Charlie Sheen and Winning

This post unintentionally hurt someone.  I am therefore taking it down.

Ode to Emma and Bryan with a Y

Never understood the baby blanket.  Why not a baby sock as a transitional object.  A baby shoe.  A pillow.   A shirt.   It just seems so Random.

One of my brilliant younger cousins kept such tight hold of a cloth diaper for so many years (AKA her ‘blanket’), it disintegrated into a single strand of brown cotton. 

I believe she still has it?  (In her pocket?) 

I don’t remember having anything to shlep around.  I don’t remember my brother having anything either.   Perhaps this explains a Lot.

I’m encouraged, however, that Bryan has something—his own version of Linus’s bff.  I’m encouraged because I think about how smart and wonderful my cousin turned out. 

Please don’t pop my bubble only to inform me that Jeffrey Dahmer, too, dragged around a child’s blanket.  But you’re probably right.

Amidst the vast array of wisdom I have garnered from my son, Bryan has certainly taught me why the child’s blanket is so magical.  Put succinctly: it is simply the most versatile item ever created. 

In the course of 6 years, Bryan’s blanket has served the following purposes:

·      It’s a turban when he watches someone rub a magic lantern

·      a regular hat when his head’s cold

·      His blanket makes a great, small tent

·      It’s a towel in a pinch. 

·      it transforms into a cape when he’s a Superhero

·       a tablecloth on a picnic

·      (sometimes a napkin)

·      a flying carpet to get the h out of dodge when he’s in trouble

·      It’s a coat when there’s nothing else around

·      a wig when he imagines having long hair

·      An umbrella

·      A skirt

·      A rope to play tug-of-war

·      (sometimes a kleenex) (ew: sorry, but true)

·      it makes a great dog bed

·      often used as a pillow

·      he’s been known to jump rope with it

·      a ribbon that the winning runner breaks through

·      a matador’s cape for the dogs

·      a sleeping bag

·      a shield from something scary on TV

·      leg warmers

·      a sling for a broken arm

·      a makeshift eye patch for an impromptu pirate

·      and more

·      much MUCH more

Most of all, of course, this raggedy, old, (now) very thin piece of cloth, that can no longer even be washed for fear it will completely evaporate, is Bryan’s Salvation.   It’s His Religion.  The Answer to all that is Bad and Scary. 

I don’t remember if we brought this once-new relic to Guatemala when we picked him up.  I’d like to think we did. 

Having to acknowledge Its Importance, I realize that the child’s blanket, to the child, may very well be an extension of the umbilical cord: perhaps the very first thing inherited after leaving the warmth of total security (or, in Bryan’s case, having to leave All That He Knew).

I tend to think a child must believe that if they pull on their blanket long enough, if they pull on it hard enough, if there’s just enough desperation, perhaps they’ll get sucked back up into the safety of the womb. 

Likewise, perhaps, if they pull Just Right, the other way, Pure Freedom lies on the other end.

Whatever the case, I’ve grown to admire the Integrity and Dependablility of the baby blanket. 

That’s all for now: I’m off to check out Ebay.  no reason.  

When I Grow Up

There’s a reason I’m in the slow lane.  I drive like someone’s great great, half-blind, mostly senile grandma.  Why are you riding my ass?  I’m paranoid, sorry!  Just like Lady Gaga says:  BORN THAT WAY.  Not doing it to annoy you.  But I’m wondering… instead of kissing my butt, why not pass me via the other (open!) lane?  Are you trying to make a point?  Think I’m going to speed up because you’re mad?  Instead, I’m going to slow down for a while.  Then, I’ll pull over to the curb and let you pass me.  I’ll flash a big thumbs-up and meet you at the red light that’s just ahead.

(not my white sedan, but you get the point)

As a child, when I closed my eyes, the only thing that I could see ahead of me was a mug filled with markers.  I thought this meant I was going to be an artist. 

One thing they never tell you when you’re a kid is how much interacting with other people leads to personal happiness (or not).  No one really informs us that it isn’t so much what we do during the day (to make money), it’s about who surrounds us.  The question shouldn’t have been, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”  Instead, it should have been, “Who do you want to spend your workday with?”

For me, I’d start by saying I’d like to be surrounded by really cute kids.  I’d like them to laugh at my jokes (which rarely happens).  I’d like to play games with them (which there’s no time for).  I’d like to teach and mentor them (which I like to think I do).

Next, I’d refer to a list.  On this list, there’d be a friend around who’s also a fan of Snoopy.  We’d occasionally exchange small Snoopy items and talk and laugh about things in our day. 

Perhaps I’d also like a Mickey Mouse friend who’s very good at asserting things to the higher ups that most of us are too scared to articulate.  We’ll sit in a meeting when something unjust is being said, and our Mickey Mouse friend will tell Whoever it Is a Thing or Two.  For this, I’ll forgive her for her choice in cartoon characters. 

I’d like one of the higher ups to remind me of my favorite all-time person, the housekeeper I had growing up.  Among the vast array of life lessons I learned from her, Viola Howard taught me that it doesn’t matter what you do, it’s how you do it.  She taught me this without ever saying it.  Instead, of course, she showed me.  A small part of Viola is channeled through the assistant principal at my school. 

I’d also like to work with someone who can take over when I can’t deal.  This person won’t make me feel bad for asking.  She will know what to Do.  If I’m overwhelmed, I’ll send my “problem” to something called a ‘Room 10,’ and my problem will come back “solved.”

I’d like there to be a very caring, nearby person to lend me a hand whenever I need one and never make me feel bad for asking.  I’d like to be able to talk to this person about Real Things in a Real Way.  I’d like for her to be a Friend.

I’d like to have a buddy who has a small, cute dog.  I will be the dog’s aunt.  My buddy and I will talk about Mainstream Crime and lament over disgusting verdicts, like Casey Anthony. 

Most of all, I’d like someone next door to share my entire day with.  I’d like this person to have my back and I’ll have hers.  I’d like her to help me solve my problems: both work and life.  I’d like for us to help each other through the day.  I’d like to walk around knowing that there’s somebody nearby who’d do just about anything for me and vice versa.  I’d like to have a person like this so there’d always be a Safe Place for me, even when I’m out in the cruel, cold world, “making a living.” I’d like to share incredible laughs with this person and write notes to this person during less-than Stimulating Meetings.  I’d like the notes to be silly and hilarious.  I’d like this person to be family.

There’s more wonderful people where I work: A Nicaraguan guy who gives me hugs, a brotherly guy who mistakenly left our school, a Special Education teacher who’s also a buddy, and Others. 

Despite the whirlwind, winding, f-ed up road that led me here, turns out, my list became realized. 

And strangely enough, I do have that mug of markers on my desk.  I just didn’t know they’d be dry-erase. 

To all my school friends, as corny as it sounds: thank you for making me so happy to go to work!