There are people in your life who've come and gone
They let you down and hurt your pride
Better put it all behind you; life goes on
You keep carryin' that anger, it'll eat you up inside
I've been trying to get down
to the heart of the matter
But my will gets weak
and my thoughts seem to scatter
But I think it's about forgiveness
Forgiveness
-The Heart of the Matter, Don Henley

Prologue: This was inspired by my writing "The Turning Point". It has been edited since its original posting today. But it is still not rated "G"

Picture of Elizabeth: Age 14, Thanksgiving

A few months before this picture was taken, my innocence had begun to crumble away. And I've never been able to forgive.

Every story has a beginning. Mine started in a hotel room on a vacation. A guy, a teenager, taking advantage of a puppy-eyed crush.

My life was chaos. My family was chaos. School was chaos. My emotions were chaos.

The next July 4th, still 14 years old, found me celebrating in a park with a group of kids that included him and his girlfriend.

Before the fireworks began, I slipped away and hopped on the subway. Cold and shivering from the rain, I disappeared. An hour later, I ended up at my AuntÂ’s house and refused to explain how I got there.

My mother’s face, once I was brought home, was a puzzle. I shrugged it off. The night before he'd had his hand under my shirt during Kirshner’s Flower Hour – and I'd liked it. The next day he'd teased my existence in front of a crowd while nuzzling someone else. How to explain?

He was older, and high up on a pedestal that I built for him out of the clay of my own emotions.

The first year blended into the second and ultimately into the 5th. The years of the secret. The years of memories, of friendship that was also something else. Of sitting in his car and talking about the stars overhead. Of his hand creeping up my thigh under the cover of a blanket. Of my heart pounding and the adrenaline rushing behind my ears.

Of sleeping in reach of each other, of touching but never kissing. Unspoken. Hidden.

Hearing him say he didn't want me 'like that' even as he was pulling my nightgown over my head. Quoting song lyrics to me in the dark, and a week later urging me to find a real boyfriend. Someone else. Anyone else.

And then pressing against me jealously when I did.

I never knew, if what happened between us was abuse or love. I still donÂ’t.

It was done once IÂ’d had my Turning Point. The therapist had traced back the self-destructive spiral to that relationship. That relationship that, off and on, I was still in.

My therapist challenged me to bring it out into the open or to end it. To take control of my heart and my body. So like a blonde warrior, I swooped in for a showdown.

Caught a plane, a rental car, and sat across from him in a smoky bar sharing a pack of his Camel Lights. We went back to his place, and spent the night struggling with each other.

By morning, it was clear. He refused to own our history. He would not legitimize us, nor would he apologize. In the face of my righteous empowerment, he offered me silence. No elocution. Like in a courtroom, as a condition of a plea bargain that the defendant must speak clearly and admit what has been done. Closure. Validation. As a path to forgiveness. He denied it to me.

And even at the end, when he watched me get in the car and drive away, he wouldnÂ’t kiss me goodbye because someone might see.

And he never asked me to forgive him.

So I didnÂ’t. HavenÂ’t. For 20 years.

ItÂ’s not like I am an unforgiving person. Last Sunday CD made a decision without me. That night he was on his knees beside my chair, eye to eye (because he's that tall and I'm... not). Looking at me and saying "Please, forgive me?" and me saying "Of course."

This morning I lay, still half asleep, and listened to my son packing up for the long trip across the hall. He arrived at my bedside with his sippy cup, his blanky, his stuffed bear, and some toys. I reached out and pulled him, stuff and all, across my body and into the nook where his daddy had slept, empty now with CD gone to work. As Bear was snuggling into the warmth, he accidentally got me hard in the eye with his sippy cup.

"Oh," he said, startled to see me reel back and announce 'Ouch!'. "Sorry, Mommy!" and he leaned in and kissed my owie.

And I said "That's all right, Bear. Just be careful, OK?"

And he said "OK, Mommy."

And it was done. Transgression, forgiveness, done. See? ThatÂ’s me, easy and comfortable with asking for and granting forgiveness.

Except. Not.

Obviously.

There is this hypocrisy.

That I have allowed myself for 2 decades. A grudge IÂ’ve nursed and used to hurt other people if they disagreed with it. I have refused to accept peace. All those sins of my youth and IÂ’m guarding just this last small piece of it in the shoe of my soul. Hurting.

You know, just a little stone. Which passes by most months and years without me even noticing.

Most of my life is a blessing. There is so much, in every aspect and every day that makes me feel so happy. I savor my husband, I adore my son, my family and friends, I enjoy my job, and thereÂ’s a large misshapen pumpkin adorning my little home in Pleasantville.

But there are some heavy decisions that need to be made in my lifeÂ… and for the last couple of weeks this has been working on my heart. I thinkÂ… I think that maybe, if I can... I need to stop clinging to this old wound.

It is time to let go. I wish I had some kind of rite, to lead the way. An Erev Yom Kippur.

Because I need to release this. And not for him, who never cared one way or the other.

But for me.

So here it is.

(Deep Breath)

Look, wherever you are. I forgive you.

I forgive you for everything we did to each other. I forgive you for hurting me. I forgive you for denying me.

I forgive you for not being able to count to 10. For denying what was ours.

I forgive you for making me feel like the aggressor. For blaming me for tempting you.

I forgive you for all the things we did, said, and believed. I forgive you for the years that I hurt and dreamed of us. I forgive you not loving me.

I forgive you.

And I ask you, please, to forgive me.

For all the ways that I hurt you. For all the pain that I helped make.

For the end, when I walked into the sun and told my story and dropped a bomb into your world – without warning. And for doing it with malice, with anger, with a desire to cleanse myself at your expense.

For all this I am sorry. If you can, pleaseÂ…

Forgive me, too.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 09:08 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
Post contains 1244 words, total size 7 kb.

- Thank you for all you thoughts and prayers for my Uncle. It doesn't look good, but we're taking the Winston Churchill approach (Never, Never, Never, Never, Never, Never Give Up).

- Please send some love to Anna, who designed my website. She just up and volunteered and did it for free. What a generous person. But yesterday her husband moved out. She has an adorable baby- they could use a little sweetness just about now

- Thank you for exhorting me to bring over my archives, I am doing them one at a time. The problem is that they look like This. Ugh. Obviously, Anna can't help and Scripty Goddess didn't have anything on the subject. Does anyone have any ideas on fixing this? Please?

- And most of all, Thank you for responding to me with so much kindness these past weeks. CD and I have been facing some wrenching issues and for now we have decided to "stay the course" on a path of improving our chances and then revisit our choices later.

CD suggested that some lighter posts might not go awry. So let's see what happens next....

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Picture by Elizabeth: Bear balancing on hay, 10/2004

How far would you go to have another child?

I'm so torn.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 09:38 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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Picture by Elizabeth: Into the Pumpkin Farm, 10/2004

Today was the annual trek to the pumpkin farm.

Since he was born, we've used a picture of Bear atop pumpkins as our Christmas Card. Yes, the hair. Right. So off we went, in eleventy-degree freezing weather. But clear as a bell, with colors aglow.

This place is nearly an amusement park. With food stands and a gift shop and pig races (yes, Arnold Schwartzenpigger won!) and a maze through the corn fields. Bear petted everything at the petting zoo, including some animals that would surprise you. Baby Water Buffalos, as it turns out, have warm tongues. In case you were wondering.

We got our pictures, and even a pumpkin. Bear threw himself atop a large misshapen thing that he hugged and rolled towards us, pleading with his big blue eyes. We gave in. We're suckers. CD carried the beast for a quarter mile back to the car, a sleepy and grateful Bear tagging behind happily.

Picture by Elizabeth: Pumpkin Field, 10/2004

I'm wind-burnt, full-up, happy, and not entirely de-stressed. I head off to dreams of John Crichton and caramel apples. Good night.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 05:23 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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It is a cold and dark and blustery day in Chicagoland. The three of us burrowed under the down comforter this morning until the last possible minute. Reluctantly Bear and I dropped CD off at work.

"Where are we going to go now?" Bear asked me as I turned onto Lake Shore Drive.

Good question.

Picture by Elizabeth: Runner on Lake Michigan, 10/2004

The lake was deep green and almost deserted. Navy Pier was lit up like a neon sign. So I swung into the $19 parking lot and in we trundled - over, over, around the strange singing people, and up the escalator to the Children's Museum.

Bear liked everything: the dinosaur dig, the water works, the construction zone, the ambulance and safety display, but his absolute favorite thing was Clifford's world.

He strapped on an official mail bag and delivered and picked up letters from the mailboxes scattered throughout the display. Then he would sort them at the 'Birdwell Post Office'. Giggle, concentrate, triumphantly match, rinse, repeat.

Picture by Elizabeth: Bear in Birdwell Post Office, 10/2004

I was struck by how many Dads were there. Usually, Bear and I hit the Children's Museums (we have a national membership) during the week when, and not to be sexist but reality is what it is, there is hardly a dad to be found.

Today, though, it was Dads-aplenty. All ages, sizes, colors, and shapes. And wedding rings galore. Big yellow gold numbers, thin silvery ones, and all kinds in between.

As Bear did his rounds back and forth, I watched families sifting around us. I smiled as one man gently tucked a strand of hair behind his wife's ear, the engraving of his ring catching the light. Another man, handsome and leather jacketed, enwined his fingers with his wife's and then pulled them up so he could kiss the back of her hand.

I laughed as one dad with gold practically down to his knuckle laid down in submission on the floor while his 3 boys (THREE!) pounced all over him. His wife held their pile of coats and tried to stifle a laugh as her man caught an accidental knee to the groin. His "oof!" had 20 of us, nearby, in a compassionate group groan.

I missed CD, and thought about how much fun he'd have with us. I thought about how his ring would join the tonnage of husbands' rings in the room. I thought about how profound and sacred it is to push a ring on someone's finger and claim them as your mate.

It's that moment. That intimate, vulnerable moment when the question is asked - "will you? me?". A wedding ring shouts "yes"!

In my religion we call it 'an outward symbol of an inward grace'.

I know not all cultures use them. My parents never wore wedding rings in the 22 years they were married. So I have no idea how I come by this... conviction. But there is something about them that resonates deep in my soul.

On an autumn night a long time ago, I once danced on a sidewalk under a streetlight to Anita Baker's Giving you the Best That I got as it echoed out to us from a party. I remember getting choked up at the line "I bet everything on my wedding ring".

I still get choked up when I hear that line.

Shaking off my thoughts, I saw that the big dog himself had showed up for an interview with a television crew. Bear informed me that the “guy in the Clifford costumeâ€� gave him "a bad feeling" so we put away the postal tools and moved on.

Picture by Elizabeth: Clifford, 10/2004

Bear held my hand, and twirled my ring.

I smiled to myself.

Back on the road, the hard winds rocking the van at the stoplight, dang if that Anita Baker song didn't come on the radio. Guess I was in synch with somebody out in radioland.

I sang loudly and badly as we looped out of Navy Pier. I got choked up at the end like I always do. The streets felt almost deserted. The wind was pushing aginst the few people out on the sidewalks. The threatening sky was a dark ceiling overhead, and I wondered if we'd make it hom before the rain hit.

Picture by Elizabeth: Leaving Navy Pier, 10/2004

“Mommy?â€� Bear asked, puffy-eyed and tired in the back seat.

“Yes, Bear?â€� I answered, turning down the music.

“Next time, we should bring Daddy. OK? Does that sound like a good idea?â€�

“That sounds like an excellent idea,â€� I agreed.

And I thought of CD, wearing my ring as he worked. A physical, visible, unspoken announcement that he is a part of me, wherever he is. And me, a part of him.

And we... a part of him.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 03:19 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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48 Hours until Ben Browder (um, yum) and Claudia Black return in Farscape: The Peacekeeper Wars on SciFi Channel.

Gentlemen and Ladies, Start your TiVo's.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 02:44 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Is this real? Because, wow.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 04:29 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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The Zero Boss: Blogging for Books #4: The Top Seven has selected The Turning Point as a Top Seven selection. There is a follow-up to the post entitled From There to Here. Thus ends the 2-part experiment in retelling my own private Cukoo's Nest.

Thanks, Jay. I'm melting tonight from all the complimentary... compliments.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 04:43 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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Corporate Mommy is a Genuine Site of the Week. How cool is that?! Hello GENUINE people!

*whew, look at this traffic. Kind of makes me wish I'd cleaned the bathrooms*

Welcome to Corporate Mommy. Thanks for stopping by. And when you see Genuine, would you give him a kiss for me and thank him for the compliment? The big galoot.

*blush*

PS: I heart comments. I really really heart comments. Just saying. Great way to break the ice and all. OK. Probably made my point. Comments.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 04:39 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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Dear Dude,

I read about what you did, and I figure you're new here.

Sorry about the sign, I've been bugging GW to get it fixed for ages, but you know how HE is... oh sure, he'll charm the pants off you but does he ever get to his To-Do list? That's what I'm saying.

So you missed the sign. Yeah, I'll catch you up - no worries.

'Home of the Free'

Here's how it works - you are free to make any choices as long as you don't interfere with the choices of others.

This means you can be a reformed Druid and drop to your knees and pray to a Ficus. How cool is that? Just think of all the places this is illegal.

It was once in this country, too. In the olden days there was an assumption that society had to litigate Christianity to preserve the souls of its citizens. But in the last century, we've been exposed to enough Roddenberry to realize that legalizing any religion is stupid and wrong and always leads to very bad things.

Sure, you might see some old 'moral' laws still around, or people trying to put new ones on the books.

Ignore them.

Turns out that organized Christianity has problems enough. Oh, and this just in - turns out that Christianity isn't the only religion on the planet.

So stick with me here, I wouldn't lead you astray. Focus on statements like Voltaire- "I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."

In America we embrace this Freedom within an imperfect social and civil law system meant to make sure that your rights end at your neighbor's nose. It's a dream, the one at the foundation of this country.

It means that you absolutely have the freedom not to take part in a sin by your definition. You may lay down your life for your Ficus, bro - and hey I'll applaud you for it. Not enough Ficus-loving going on.

And you are free to grab a sign, step on public property, and warn away anyone you feel is in dire risk of their soul. Oh - yes, this is part of your freedom too. You can shout up and down in front of the Municipal Building that garage sales can cause demon possessions. You can warn people away from getting garage sale permits and invite them to donate their worldly goods to your Church of the Ficus.

But. Here's a quiz. What can't you do?

You can't go to school, get a job at the Municipal Building, and then start denying people garage sale permits if they are legally entitled to them. Because? That's right! No interfering with other people's freedoms.

This also means you can't go to school, get a job at the Brooks Pharmacy, and tell the person with the prescription that they can't have their drugs.

I know that there has been a trend of this lately, and that maybe you even think that you showed courage. And maybe you did.

It's not for me to say.

I can say that a safe, effective Birth Control pill was a battle before your time, and that toothpaste isn't going back in the tube until hordes of men clamoring to wear condoms make it obsolete.

And maybe, maybe, just maybe, you're thinking - well there's no law against denying it.

Ah.

But you forget. I said "Social and Civil Law System..."

Don't be embarrassed. Many foreigners get confused by this. Now you can see why I've been on GW about that sign...

Honey, in this country, our power comes not only from our laws but from something almost as strong - our wallets. That means while it's not against the law for you to refuse to do your job in the face of your religion it's also not against the law for you to be fired for it.

Ain't capitalism a bitch?

I hope this all helped you; I could see you were unclear on the concept. My heart went out. If not, hey - at least it was something for you to read in between the want ads.

Oh, and Welcome to America.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 02:49 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Make me a promise.

Promise me if CD and I don't work things out, that you'll help me hold on to my humanity. Promise me you'll print this out, this open letter of Post-Nuptial promise and you'll stick it to my head with Crazy Glue so I can't avoid my own words.

Promise me.

Not that we're getting divorced. I know love isn't enough but it counts for some serious glue - and we do actually have a bulldozer full of it for each other. Adoring, sweet, scrumptious kind love for each other.

But.

I was reading Emily's blog today and she isn't the first one to demonize her Ex. To end up in an angry battle where she and he are slinging unholy mud at each other. I mean even in my own family, this has happened before my own eyes.

Two people, who make a child together. Who will be the only two people in the world who will ever, ever be so in love together for that baby and who that baby grows up to be.

Please.

Remind me that CD was the one, who believed even after the doctor had given up. Remind me that CD roared Bear's name, grinning, when that heartbeat showed strong. Remind me that we slept together, and it was CD's neck that pillowed our new Bear, and how I wept with too much love.

If it all falls apart, and I strap on the gloves, stop me.

Point to CD, and tell me again how this man has every right that I do to our child. That he is flawed and infuriating sometimes but he is good always. That he should never have to beg for his access to his child. That nothing he does to me as a husband should be taken out on him as a father.

Remind me.

If I forget and allow this miracle, this child we walked through coals to have, to become a bone between two dogs. Kick me in the ass.

Remind me that I am an adult, and can use my words. That I am an adult and can use my ears. That I am an adult and know how to share gracefully.

That every tragedy does not have to have a bad guy.

Promise me that you will squeeze my hand and point my anger to ground, where it will not defile my son's heroic vision of his father.

Promise me that no matter what, I will not assume that I am somehow the more entitled parent because of biology.

Promise me that you will help guide me away from retribution or fear to a place where I remember that no divorce could ever stop me from sharing parenthood with CD.

I know that we don't all get happily ever after. I learned that a long time ago. But I fully intend to spend the rest of my life with this man, and torture my son with the embarrassment of finding my dead body astride his father's - with a wicked grin on my face and my false teeth in a glass by the bed.

But just in case. I mean, just as a plan for a very last resort ...

Promise me.

Please.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 02:28 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
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1 I promise. Do the same for me, okay? Wonderful sentiment, Elizabeth.

Posted by: Jim at October 14, 2004 03:13 AM (GCA5m)

2 Absolutely! You know, your writing has grown very strong in just the time I began reading you several months ago and now. I thought I should tell you

Posted by: AGK at October 14, 2004 05:30 AM (17YKZ)

3 Amen girl. Growing up in a separated family with two parents that bad mouthed each other, I will never do that, no matter what.

Posted by: Jazzy at October 14, 2004 06:31 AM (H2JDL)

4 My ex husband and I are living proof that divorced parents can get along better when divorced than when married. That we can put the needs of our child first. That no matter what we can keep our promise NEVER to use our child as a pawn. Besides raising a wonderful child, getting along with my ex-husband is one of my acheivements that I am most proud of.

Posted by: Alexia at October 14, 2004 06:52 AM (SsPc6)

5 Dude. You made me cry. I'm weeping at my desk like a crazy woman and all I can do when the kids look concerned is gesture at the screen and sniffle.

Posted by: Michele at October 14, 2004 07:18 AM (FlmTP)

6 Oh honey, I promise. How beautifully put.

Posted by: Coleen at October 14, 2004 07:42 AM (vdU70)

7 I agree with AGK. Maybe it's the new look or mu.nu. did something, but your writing lately... I've got chills.

Posted by: Terri at October 15, 2004 10:04 AM (LRR15)

8 You have a way with words. Very well put. I promise, if you promise me right back. Words to live by.

Posted by: lex at October 15, 2004 12:33 PM (1Fr5p)

9 Beautiful, and very true.

Posted by: Jenny at October 16, 2004 10:19 AM (fcvxR)

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I sat down with Bear yesterday and explained to him that we were going back to see his Nana in Boston. That we would be spending Halloween with Uncle and Aunt and not, as originally planned, here at home.

Bear: But I'm still going to be a Blue Power Ranger?

Me: Yes, honey. You're still going to be the Blue Power Ranger. With your sword AND your shield. That will be just the same. I just have to hem the costume to make it fit

Bear: But not cut it

Me: Yes, a little bit. We talked about this. The one we got is too big

Bear: No, it's not

Me: Yes, it is

Bear: Is not

Me: Yes, it is

Bear: Banana Farts!

Me: No Banana Farts! Bear, I still need to hem your Power Ranger outfit. It's dangerous to have you tripping on it

Bear: NO YOU CAN'T OR ELSE YOU WILL TAKE ITS POWER LIKE SAMPSON!

Me: Power Rangers do NOT have hair, they have helmets and this is not the same thing

Bear: Yes IT IS

Me: No, it's not

Bear: YES IT IS BANANA FARTS INFINITY. And Power Rangers DO have hair under their helmets. Especially the Blue one. And the Black one

Me: Bear, yes I understand that you are the leading authority in the Power Ranger field and that is very cool. But Daddy and I are responsible for your safety and tripping on that suit in the dark is NOT safe. If you don't let me hem it up for you, then you can't go out trick or treating with it. Do you understand?

Bear: Fine. I only want it for bad guys anyway. I don't even LIKE trick or treating!

Me: Fine

Bear: Fine!

Yeah, I'm a bad mommy. Cuz you know what I did? While he was napping? Yes. I CUT THAT SUIT. I did. And? He didn't notice! So. There.

Meanwhile, in adult-land... Dee bought us tickets to our (hers and mine together) 8th Lyle Lovett concert as an early birthday gift! Lyle's coming to town with John Hiatt in February.

Heavens, just get past that hair, which is some kind of freak of nature, because you have got to LOVE a man who writes a lyric having Tonto finally say "Kiss my ass Kimosabe" to the old Lone Ranger. Yes, baby, if I had a pony - you know I'd be riding him on my boat; and if I had a boat I would ride out on the ocean...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 07:01 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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1 My favorite Lyle song is, She was Ugly from the front. Cracks me up every time. Now I need some Lyle. fyi... Remember personal info isn't working.

Posted by: Jazzy at October 12, 2004 05:46 AM (H2JDL)

2 Banana farts? Really? Ugh, I just don't understand the lingo kids are using these days.

Posted by: Terri at October 13, 2004 06:26 AM (LRR15)

3 Way to sneak in a hem job! Banana Farts Infinity!

Posted by: Jenny at October 13, 2004 02:40 PM (fcvxR)

4 ok, I'm going to fall over laughing. that conversation was hilarious. I'm both looking forward to and completely dreading the day when Jake finally figures out how to speak in sentances and not just 2 word demands. Jen

Posted by: Jen_Jake'smom at October 14, 2004 06:08 AM (2/T1v)

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I want to thank everyone for your kind emails about my Blogging for Books entry. I published it on a weekend, when I figured traffic would be slow, and was blown away by the kind responses. I've tried to write a thank you for each one; but this is my deep bow public thanks. I am so terribly touched and grateful.

I've read most of those other entries and frankly, some of those bloggers should, and probably will, be Top 10 authors. I recommend them.

The overwhelming question that has been asked is "However did you ever get from there to here”?

It was a slow climb. For years, I kept getting into relationships where I had to "test" my partner, to make sure he would hold fast - even if I was pummeling him with little rabbit punches in anguished fury. It took me years to learn how to argue, how to share, how to give up control of the relationship but not responsibility.

I made many mistakes. It took a counselor's help but the cycles grew looser and healthier. I had to fight perception, the ones that kept me pegged. "Oh, she's broke again" they would complain. "Oh, they're breaking up. You know how she is with relationships."

In May, 2000 I kind of had that "epiphany" moment. CD's company had flown both of us out to California so CD could manage an IT migration. They put us up at a gorgeous hotel, and I was on a brief lull from bedrest in my second trimester expecting Bear.

We took our new digital camera to Santa Monica one afternoon, and I realized as we walked barefooted down the beach: Hey, I'm happily married, solvent and debt-free with a down payment for a house in the bank... we have a counselor teaching us good relationship skills, good friends, love, good careers, and we have a baby on the way.

More than a dozen years since that fateful court date, and ... I was here. Giggly and pink-cheeked and happy, I told CD that we were walking in a dream come true.

"That's funny," he said, kissing me soundly. "I thought we were walking in California."

Picture by Elizabeth: Santa Monica Beach 5/2000

And I had some additional realizations in that tangerine sunset:

1) They don't send down an actual angelic choir of angels when there's an epiphany. More like a flock of seagulls dive bombing your rental car.

2) Drama, crises, orgasmic joy - these things happen in everyone's life. It's OK to have a juicy existence and to live out loud - as long as it is from a center of confidence and faith, and there is a state of grace within.

3) Digital cameras don't like sand.

4) Reenacting that scene from "From Here to Eternity" won't have the same zing if wearing maternity panties.

5) The secret to my future happiness was in nothing that was said back then, it was in Linda's example: Kindness. Just that. Kindness.

6) And wherever "here" is, it will never be so far from "there". Both places are indelibly a part of me. It keeps my perspective grounded.

So, who would have guessed that doting mommy living with her tall husband in Pleasantville - the lady who manages programs larger and more expensive than governments of many small nations - would have, long ago, spent a tortured week bottoming out in a Red Roof Inn?

Yeah. So. The good news is that I became this person from those experiences. The bad news is, with those experiences I'll never be President.

As. If.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 09:25 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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1 You'd make a much BETTER president than any of the current or recent choices. Something to think about.

Posted by: ben at October 11, 2004 10:56 AM (cMBPb)

2 Exactly what I was thinking ben. Corporate Mommy for President! WOW for that story! You amaze me!

Posted by: Jazzy at October 11, 2004 11:02 AM (H2JDL)

3 I loved, loved? is that a good word, your story. I am glad that you have been able to move past and that you have become a better person. You bring "that that does not kill you makes you stronger" saying to mind. I hope you win the contest, but in so many ways you have already won. Thanks for sharing part of your life with us.

Posted by: Chica at October 11, 2004 03:15 PM (v4tcM)

4 Epiphanies are for putting under a glass bell to look at the sparkly colors and lights and remembering the magical moment when they smacked you on the head. At least, that's what mine is for-sometimes I even take it out from the glass and try it on with a feather boa. Yours sounded beautiful. -Helen VP of MAS Oh yes-and I would so have written you in as my presidential candidate.

Posted by: Helen at October 11, 2004 08:25 PM (psQcz)

5 wow. your blogging for books entry was the first I have ever read by you, munu sister , and I will be back for more. thank you for sharing such a personal experience with all of us. My sisters and I often talk about people who have been through 'character building' experiences and come out on top (like you have) as 'people like us'. Most of my best friends are in that category. Some of the best writers I have ever read are in that category too. there's something that sets us apart from those who haven't had their evolutionary crises yet. I think it's an inner strength and beauty that only those who have hit rock bottom can understand. Thank you again hon .

Posted by: goldie at October 13, 2004 02:43 PM (qaUo/)

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Christopher Reeve died Sunday, October 10, 2004.

I certainly have the motto that nothing is impossible
- Christopher Reeve

Posted by: Elizabeth at 08:24 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Fall is our season, me and Bear's.

I was a stay at home mom and he was a newborn in the fall of 2000. I pushed him marathons of miles on those city sidewalks deep with leaves. We were bundled against the brisk wind, and would often stop at the local coffee shop to breathe in the warm steam.

After that, it was set. It gets colder, and Bear and I seem to reconnect.

I remember last year, one afternoon, Bear came up to me and announced that we should rake the leaves. So out we went, and for crisp sunny hours we built and destroyed the same piles over and over.

This weekend felt like the first real weekend of autumn. The chill has settled into the mornings, although the days are fine. The leaves have just begun to turn.

With CD working, Bear and I indulged ourselves. Friday night we grabbed a flashlight and walked for almost 2 hours around the neighborhood admiring all the Halloween displays.

Everywhere else is amateur league it seems, compared to here - my own personal Pleasantville. Here, people decorate for each season as if, at any time, a truck could come by and haul your house off to be in a parade. Bear and I admired the dozens of displays, the colored lights and ghosts and giant spiderwebs. The orange spotlights on scarecrows and pumpkins.

Saturday we dawdled for hours, playing at the park and leting Bear ride his bike along the sidewalks with first fallen leaves crunching beneath his wheels. His Spiderman backpack filled with a snack, and his PowerRanger sword from his costume near at hand, in case an Immortal should suddenly appear and need to be dueled.

Today we snuggled at home, he dressed in full Blue Power Ranger kit and me, well, not. He dragged over a chair and helped me finally clear out the backlog of dishes. We made apple smelling suds with Dawn and scrubbed side by side, playing an alphabet game - coming up with as many words as we could for a particular sound.

At bedtime, he pulled over his current favorite book - a poem by James Riley - and we read it together, the words we've almost got down by heart. These are the days that take the sting out of the rest of life. It was a good weekend. It was a great weekend. And I think? We both needed one.

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here --
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock --
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries -- kindo' lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below -- the clover over-head! --
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock!

From: WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN, by James Whitcomb Riley

Posted by: Elizabeth at 04:27 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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This post is for a writing contest called "Blogging for Books". The assigned topic is "the edge of insanity".

PLEASE CONSIDER BEFORE READING.

Know first:
This entry includes extremely personal information, violence, sexual content, and profanity.

If you know me in real life, if you remember these events, and if we've made peace since then. If you didn't know me then, and can't imagine it, and never wanted to. Stop now. Move along.

Writing this post was a intensely private experience. I appreciate your feedback, but not in an open forum. So I am closing the comments. Thank you. more...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 06:59 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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This boy is SERIOUS about his daily half-hour of Rescue Heroes.

Bear (holding himself and bouncing up and down in front of the TV): I got to go potty!

CD: Then GO, don't just dance!

Bear (bouncing and pointing at the TV): But it's Rescue Heroes! Pause it!

CD (Lurching towards the TiVO): OK! Go! GO!

Bear (From the bathroom): OK! I made it!

CD (To me): What happens if he has to go somewhere where there is Rescue Heroes and no "Pausing"?

Me (Shuddering): There are places without TiVo?

Posted by: Elizabeth at 10:36 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Me: Bear?

Bear (looking up from empty Cheerio bowl): Yes, Mommy?

Me: Please put your bowl in the sink if you're finished.

Bear: But I'm stil hungry, Mommy. Very very hungry.

Me: Oh, I didn't realize. OK, I'll pour you some more Cheerios.

Bear: No, my tummy wants bacon and pancakes. Hear it grumbling?

Me: Oh, no. I'm not in a cooking mood this morning, Bear. Let's stick to Cheerios. Or there's yoghurt.

Bear (heaving a big sigh and reaching for his little apron): No, thanks. I'll just cook it myself.

P.S. Well, of course I ended up helping.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 07:15 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Never heard of ya-yaÂ’s? Strap a preschooler into a 5-point harness in a minivan. Start driving. No matter how many DVD's, sing-alongs, sticker books or snacks you run through - eventually, the child's head will start to spin in complete rotation while he screams the theme to Digimon over and over like a satanic chant.

Remember that? From the never-ending fairy tale that was our trip to Boston JUST THIS AUGUST?

Like labor and my wedding planning, I'd had the Asgard remove those 60 hours (there and back) from my memory banks so I wouldn't go stark raving loony and start doing illegal things with flowers beyond just the getting-to-know-you conversations we've been having lately.

But now, now it rushes back to me. In Technicolor. And I am afraid.

I am very afraid.

CD (in the background): Honey? Which route are we taking this time? New York or Ohio?

Me (shuddering, muttering, to myself): help

Posted by: Elizabeth at 12:12 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Today we found out that my beloved Uncle is sick. He is very sick. As my Aunt wrote: "Keep us in your positive thoughts. I want more time with this man."

After I found out, I wasn't doing a good job of holding it together. This was definitely a "Take this job and shove it" day. But some things couldn't be rescheduled on account of life sucking. So I called up this old picture, and put one foot in front of the other.

Like my husband's favorite Simpson's episode - the one that ends with Homer, at his job station, surrounded by pictures of Baby Maggie. The sign above him has been altered so it reads "Do it for her."

P.S. They still fall asleep like this, and I still sneak up and take pictures when they do. I've learned to turn off the flash, though.

P.P.S. All good thoughts for my Uncle are deeply, deeply appreciated.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 06:37 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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