? Is it an end of sorts or simply a new beginning?

Bird was a champ, even humoring me, posing for photos. He was silly, excited, anxious, and delightful. I think his Batman lunchbox gave him super special powers.

Me? I should win an Oscar for Best Performance by a Mother Dropping Her Son Off for the First Day of Kindergarten.

Mac Daddy, Deal, and I accompanied Bird to school. We drove separately since Mac Daddy had to leave to head out of town. The boys rode with Mac Daddy, leaving me with nothing but NPR to distract me. That was a tall order for BBC News Hour today. I silently wept to myself, not even wiping my tears with the back of my hand. Not the full blown heaving cry, but tears that trickle and sobs that whisper. Five years flashed before me in a nanosecond, which is about the amount of time it seems has passed.

I spend much of my time butting heads and wills with Bird and I admittedly threaten to put him on Ebay an awful lot (I have said that I would pay someone to take him. Mother of the year, material, I know). I even put him in time out on his birthday, but that's another story. However, at the end of the day, he is my kindred spirit. I feel his pains and joys like they are my own because he is me. I see myself in his every action, word, grimace, sneer, chuckle, pang, aha moment.

And so I wept for the hiccup of time I had with my son before he turns his wings to glide elsewhere. My wingspan no longer enough for him.

Bird positively galloped down the steps and hung up his backpack as if it were on the hook in our own mudroom. The kid didn't miss a beat. I ran ahead to dutifully fulfill my shutterbug responsibilities. I nuzzled my face into his hair and shed some more tears. Super silent this time, lest I project my anxiety onto him. Bird was hesitant to sit at his table at first, but one look at the gecko eyeballing him from the neighboring table distracted him enough to take a seat and stare back. We hastily gave our kisses, hugs, squeezes, words of encouragement, more kisses, and were on our way. I peeked through the forest of little heads and snapped a photo of Bird cracking up while cozying up to his tablemates. That kid lights up when he has an audience.

Cue Niagara Falls upon my feet hitting the sidewalk. Mac Daddy gave me a hug, said his requisite words of comfort, and left. Truth is, he didn't know what to do with me. Truth is, his world does not change. He'll still see Bird before work, after work, and for the random lunch date here and there. It is my world that changed forever today. It is I who grew the wings and sent them off to fly today.

I swallowed my tears, grabbed Deal up into my arms with an extra hard squeeze, and hit the gym. If there was ever a day I needed Jason to work my ass to a pulp, it was today.

I am not worried about my Bird at all. He will make me proud and have the guts and gumption to be and do more than I did.

And me? I'm anxiously waiting for 3:45.