now fortified with impotent fury!risperdal

So I was at this conference- the biggest of my particular industry bent- while my in-laws manned the fort at home. Monday the Lad had to go deliver a eulogy down south, and that morning my MIL and I chatted on the phone. Don’t worry, I know you’ve got lots of meetings. I’ll only call if it’s really important. And so off I went, to meetings that were pillar to post from 7:30 on.

At 11:00, I was in the largest of the theatres in this enormous convention center, so full people were sitting in aisles and on stairs. I was up in the top section, middle of the first row, with a half-wall and wooden railing in front of me, separating us from the perpendicular aisle below, next to a friend and colleague. I was waiting eagerly for one of my favorite authors of all time to take the stage as the keynote speaker. Suddenly my phone began to vibrate, and I glanced down at it only to feel my heart plummet as I recognized my MIL’s phone number. 18 people were on either side of me, I could not possibly ask them all to stand up so I could get out and call her, and I could not possibly make a cell call in the middle of the president of the group’s talk prior to the keynote.

So I did the only sensible thing.

As my head filled with Defcon 1 details- did I leave an insurance card for them, the pediatrician’s office still has our legal waiver on file giving the inlaws the right to consent for treatment, the nebulizer is in the front hall closet, did the Lad leave them directions to the nearest ER?- I stood up, placed my hands on the railing, and vaulted over it like I was making a prison break. Throw me my bag! It’s my MIL! I hissed at my friend, and with a wide-eyed stare she flung my stuff into my outstretched arms. I raced from the theatre and threw myself towards the windows where the cell signal was more than a flicker of a single bar, and with shaking hands I dialed her cellphone.

I’m so sorry to bother you with this, wench, but Sean just finished lunch and–
Oh god oh god not a food allergy where’s my epi-pen hidden in the house wait that’s adult strength we have benadryl I have it hidden up in the master bath where is it I can tell her to give him one and get to the hosp—
I gave him a pudding cup and he freaked out and said he has to ask mom or dad first before having one and he can’t just have one and he won’t let me give him one and he’s worried and upset I’m in trouble for giving him one is it ok?

Thurs- kindergarten kapers at local elementary school, first chance to meet teachers for next year, oh shit gotta buy treats for school on Friday
Friday morning- treats and two toys for toy exchange for earth week to school
Fri- bake birthday cake
Fri night- dinner at french restaurant for little man birthday
Sat morning- birthday party
Sat- in laws arrive
Sat night- fly out to conference
Sunday 9:30 run giant event
Sunday 10 am balloons delivered to little man on his actual birthday when mom can’t be there
Monday ass crack of dawn lad flies out to Mississippi so as not to leave little man parentless on birthday
Monday 2 pm funeral for friend and colleague the lad has been asked to speak at
Monday night lad home
Tuesday night me home
Wed 9 am lad on tap for career week at school
Thurs prof’l photo shoot of kiddo
Fri 5 year well child checkup
Sat birthday party for kiddo friend
Sunday rest.

They say it’s policeman and robber, but I think we all know that’s a seriously inked anti-globalization protestor.

(of course we now own it)

My job, like any other, has its ups and downs. I hit a big down the other week, but the response was good and things were getting back onto a good groove here. Today, though, I got a reminder as to just how deeply my job rules, and how much more awesome I have it than 90% of the workforce.

Because at 11 am, I had to run out and buy myself a cupcake and a tiny bottle of champagne. So that at our weekly staff meeting I could be videoconferenced in to celebrate a major corporate milestone. So there I sat, in my home office, laughing as one of the partners of the company grinned slimily at me and lofted his plastic cup of cheap champagne and I in return raised my tiny bottle of Chandon and pointedly poured it into a real honest to god champagne flute and to his credit he broke up laughing, bowed down to me, and then virtually clinked his glass against mine by shoving his glass towards the video camera. As the wind howled outside my window, a colleague slowly pivoted her laptop so I could see the sea of faces, and wave and laugh, and lift my glass in salute to what we have amazingly, astonishingly built in less than 7 years.

And it was ONLY after we’d all pounded champagne that we had a staff meeting. Life is uncertain: drink first.

You are easy to spot,
With your slow hopeful progression
Up and down every aisle of the
Airport garage.
It marks you as other
As not here very often.
Out of my way
I know I need to be
At parking tower
Three.

I find you again
Trapped behind you at security
I already have
Shoes off
3 ounces of liquids
Corralled in the safety
Of millimeters of ziplocked plastic,
Laptop under arm
You stare, cowlike
Aghast at security regulations.
Complain loudly as you must dump
The $3 bottle of water
Fumbling in pockets for change,
Cell phone, keys.
You laboriously decant into plastic bins,
Then predictably park right at the front of the
X-ray machine
And struggle to reclaim
Your copious crap.
My urge to commit
A homicidal, not terrorist, act rises.

We eye each other up
Those in the know
The location of every Starbucks
And Crown Room and on-board outlet
Burned into memory
Favorite seats
Travel rituals
iPod into pocket
Water bottle in reach.
Sunglasses for glaring light at 37,000 feet.
Aisle seats, war-weary wheeled carryons
Power bars and eBook readers.

Cell phones out the moment of touch down.
Calls to office, to loved ones.
Clipped, short, timed snippets
To avoid the loud announcements.
Already with the Hertz gold confirmation number txted
To self.
Across the aisle, a loud conversation.
What do you mean you won’t meet me at the gate, honey?
A fervent prayer that
I won’t be stuck behind them
Leaving the parking garage
On the way home.

Today, Sean flung himself into my arms and declared, “Hold me like a baby!” with the slightest hint of a lisp, courtesy of the fact that he is now sans one front top incisor. The tooth he mysteriously damaged when he was a toddler had finally given up the ghost (or should I say ghotht) and, after a very bad experience at his now former pediatric dentist, it was pulled without much drama or trauma yesterday at his new pediatric dentist (this is a ranty entry in and of itself).

Now he is taller than the island in the kitchen, by a good couple inches.
Now when he tackles me to hug me, his head burrows into the middle of my ribcage.
Now when he’s hungry he yanks open the fridge or pantry and begins to rummage at will.
Now he writes the names of his classmates on the envelopes for his 5th birthday party.
Now he cleverly says ‘I love you’ or ‘I like your sweater’ or ‘You look nice today’ before asking for something. Little manipulator.

We see only flashes of the younger child, the toddler, the baby. When he yawns, his jaw goes sideways and his one eye ‘pirates’ just like a photo from when he was 2 weeks old. When he gets truly distressing news he falls apart into melodramatic, body-heaving sobs (like when we had to tell him 40 Sardines had closed; his wailings were so loud and ululating it was like being at a Peshtu funeral). But they are only flashes, easy to miss in the day to day of a child who cleans up after himself, switches the DVDs for himself, wanders about the house amusing himself properly when I have to deal with a conference call, talks knowledgeably about the differences between mammals and reptiles and amphibians.

“Mama! Hold me like a baby!”
“You’re not a baby anymore sweetie, but you’ll always be my baby. You’re just not a baby anymore.” I reply, as I cradle him in my arms like he is 2 weeks old again, his head and legs sprawling out far beyond the diameter of my embrace.
“I know,” he replies in that sweet, tender moment. “But that’s ok. Cause babies can’t play Warcraft.”

…