I think I miss my cat too much.

Strange thoughts like dust motes crowd my head.

Or, is that just me?

Once upon a time CD and I had this idea, like a dream, that we wanted to raise Bear up North. Under the Northern Lights, like his father had. Skating and skiing and shoveling, like I had.

We loved this idea. We traveled to towns across the continent, looking for the right place to make our pin in the map. We bundled up suitcases and pillows into the van and watched the miles slip under our tires.

For 3 years. But finding the right place takes time.

Unless, of course, you admit you've never found it. Not really.

We found a place that felt sort of nice, and began thinking we should make the move there and quibble perfection later. It was close enough to my family on the East Coast that we could use them as a launching pad.

That was last spring. Coming home to lilacs already waning.

A year ago.

We didn't move, I've noticed. My rooms are the same. The clutter follows me like a friendly children's show monster. It sips daintily from a mug of tea and gives me a wink.

The reasons we stayed and didn't go are over there in the corner. They're real, tangible. They can be drawn and measured and they all make sense.

So here we are, now. Still in this place. Still in this house. Because instead of moving North - instead we find we must move South. Something we dread.

But my body has put its foot down. For my health, we go what feels like the wrong way. Still smitten with the idea of huffing cold air and watching the pink light of afternoon splashing on long snowy stretches of Earth. Smitten, but realistic.

With greater debt, stumbling credit scores, and a goofy puppy with a poodle afro. We wonder about pulling up stakes and going somewhere. Without the enthusiasm of the destination, logistics overwhelm us. We're stuck. We're afraid.

But we have something we didn't have, before. Before I left my career and began us on this spin.

On Sunday, Bear read his first book from cover to cover - all by himself. It was Green Eggs and Ham. He read it out loud, understanding the words and punctuation.

Perhaps this is no big deal. At 7 and a half, it may be considered overdue by some. After a school year of brutal hours spent trying every which way you can imagine, inch by inch, to get him to read.

And then, to listen to his clear voice ringing through the rooms - suddenly utterly confident and sure - well, it was nothing short of a miracle.

He just grabbed the book from a pile and began.

Maybe we'll figure this out. Maybe we won't. Maybe we'll find a way to move. Maybe we'll still be here next year. Maybe I'll go back to work. Maybe CD will homeschool Bear or I will or he'll make so much progress that he mainstreams back into school.

I don't know. My brain is operating on half a cup of coffee. I have 4 deadlines I'm juggling. My son is dawdling about starting his lessons and I think he's decided not to wear clothes today. And I haven't even brushed my teeth yet.

It's just a random Tuesday, juggling corporate and mommy and 10 other things besides.

I used to be smitten with this idea - that someday, we'd get wherever it was we would be going.

I'm not sure if its wisdom or lack of faith that made me let go of all of that. I'd need another cup of coffee to even begin to think about it. I look at a picture of Bear from when he wasn't yet 2 and laugh at the ideas I had then. He's 7 now. He wears a size 4 shoe. He can read.

And maybe his mom is growing up, too.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 02:53 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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An amazing offer fell from the sky recently to do some corporate ghostwriting. Just as we were feeling pressed against the wall, teeth bared against the wolves - well, it was like a little, happy miracle.

So I installed a new version of Word, sharpened all my pencils.

And?

Turns out that I suck.

First of all, I have utterly forgotten how to play corporate politics.

I flopped about like a carp in the bottom of the boat. Interviewees gave information grudgingly, passing me about like a frisbee. Every time I'd string together a nugget of information, flares were sent up demanding its inspection for the corporate party line. The teacupped tempests that followed drove me under my desk in confusion.

Oh, I miss THOSE so much! (Only, not.)

Second of all, Blogging KILLS writing.

No, really. My grammar has become so sloppy that a new word needs to be invented for what I'm doing to the English language. The poor editor had to re-write my first attempt to the extent that when I opened it up in Word - it looked like one big long RED LINE.

I figured, after tortuous weeks, that I was fired.

For 3 days, I waited to hear if anything I'd submitted was even remotely usable.

And then, a call. A mixed signal. Nothing cut and dried. "You sucked, but with promise. Here's another assignment. Try again."

Don't wanna, I thought, utterly embarrassed.

It was humiliating how poorly I'd done. Like watching a video of me attempting to ice skate for the first time in 10 years. "And she's up! And look at those arms spin, ladies and gentlemen! I haven't seen windmilling like that since the toddlers took the ice last Saturday! Oh, and here she goes! Clear the space, people...she's...she's...DOWN!"

Suck it up, Elizabeth.

So I took a deep breath and began working, again. With lots of loud replaying of Elton John's Live in Australia CD. And lots of ginger candies for nausea.

Guy on the other side of the world, being interviewed by me one sunny afternoon, said "You HAVE to have some harder questions in that bag of yours?"

Oh, HELL no, I thought. Burned and timid.

And then, at one point, he jokingly repeated the famous Nelson signal: England expects that every man will do his duty.

I laughed, right on cue.

But it reminded me a of different Napoleonic quote. John Jervis, First Lord of the Admiralty, who was so sure of the British Navy that he stood in front of the House of Lords and said "I do not say, my Lords, that the French will not come. I say only they will not come by sea."

Commitment and confidence will win any battle. You just can't walk into an assignment believing that the result will be anything less than a success.

Of course, starting from an emotional humbled puddle on the floor... it wasn't easy to rebuild my enthusiasm.

Eventually I began crawling, walking, and finally really working.

CD watched me tap away at the keyboard one night not long after. He crossed his arms, and smiled down at me. "You found a line to hold?"

I nodded, not pausing. "Maybe I'll still get fired," I told him. "but if I do, I'm gonna leave an Elizabeth-shaped hole in the wall. I'm going to give it everything I got and see what happens. So, I suck. But I used to be a good writer, it's got to be in me somewhere."

"Never give up, never surrender?"

"By Grabthor's hammer," I agreed.

Burn down the mission, indeed.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 03:42 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Last week, someone I once knew died.

When I was growing up, I thought death was optional. I really did. Didn't you? We were little and grown-ups were big and the pillows were soft and night lights were magical. And we didn't know then that everyone dies. We thought that only happened to goldfish and far-off grandparents, maybe.

My son was was just a year old when my grandmother, who was also my dear friend, died. My husband was separated from me and I didn't have the money to get to her as she lay dying or afterward, to get to her funeral. I spent the day they laid her to rest holding him, tucked beneath my tears.

Each year since, there have been these phone calls. These horrible, horrible phone calls. A cascade and sometimes trickle, but never-ending.

I hate the phone calls I get.

"What are you doing, Mommy?"

"Someone I once knew, died. I am writing cards to his family."

"Oh," he leans against me, his narrow shoulder digging into my arm. He pats my cheek softly. "It's sad, Mommy?"

It is, and I am. I nod.

"I wish no one had to die," he says quietly. "At least for a while."

I agree, and wish I could make night lights magical for him again. And, to be honest, for me.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 02:31 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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