bad re-entry

I'm really frustrated today.

It's one of those days that I really wish I lived on the West Coast. Mostly so that I could see various offshoots of my family, but also for the sake of the West Coast, itself. It's one of those days that I'm bitter to be 'stuck here' in D.C.

It's one of those days that I really wish I could spend with my daughter. I don't see why, at the least, my company doesn't even consider letting anyone work from home. So that, in just a bit more than a year, when my daughter starts going to elementary school (probably), she can't come home to see her own mother when school is over. Or so I could gain a good three to four hours a day otherwise spent cursing fellow Northern Virginians in miserable traffic.

One of those days that I just wish things were, well, different.

I guess that's my way of saying, we had a great time with my brother and his family in southern California. I really, really wish we were all still there.

Photos and descriptions to come, some evening when I have a few minutes to myself at home. (in other words, don't hold your breath waiting for them.)

'bad' vs. 'good'

I really hesitate to comment here on serious stuff. That's not really want I want my blog to be about. Not to opine on current events, because, really, other people usually have far better, or at least more informed, thoughts than do I. Sometimes I worry that folks will think I don't run at all deep because of this. But I guess people can think whatever they want to. We seem to all feel a need to be 'known,' and I think that's a good thing, but not everyone can truly know us. So few really can (if it's possible at all -- sometimes I think I don't know myself anymore. If I ever did). And the biases we all bring to the relationships with each other color the ways we know others, anyway.

I am really hesitant to comment on this Va. Tech tragedy, because, again, I'm a relative newcomer to Virginia. It's not my area; it's not my thing. And I hate to make something that's so serious, and so devastating, to so many others "All About Me." Because it's not. So, well, I guess I'll just offer my apologies and acknowledgments that my thoughts on this matter are so vastly insignificant when compared to the loss and pain so many are feeling now around all this. But, what can I add to that? What can I say to or about those people? I'm praying for you. I'm aching for you. But I don't actually know you, so, for me, it's harder to know what more I can do.

Please forgive me for the comparatively shallow thoughts to come. And yet... I'm going to comment anyway.

On to my point.

What's been kind of interesting to me, and to my husband, I think, is how directly indirectly this "incident" has targeted some recent thoughts of ours. Some hopes and plans. Now, I should say, I'm a second-generation Washington State Coug, and it kind of sucks that the odds of my child(ren) attending Wazzu are slim and none, but I think Matt and I have been assuming that we'll start our own tradition, probably here. For whatever reason, we've been thinking in terms of Lizzy going to Va. Tech. She can go, or not go, wherever she wants, I hasten to add, but it's become symbolic for us of her future to think of her going there. Why? Maybe because we have some dear friends who went there. Maybe because Matt, who missed the four-year, on-campus college experience, spent some time with his (at the time) college-going friends in that town. Maybe it's because his dad owns some land nearby. Maybe it's because the descriptions I've heard remind me a little of my alma mater. I don't know.

As you know, we recently moved into a neighborhood that we thought, and still think, is pretty much "it" for us. It's all we could ever ask for. And more. And in that, it's a little embarrassing. It makes me feel really materialistic, and American (in all the bad ways), to think that. And yet I revel in it anyway. The beautiful flowers and landscaping. The neighbors who seem to care about their property, and each other. The prospect of a pool and tennis courts this summer. The cul-de-sacs that remind me of my childhood home. The beautiful homes. It goes on and on.
A couple of weekends ago, we were taking a ride/stroll/skate through the neighborhood together -- I believe I mentioned it here earlier -- and Matt said, "This place is like 'The Matrix'. Like someone took all the visions in my head of the perfect neighborhood and created it and put me in it. Like it couldn't possibly actually exist."
"Enjoy the steak while you've got it," I said.

Another thing that makes the 'hood so great and perfect to us -- there are many things, but this is the biggest -- is the school district. If we stay here, Lizzy will go to a very fine high school. I know no place is perfect -- believe me, I know -- and maybe perfection shouldn't be strived for, anyway? But we seem to keep trying. We're quite pleased that she should receive a fine education there. We love to just drive by it and stare in wonder at its glory. To see the empty football stands and visualize the buzz and camaraderie that accompanies a Friday night prep football game. A game so close to our house, we will be able to hear it from our backyard.

And so, I found it entirely weird that the guy who did all this shooting at Va. Tech graduated from the high school that we thought of in such glowing, golden terms. Now we're seeing visuals of the front of the high school from our own living rooms -- in the background on the local news, as the media descend. It's a reminder to me that forces of good and evil (heh, as I read over this, I should point out that I'm not referring to the media) are everywhere. And, frankly, in everyone. We can't escape from it. We can't hide. And we're not meant to. We're meant to BE the good, wherever we are. To be the salt and the light. To live lives of righteousness, that simply make no sense to those with appetites for destruction. To push back the darkness, and to be there for those who are being tempted to succumb to it. But it's so hard to know how to do that a lot of the time.

And it's hard, SO hard, to have faith that all will be well for my child(ren). I guess that's what drives us to do all that we can to protect her/them; to try to channel her/them to green pastures. As green as we can make them. I already ache at the knowledge that my Lizzy will stumble and fall down sometimes. But I know she will, and she must, and I just pray that she knows to reach out for God's hand to help her get up. That she asks Him to carry her when she feels she can't go on.

I suspect our week of Disneyland will give me a whole lot more to think about along these lines. Talk about your artificially happy visions of perfection. But it's a place you cannot stay. Not for long. You have to go back out and face the 'real world' eventually. To know that you aren't safe, not really, anywhere. And somehow be okay with that.
I know I'm not meant to make my home here. I know. It's just hard to, well, KNOW that.

Lord, be with those who knew and know the victims (dead and alive) of this tragedy. Be with them. Strengthen, comfort and heal them, and if there can be any good to come of this, help it to come.
Amen.

seen on 66

As I've mentioned before, one of the bright spots of a long car commute is the opportunity to ponder, or laugh at, people's vanity plates.
The one I saw this morning might even top my thus-far favorite, "66SUCKS".
Today's gem: "IH8DMV".
I mean, how do you even GET that plate? Did someone at the DMV actually hand that plate over? Perhaps the car owner received it in the mail. Whatever the case, I share the sentiments of both plates wholeheartedly.

signs that Lizzy's growing up much too fast

A couple of weeks ago, Lizzy and I sat in the waiting-room area of a Vienna hair choppery, waiting for Matt to get his coiff styled. (he's gonna kill me when he reads that. He bemoans the further signs of hair loss every time we go.) I was flipping through a People magazine because the Hunting and Fishing mag didn't interest me much, while Lizzy drooled over the Chiclet and M&M vending machines.
At one point, Lizzy paused to look over my shoulder. I was looking at the "stars playing with their babies" page. First up: Mrs. Jen Affleck and her darling daughter, Violet. "A baby!" Lizzy said. "Show me more babies!" We turned the page to see more celeb babies (Julia Roberts' twins, I believe). Lizzy wanted me to keep turning the pages; wouldn't let me keep reading the four-ish scintillating paragraphs on each page. Oh, well.
"Oh, what a pretty dress!" she next exclaimed. "And look at that little bag!" I don't remember the stylish celeb who was worthy of such praise, but Lizzy kept heaping it on at a disturbing rate. "Look at that gold dress!" she said. "It looks just like Belle's." I admit, that made me feel a little better.
It's funny, because I rarely remember or notice what people are wearing. Sometimes I note to myself that they look nice (or, in the case of some of the ensembles I see on the streets of D.C., garish). During Rush Week at my sorority, at night, we would pore over the lists of potential pledges, reminding each other who they were. A lot of the girls remembered exactly what they were wearing, down to the hairstyle and shoes. I rarely could remember them at all, unless I'd had a conversation with them. And then I had trouble conveying any useful way to trigger others' memory of the girl. My reaction tended to be, "They were nice," or something along that line. Have I ever said how much I hated Rush Week?

In a similar vein, as we were bowling Saturday night with Matt's brother, Nick, and good friend, Shane, Nick had taken off his sweatshirt at one point. I didn't notice (who cares?). Lizzy did. "Mom, did Nick take off his coat or something?" she said. Hm.

Which leads me to the other scary sign that Lizzy is growing up. It took a spare in the 10th frame for me to beat her in our second game.
Final score: Mom, 97. Lizzy, 93.*
Yes, we had bumpers set up -- she took great advantage of those, obviously. But, well, the adults also had the bumpers. So that's not as much excuse as it should be.

*My pride compels me to point out that, usually, a 130 is the worst I do these days. And I might do as well as a 170-something fairly typically. It is with great shame that I admit I did not break 100.

the weekend

Man, we had the best weekend we’ve had in a long, long time.

Matt said that it was his first real weekend in about a year. And, he’s right. Between wedding-related planning and activities, that proposal for his job, the Christmas season in general, moving to a new house, and then working on two houses to get them ready for sale (but we’re only actually putting one on the market), he finally got a chance to relax a little over the Easter weekend. And by relax, I mean, drive around with us and his dad on Saturday, then go to church with us on Sunday, then do a few projects around the house that his nagging wife requested. J And it STILL felt like a casual weekend to him!

We had the best Easter imaginable. The aforementioned church with our great church family, then we went home and had some of Mommy’s lasagna (though it was pretty bland – my cookbook is still a victim of the move, and I guess I didn’t remember the recipe quite as well as I thought I would, but Matt’s and Lizzy’s opinions were very charitable), then a lovely, lovely walk around our lovely, lovely neighborhood. I strapped on the rollerblades that I bought nearly 10 years ago, and have used maybe a half dozen times. Matt grabbed his soccer ball and showed us some of the dazzling moves of his youth.
And Lizzy took her second spin on her brand new bicycle that Pop-Pop (Matt’s dad) purchased for her the day before, and boy, is she getting good! She was powering up those hills. And braking like a champ on the downhill stretches! (the photo is of her trying it out in the store.) Matt was embarrassed to have his dad pay ten dollars more than the asking price so that we could get the already constructed model. He said it just wasn’t the Maisel thing to do. But I wasn’t so sure we’d be able to pry Lizzy off the floor model. She LOVED it from the moment she got on it. And it’s Barbie princesses! C’mon. Made for her.
Lizzy joined in the neighborhood Easter egg hunt on Saturday morning. I was excited about it, until I remembered an Easter egg hunt or two from my childhood.
The bigger kids generally end up grabbing all the eggs from the younger kids. It's hard to stop them from doing so. This time around, the organizers had thoughtfully divided the participants into two age groups, but that put Lizzy in the 4-and-up category. Seeing as how she’s 4, you can guess that she didn’t get many eggs. The funny thing was, she really didn’t mind. I was the psycho mom, trying not to get steamed when I saw an 8-year-old go by with about 22 eggs in her basket (supposed limit of 10), and when I saw an egg, I would go stand about on top of it to guard it against any egg snatchers until Lizzy could get there. She even dropped one on the ground one time, and another kid swooped in and picked it up, and like I said, she was cool with it. I think we need to host an Easter egg hunt in our backyard next year. A private affair, with our friends, might be a lot more fun.

Oooh, and in a last-minute development, we got to color Easter eggs with our good friends down the street. Dee and I were amused by the different styles of egg coloring our children displayed. Ethan enthusiastically dived in, coloring egg after egg, whereas Lizzy seemed kinda concerned if an egg fell in and got immersed in the color if we had not actually planned for the entire egg to BE that color. They both did a lovely job (as did SuperSam!) at painting the eggs after the coloring portion. And Keenan seemed to enjoy watching. Dee and I mostly hovered nervously, waiting for disaster to strike. Ahhhh, egg coloring with young’uns. (I have photos of this event, too, which I must post later! The cuteness! I didn’t grab them in time this morning to add them here, however.)

Matt and I finally found my camera’s USB port last night, so I’m back in business with the personal photos to accompany blogs. Now, when I take photos, I’m thinking about what they’ll look like for scrapbook AND blog purposes. Hee! I just got Lizzy a little kid camera, too. For our trip to Disneyland (we leave April 20). So perhaps I can post some photos that she takes, too. That should be interesting.

so much to say, of so little import

Woo! I'm probably gonna post five times today. A personal record!

I just found out the identity of the very strangely attired guy whom I bumped into when entering the office today. How strange. (fun Wiki fact: Listed as No. 99 of the top 100 people who are screwing up America! How delightful to find him visiting my office.)

perspective

I love how kids see the world so differently. And yet, sometimes I’m frightened by the degree to which my little girl allows, and invites, me to shape her perspective.

We’re going to Disneyland over the fourth week in April (Yay! Yay!!), which is thrilling enough in and of itself, but it’s especially awesome because we’re spending the week in a condo with my brother and his family. Which means Lizzy will have a ton of concentrated time with her four cousins. Five little Disney princesses. Should be quite an experience.

I’m hoping to get her a digital camera before we go. I’d love to see the world through her eyes; I’m pondering giving her some sort of scrapbook when we get back for her to paste her photos into. And stickers and the whole mess.

I’ve been telling her each day for the past four or five days: “Lizzy! Only X number of days until we fly in a plane to see your cousins.” (at first I was saying, “until we go to Disneyland,” but that’s not strictly true – we’ll arrive in the evening. She seems pretty thrilled with either turn of phrase, though.) She looks really excited, then stops and frowns, and pouts, and says: “But that’s too far away!” and looks as though she might cry. Wow. Seventeen days feels to me like about as long as it takes to boil water these days. Which is to say, almost no time at all. (maybe Lizzy's a pot-watching type.)

There’s a little boy named Jack at Lizzy’s school, in her class – I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned him or not. He’s quite the wee chauvinist pig. Which is weird, because I’ve chatted with his mom (though not about that) a bunch of times, and she seems like a fairly strong, confident female type. Jack’s got an older brother and a dad, so perhaps the ‘women are weaker’ spew comes from them. Lizzy’s told me that he says boys are better; boys are stronger (well, depending on your measure); only boys can drive cars (I tend to drive more than Matt does). It’s weird. I don’t want to turn Lizzy into a raging feminist, but I sure don’t want her to have some sort of gender-related inferiority complex at age 4. Plenty of time to develop either of those lines of thinking when she’s older and on her own.

She was really hung up the other night on the fact that Jack says that boys are stronger. I said, “Lizzy – you know how I’ve told you that only women can have babies, right? Men can’t?” She said, yes, she knows that. “Well, did you know that it hurts to have a baby?” She didn’t know that, but looked rather fascinated. “Well,” I said, “I bet that God knew that boys wouldn’t be able to handle it, so that’s why only girls can have babies. They’re strong enough, but boys aren’t.”

I’m probably going to have to do some clean-up on that one later. I’ll know I can only blame myself down the road when Lizzy refuses to give me any grandchildren – er, I mean, doesn’t want kids.

On the subject of her belief (or lack thereof) in God: We had a neat talk last night. Lizzy was telling me about how she must have told God that she wanted a mom ‘just like Kate,’ and a dad ‘just like Matt,’ and told him “Please please please! I want to be their little kid!” And God must have said yes, and given baby Lizzy to us.
I mean, how much sweeter does it get than THAT.