The World According to EDW

I was 14, at summer camp, getting ready to start high school in a few weeks. My girlfriend Rachel told me to look for her best friend, who was also starting at the same high school. "You guys will be great friends" Rachel told me, and she was right. She's the reason I met my husband.

I was 17, visiting a college for the first time. It was an overnight stay, and in my room was another prospective student. By lunchtime the next day we were promising to be roommates the following September. Ten years later, I was dancing at her wedding.

I was 23, meeting a new coworker. Before we knew it, we were sharing our family secrets, our life stories. We got married within months of each other, and our children were born three weeks apart.

I was 31, at a concert, talking to a woman, her husband, and their friend. Three months later, they were at our house for the weekend, a friendship sealed in rain, alcohol, and music.

There's more, of course. There's the woman I became friends with because we got engaged the same day. The one who I took completely into my heart when we worked on a play together. The friend I told my life story to and got utterly wasted with the first time we met. Those instant connections that last. Those friends who know a part of me at a level you'd think impossible from the start.

We share something in common. Music, writing, a life perspective, coffee ice cream, or maybe something more ethereal than that. We get each other. We laugh together. We feel like we can trust each other from the start.

In Anne of Green Gables, my favorite book as a kid, Anne called it kindred spirits. I don't really have a better name for it, but I know it when I find it. It's not just the common stuff that binds us to our kindred spirits, it's the feeling that we know them. That, once discovered, of course we were meant to be friends.

Call it Fate, call it Serendipity, call it Luck. Call it whatever you like. I hope you find it. I hope you know it when you do.

For my friend.

I know it's you when the phone starts to ring. I can't always answer, and I'm not always there. But I know, if I'm there to hear it, that it's you calling even before I look at your name displayed.

Something breaks, like a mood shifting, or a room clearing. I pick up and I want to hear your voice. You sound the same, but different every time. Every second we are alive, we change a little bit, and I imagine I can hear it in the timbre of your speech, in the way you tell a story or ask me a question.

I always tell myself I'll just listen, this time I'll sit back and hear you. But I don't. I'm a talker and there's stories I want to tell, and things I have to add, and I can't hide my excitement no matter how mellow I am that day. I like to engage, and you engage me. I really want to hear everything you have to say, every detail of every day. I want the hour neither of us have, to sink into conversation uninterrupted. I want to ask you question after question, but you've got something to do, and I have some place to be, and sometimes, both of us have kids who need our attention.

We stay on longer than we mean to, longer than we can, because we don't want to say goodbye. We want to keep going, and we make gestures about talking later in the day, or later in the week, but while they are not empty, they are hard to fullfill. It's okay, that we can't talk often or can't talk for long. It's life. It's marriage, and children, and work, and little time to play. But in those conversations, we say something else besides the exchange of stories and current events. We say, I am here, even if neither of us has the time right now. We say, I am here even when you can't talk to me. I am here, and you are there, and around us may be a swirl of children and jobs and family but in the quiet moment, I'll think of you and you'll think of me.

It's a promise, because time to play does come around. It's when and not if, and soon but not right now. It's a promise given and a promise kept and sometimes a phone call, however quick, is what both of us need to lift us out of our day.

I know it's you as soon as I hear the phone ring.

I know I should be in bed, because I'm still not 100%. But I am feeling better, much, much better. Thank you all for asking, and for telling me weeks ago to go to the doctor. Pharmaceuticals! Who knew?

Right now it's actually Tuesday, and it's a great Tuesday. Today is the birthday of two people in my life. My Dad is 60 today, and Paperback Writer is 30.

It's funny to find out a friend has the same birthday as your dad. When I discovered it, I threw a list of things at PW: Do you do this? How about this? Or this? Of course sharing a birthday doesn't mean that you automatically have things in common. And, frankly, I'm not sure I buy all that astrology stuff, although I do fit my sign. Still, it's a weird coincidence, but it's not surprising. My life is full of them, and my blogging life especially.

Since it's PW's birthday, you should go read her blog and wish her lots of happiness! My Dad doesn't have a blog, and it's doubtful he's reading this one. But you can read one of my very first posts, which is about him, here. It's much better than the crap I throw up here now. But I digress.

Happy Birthday, PW. Thank you for your friendship, your encouragement, and all those long, fun chats that get me through my work day.

Happy Birthday, Daddy. The love you have given Emily and I is irreplaceable. We are lucky. I love you.

My living room, where I spent my weekend.

On Friday I finally went to the doctor. I admit, it's mostly because I had pink eye, and there is no way I'm going weeks wearing my glasses. So it was vanity that forced me to do something about the reoccurring colds I've had for the last 2 months or so.

The doctor did her doctor thing - listened to my chest, looked in my eyes, ears, and throat. Well, the good news is that your chest is clear, she said. Then she shook her head. Honey, you're really sick, she proclaimed. She left the examining room in search of her prescription pad, telling her staff, I need my prescription pad, she's really sick. I don't know about you, but that didn't seem like a typical doctor reaction to me.

A few seconds later I had four prescriptions and the thought that maybe I should have done this sooner.

I spent the weekend sleeping, resting on the couch, and watching my Tivo'd programs that I never watch because I'm usually not home. Oh course, it's me, so I also was compelled to do some light cleaning, laundry, and pay the bills. But nothing too taxing.

My eyes are fine. My breathing is being helped vastly by this amazing thing called a decongestant. My body is reacting well, for once, to this incredibly powerful antibiotic. But sadly, since I bailed out of every social engagement, save for the baptism of my friends D. and E.'s baby, I have no pictures of my merriment for your amusement. I do, however, have pictures of the merriment of others. They have other people's kids in them, so they are marked private. Feel free to peruse them, and welcome back to work.

Appetizer
Have you ever changed a flat tire by yourself?
Um, no. I think, honestly, that although it's very unfeminst of me, I'd probably flirt my way out of it.

Soup
Do you have an "innie" or an "outie" belly button?
An innie. I can't say I've ever even seen an outie.

Salad
Name a new paint color and describe it.
Okay, this is only because I'm totally on the spot. The color is called EDW and it's the color of my hair in the sunlight. Would you buy this color? Hell, no. Where would you paint it? No idea!

Main Course
What is your favorite holiday tradition?
Unwrapping presents on Christmas Eve while drinking champagne.

Dessert
If you were a cookie, what kind of cookie would you be, and why?
A David's Dream bar. Why? It's pure heaven in a cookie.

I'm sitting in front of the TV in my pajamas, watching the Thanksgiving Day parade. This is my favorite part of Thanksgiving day. I love to lounge for as long as I can in my pj's, glasses on, hair tied back. To me, Thanksgiving is the holiday you go to someone else's house for. Of course, my mom had it all the time when I was a kid, but as an adult, I prefer to go to her, or our family friends, or to Nick's extended family in Philadelphia rather than have it myself. It's my dream to never have Thanksgiving at my house.

I just think it's too much work. First you have to clean the house. Then you have to buy all the food, and there's a lot. And finally, there's the pressure of making the best meal of the year. Let's face it, my disappointment is paramount if something is off with Thanksgiving dinner, and so it should be. Everyone looks forward to this meal.

Oh, one day I'll do it, I'm sure. I'll dive in and invite everyone I know. I think there's nothing better than extra guests at Thanksgiving. It's boring when it's just your family - you need someone who isn't normally there every year. But for now, I'll continue to bum off my mom and the rest of the family who has been doing this for years.

This year, we're at my mom and dad's. I was going to take all sorts of pictures, and I still will, but there will be an absence of pictures of me. Today I woke up with pink eye (I know, what's with all the eye stuff, right?) and so I look like my nerdy self with my glasses on. I hope it clears up soon. There's nothing worse than having to wear my glasses for days on end. And me with so many social obligations to attend to this weekend! But if that is the biggest damper on my day, I'm still very thankful.

On the playlist: my Thanksgiving Mix.

It's a rainy Wednesday here in NJ. I don't have to work today. The Christmas shopping is nearly done. It's all good here, today. It's peaceful. It's warm. It's happy.

It's the little things I'm thankful for this year, and the big things, too. Material creature comforts, of course, like a home, food, work, and books. Good health. Peace in my town, if not peace in the world. Family and friends. I could list all of them for you, every person and every reason. Every detail. I almost did.

I love this holiday, because I love that we set aside a day just to give thanks. I love the quiet moment when you get to reflect, when a thought comes to you. My quiet thought is always overwhelming love and gratitude for the people in my life.

So what are you giving thanks for this year? Tell me one thing. Tell me what you're doing for Thanksgiving. Tell me what you think in that quiet moment when it comes in the midst of the day. And, of course, tell me what songs I need to add to my mix.

I hope you all have a very Happy Thanksgiving.

I started out my Monday angry. I was mad, and I don't get mad a whole lot. I get annoyed and it blows over. I get pissed off and I express it. But it's rare that I go to bed mad and wake up mad. I did, though, and it carried me through the day. I was super nice to coworkers; I was happy to be at work. I gladly spoke to my friends on the phone. I was pleasant to strangers. But damn it if I wasn't mad.

As usual, my friends were there. C. commiserated with me, over long instant messages. J. distracted me with happier things. B. listened to me rant and rave and made me smile, if only for a moment. I left work feeling better. I did what the tough do in situations like this, and I went shopping.

I have a thing about being done with all my Christmas shopping by Thanksgiving. I like to enjoy the holidays. I like them to be relaxed. I don't want to go to the stores with a rush of people, desperate to get whatever they can for whoever is still on their list. I want to be able to kick back and laugh at all the antics of those last-minute shoppers.

So after work I Christmas shopped. I went to the toy store for the first and last time this season, and bought toys for the kids whose names I pulled off the tree at work. I spent more money on them than I will on Emily, who is only getting one toy this year. She has too many as it is.

I went to Borders, and got a free cup of gingerbread latte (coupon!) with my own little gingerbread man. I love bookstores. I really, really love them. I like to wander the shelves, say hi to old friends and see what's new. I like to browse the CD's and think about what would make a good gift for me. I made a list of things that would make wonderful gifts for me. The Philadelphia Story on DVD. A new copy of Pride and Prejudice. A Beatles album, not a compilation, but an album, like Revolver or Sgt. Pepper or Rubber Soul, which is my mom's favorite and what she wants played at her funeral. Trivial Pursuit, the Book Lover's Edition. (Trivial Pursuit is my favorite game.) A Starbucks gift certificate. The favorite book or CD or DVD of the giver. A little Bill Clinton of a gift, I know. I always thought it was so stupid of him to have given her that, but I get it. You want to share your favorite book; it's part of what makes you tick.

I bought only one thing, a CD for a friend. I came home. I checked my email. I started to write this post. I spoke to Moira, who was having drinks with a cute guy we met last week. It turns out he went to grade school with me. I have blocked out my entire grade school class, but still they keep turning up. The funny thing is, he's totally my type and not hers. Tall, fair skin, dark hair, brown eyes. Built just like my husband. Dressed in a layered tee, jeans, baseball cap. Nick has the exact same outfit. I said, he's cute, and Moira turned to me and said, of course you think he's cute, he looks just like Nick. And he did. Moira called him the Nick clone.

I guess the point of this is that I'm attracted to men who look like my husband and that's a good thing. And Moira is not, and that's a good thing, too. But although I can't completely recall his face from back then, I have a sneaking suspicion that he was a kid I liked back in 6th grade, a boy I thought was cute and nice. In which case, I will know I always had a type.

The drinks went well, but not really well. Moira came over afterwards and we had tea and talked about the boy, this past weekend, and the weekend to come. And now I'm sitting here, about to go to bed and sign off this post.

I started the day off mad, but that's not how I'm ending it. I'm ending it content, and sleepy. I'm ending it well; tea drunk, presents bought, friends spoken to. I've got more pluses than minuses in my column now. I've got more peace than anger. I've got a nice feeling of being loved and cared about. And I've got to go to bed now. See you in the morning. :-)

There's a lot of posts I want to write tonight. I want to be honest, because I want to talk about what's really going on. I want to be entertaining, because it's Monday and you're checking this blog as a distraction. I want to be careful, so nothing I say comes back to haunt me, because everything I say and write and publish on the internet is there forever, no matter how long that feeling lasts that inspired me to write the post.

Also, I want it to be good, because now my mom has this address and I want her to know that I can write.

But that's an awful lot to live up to, so let me write about something I love: The fire in people. We've all got a couple of crazy things about us. We've got something we're into that we'll show you, something we hide, something we can't hide. You've got yours, and I've got mine. Let's not try to pretend we don't. We all have something we are happy to showcase. Let's call it our passion. Then we've got the thing we're desperately hoping you never see because you won't like us if you do, or so we think. Let's call that one insecurity. Then we've got what we just can't hide. Maybe it's an insecurity, maybe it's a softness or a toughness. Let's call that our other side.

In the last week or so, two people have told me that I'm not telling the whole truth, that I'm holding things back, in my writing, in my opinions. They're right. So let me tell you this, now. I love that crazy. Of course I love that passion of yours, no matter how obsessive it is. Tell me your plan to stalk Derek Jeter, or your story of meeting Springsteen. Explain to me why you follow congressional races that aren't anywhere near your state. Tell me, again, about how much you love musicals. Whatever. Your passion makes you real. You're just flat without it. You want to follow it around the world? Cool. You've talked me into a few countries, just let me grab my passport.

As for your deep, dark shit? Oh, honey, pull up a chair. We all have it, and we all walk around feeling like if we could just lose it everything would be perfect. You can let go of whatever you're trying to hide with me, because I don't care. I'm pretty shit at trying to hide it myself. Not one of us is perfect. Not one of us has a perfect life. Every single one of us has moments, or days, or weeks when we wonder what the hell is going on. I'm going to bet you, though, that you expect yourself to be perfect. I do. I do and I'm not, and sometimes it's hard for me to live with what I deem my failures as a person. I don't walk around like that 24-7, mostly I walk around pretty damn happy. But I do have times when I think, I just can't do this. What the hell was I thinking?

Now maybe you have none of this. Maybe you're just happy and go-lucky, and you're even keel and you surround yourself with nice, even keel friends. To me, that's not life, and that's not interesting. Life is messy sometimes. It's not all pretty and cleaned up and smiling. It's sometimes raw and sometimes bright and sometimes dark and sometimes smooth, but it's real. You don't have to make it nice for me. You don't have to clean it up. You don't have to fake it. You don't have to be, in the words of my mother, socially acceptable.

I'm not here for the Christmas card letter, unless David Sedaris is writing it. I'm here for what's authentic about you. I'm not going to walk away when you become yourself in front of me, I'm going to reach over and hug you and thank you for being yourself. Forget the company manners. Drop the pretenses. It's you I like. It's you I came for. It's the real you that I'm not going to walk away from.

Appetizer
Do you believe there is intelligent life on other planets?
Sure, why not?

Soup
What is one thing you said you'd never do, but you eventually did?
Oh, there's so, so many. A tame one? Let my kid watch TV as a distraction while I'm trying to get things done. Buy her princess stuff.

Salad
Who is the teacher that influenced you the most in school?
Mrs. Santoro. She was my 7th and 8th grade English professor, and when we moved to high school so did she. It was great, because she could teach books like nobody's business. She made me love the study of literature.

Main Course
If you could trade places with anyone for one day, who would it be and why?
My daughter, because then I'd see how exciting, challenging, and frustrating it must be to be 2. I think I'd be a better parent to her if I could see the world from her point of view.

Dessert
What is your favorite dish to prepare?
I'm not Suzy Homemaker, but I love to cook for the people I love - there's no one thing. It's whatever works on that day, one of those days I'm totally on and make a fabulous, simple meal and everyone is impressed, and it's something I've never ever made before...that.

My mother's group is imploding. I've written about this before, directly and indirectly. In the last few weeks there have been tears and accusations, meetings, discussions, defensiveness, apologies, decisions, indecision, but no peace.

This situation is emotionally exhausting, and it annoys the shit out of me for several reasons. First, it takes too much out of me. Second, it's all stupid shit that could be resolved easily if everyone acted their biological and not emotional age. Third, it plays right into that mantra I reject: Women can't get along with each other.

Here's the truth: people are assholes. It's not women. Women can act like adults. Women can choose not to take every single thing personally. Women can get along! But these women are not.

Why does this trouble me so much, why am I so involved? I'm a co-leader of this group. And here we get to point four, on the Why This Bothers Me list. As a leader, I should be able to do more to help this situation. And, frankly, I failed in that respect.

It's not just me; I have two co-leaders, and here we reach another dip in the road. You can't lead people you don't like. One of my co-leaders doesn't like a group of women in this chapter. She just flat-out doesn't like them. She never really did, and I should have realized this from the start. In fact, she told me before we took on the leadership that she always had problems with other women. And still, dear reader, I agreed to lead with her.

Now you're thinking, EDW, what the hell were you thinking??? I wish I could tell you. I think I was thinking that I went to a women's college for four years, and never experienced any of that crazy, bitchy, backstabbing stuff people claim women do. I don't buy into it, so I think it either won't be a problem, or can be managed. I was wrong. I cannot manage the baggage people bring with them. I cannot manage their prejudices, opinions, or issues.

In the beginning, it worked. She came with her own agenda, but it worked for the group. The other two of us were very involved. Then something happened that drew me away from direct leadership, and I lost the thread. I backed away when I should have stayed involved. I have never backed away in my life, and it didn't sit well with me, but I did it anyway.

There are many other threads to this. There are many other details but it would take too long to detail them. This is a post about failure, mine, to save something in my life that was worth saving. This group was a lifeline to me when I needed a lifeline. It was new friends, support, a place for both my kid and I to go. We both made friends and it made our world seem a little warmer and a little better. I've got great friends, but I needed those mom friends, too.

Instead of stepping up and doing the hard work that was required of me, I let it get to this. I didn't only fail the group, I failed myself. And sadly, I failed the new moms that will need this group. I'm not being hard on myself, I'm being honest. I'm not proud of this, but it's the truth. But you know what? Knowledge doesn't mean anything unless you do something with it. What I'm going to do with it is my next question. But not to admit to this? That's just wrong. It's not me, and I'm not good at not being me.

So I've come to realize that sometimes I edit myself on my blog. There's stories I don't tell. There's chunks I leave out. But I'm a poor secret keeper. I want to talk about it.

Originally, I tried to strike a balance between venting, telling the truth, and being careful on this blog. There's some situations I only allude to, others I go into. I don't bitch just to bitch. I expect that the opinions of my readers will not always be my opinions. I love when I get comments that engage in the conversation. Tell me more! I want to write.

I hate when things get or feel flat on my blog. Here's what I can promise to you:

1) I'm never going to be writing in code about my husband. Not one post is going to be about him, unless it's very obvious and clear that it's about him.

2) I'll give you whatever details I can, whenever I can. I won't be vague for the purpose of being vague.

3) Sometimes I'll write about feelings, like my post on Saturday, and those lack details. They do so because of the nature of feelings - sometimes you can't pin them down, but you have them.

4) You can always email me and ask me for the dirt. I may not be able to give it to you, but I'll sure as hell try, and I won't be annoyed that you asked.

Deal?

Tonight is Wednesday night, and today Scott got married. We did what must be done, and we went out for drinks.

In case you need a refresher, Scott and Moira were divorced on Oct. 26th. On Oct. 27th, she flew home and moved across the street from me. Almost every night will find us having a glass of red wine and some tea. Tonight found us at Basil T's, a local brew pub. We gathered up some girlfriends, and we went drinking.


Our friends Jackie, Jodi, Teri, and Moira's sister Eileen, the one I live across the street from, joined us. The bartender was a bit surprised to hear we were celebrating the wedding of Moira's ex, but he rolled with it. He kept the beers coming and made sure we had water.

We ordered the beers they brew right there. We ate garlic laden food. We took the phone call from my mom, who was at the wedding with my dad. Yes, that's right, my mom and dad went to my girlfriend's ex-husband's wedding. Can you say nine kinds of crazy? It's a very incestuous life we lead here. We got to hear all about the reception, as it was, the pasta salad and focaccia bread, to which I said very sarcastically, "Oh, their marriage is going to last, they had focaccia bread." We heard about how Scott kept referring to his unborn son by name, as in "Does Caleb want some cake?"

Before we left, I had downloaded the video they had streaming - illegally downloaded the video, so I can only link to it and cannot put it on this page. I watched it, and it made me ill, mostly because it was only 5 years ago I was watching this man marry my friend. Now, she left him, and he didn't cheat on her, but the fact remains that two weeks after his divorce he married a girl he got pregnant and is playing the happy dad and husband.

I loved Scott as my friend's husband. I don't want him to be miserable. But a few short months ago, when I first started this blog, he was still calling me weekly to cry about Moira, to scheme to keep her. He has no business saying those vows again so soon. It's not a joke, marriage. I'm not saying I'm the expert on it, because I'm far from it. All I know is that it's work and it's not a walk in the park, and that you better make sure you can live with the person you pick to walk down the aisle with. It's not flowers and cakes and white dresses. It's not cutesy and sweet. It's serious business, and no one should know that better than someone who's already had one marriage fail.

I watched this video, and I heard the minister talk about marriage, and coming together, and sharing things and the road it takes, and I thought, that's not true for them. They are rushing into this. They are getting married because she's pregnant, this woman he met in July. There is no background here, no history, no journey.

I hope this works for them, I hope their son grows up with two parents who really love each other. I hope, so much, for that baby, that it works. But here's what I want to say about marriage: It's not for everyone. It's not to be trifled with. It's not what you do when faced with a problem.

Moira is carrying on very well. She cried a little, as we watched the video, and commented on the pretty flowers. I tried not to make rude remarks. I'm more irate than she is. I just want to shake him, to tell him slow it down, to see how it goes. Not to commit again so soon. Jodi wanted to know why I was so upset, and I told her all this and more. She feels I'd do the same thing, get married again quickly after being divorced, but I disagree. Yes, I like the company. Yes, I love men. But if something happened to end my marriage, I'm not sure I'd want to go into another one. I think I'd be gun shy. I think I'd need time to heal. No one gets married thinking they'll get divorced, and I'm no exception to that rule. But once divorced, I think I'd be acutely aware of the difficulties of marriage, and would want to make a decision I wouldn't regret.

Also, Scott's dad died in July, right before they found out Melissa was pregnant. His dad was his world. He's lost without him, and has partly turned to my dad for support. But there's no way his head's on straight - in January he separates from his wife, in July his dad dies, then a few weeks later his girlfriend is pregnant. Too many life decisions so soon after the death of a parent.

I wish I could have the grace and class of Moira. It wasn't easy for her, but she is happy for him. She wants the best for him. I do, too, but I can't help but question every decision he's made since the day he lost his dad. My father is amazing, but he's no substitute. Most of all, I wish his dad was here for him, to guide him through this next phase of life, a compass when he needs it most. Instead, I can lend him mine, bitch about it on my blog, and go out for drinks with my girl. Not very helpful, I'm afraid, but it's all I've got.

If you want to see the video, click here and choose Wed, Nov 15th, Scott and Melissa Nelson.

Do you ever get sad about little things? I have a very happy life. I am surrounded by good friends, I'm married to an amazing man, I have the best kid in the world. I like my job. I like my house. I like myself. But like I wrote to an old friend some time ago, it's a good life, but it's not perfect.

I'm not looking for perfect. I'm not looking for anything, but I am contemplating my next move. Around me I see my friends going through changes. Some are obvious, like Moira's divorce, move, and new life on the East Coast. Dom and Eileen have a new baby. Jackie just started her first year teaching. My father in law is due to retire in February. 3 people in my life have gotten married in the last six months. The list goes on and on.

Some are less obvious, but still may change the lives of my friends and family. Those I hesitate to list, but they are there, and in some cases, they're big things. I see people reaching for something more, trying to hold onto something, finding themselves with options they didn't consider a few months ago.

If you had asked me if I felt settled, I might have said yes. But it's a not true, what I've learned in the past year is that settled doesn't feel like the right word to me. Secure feels good, secure feels like the right word. But settled feels like someone that's resistant to change, and for once I think I'm not.

I can see various options in front of me, for various parts of my life. I can see small but different directions I can take. I've mentioned this mother's group before, that's one. There's also some work things, and some personal things. I don't mean to be vague about this, it's nothing juicy or scandalous. I'm going to be living in NJ, married, working somewhere, playing with my kid on my days off, and drinking with my friends every chance I get. But maybe I could do all that and yet have it be all a little different.

I love this life, though, and it makes me slightly sad to know that this moment in time is only that, a moment. No one can say where they'll be in a year, or six months, or even two weeks. Life has more in store for us than we think. I hope, as everyone around me changes, that I have the courage to change, too. I hope all our changes are good ones. I hope the moments ahead are better than these ones we're already moving away from. I hope that the changes are ones we can live through, that if there's pain ahead, it's the kind that is worth going through. I know most of us will be okay. I hope all of us are.

Everybody's changing, and I don't feel the same.

In high school, a nun told me I had a "dangerous relationship" with my friend Pat. I had no idea what she meant. Pat was smart and funny; he acted in the school plays and cracked jokes, and cracked me up. We sat next to each other in English class, as we had since freshman year. He was an R and I was a W, so our desks lined up side by side. We hung out after school, in this group of friends where I was friends with all the guys, and someone was always dating someone else. When I got married, Pat sang at my wedding, beautifully, a song I picked out just for him to sing. He was my buddy. He was my confidante on many occasions, and I was his. We were friends, and although we lost touch and haven't seen each other in a few years, I still think about him and wish him well.

I remember my mind racing when Sr. Joanmarie asked to speak to me after class one day. What had I done? When she told me that Pat and I had a dangerous relationship, I was both relieved and confused. I could only look at her. What was her point? Did she think he'd get me into trouble in class, which very likely could and did happen? Pat had the gift of absolute comic timing, and would push it to ridiculousness in the moments before class was going to start. Most teachers let it slide, because he was a good kid. Some tried not to laugh and encourage us. Others were not so fond of it.

Did she think it was leading to sex, a big no-no for an unmarried Catholic teenager? We probably flirted with each other, if only because I flirt with everyone everywhere, and I assume that started in high school, where I honed my skills. (Oh, new one for the life-skill list!) But ours was a friendship I had no intention of turning into a romance.

Obviously there was something there, enough for an older nun to pull a 16 year old girl aside. But to this day, I still have no idea what she meant to warn me away from.

I'm on a national email loop for the mother's group I co-lead. Recently, there was discussion on the loop about whether or not men could join a local chapter of the national group. Some women felt it was only fair to offer support to men who were primarily caring for their kids; others thought it was a dangerous mistake. Those who opposed it did so because they thought it could lead to "dangerous relationships".

Many Christian churches advise their members not to form personal relationships outside of work or church with members of the opposite sex. They do this to ward off any possibility of inappropriate conduct. My friend Tina belongs to a church that subscribes to this theory. She doesn't believe it's appropriate to have male friends after you get married.

It's an age-old question, or a least as old as When Harry Met Sally. Is it automatically assumed every interaction is a prelude to sex? I have my own answers to this - I have male friends. I don't have sex with them. In fact, I have no intention of ever having sex with them. I feel like my life would be smaller without my guys. But is there something to that "dangerous relationship" theory? Can you get too close or too intimate in friendship, where crossing a line is a forgone conclusion?

As adults, does that come into play more than as teenagers? We have so much more to lose, more experience in life, and, let's face it, we're not virgins. We've had sex. We know how fun it can be. It's an emotional, spiritual, and moral leap, but not a physical one.

I know other women who are guy's girls. I know I'm not the only one. But sometimes it's difficult, facing the judgment of married women who are quietly tsking you for your friendships. I want to say, my husband's okay with it - why not you?

When I was shopping for the shoes to go with my fabulous dress, I started to talk to a woman in the store. She was admiring those shoes, the ones I really, really love, and I was telling her about the dress. I wondered aloud about the appropriateness of wearing it to the church. It's a sexy dress, and I don't do sexy in church. It's what's in your heart, she said. It's your intentions that make it appropriate to wear. If you're wearing because you want to look beautiful for something special, she told me, then it's okay to wear. You're not going in there trying to turn the preacher's head, you're dressed for a wedding.

Maybe it's the same with men and women. If our intention is to offer love and friendship, even that hug and kiss on the cheek means no more than it's meant to.

It was quite a weekend. For one, I put down the Crowded House CD for one whole night. I'm sure you're all glad to know that. I also realized driving around singing songs from the 80's at the top of my lungs is not very cool. I mean, it felt very cool, but then it occurred to me that this is classic soccer mom cool. And since I don't have a mini-van, and my friend Moira had frankly had enough of Crowded House, we did mix it up a bit.

There are many adventures to chronicle, but let's start with Jodi's birthday.
Here she is, just hours shy of turning 35!

A few of us went to dinner, and then to a bar called O'Neil's in Manasquan. They had a live band. We danced. We drank. We danced some more. There were a ton of us there, our mutual friends, a lot of Jodi's former work friends, and some of my friends from work who live down there and are always up for a good time. It was one of those nights where you say hello and goodbye to some people, have half a conversation with others, and spend the rest of your time sharing drinks on the dance floor with the remaining friends.

The band was good, and they were fun. In a day or so, you should be able to see me and my friends up on their website. Scary thought, I know, but apparently that's the kind of girl I've become. I was incredibly good and well behaved, though, and went home at a rockin' but not insane hour.

Sunday night we went to a charity wine dinner. Yep, charity and wine in the same night! We had to drink - it was for single mothers. They needed me to have a multi course meal paired with two glasses of wine per course! And don't forget the champagne beforehand.

Back in the day, we used to write a nice little check to attend this dinner and even bid on a bottle of wine. Nowadays, we are the squatters in the underwritten seats, the seat fillers if you will. Our amazing and generous friends extend the invite to us, even though they know we can do nothing but make conversation. The wines used to go for a couple hundred dollars a bottle. You could get one for $150, and maybe it would top out at $500 a bottle. Now they go for $400 minimum, and tonight someone bought a single bottle of wine for $900. Can you say outclassed?

Our friends from church sit on the board of this charity, which is a residential housing and training program for women, most of whom have children, all of whom are on welfare. They do amazing things there. They raise a ton of money at this event, where the wine-lovers with deep pockets provide the spectacle that is a wine auction. We sit and drink and take notes on what sells for what price, and talk to our friends the wine experts about what these bottles are worth. All the wine is donated, and much of it is not available to purchase anywhere else. It's the sort of wine you have to be on a mailing list from ten years ago to get, the sort that only a hundred bottles of it were made. With that in mind, it's not so shocking that people will pay $1600 for three bottles, all for a good cause. Except, it is. The best part, though, is not the exquisite wine and food, it's that every single dollar goes right into the program.

All in all, it was a great weekend. I spent more time with Moira, and I honestly wonder how I lived without her for ten years. I danced with Jackie, which I love to do and don't do often enough. I drank with my adorable friend Kara. I caught up with our church friends, who are some of the best people in the world. And I celebrated with Jodi, my drinking buddy, confidante, movie-watcher, shopping sister, dance partner, truth-teller, and dear friend. She's my girl, and although she objects to labels like "best" or "family", that's what she is. (I love you and I hope this is your best year ever.) This is only a very small part of my weekend. Only a glimpse of the memories that are carrying me, smiling, towards my week.

I woke up this morning, and I felt great. I felt freer and lighter and less afraid than I've been in weeks. I'm not afraid anymore. I'm hungover, and tired, and in a daze, but I feel wonderful.

Self help books talk about "clutter" - body clutter, soul clutter, house clutter. The point is to reduce your life clutter. I feel like all this emotional clutter just lifted off my shoulders, off my body. I probably drank five pounds of weight, but I feel like I lost twenty.

I should be confused and upset and wondering and questioning and feeling insecure and fragile, but I'm not. I'm not anything I'm supposed to be.

It's been a rough couple of days, emotions all over the place and everyone's emotions all over me. I did not seek clarity but I found it. I did not seek a harbor, but I was taken in and embraced. I don't care where my place is, I don't care how it turns out in the end. I know I'm going to be okay, because I'm not the only one looking out for me.

On the playlist: Crowded House, Woodface, which gets more beautifully evocative the more I play it.

Last night I got dragged down into muck. My wine and couch and friend got taken over by endless phone calls, each one worse than the previous one. Each email another minefield to navigate, another problem to be negotiated.

There's a dispute in a group I lead. There are two factions, and on one side is my friend, and on the other side is another friend. I have the gift of diplomacy. I can see both sides. I try to broker peace, or at least understanding. If you need a champion, protector, or mediator, I'm your girl. I can handle it, I'll take the hits. I'll make it better.

But I'm tired of making it better. This isn't my problem, and it isn't my muck. I did my job the best I could last night and this morning, but it wasn't enough. The issue all came down to trust, as it seems to in every relationship around me. Talking to MP this morning, MP who is my family and my friend, about her situation (which I've written about before), I brought up trust. That's exactly it, she said, stopping. That's it, there is no trust. Trust is the key.

I like to take my ball and go home. I think it's easier to shut you out before you shut me out, even in the little ways. I want to call and hear your voice, because even if we don't talk about it, I'll feel better talking to you about the weather. But instead I leave the message: I'm just calling to say hi, you don't have to call back. I'm going to relieve you of your duty to me, the duty you didn't even know you had.

I've been so hesitant to reach out for the hand, outstretched. I keep thinking it's not there, that I'm on my own for this one. I keep thinking I'm a ship at night, alone on the open sea. But then I turn on the light, and there you are, next to me.

Last night I looked for my touchstones. Last night I let myself cry it out. Last night I opened my eyes to what makes me smile. This morning I woke up lighter and freer, but I still played my games. Only, this time, I realized I was the only one playing.

Trust is key. I say I trust people, but I don't. I trust them with my hopes and fears, my dreams and desires, my heart and soul. But I don't trust them to catch me if I fall. I'm a girl that falls. I admit it. Maybe you can't catch me. Maybe I don't need to be caught. But I do need to know you're going to be there when I fall, down on the ground with me. It might be a hard landing, it might be soft. I can't promise we won't get bruised, but we'll always get up laughing, hand in hand.

Do I want your presence or need your help? It's not even a question.

On the playlist: Crowded House.

It's rainy and dark, I'm listening to the album Woodface. You'll read this post on Thursday, but tonight it's Wednesday, and it feels like it's been a long day. Maybe it's the rain. Maybe it's that we didn't do any of our usual traveling or friend-seeing this week. We just hung. Emily is feeling low key. I've gone back to exercising. It felt good. But we're just not our perky selves.

I got an email today from a woman I spoke to on the phone earlier. The title of the email was "High energy!" and she told me how it was great to talk to me tonight because I have great energy, and I'm thinking huh? I have negative energy today.

I'm just not feeling hale and hearty. I want to lie on the couch and have someone stroke my hair, but not annoyingly. I think, right now, I might take a night in my college dorm room. It was small, the one I'm thinking of, a single. The telephone was all mine. There was an electric tea kettle and a nice tea set. There was music and books. There were friends knocking on the door.

Instead, I've settled onto my red couch with my trusty laptop, a glass of wine beside me, tea kettle ready for Moira to knock on the door. The house is considerably bigger. The telephone occasionally rings for someone other than me. But there is music, and books, and friends at the door. And that makes me smile.

This is a post about a song lyric. If you don't understand why I title every post with a song lyric, feel free to skip this one. But thank you, a thousand thanks for even stopping by.

I was not a big Matthew Sweet fan in high school or college. I didn't care one way or the other. I liked "Girlfriend", the album. I liked "Altered Beast" I liked "100% Fun" but I never had to put him in my CD player for a car trip in case I found myself stuck in traffic slowing going insane.

I'm not a guy, which seems fairly obvious. But I repeat, I'm not a guy. I'm a girl and in relationships I was pretty classic girl in some respects. I was the one who got chased. I was the one who felt like she had the power. (If you don't think women have the power in relationships, then you've never had a man level with you.) I was not holding up the boom box, I was waiting for the jacket to get thrown over the glass. And, yes, I did break-up with a guy in his car. I also cheated on my boyfriend with his best friend. Nice girl, huh?

I would hear Matthew Sweet's songs and know they were guy songs. They were not written from my perspective, they were what ended up on mix tapes made for me. I'm a sucker for those guys songs, those songs of desire that hit right at the angst level. They make me swoon, because I was being swooned over.

Now none of this is to say that I never liked a guy who didn't like me back; of course I did. Again and again. Yet I also dated a lot of guys, had a number of boyfriends, and got married pretty young. Never once did I think I'd never meet a man, because I met them all the time.

I don't know when the song "Sick of Myself" first hit me. I suspect it has hit me, harder and harder, every time I listen to it, until now, it's a song I need silence to listen to, at least the beginning. I find myself hitting the scan button in my car, just to hear the guitar and first lyrics of the song.

I learned about literary theory in London, at the University of Westminster. I dug it. I used the verb "deconstruct" all too often, in the pretentious way of a college kid who thinks she's smart.

"You don't know how you move me, deconstruct me, and consume me."

Yes, I want to say, YES. I get it. I know what this means. I know what it's like to feel unbelievably moved by another human being. How it is to think they can deconstruct you - shit, imagine that for a minute. Just imagine it. It's heady. It's wild. It's enough to make you fall - and once you've fallen, naturally, they consume you. It's only to be expected. It's a given at that point, it's not even a bold statement.

And then he goes on..."Baby you don't know". You don't know, so I have to tell you, and here I am, telling you. Another big swoon, because there's nothing we love more than being told what we only suspect.

I could go on and on, tell you which lyrics hit me more than others, which part of the music I like, try to describe his voice. But I think you either get it, or you don't. You're either scanning back to hear that one part of the song, or you're not paying attention to what's on the radio. Either way is fine. Sometimes I'm not tyrannical and passionate about what's being played. Sometimes I go with the musical flow. And other times, I sit up a little late, and write a post about a song lyric. How about you? What do you do?

Today is Election Day. I don't want to know your politics. I don't want to hear how jaded you are, how politicians suck, how everyone's a liar, how the country is going to hell in a handbasket. I want you to do something about it. Say your piece. Make your voice heard. Vote.

If you, on the other hand, think the USA is the best place in the world to live, that we should be proud of our country no matter what those Frenchies say, if you love Lee Greenwood's songs, then show it in the most American way possible. Vote.

Close down this blog, get up off your office chair, and get to the polls. Not registered, you say? Well, that's a very sad situation, but cruise on over to The League of Women Voters, who can tell you how to register for next November, and give you information on voting, the issues, and the candidates.

Your opinions don't have to be my opinions. Your politics don't have to be my politics. We don't have to agree on much of anything, really. But just as you share your opinions on your blogs and mine, so should you share your opinions with your town, state, and nation.

Besides, don't you know voting is soo rock and roll?


To my darling Canadian readers: since you are better informed on world issues than the average American is, please accept my kudos and enjoy the spectacle of this politically exciting day.

On October 26th, Moira's divorce was final. On Oct 27th, on what would have been her 5 year wedding anniversary, she boarded a plane with a one-way ticket home.

Back in August, I wrote about her birthday, and then I wasn't sure if she'd ever move home. Only a few short days later, she made the decision to move, found a great job quickly, and before she knew it, she was living across the street from us.

It's only temporary, of course, that she lives across the street with her sister and brother-in-law and her niece and nephews. But this is what we do: Moira grabs her smokes and runs across the street in her pj's. I sit outside with her while she smokes, or if it's too cold, I go inside and put on the tea. We sit at my kitchen table and drink tea and talk and talk and talk. We don't hang out every night, or every morning, as work and life intrudes on what feels like high school, or college. It's fun, though. It's very fun.

Last night was book club, Stephanie's last book club before she moves to Texas. There was no official book to read; instead we talked about our favorite books, which led to talking about high school, which led to talking about sex. I'm not going to detail the particulars of that conversation, for fear of embarrassing my friends, but let's just say we were honest.

I know I write a lot about how amazing my friends are and how much I love them, but it's true. Gathered around my kitchen table, or settled into my living room, or dancing drunkenly around my backyard, or all dressed up and pretty at Lisa's wedding three years ago, or painting the town red in Vegas, or just stopping by to keep me company one random night, these are my girls. Some of us have drifted out of book club, some of us only come for the parties, some of us never have time to read the book, some of us always read the book, one of us has just come home, and one of us is leaving. We're not all in the same place in life, although we've been lucky to go through some things together. We're not all the same kind of people. But we are friends, and we are honest, and we do know how to drink our wine and beer and laugh and tell stories.

Moira was overjoyed to be home, to be among us, and Stephanie cried a little, because as Moira comes in, she leaves. I know Moira has realized that she can come home, that this is home, that ten years does not make a difference when you've got somebody waiting who loves and accepts you for who you are. As I waited for Moira to come home one day, never knowing if it would happen, so I will wait for Stephanie. And it's not just me here, who loves and accepts Stephanie for who she is. There's a group of us. And when the time is right, when she and Stephen are ready, there's still going to be a place around my kitchen table.

Thomas Wolfe was mistaken. You can go home again. We may be older and fatter, in the words of my friend Moira, but we'll still be here.

Some things you might want to know about me. Or not, as the case may be. But it's my blog, and I can't resist the obligatory list. A work in progress.

1) I am an only child.
2) The only time I ever wished for a sibling was when I wanted to meet older guys and wished I had an older brother who could introduce me to his friends.
3) My friends are like my family.
4) I have 13 year old godson.
5) In the summer of 2006, wifebeaters were my new favorite thing to wear.
6) I don't have, and have never had, a favorite color, but I wear a lot of red and pink which is unusual for a redhead.
7) I like my hair better long than short; my husband likes it better short.
8) My extended family lives in a different part of the country, and as a child, I always wished I could have a birthday with them present.
9) I've known my best friend since we were eight. Now we live 20 minutes apart, and it would be hard to move away from her.
10) Lyrics are really important to me. I like to read them, learn them, try to understand what the song is about.
11) So important, in fact, that the lyrics to an REM song are engraved in my wedding band.
12) In a funny coincidence, both my husband and I secretly picked the same lyric to engrave in each other's bands, and discovered this during the ceremony.
13) I still practice the faith of my childhood.
14) Popcorn is my absolute favorite food. I will choose to eat it over anything else at any time. I can't tell you how much I love it.
15) I think my mother is the best in the world.
16) But she's also crazy.
17) I can still remember the words to early Aerosmith songs because my dad played them in the car when I was a kid.
18) I have very flat Midwestern vowels even thought I was raised in NJ.
19) My mother and I sound so much alike on the phone, my dad can't tell us apart.
20) I went to therapy when I was in 6th grade, quite possibly the worst year for every pre-teen, and it was a wonderful thing.
21) This inspired me to become a psychologist. I was so serious about it, I took the 101 level college classes while still in high school.
22) In my freshman year of college, unsure, I turned toward my safety net and took a short fiction class where I fell for Alice Munro's writing.
23) Dr. Gertrude Hamilton told me I'd make a good English major, and without her encouragement, I would have kept thinking I wasn't good enough to do it.
24) I believe stories are in the details.
25) I think life is about the moment.
26) I know no matter how fucked up they are, my family loves me.
27) It's easy for me to find good friends to connect with, but sometimes the initial contact is so hard for me.
28) I was never a cool kid. I may be the coolest I ever was right now, and remember, I have a toddler. So not rock and roll.
29) My self confidence is my best feature, but even I have insecure days.
30) For a long time, I didn't write because I thought I had nothing to say.
31) I try to remember that for every 20 year old published, there is a 50 year old. It's never too late, and the stories come when you're ready for them.
32) I never thought I'd enjoy being a mom. I figured Nick could raise the kid if I had a breakdown. I was so, so wrong, about myself.
33) Sometimes I underestimate myself.
34) I make up a lot of songs to the tune of other songs. And sing them. Aloud. To others.
35) I sing all the time, in stores, in public, and have been known to do interpretive dance in the mall. Sober.
36) I never make a bet I'm going to lose. I once won $300 betting on the location of a Wawa.
37) I love Vegas, but don't gamble.
38) I tend to vacation in gay-friendly places. Just how it works out.
39) I revel in cheesiness. Think Manilow, Neil Diamond, Tom Jones.
40) My mom, my daughter, and I have the same middle name.
41) I can't stand not knowing things.
42) If I'm bored, I'll read the end of the book just to see what happens.
43) The most shocking thing I've recently revealed to my friends is that I spent too many years feeling bad about myself at work. They never knew.
44) I like baseball and concerts for the same reason - they get me out of my head.
45) I need something to read at all times, and in the absence of books, magazines, newspapers, or the internet, I have been known to read shampoo bottles.
46) I am in love with my name. I think it's perfect for me.
47) I like all types of music, but tend to really fall for non-radio friendly rock. Stuff you hear on public radio or college radio.
48) I am a convert to Apple computers.
49) I never thought I'd get married so young; I thought it would take me years to find someone.
50) One of my favorite gifts was a simple bracelet with my initials on it. Not because I love my initials, I do (duh) but because my friend knew that about me.
51) A year ago, if you would have told me I'd have a blog, I would have laughed you out of the room.
52) I love the area I live in. I think it's beautiful here.
53) I spend almost every Friday night with my best friend and her kids.
54) I really dig modern design. Think Dwell magazine.
55) I have friends from every part of my life - grade school, high school, college, every job.
56) I'm not a snob about movies, music, or TV, but I am about books.
57) I'm more guarded in person than on paper.
58) One of the most frustrating conversations in my young adult life was the "where do we stand" conversation. Yuck. Ick. Enough. But sometimes, you have to have that conversation.
59) My eyebrows are so light, I have to either dye them or use makeup so they show up on my face.
60) I really, really like good writing. It can make me feel like I'm floating on a cloud.
61)I once flew, at the last minute, to Detroit to see Emimen. I'm not a big fan, but it was the experience that made me hop on the plane.
62) People who make me laugh have currency in my life. It can take you pretty far with me.
63) I have ruling theories on love, sex, and toenail polish. The love and sex ones can, will, and do change, but the toenail polish one is steadfast.
64) I think every woman has a casual, simple, I'm-getting-down-to-work way to wear her hair that is so unexpectedly pretty in its simplicity.
65) I love urban decay. Oh, and renewal, I'm all about renewal.
66) I never ever blow dry my hair. Maybe, in the winter, if it's a wedding at which I will be professionally photographed, I might use a blow dryer. Might.
67) I adore my hairdresser and totally tell her my secrets and she tells me hers.
68) If I could write music, I think I would write like the Indigo Girls.
69) I keep a list of my "life skills" which I started in college when I got freaked out by my lack of marketable skills.
70)I wear almost the same exact jewelry every day of my life: diamond stud earrings, my wedding rings, a white gold ring on my right hand, and watch on my left wrist, and a silver bracelet on my right wrist.
71) I love the movie Grease.
72) I have sung the entire soundtrack of it, out loud, in public, with others in a non-staged performance at a friend's party.
73)I have recently become addicted to text messaging.
74)I love bookstores. It's like saying hi to old friends and meeting new ones.
75) I floss my teeth almost every day.
76) I make a great grilled cheese sandwich.
77) I think hand massages are better than foot massages.
78) I am widely quoted in book about sex and marriage.
79) I go to the dentist every six months, and went the day before my wedding for a cleaning.
80) Sometimes I judge people by what they read - not the genres they read, but if they list books I think are awful as their favorites.

I like men. By this I mean that I really enjoy men. I like their companionship. I like their points of view. I like their ridiculousness, and every man is completely ridiculous about something. I like their take-no-prisoners response to certain things. I think they're funny.

But here's the thing: Men pay lip service to women.

Every single man I know has said one of the following to me about their wife:

"L is the smartest person I know".

"J is amazing".

"R is hot and sexy and she puts up with my crap".

"S is..." Wait! Let me guess! Intelligent? Beautiful? A far nicer person than you?


If your wife stays home with the kids, you'll tell me how accomplished her career was previously to that. If she works fulltime you'll tell me how well she manages things. If you have kids you'll tell me what an exceptional mother she is.

And here's the kicker: Every man I know tells me he married up.

Now how can this be? All these amazing, intelligent, beautiful women are walking around with guys just slightly below them? Say it ain't so!

Nick didn't marry up, he married an equal. I hope my guy friends think they married equals, too, and that their wives didn't settle for someone who couldn't possibly measure up to them.

Listen, guys, I love that you love your wives. You're a good guy, and that's why I'm standing here at this party having a beer with you. But you don't have to fall over yourself telling me how great your wife is. If I'm just meeting you, and you tell me this, it's sweet, it's cute, you're a dollface. But once to me is enough. You don't need to prove to me how much you love your wife. You need to prove it to her. Cause even when I tell them, and I do tell them guys, they don't buy it from me. They want to hear it from you.

Just listen to her for once, okay? She really doesn't want or need you to tell me stories of her amazingness, she needs you to take out the trash the first time she asks. Or run your poker night plan by her. Or buy her what she wants for her birthday this year, instead of what you think is a good idea. (She doesn't want a helmet for the bicycle you think she should pick out. She doesn't want a "mommy" present. She doesn't want the lingerie she said she didn't want already.) If you need gift ideas for her, ask her. She'll tell you.

When you see her ready to go out for the night, with her girlfriends or with you, and especially to any family function of your family, tell her she looks beautiful or hot or whatever. Don't tell me weeks later over beers. Tell her. In that instant.

This is not a question of you being a good husband. I'm sure you're a great husband. But if your wife could hear half the stuff you tell me about her, she'd never be able to join in the conversation when us girls complain about not getting any recognition from our men. I don't join in that conversation, either, and frankly, it would be nice to have another silent woman on my side. We could both sit there, quietly, knowing that our husbands may not be perfect, but at least they're telling it to the right woman.

We went to Park Slope, to see Stephanie and Jacob, and trick or treat, and walk in the parade. It was fun. It was adorable. I'll say it a hundred times; those kids love each other. Right up until it's two hours past bedtime and they both want the toy and my daughter decides pushing is a good idea. Then we go home and she gets in the car and says, "I pushed Jacob, and I hurt him. That wasn't nice." I take comfort in the fact that eventually, she gets it.

But before the pushing and the grabbing, there were costumes and candy and the pizza place and the parade. Feast your eyes on Brooklyn on Halloween. Emily is JoJo the clown, I'm the circus ringmaster, Jacob is a chicken, and Stephanie is a farmer.






If you want to see more, make me a friend on flickr, and I'll make you one. The pics of the kids are set to friends and family only. Don't have a flickr account? What are you waiting for? All the cool kids are doing it.