I'm so proud!

The military requires its soldiers to strictly follow the chain of command. Insubordination is not... can not be tolerated. This is a completely pragmatic requirement. In the middle of a war zone, where real lives are at stake, soldiers often don't have the luxury of analyzing orders. There are many cases where action is required to happen at a sub-conscious, automatic level, the action must happen immediately, and inaction or a minuet delay in action could cause the death of many.

I understand why the military is the way it is. I understand the necessity for obedience to authority. Yet, after World War II the world did not accept "I was following orders." as an excuse for the brutal treatment and mass murders of Jew, Gypsies, homosexuals, and other groups deemed unfit by the Nazi government. Humanity expected, no we demanded, that soldiers know where to draw the line between following orders and carrying out brutal, immoral acts.

Today I heard a news report about a documentary that is opening in NY and LA this weekend. (I can't wait for it to show up around here.) Filmmakers gave members of the New Hampshire National Guard cameras, trained them how to use the equipment, and then asked the soldiers to document their experiences in Iraq during a one-year deployment in 2004. The film, The War Tapes shows the real life and real souls of the three soldiers.

There was one moment in this interview that really made me proud to be an American. Sgt. Zach Bazzi, a Lebanese-born American who speaks fluent Arabic, tells a story about a time when they were trying to cordon off a city. He said on side of the road was a cemetery and on the other side of the road was a hospital. They were not allowing people to cross the road to get to the hospital. There were a few people who had serious emergencies and the troops had allowed them to cross to the hospital.

At one point Sgt. Bazzi was approached by a man who was carrying his obviously sick son. The father wanted to take the boy to the hospital. Sgt. Bazzi asked for guidance from his superior. He was told to tell the father to turn back. The reasoning was that they had already allowed several people to cross and they had to draw the line somewhere. Sgt. Bazzi could not carry out this order. Instead of telling the father to turn around, Sgt. Bazzi went and sat in his Humvee.

A few days later the battalion commander visited the troops. Sgt. Bazzi and several other soldiers "gave him a piece of his mind." They pointed out how stupid and inhuman the orders were. A few days after that their orders were changed and the restriction was lifted.

The film maker who was also interviewed described Sgt. Bazzi as "a soldier's solder." He talked about how difficult it was for the sergeant to make the moral decision not to follow orders.

As I listened to this story, I couldn't have been prouder to be an American. So often the news focuses on the inhumanity of war, the incredibly inhuman and burtal things soldier do in war times, the mistreatments, the rapes, the pillaging. But here was a very quiet story. A very simple story. It demonstrated so well the incredible tragedy and suffering that troops are faced with in war time. It showed that sometimes the military gets it right. Not only did that individual soldier behave according his moral compass, but he and his compatriots got the entire machine to see the mistake and correct it. How many militaries would listen to the individuals on the ground and adjust their orders for moral reasons?

God bless Sgt. Bazzi. God bless America.

All-time Best Song Parts - My Version

My friend put up a post today. Ever since I read it earlier today it has had me thinking about the list I would put together. So in an effort to make these intrusive thoughts go away, I'm going share my list with you.

So without further ado:

All-time Best Song Parts (Not Necessarily the Whole Song, Just Part of It That Is Really Good. The Rest of the Song Might Suck) According to Liz

1) And the colored girls go Doo, doo doo, doo doo, doo doo doo... from Lou Reed's Walk on the Wild Side

2) The silent beat just before the last Halleluiah in the Halleluiah chorus

3) The way the horns sound like they're saying the words "salt peanuts" in Salt Peanuts.

4) Ok this one is really obvious and really cheap, but I can't help myself... The coda from Layla.

5) The beginning of Rites of Spring

6) The final cord on Sgt. Peppers

7) The intro to Van Morrison's Moondance

8) The middle of Rites of Spring

9) The really angry bridge in Precious Things by Tori Amos

10) The guitar from the beginning of Shaft.

11) The end of Rites of Spring

12) The beginning of Carmina Burana. Yeah, I know it's another cheap, obvious pick. But once in a while popular things are also great things.

13) When the guitar goes, "na-na-na-na-na-na" in Holidays In The Sun by the Sex Pistols.

Oh and this isn't really a musical moment per say, but I always love when we find out that she was a he in Walk on the Wild Side

Now that I have told my secret, I'm scared to death that everyone will hate me. Hating me is certainly justifiable.

Sex, Ministers, and Guilt

I really should be in bed right now, but instead I have been following links on blogs to other blogs with links to still more blogs. Of course, I've been reading along the way. I just stumbled on a post that not only made me stop and think, it took my breath away, and then filled me with the alternating waves of anxiety and intense guilt. There is nothing specifically wrong with this post... it just hit upon one of my triggers.

I don't know which is worse: the paralyzing anxiety that fills the pit of my stomach with an electric, butterfly-like feeling and leaves me short of breath, with a sense of "I must escape from this place or I WILL die" or the crushing guilt that makes my temples throb, my back ache from the weight pressing down on my shoulders, and leaves me with a nausea tickling the back of my throat to the point that I scan my surroundings for the best route to a toilet and a suitable garbage can to carry "just in case."

You see, I carry a secret. I've had the dubious luck or perhaps downright misfortune to have been raped twice in my adult life. Yes Virginia, lightening does strike the same tree twice. There are a lot of reasons for this... mostly relating to my childhood and my experiences growing up. But this isn't about the childhood stuff. This is about my first brush with rape as an adult. And, by the way, the rape itself is not the secret. We'll get to the secret in a minute.

Lately the news has been very difficult for me to watch. In fact, I've been avoiding it for a while. You see, I went to a seminary which shall remain unnamed, but the university that houses this seminary has been in the news a lot lately. It was at this seminary that I was raped.

When I went off to seminary I was dating the man I would later marry. I wasn't looking for romantic relationships. In fact, I have a very difficult time making friends. I don't think I had any friends at school. Ironically, I don't remember the name of a single person I met while I was there. But despite my difficulty reaching out to people, there was one fellow who befriended me.

He was an odd fellow. I can't quiet put my finger on his oddness. It wasn't really a pleasant or a fun oddness. It was just... well, odd. The funny thing is that a couple of my class mates asked me why I was his friend. They said I was much too cool to hang with him.

Now you've got to understand how ironic and totally mistaken it felt for me to hear someone call ME cool. I'm not. I'm a nerd's nerd. Shy, withdrawn, into technology, a fact collector, socially awkward... in other words, I'm a nerd. I've made peace with my nerdness and it doesn't bother me anymore. But in my early to mid twenties I wasn't there yet. When these people said I was too cool to be friends with this guy I thought one of two things had to be true. Either they were mocking me or in the hierarchy of nerds this other guy was really, really low down. In the end, I decided both of these things were true.

So why was I friendly with this man? Well...

• He talked to me. That was a biggie.

• He had a car. I didn't and he would drive me places.

• I could make him do stuff. If I called him up at 11:30 at night and asked him to take me to the store because I wanted a soda; he would get out of bed, drive over to get me, take me where ever I wanted to go, and then take me home, again. I know it sounds awful that I would do this kind of thing... but I had never before been in a relationship were the other person would do something if I wanted or even needed their help. It was an intoxicating power to be able to say, "I'm really sick and I need this medicine." and then have the medicine appear. So, I guess I abused it a little bit.

I talked about my boyfriend back home incessantly, so I thought, or assumed, that we were all on the same page. He had to know that WE weren't dating. I never kissed him. We didn't hold hands. I thought everything was clear to everyone involved.

Then one night he raped me. He came by the house were I rented a room. My landlady was at work (she was a nurse on the night shift.) I don't really remember the details. I remember a lot of the emotions... feeling that I was in danger... that I couldn't escape... being separated from my body... becoming a small child unable to react or respond as an adult.

I didn't talk about the event for over ten years. The weekend after it happened I flew home. I wanted to drop out of school right then and there. My parents insisted I go back to at least finish the semester. At the end of the weekend they drove me to airport. We fought all the way to the airport. They literally had to pry my fingers off the door of the breeze way leading to the plane. I didn't want to go back and I couldn't articulate why.

Using my finely honed skills of dissociation, denial, repression, and generous helpings of depression I made it to the end of the semester. I continued to be friendly with this man because... well, I was existing in a fog of dissociation, denial, repression, and depression and he would drive me places.

So one day I was with him and he was upset. After some coaxing on my part I got him to tell me what was bothering him. He was about to graduate from divinity school and he was applying to various church conferences within our denomination for ordination. Part of the process involved a psychological evaluation. He had just had his evaluation and the mental health professional who meet with him told him that he was not fit for the ministry. In fact, he quoted the mental health professional as saying, "If you had a thousand years of therapy, I couldn't recommend you for ordination." I said a few words of consolation, but secretly I was happy. I was glad to hear that he wouldn't be ordained.

You see, I didn't tell anyone what happened to me, but I worried. What if this man... this rapist, became an ordained minister? Would it be safe for him to take the youth fellowship, with all the young and innocent girls, on sleep away retreats? Would it be safe for him to be alone with women who were suffering and seeking support and guidance from their spiritual leader? I didn't have the emotional strength to face what had happened to me and yet I was feeling serious guilt at the possible long-term ramifications of my silence. To discover that the ordination process was working and this man would be excluded from the ministry was music to my ears and a great relief from the guilt I felt.

At the end of that semester I took an official leave of absence and never returned to divinity school.

A few years later I was talking with one of my girlfriends from my undergraduate days. She had gone off to become a social worker in an economically depressed, resource poor part of the country. She was babbling and bubbly. She had met a man. A minister! She was happy and deeply in love. When I asked his name, she was evasive. "He doesn't want me to tell my friends his name." she said. "He has personal reasons." I thought this was odd, but I was too busy being happy for my friend to think about it too much.

For the next several months we talked more often than usual. We were both young and poor and long distance was expensive in those days. I figured she was calling me more because she was so happy to be in love and I was more than happy to share this joy with her. But she started to say more and more odd things... she couldn't tell me where her boyfriend went to seminary. She continued to withhold his name. Details about his family and past were sketchy. I was starting to worry that my friend was dating a con man or was being taken advantage of in some way.

Finally, my concern for her overtook my experience of her joy. I confronted her. It's funny how I can protect those I care about; but I can't protect myself. But her response blew me out of the water... he wasn't some anonymous con man. She wasn't in the dark as to the details of his life. She knew everything (well almost everything) about this man. She knew that this was the man I had encountered in seminary. My good, my beloved friend was dating the man that raped me.

The story gets really ugly here. She got angry at me because I no longer could be happy for her. She despised me for telling her to break up with him. She accused me of being a tease and using him as a sex toy. She said that I was his one true love and by rejecting him I made it impossible for him to ever love anyone else. She said I hurt him deeply and she was appalled at the way I had treated him. Our friendship did not survive. But that's not the secret either.

The secret is that I had within my control a chance to try and stop a completely unfit man from being ordained. But because of my own demons and my own weaknesses I kept my mouth shut. I could have done something to stop a rapist (and yes, I found out I was not his last victim) from becoming a minister. But I stood by silently and did nothing.

My friendship with his girlfriend didn't die right away. I found out from her that even though he had received an unfavorable psychological evolution, his conference ordained him because they were so desperate for ministers to fill their churches his disturbed warm body was better than no body.

It's been more than twenty years since I took a leave of absence from divinity school. Sometimes I still wonder... if I had said something would he be an ordained minister? And the question that really burns my soul… Am I responsible (even indirectly) for the rape of any other women?

Does he ever…

Saturday we drove into the District to see Barbie Live in Fairytopia. Elizabeth was in seventh heaven, but that’s another post.

When we were going home, we happened upon one of the barricaded gates leading into the White House. I pointed it out to Elizabeth and told her to keep an eye out because she’d get to see the White House in a few minutes. She’s young enough that this is still exciting to her.

We were sitting at a red light on Pennsylvania Ave. and Elizabeth was pondering the barricade and the gates.

E: Does he ever get to go out?

M: Who?

E: The president. Does the president ever get to go out?

M: Oh yeah, sure. He goes out.

E: Where does he go?

M: He goes to meetings and he gives speeches and stuff like that.

E: How do you know he goes out?

M: A lot of the time it’s on the news.

E: Oh, I guess I should start watching the news.

Elizabeth pondered this some more as we drove down Constitution Ave.

E: Does he ever get to go other places?

M: What do you mean?

E: Well, does he ever get to go grocery shopping or clothes shopping?

M: No, I don’t think so. I think they have people who do that for him.

E: I bet that makes him pretty sad.

To sin is a human business, to justify sins is a devilish business.

~ Tolstoy

Making the Big Decisions

Anyone who knows Elizabeth knows that she has a love affair with spaghetti strap tops and dresses. She will wear spaghetti straps 356 days a year. To make life easier, I made the rule that she could not wear spaghetti straps to school. But, she could wear them on weekends no matter how cold it is outside, as long as she doesn’t complain about being cold.

This rule was created for a couple of reasons… 1) Most schools don’t allow children to wear spaghetti straps even in the summer. 2) At school I can’t be with her to make sure she wears her coat / sweater. 3) School buildings are often cold. 4) I don’t want the school teachers / administration to think I’m a bad mother for letting her wear spaghetti straps in January.

School is now out. Elizabeth is attending a day camp at the place where she went to preschool. Unlike other schools, her summer day camp did not send home a dress code. Honestly, I can’t remember if there was a dress code when Elizabeth was there for preschool. All week Elizabeth has been telling me that other girls wear spaghetti straps to the day camp and she has been begging me to allow her to wear one, too.

Well, this morning I was tired of fighting with her. I honestly haven't noticed if other children wear spaghetti straps. So, I told her it was her decision. If she really believed that she was allowed to wear spaghetti straps then she could wear them. I reminded her that at her elementary school, if they think you’re clothes are not appropriate they make you wear a really big, baggy tee shirt over your clothes. I’ve never seen the tee shirt, but I’m told it’s big enough and long enough to fit most girls like a dress going down to their knees.

Oh, how quick the tide turned. She wanted me to tell her it was alright to wear spaghetti straps. She wanted me to give her permission and for me to take the responsibility and ownership for the decision. But I refused. I told her she was completely free to wear whatever she wanted. She had to use her best judgment. If she was sure that it was allowed and other girls really did wear them, she could decide to wear one, too. But if she wasn’t sure, she could opt for short sleeves or sleeveless.

She struggled with this decision. She didn’t like the fact that I was not willing to take responsibility for her outfit. It took her a long time to decide. Finally, her fashion sense won out and she opted for the spaghetti straps.

As we drove to school she began to doubt her decision. "Do you think it’s alright mommy?" All I could say was I really didn’t know. I wasn’t trying to be hard on her... I really didn’t know. In the parking lot, she hesitated to get out of the car. "Oh I wish I wore short sleeves." She whined as she got out of the car. When I asked why, she said she was afraid she would get into trouble.

She made it to her classroom without incident. I signed her in at the front desk and we walked down the long hall to her room. When I left, no one had said anything to her, yet... But it was early. A lot of the teachers weren’t in, yet. The program director wasn’t there, yet. I left her standing in her room, looking tentative with her arms wrapped around her chest and her hands covering her nearly bear shoulders.

It will be interesting to see what she wears tomorrow.

Birthday Blessings

So my birthday just past. Elizabeth really takes celebrating birthday seriously! Frankly, I wasn’t even going to bring up my birthday, but Elizabeth was so wonderful to me, I just have to share. She is amazing!

We decided to observe my birthday on Saturday. While my mom and grandma were still here, we made a day of it.

To my surprise, Elizabeth woke up before I did. She got me up by singing "Happy Birthday" to me. It was so sweet to wake up to her little voice.

Then we went to the movies. I wanted to see Cars, and that was the plan... But it’s hard to get four generations of women moving in the same direction at the same time. As a result we got there late and missed the beginning of it. But as luck would have it, we were just in time to see Nacho Libra; Elizabeth’s first choice.

After the movie we went to The Melting Pot. Yummy fun! If you haven’t been there, it’s a fondue place and is it yummy. I've also come to the conclusion, based on the experience, that we never lose the love for playing with our food. I opted to skip the traditional birthday cake to get some chocolate fondue for desert. After dinner we went home and I got to open my presents.

Now, I figured my celebrations were pretty much over at this point. I didn’t really talk about the fact that Tuesday was my actual birthday... it might have been mentioned once or twice in passing, but I really didn’t make a deal out of it.

Tuesday night I had an appointment and I didn’t have anyplace to leave Elizabeth. So I took a little portable DVD player, got her some take out Burger King and let her hang out in the waiting room. When it was all over and we were leaving she said we had to go to Safeway or Giant. I asked why.

"Because it’s your birthday and I have to buy you a present!"

With the promise of presents I stopped at Giant. She "bought" me a bouquet of flowers, a balloon, a birthday cake, and candles. When we got home she set up the birthday cake in the middle of the living room. She lit all the candles, turned off the lights, and then sang Happy Birthday to me. After I blew out the candles, she did a special birthday cheer for me. She was so cute! My chest almost exploded from all the feelings of pride, wonderment, thanks-giving, joy, happiness, and pride! I am truly blessed!

Unsolicited Advice...

My friend has recently mused about parenting and sharing parenting advice. It made me think of the worst and most mean spirited parenting advice I've ever gotten. It's also a good example of why you should keep your thoughts to yourself when you don't know the whole story...

So Elizabeth has always been small for her age. She pretty much always hovered around the 10th - 15th percentile for both height and weight. As long as her personal growth curve was normal, her pediatrician was too worried about it. Some people are just petite.

But somewhere around two years old, Elizabeth dropped off her growth curve. She dropped down so far, she was completely off the graph. The doctor had to draw the negative "x" axis to plot the point. He was clearly worried. He said he was going to give her 1 month to show some positive gains (both height and weight) and if he wasn't satisfied at the end of the month he would start testing her for abnormalities. Now I don't know if he was trying to motivate me with fear, or what, but he warned the tests wouldn't be pretty.

Then he gave me advice on how to feed her... he said to feed her as much healthy fat as I could. Some of the examples he gave included: returning to whole milk (he had told us to use 2% on her second birthday), avocados, granola, and peanut butter.

Afraid, but armed with my list of healthy fats and other healthy high calorie foods, I went out into the world to fatten up my child. (This had to be one of the most ironic moments in my life.)

For the most part, I was successful in getting Elizabeth to eat the suggested foods. In a lot of cases, she wasn't even aware of the switch... to her yogurt was yogurt whether it was made with low fat or whole milk. But one day we ran into a little problem. We were shopping. As part of my regular weekly shopping trip, I was stocking up on foods for her to take to daycare.

She was in a pudding period. She was really enjoying pudding. So, we stopped in the diary isle to get some of the pre-packaged single serve puddings. At this point in her life, Elizabeth hadn't realized that pink and red were THE girl colors. Instead she chose her favorite color based on what color actually appealed to her. That month we were going through a green phase. But this led to our little problem. You see, fat-free foods are packaged in green. So Elizabeth was insisting that we buy the fat-free pudding because of the color of the package.

I could not let this happen. If I let her buy the fat-free pudding; then she wouldn't gain enough weight, and she would have to have all the horrible painful tests, and they would surely find a dreaded disease because I didn't follow the doctor's orders. Of course, this completely disregards Schrödinger's cat, but I was a fearful mother. I didn't have to be logical.

But I was more than fearful... I was stressed beyond the limits that any human being should have to endure because of other situations going on in my life at the time. So, with the fear for Elizabeth's health, the culpability I would feel if I allowed her to go against the doctor's orders, and the other stressors from my life pressing down on me, I proceeded to get into an argument with my two year old daughter. I actually heard myself saying things like, "The green means it's fat-free and there is no way I will allow you to eat anything that is fat-free."

As we argued I noticed a well dressed, young, upwardly mobile, urban professional watching me from the margarine section. He was wearing a suit. It was an expensive suit. Even though it was the end of the day, his shirt was pressed and starched and except for the unbuttoned collar and the silk tie hanging loosely undone around his neck, his shirt was without any signs of having been worn that day. His expensive shoes were polished. Based on the number of Healthy Choice frozen dinners in his basket, I would guess he was single.

Elizabeth and I continued to argue. In hindsight I should have either skipped the pudding or just picked one and put it in the cart. But I wasn't thinking clearly and I felt like I needed her approval. Well, actually, there is more to it. Elizabeth can be pretty stubborn and she has a long memory. If she didn't agree to the pudding she wouldn't have eaten it... ever.

So, we continued to argue... "You can't have fat-free! No! No green! You have to pick one of the blue ones." After a little while the well dressed, young, upwardly mobile, urban professional couldn't stand it any longer. He walked over to me and said, “What are you trying to do; turn her into a fat pig like you? Someone should teach you about being a good mother and nutrition!”

Paranoia

So my mom came to visit last week. As you know, she’s wacky. Last week Elizabeth and a friend discovered things on the internet that children shouldn’t discover.

The very evening of the discovery I turned on the parental controls on my PC as a stop gap. But I wanted to do more. I planned on setting up user accounts and passwords and making things much more secure.

I told my mom about Elizabeth’s misadventures and my plans for reconfiguring my computer. But I didn’t get to it right away. I had house guests.

On Saturday I found a few free minutes for myself and I started to set up my computer the way I wanted. I created a password-less account for Elizabeth called “Elizabeth.” I activated the default “Guest” account that comes with Windows for my mom. She hadn’t asked if she could use my computer, but I knew she was using it to check email and stuff. I also put a password on the administrator account which I planned to use as my regular work space. I spent some time messing around with permissions and set-up and then I went to bed.

Sunday morning I find my mom using my computer. When she heard my footsteps she turned around and snarled at me. She was clearly very angry with me. We had the following conversation:

Mom: I used YOUR account to check my email.

Me: My account? How did you get the password?

Mom: There wasn’t a password. Password?

Me: Oh you must have used Elizabeth’s account. I go by Liz now, remember. Besides, I put a password on the administrator account.

Mom: A password? What are you trying to hide from me? Why don’t you want me to use your computer? That’s not nice and you’re making me feel like you don’t love me.

Me: Mom, I told you about Elizabeth’s little adventures…

Mom: Oh yeah.

My New Dilemma

So, I’ve been looking for the right medication or combination of medications to help me feel better and function during the day. I’ve tried a whole bunch and most of them don’t deal with all of my symptoms. I’ve finally stumbled on a combination that seems to be working pretty well. But there are a few side effects.

Tinnitus! I hear ringing in my ears all the time. It’s a high pitched whistle that just doesn’t stop. Sometimes it makes it hard to hear what people are saying but most of the time it’s not too bad. In fact, as big of a pain in the neck as this is… if this were the only side effect I would think twice about continuing with medication.

But then there is the biggie… Vomiting and nausea. You know what, I feel good enough that I would even put up with the nausea. But the vomiting… that’s a different story. The need to vomit comes on suddenly with no warning. There are several minutes of very loud and violent retching and then it’s gone. Because of the nausea my stomach is usually pretty empty. So only some fluids and stomach acid comes out. At least it’s not messy. But it scares Elizabeth. It happens mostly in the morning. (Although it has happened once or twice at work and if I think about it too much I can trigger a psychosomatic gag reflex and almost make it happen – but I don’t, at least not on purpose.) But back to Elizabeth, in the morning I’ll be getting her ready for school / day camp and all of a sudden it sounds like I’m going to puke up cat (forget about a measly hair ball.) And like I said, it’s pretty violent. This morning I pulled muscles in my knee, in my back, and a couple in my shoulders (not to mention my sides.) Now, I’m no expert, but I would think it’s pretty hard to pull a muscle in your knee from vomiting, but somehow I did it.

So here’s the dilemma… do I continue with the medicine that is making me feel pretty good but causes me to scare Elizabeth and pull muscles or do I stop taking the meds and go back to feeling crappy all the time. Believe it or not… it’s a hard choice.

My childhood was a period of waiting for the moment when I could send everyone and everything connected with it to hell.
~ Igor Stravinsky

Why?

I talked to my brother today. The one that lives in the mid-west. He's on disability. You know, the one whose wife nearly died delivering twins back in November. The twins were preemie so they've been going to therapy and getting lots of extra attention.

My brother told me they think his young son, Ryan, has cerebral palsy. It hasn't been officially diagnosed but both the ped and the physical therapist are pretty sure. My brother did a lot of work with child with CP before he became disabled and even he recognized the signs and symptoms but didn't say anything until the doctor and the PT spoke up. I guess we really shouldn't jump to conclusions... but then again?

Why? Why is God doing this to them? They have so little and they just don't have the resources to care for a child with such a disability. I don't know what they are going to do... What is God's plan? What is the reason for this? Why?

Way too soon...

Tonight Elizabeth and a friend found hard core porno. I found the web site listed in my history. When I asked Elizabeth what she and her friend were looking at she very matter-of-factly described oral sex for me.

I feel more than a little blind-sided by this. I had been rehearsing and preparing my reaction for when I happened upon her and a friend looking at each other's body parts -- playing doctor or something. But hard core porn never crossed my mind.

I had never turned on the parental controls because she doesn't surf... at least not in the true sense of the word. She goes to Barbie.com and she figured out that there must be a Bratz.com and she figured out how to get there from copying the name off a coloring book and following the www.barbie.com pattern. She plays games at nick.com and cartoonnetwork.com. But she's never done anything that would bring her to a porno site...

I'm at a complete loss for dealing with this. I can't even articlate my confusion and mixed feelings and my fears. I know it's a case of kids-will-be-kids. I know it's best not to make a big deal out of it. But what kind of a deal do I make?

So moms and dads... take heed. I don't care how young your kiddies are; turn on the parental controls now -- before it's too late. Mine are on now.

The Au Pair That Just Won't Leave...

Andrea has been back from her vacation for almost a month now. The first day back I told her that I decided to stop using an au pair. The au pair agency allows the girls two weeks to attempt to find another assignment before they send them home. Usually when an au pair is in transition it is because there was a fall out with the host family and the host family is getting a replacement au pair. In these cases, the girl has to move out of the home where she is staying and bunk somewhere for the two weeks she is in transition.

As it happened, the week I told Andrea I was no longer going to use her services another au pair was kicked out of the home where she was living. This other au pair really had no place to go so she moved in the local area coordinator. If Andrea went to live with the coordinator, she would be sleeping on their floor. I took pity on all of them and allowed Andrea to stay with me. I can't imagine it would have been comfortable for any of them if two transitional au pairs had to move into this families home.

At the end of Andrea's allowed two week transition period there was a family in Oklahoma that was considering hiring Andrea. The agency told Andrea she could stay a little longer than her two weeks if she found a place to stay. Andrea asked me if she could continue to stay with me. I told her she could stay until Friday. That was three days ago.

In the mean time, Elizabeth's graduation from kindergarten is coming up at the end of this week. My mom and my grandma said they wanted to come so they can see Elizabeth do her little speaking part at the graduation. Then I was notified that I had to attend an off-site meeting for work. I have a friend that homeschools and she said that I could let Elizabeth stay with them. My friend would be able to help Elizabeth with her school work so it wouldn't be like actually missing school.

But this week was a little different. This is the week leading up to kindergarten graduation and it is filled with parties -- like one day is wear your PJ's to school -- and lots of practice sessions for graduation. It really wasn't a week that would be easy for her to miss. So I asked my mom to come out a few days early so she could watch Elizabeth while I was gone.

So, back to Andrea. On Friday Andrea didn't move out. When I got home from work she was off to see friends and I didn't get to see her. Saturday morning I reminded her that my mom and my grandma were coming on Sunday and I wanted her to be out so I could prepare the room for my mom. Andrea said she was going to use my car to go to the gym and then she would leave. That was at 10 AM on Saturday. Andrea didn't come back at all during the day. Around 7PM Elizabeth and I arrived home from grocery shopping. We passed Andrea coming out of our house to go off and have dinner with a friend. I went to bed at 12:30 - 1:00 AM and Andrea had not come back for her belongings.

So much for getting the room ready for my mom...

Sunday morning I confronted Andrea and told her I wanted all of my keys back and that she had to leave. I tried to recover my house keys, my mail box keys, and my car keys. Andrea explained that she was going to church, having lunch with her friends, and attending some kind of prayer meeting or class. She wanted to keep my keys and use my car. I was very clear with her. I said I was leaving at 3PM and she needed to have my keys back to me before I left. She couldn't or wouldn't promise that she would be back by then. But after some negotiation, she ended up with my car keys. I was late for my church and if I didn't let her use my car I would have left her stranded and angry alone at my home. It seemed like a no-win choice... so I let her use my car.

Andrea did come back by 3 PM. She gave me my keys back. Then she said she was going to eat something and go to the home where she will be staying with friends.

My mom got to my house. I got her organized and took off for my business trip. At 11 PM my cell phone rings. Andrea said that she had not taken any of her belongings out of my house and she needed to get some clothes. I told her that was unacceptable. My mom and my grandma are more than a bit paranoid. They go to bed early and they startle easily. I told her she would have to wait until I got home on Tuesday night to get her belongings. I had a bad feeling about this... I tried to call my mom and warn her that Andrea may show up. But they had already gone to bed and didn't answer the phone.

The place where I'm staying only has spotty cell reception. It's a miracle that Andrea's call got through last night. There is one spot in the parking lot where you can get fairly good cell reception. You have to wear a hat made out of tin foil and coat hangers, but you get reception. At the breaks today everyone was running out to the parking lot to find this spot. I didn't get a good cell single until lunch time. I called my voice mail and there were 17 messages from my mom.

It turns out that Andrea did go to my house last night AFTER I told her not to do it. My mom swears she locked the doors, but somehow Andrea got into my house. She went inside and woke up my mom. My mom was terrified. Can you imagine being in someone else's house and having a "strange" woman wake you up in the middle of the night? My mom was livid. She has been driving me crazy with messages and paranoid thoughts... Andrea is stealing from me. Andrea is an alcoholic. Andrea will stalk me until the end of time.

I'm livid, too. I believe there are a lot of good reasons to be really, really pissed with Andrea. But my mom is making me just as crazy. It's like a two pronged attack.

I have tried to call Andrea several times today to yell at her. I've left several angry messages on her cell phone. I've called the local area coordinator and complained. I told her she has to find out how Andrea got into my house... did she keep a copy of my keys? This is outrageous. Why is it that you can't be nice to people? Oh heck, I think I'm going to go call and leave another angry message on Andrea's cell phone. I deserve and apology!

Jenny Holzer

Expiring for love is beautiful but stupid.

Abuse of Power Comes As No Surprise

Action Causes More Trouble than Thought

Torture is Barbaric

Savor Kindness Because Cruelty is Always Possible Later

Protect me from what I want

Money Creates Taste

Even your family can betray you

Fake or real indifference is a powerful personal weapon

Humanism is obsolete

It is man's fate to outsmart himself

Killing is unaviodable but is nothing to be proud of

It is in your self interest to find a way to be very tender

OK, It's our turn again...

So, we're at bat again to take a meal to our friends and do what we can to help out. This time everyone on our side is completely healthy and we can't wait to go! We haven't seen these beautiful babies, yet! Elizabeth is busy in her room getting ready and making plans... Aside from the things *I* have determined we need to take with us (the meal, plastic utensils, napkins, etc.), Elizabeth has made the following list of necessary items:

1) Her old baby blanket. Ella might get cold and Miss Stacy and Mr. Mike might have forgotten to pack a blanket for Ella.
2) A feather boa. It's softer than the baby blanket and Ella might like it better. Also, if Ella is only a little cold it's lighter than the blanket.
3) A Bratz Rock Angels color-yourself-black-velvet poster thingy (it's a kids craft that we picked up at Michael's.) Elizabeth prepared it as a gift for Miss Stacy and Ella. She's sure they will enjoy looking at it and Ella will, of course, love the dolls.
4) A pillow. Ella will need a soft place to rest.
5) The 6m-size dress that my dad gave Elizabeth and I have stashed away as a keep-sake. Sometimes babies have poopy and pee-pee accidents and they need a change of clothes. Miss Stacy and Mr. Mike might not bring enough clothes for Ella.
6) A Bratz doll. Ella will want to play.

I better get going... I only have a couple of hours to convince Elizabeth that everything will be OK if we don't bring these things and do it without hurting her feelings.

Wild, Crazy, and TOTALLY impulsive!

Yesterday I did something that I've never, ever done before. Well, the truth is I've actually done this specific thing before, but never with the totally wild, unbridled impulsiveness as this.

Yesterday I woke up just like any other day. Elizabeth and I got dressed. I took her to school. I went to work. I had to go to a meeting in DC. A friend said we could drive together in her new car. She got one of those hybrid SUVs.

It was a nice car... Leather seats, sun roof, stereo, 4-wheel drive... a very nice car.

We got to talking about the reason she got it... in about three weeks our office will be permanently relocated to DC and with the Hybrid classification she can breeze down Rt. 66 in the morning. The we talked about the fact that I gave up my Au Pair and I have to be back home to pick up Elizabeth by a specific time. Then we talked about traffic and how long it would take and my heart grew heavy.

After our meeting we flew home down Rt. 66 at rush hour. I could see my non-clean- air route was backed up and standing still.

After picking up Elizabeth from school and bribing her with a fast-food dinner we headed off to a store to take a look at these hybrid SUV's. Turns out, there was one with my name on it. Yup! The general manager had been driving one the 06 models (and you can bet it has lots of features.) So, I bought it! Right there without a second thought.

YIKES! I'd never done that before... What do you mean, no comparison shopping... no pouring over safety ratings and MTBF stats or service records and costs... nope... the lure of Rt. 66 was more than I could stand...

So now I'm the proud owner of a Ford Escape Hybrid.

Please raise your glasses in a toast...

To the most recent Kindergartener of the Month.... Elizabeth, my sweetheart! For the greatest improvement in journal writing!

Congrats to the budding author!

I'm ready!

You Should Drive a Ford Shelby Mustang Cobra

You have an extreme need for speed, even when you're not in a hurry. And while your flying by, you don't want to look like every other car on the road!

What 2007 Car Should You Drive?

Which Brady are you?

You Are Jan Brady

Brainy and a little introverted, you tend to think life is a lot worse than it actually is. And while you may think you're a little goofy looking, most people consider you to be a major babe.

What Brady Are You?