Archive for the ‘Friends’ Category

Rara sends her love

Does it look like we're miserable?

With Rara in orange and Dave in the middle

I met Rara and her husband, Dave, a week before my second son was born.

Rara went to prison a couple of weeks later. Innocence doesn’t pay attorney fees.

She’s still in prison.

She was there when Dave posted that he had an infection a few weeks ago.

She was there when he died soon after.

Today, my husband, sons and I drove to Dave’s memorial.

My five-year-old, Li’l D, couldn’t understand how Rara had ended up in prison.

My husband and I answered Li’l D’s many questions until my husband finally said, “Some bad guys fight with swords. Other bad guys fight with paper. She met the kind who fights with paper.” Read more…

Hug and kiss trees

Three years ago, I took my then two-year-old son to Buffy the Vampire Slayer‘s “Sunnydale High.”

A couple of fellow Buffy-loving friends were getting married, and I wanted to make them a special–if not exactly visually stunning–gift.

This was the gift

This was the gift

I spent more time there than I needed for my gift. Buffy was a life-changing show for me, not only for its content but for how it ushered in a new era of my life: The Era of Girlfriends. Read more…

This was the year

Just a few hours less than a year ago, I held my tiny second son in my arms.

Me and Littler J

He fit so neatly in the crook of my arm then. Now, a heartbeat and an eternity later, he wouldn’t stay there even if he did still fit.

I get that. It’s been such a whirlwind of a year that I have a hard time sitting still now, too. I feel like a storm will come along and blow me away if I try to settle in, so I’d better just keep rolling with it and test my landing seat when the winds slow.

This was the year I moved my older son to a new school, only to discover a new school with a mean teacher is a far more destructive choice than an old school with a loving one. This was the year he quickly returned to the old one.

(It’s also the year I learned a loving teacher can work wonders, pulling a terrified child out of his new-built shell with her tender tenacity.)

This was the year I sobbed in the middle of my living room floor, not from sadness but from emptiness. I angrily chased post partum depression away, but sadness remained in her stead. Read more…

My village

Sleep eludes me as I listen to my baby son’s labored breathing.

Intellectually, I’m pretty certain he’ll be fine with another few hours to kick this flu.

Instinctively, it’s a different matter. Some part of me says I must stay awake to listen for signs of distress.

So I’m awake. I’m awake and thinking how exhausting life is right now, but also how full of hope. In four hours, I’ll begin my penultimate day with my new job. I’ll be working from home to help nurse Littler J back to health while wrapping up what I can, reporting to my manager via instant messaging instead of office check-ins. What a gift it is to have the option, if only for another day!

My older son, Li’l D, was sick just last Thursday. I wanted to wrap up as much as possible before leaving my current job, so asked my husband to stay home with him. He works in television, but I figured there was a chance he could bail since it was a non-filming day.

My husband took Li’l D to work on set instead. Read more…

“The fun begins in 3 … 2 … 1!”

Folks, please allow me to perform an improvisational dance in the corridor!

For your added pleasure, I’ll throw in a game of dodge-the-flight-attendant! It’ll be merriment for your whole family, but you’ll only catch it if you kindly set aside your tablets and laptops and books, oh my!

The fun begins in 3 … 2 … 1!

In “My sweet, soaring vulnerability,” I wrote that “I only have panic attacks before takeoff.”

That’s true. When flying, I only have full blown panic attacks before takeoff.

It’s also true that I’ve felt panic’s fiery grip in flight. It’s much less common, and I’ve avoided the worst by reminding myself I was just fine up until four seconds ago. By counting in twos the moment my vision starts dimming. Counting backwards from 100. Breathing in and out in slow, even rhythm. Doing crossword puzzles. Telling the person next to me I’m about to have a full blown panic attack if they don’t share their thoughts on the weather and/or their favorite sports team pronto.

There was one time none of my usual in flight strategies worked.

I’m trapped. I’m trapped! I thought myself around in dizzying circles. I am stuck in a sky on the plane and the seatbelt light is on and the flight attendants said I have to stay in my seat so I am trappedtrappedtrapped!

On the verge of a full blown panic attack, I asked myself one question that changed everything: Read more…

No address needed

I met J through Buffy the Vampire Slayer forums.

Our online friendship became an offline one when she visited Los Angeles my second or third year of law school.

She stayed at my apartment. She didn’t complain when I abandoned her to work as a “goth” extra on Crossing Jordan. She kept herself busy in ways I’ve long since forgotten, and then took pictures of me when I returned. I’d booked another day working as a goth on Alias and was determined to leave in my snazzy ‘do.

Her pictures were beautiful. They captured a me who’d never before existed in the external world.



Read more…

Love forever ours

“I threw away his pants.”

You what?! my expression must have screamed, for she continued nervously.

“They were such a mess. I mean, they were ruined. Trust me. Poop. All. Over. So I threw them out.”

I thought of twenty different things I wanted to say to my baby son’s temporary care provider, but none would be useful. I opted instead for a simple, “Which pants were they?”

“Just some brown ones … ”

Ugh. Those “just some brown ones” were special to me. My blogging friend Peg had sent them to me for my baby son, Littler J, so that I smiled every time I saw them. “Just” a pair of pants, they reminded me how my “real,” day to day life has been brightened by the caring of people I’ve only met–so far–online.

little brown pants

As I collected my son, I felt saddened by change. My sadness was about more than a pair of pants. Read more…


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