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My Profile
Fairytales for a Practical Princess - 2008-11-30
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9:20 a.m. - 2003-08-17
Well, well, well. Didn't even notice my anniversary. I'm now a 2 year D-lander. I'm also just a couple shy of 600 entries. That's about right. I know I've gotten laggier of late, but the nearly daily entry vow I made to myself when I signed up has been mostly fulfilled. What's happened in these two years? I mean, what's gone on in my life? For sure the outside world influences my inner world, but I have no desire to spend the morning googling and fact checking while I recount the battles, the outrages, the bitter whittling of civil liberties that have gone on since the Bushmen seized the White House. What personal milestones have been reached during my time here in D-land? The kids come first, of course. I'm a mom, a mom, a mom and where my children are is where I'm at. Alex: Got taller than me. First just scant millimeters, then inches. In public I am nearly always one of tallest people around. Like a human Hubble telescope, I look down on my fellow Earthlings and subsequently know more about bald spots and hair-dye roots than is good for me. But here in my home I have become a short person. Even Mike is shorter than our boy now and is none too pleased about it. Learned to drive. He sure took his time about it though. On one hand it's been a blessing that I haven't spent white knuckle nights wondering where my kid was while he was out jack-assing around in a speedy glass and steel death mobile. On the other I think his social life might have been busier and there were times I could have used the help of his being able to run into town to get the milk/bread/cigarettes for me. Licensing is sooner than soon finally, his road test is in 3 days. He's ready. Had his heart broken. Found another love. And there's a "Don't ask. Don't tell." policy in effect about the time he's spent upstate on campus with Abby. And what of campus? Alex has graduated high school. Been accepted at Oswego. When I signed up here he was just going into his junior year at Podunkville High. That smooth cheeked boy is a bearded hairy chested man now. And is leaving for university in 10 days. Wolf: Was potty trained. Never one to be concerned with norms and statistical growth charts, Wolf would make no poops in the potty before his time, nevermind what the parenting books said. So at the ripe old age of 4 my younger boy finally abandoned his Pull-Ups and donned Big Boy Underpants forever and anon. Became a "case". My nebulous suspicions that there was something wrong-er with my kid than just an iron willed personality abetted by a super stubborn and iconoclastic DNA soup, he was culled from the crowd of soon-to-be kindergarteners and set on a whirlwind tour of medical doctors, shrinks, and learning specialists. That his tears, tantrums, routines, hyper-activity, garbled speech, and blithe disregard for discipline and personal safety had jelled into something known and labeled was a heart-scalding relief. Heart-scalding because it's damn scary and hard to be told there's something officially wrong with your kid, and relieving because up until that point I simply thought I was one crappy mother. And while I struggle with my own issues about Wolf's handicapped status, it was damn fine to cock a snook at my MIL, Lou, the public at large, and my darling husband who had ALL agreed with my harsh self-assessment and believed along with me that I was a shitty mother and Wolf's behavior was solely the result of my ineptitude. Goes to school. In August of 2001 I was as attached to my kid as if the umbilical cord had never been severed. Where I went, Wolf went. Not a moment's peace or privacy. It was dangerous to leave him alone, even for a brief potty break. He came with me into the can. The shower. He was the shadow and ankle cuff of my days. The first 300 entries in this diary were written either in the dead of night when he was blessedly asleep or he was here at my feet scattering my attention and assuring that those 700 words took a minimum of 5 hours to set down on screen. On Sept 3 Wolf starts first grade and like with kindergarten last year I will have a whole 7 hours to myself each and every weekday, barring vacations, until June 23. Behaves himself. He still has his days, but the last few months have been so much fun! We laugh together. Snuggle. Have secrets and inside jokes. I can take him places with me and not set off with an already dreading heart sinking under the foreknowledge of the tantrums and crashes sure to come. While I have always, always loved him, I'm finally allowed to relax my warder's grip and LIKE my kid. And I do. Me: I've actually learned to use the computer. I'm no Bill Gates, but my machine is no longer the terrifying mystery box it was when I first stumbled into D-land. Back then I was still at the stage where I thought that there was a secret self-destruct button. I was certain sure that only newbies like me didn't know where it was and at any moment I'd press it and my machine would explode in a searing flash of violet light and the entire techno-geek community would gather around me pointing fingers and snickering. Became an orphan. My mother died. And I was set free. My children were safe. My life was my own, although we hadn’t spoken in the 11 years preceding her death, just the very fact that evil woman still walked the Earth was enough to make me violently ill and I could feel her disapproving eyes on me from afar. Her sneering voice, the voice that ripped my soul every single day for 17 years and nearly destroyed my life before it could start was finally gone. I hear her ghost in my head and likely always will, but all in the same I can go about lighthearted that I never, never, never have to see her vile person in the flesh again. Hope you’re enjoying the weather in Hell, Mom. You always did like having a tan. Discovered my writing voice. Always a storyteller, that which I spoke aloud didn't translate to the written word very well. But like how to get to Carnegie Hall, I practiced, practiced, practiced. I have discovered the joy of a well plotted essay. The satisfaction of the sly metaphor. The power of the 800 word treatise. I’ll never be Stephen King. I’m no novelist. The long tale is beyond my ken. I’m a sprinter and take my single lap at full speed. Became an activist again. Led Zep said the song remains the same and it’s true. But while the fire is dampened some, the confidence and courage I have now more than makes up for it and those issues I once chained myself in the rain for, picketed city halls for, and at times literally bled for, are now worked for via the Net. And thanks to the web my voice echoes louder and is heard by a far vaster audience than it was during the bullhorn and picket sign days. Turned 40. The dreaded 4-0. In my case though it wasn't the horrible trauma it's supposed to be. I'd already lost my looks. I'd already become invisible to both the appreciative eye and to advertisers. I'd already bought the sports car. I'd already had the career crisis, the last chance baby, and more than my share of grey hairs. 40, in fact was a celebration. I made it. The MS hadn't taken me. My own bad habits hadn't killed me. I was here. I was still here. 2 years in a life served up on a daily basis for those who care to read. Help yourself and I hope you enjoy the reading of it as much as I’ve enjoyed the writing of it. Thanks Andrew and thanks D-land. Here we go into year 3, hang on tight. I’m finally hitting my stride and I’m having a ball. ~LA
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