I sure love my vacation days

The last week's been a bit of a whirlwind. I'm not one for sitting at home enjoying the holidays, not even with a cold.

I've spent my vacation so far doing what I like best--hanging out with my friends and family. My friend Amber from Maine was in town last weekend, and my parents graciously agreed to babysit Friday night so I could go out with the girls. (OK, maybe they were just grateful to escape the House of Christmas Fighting--my mom showed up at my house carrying a bottle of wine and a bag of cookies. When I asked if I could get her anything, she hoisted up both, and said, "No, I've got everything I need right here." I'm pretty sure the babysitter went to bed a little tipsy that night, but hey, how picky can you be with free babysitting??)

We went to dinner and drinks Friday night, then re-convened Saturday morning for bagels. Afterwards, we took a harbor cruise, and saw tons of bottle-nosed dolphins up close! It was a gorgeous day, bright and sunny, and the far-off mountains were framed with palm trees and covered in snow. It was a pretty cool sight to look from the water to the beach to the palm trees and finally, to the snow-capped mountains. Only in California!

Saturday night we had dinner at my house. I made lasagna, and the girls brought the rest of the meal, including a really yummy ooey gooey butter cake (good job, Monica!). Mark had worked very hard on making Christmas tree ornaments for the girls, and laid them at their place settings. The girls really liked them.


Monday morning we woke bright and early and headed south to San Diego. We hadn't seen my parents for two days, and I think they really missed us. (I greeted my mom with, "You can run, but you can't hide.") I think it was a bonus that we showed up on their 46th wedding anniversary, because nothing's more romantic than having your kids and grandkids around. I felt a little bad right up until dinner, when my mom fixed a veritable seafood bonanza, with shrimp cocktail and jumbo crab legs. After that amazing meal, nothing could've made me feel bad!

We also had visitors on Monday afternoon--Ann Fera and Sasha Fera-Schanes. (If you want to read all about Sasha's amazing adventures the past few months, click here.) Sasha and I argued about our blogs and our mothers--Sasha says her mom reads mine everyday, and likes it better than Sasha's blog. I argued the same for my mom about Sasha's blog--I think my mom's her biggest fan.

I love them because they showed up carrying their own mugs of tea--they didn't want to trouble us for anything. We laughed about Sasha's European travel adventures, including her stay at a farm just as the farmer's wife and child were leaving the farmer. (Talk about uncomfortable timing!) Ann regaled us with a story of a Christmas Eve dinner that was so funny, my face hurt after they left. That's what I love about the Fera-Schanes family--they can turn any situation into a funny story, and have you rolling on the floor.

Sasha came back on Tuesday to visit, and was amazed by my two-year-old nephew Johnny. It still freaks people out that there's a blond-haired, blue-eyed Dinsdale (all the other kids had black hair and brown eyes when born--but obviously, Brandy's genes were stonger than Smed's!). He's a rare one, that little boy. And another funny kid, too. I handed him a chicken, which Mark corrected by saying, "It's a rooster, not a chicken."

"Yeah, but he doesn't know the difference," I said, underestimating my nephew. Johnny sat quietly for a moment, and when we'd changed the topic, he very slyly started crowing under his breath. "Ooo oo oo oo oooo," he said, glancing up at us, and Mark, my mom and I just laughed. "You DO know what a rooster says!" I congratulated him, and was rewarded with ten more impersonations of a rooster crowing. (He probably would've stopped if we'd stopped laughing and clapping for him, but it was so dang cute.)

Johnny LOOOOVES Mark, and chased him all around the house, yelling, "Mok! Mok!" Mark tried showing off his new skateboard, but Johnny's not one for sitting on the sides--he wanted to push Mark up the street on the skateboard. Later, inside the house, he jumped up on Mark's skateboard, trying to ride it, and I grabbed him off just before it went shooting out from under him into the hall door. Whew!

Our last visit was dinner with my friend Nicky Tuesday night. We enjoyed a leisurely dinner at a local Italian eatery. We got there early, around 4:30, and there was hardly anyone in the restaurant. We left around 6:30, going out a door a large family had just entered through. "Can we use this door?" I asked Nicky, as it was very clearly marked "Emergency Exit."

"Sure, that family just came in through it," Nicky said, and I said, "Yes, but they had a wheelchair." Well, Nicky being Nicky proceeded to ask the table of men next to the door what they thought, and they simultaneously yelled at her to open the door and not open the door, because the alarm would go off. I saw where this was heading, and pointed Mark back around the way we'd come. I could tell which decision Nicky made just seconds later, as the fire alarm sounded and every diner at every table whipped around to stare at Nicky holding the door open.

"I can't believe that lady opened the emergency exit!" I said, herding Mark past the staring diners. I've found that pretending not to know my friends works best in these situations!

And so here we are now, on New Year's Eve. We're going to a party at Scott and Mari's new house, which I'm excited about. (And we're leaving my parents' house, which they are excited about--I think they need a couple weeks of kid/grandkid-free time.)

I'm sure everyone else is blogging deep, emotional thoughts about the year they just had, and the resolutions of the coming year ahead. Not me...I am proud to say that I lived this past year the best way I could--to the fullest. I spent my vacations and most weekends with the people I love most--my family and friends. I spent my energy on the person I value most--my son. I don't have any regrets other than not being able to travel the world freely like Sasha did, but that will happen someday soon, after my son is raised and grown (and in the meantime, we did explore parts of the world in Epcot Center--not quite the same, but the best we could do, since Mark doesn't have a passport yet!)

So, though I don't have deep thoughts or profound revelations about either the year ending or the new one beginning, I do wish you all a very happy New Year! I plan to keep living my life to the fullest (and hope you do, too)--laugh out loud, and cherish your friends and family as though they may not be here tomorrow (because if I've learned anything in the past few years, it's exactly that--they won't be here forever so treat each other accordingly!) Damn, sorry about that--I guess one deep thought did sneak its way in after all.

Anyway, Happy New Year, everyone!!!

I'm an evil genius...

I just found the BEST way to torture Mark. I told him to go to bed, but he kept on horsing around.

"If you don't listen to me, you'll be sorry," I said.

"Yeah, right," he snorted.

"You will," I promised. "I'll start singing the Barney theme song. And it'll get stuck in your head--you won't be able to think of anything else!"

But he kept playing. And so I began. Very loudly, I started singing, and he instantly recoiled.

"I love you, you love me..."

"No, Mom! Stop!" he pleaded, covering his ears. "I'm going!"

But I didn't stop. I kept singing, even as he ran out the door.

I was still giggling to myself when I walked past his room a couple minutes later. He had the pillow over his head, and called out, "Please, Mom--sing something else! I can't think of anything else!"

I just snickered and kept walking. Who says you have to beat your kids to get them to listen to you?

A Very Dinsdale Christmas

Haven't blogged for a couple days, because I've been battling the cold I gave Romi for Hanukkah (sorry, Romi!). Oh, and speaking of battles, how about a recap of Christmas?

Ours was very...typical. I'd like to say that my family pulls together over the holidays and recreates those lovely images of warmth and love, everyone smiling around the fireplace. I'd LIKE to say that, but my parents always taught me not to lie (besides, anyone who knows my family knows our favorite holiday tagline is "It's not Christmas until Heather cries").

The holiday started out okay. Mark and I arrived from Tucson on Christmas Eve and joined Scott, Mari and their family for dinner. It was only then, as we were about to leave for church, that I discovered Mark had outgrown his good suit (purchased six months ago), and was refusing to wear the jacket. For the last time of the year, I used the "Santa's watching" threat on him, to which he replied, "No he's not, he's delivering toys now." I asked if Mark really wanted to chance Santa passing him by this late in the game.


Christmas Eve mass was really nice. Poor Mark, who'd just spent three days celebrating Hanukkah, was thoroughly confused during the service. He couldn't follow the songs, and he kept stealing the missal from the lady in the pew ahead of him. (I'm pretty sure God frowns on that, ESPECIALLY during Christmas mass!) When we kneeled down to pray, he rolled his eyes and asked, "Do we have to sit like this for the REST OF THE TIME?" If I could've reached him, I'd have pinched him!

Then, to my horror, as we were leaving services, he pointed at the candles people light for their loved ones and said very loudly, "Mom, why are there 10 candles lit? There's only EIGHT days of Hanukkah!" We'd spent the last few days being outsiders at shul, and now here we were again, outsiders of our own faith! (Yes, Kelley, I know it's my own damn fault--flap!)

Mark woke me Christmas morning by shouting, "Mom, Santa got me a skateboard!" He also got some new sweatshirts, so he was thrilled.



We opened our presents together. Mark was very thoughtful, and bought me several gifts, including an angel snowglobe, chocolates, a vanilla oil diffuser, a VERY pink wallet/cell phone holder, a salt and pepper pinch pot, a travel mug you can put pictures in, and my favorite gift, a very large bottle of liquid Dove bath soap ("Because you love Dove soap!" he proudly proclaimed). I thanked and hugged him profusely for everything.


But what's Christmas without the rest of the family? (Peaceful!) We drove to Scott and Mari's house, to celebrate their first Christmas in their new house. We also celebrated the fact that for the first time in five years, the Dinsdale family was all together, and on speaking terms.


Well, the original Dinsdales, that is. The Dinsdale wives--not so much. (And I'm only writing this because my brothers don't read this blog!) Turns out Christmas really does bring on stress, and my three brothers reacted accordingly. By the time we arrived, my sisters-in-law were all angry with my brothers, and no one was speaking to their respective spouses.

Which makes for a fun holiday! Whatever. We Dinsdales, besides being funny, are generally a hardheaded group (I know, shocking!). I've survived enough Dinsdale Christmases that I was unfazed and carried on--I actually enjoyed the fact we were all together. (Or maybe I was just glad to have the focus off me for once--I actually didn't cry this Christmas.) I did feel sorry for my put-upon sisters-in-law, though, and maybe even a little sorry for my opinionated, strong-willed brothers (especially when I noticed all the wives had disappeared together and Scott noted "We'll probably all be divorced by New Year's.")


Tension and silent feuding aside, the food was great (awesome job, Scott!) and my dad received the best gift from Mari -- the leg lamp from A Christmas Story ("Must be from Italy--it says "Fra-geel-lay!"). Here's my mom's face when she realized what it was:

"It'll look very nice out in your train room," she said, but we all understood the unspoken end of her sentence, which was, "That lamp comes into the house over my dead body!"


At least the kids had a blast. They're all close in age, and get along famously. The seven cousins chased each other in the basement, shooting disks and arrows at each other (they all waited patiently to hold the target in front of their faces, and dodge flying objects).

They worked together building Mark's giant Star Wars Lego robot until two-year-old Johnny jumped into the carefully separated blocks like they were a pile of leaves and sent them flying. The two dogs followed them all around obediently, waiting for someone to drop food or cookies (where Charles was hopeful, Sunshine was proactive, feasting on a whole apple pie and a coffee cake while the family was at church).

So I won't lie and say that our Christmas was all smiles and love--it was definitely NOT a Hallmark card filled with love and warm holiday wishes. It was more of a Shoebox greeting card filled with jokes and smarmy comebacks, or a live reenactment of A Christmas Story, complete with a leg lamp and Bumpus' dogs swallowing the Christmas treats.

But I guess that's what Christmas is all about--a family together, in our own dysfunctional way, eating good food and spoiling the children. We may not be what you see on T.V., honoring our spouses and loved ones, but at least we were together. We do love each other, even if we don't always know how to show it.

And I'm sure that once the holidays have passed, with all the stress that goes with them, we'll be back to our usual happy selves. We'll all get along, happy and loving -- at least until next Christmas. :-)

Merry Christmas to you all!

But especially to my niece Hannah...and a very HAPPY (early) BIRTHDAY to you, Hanny! :-)

Still Trucking in Tucson

Day 3 of our Tucson trip. Kelley had to go off to work again this morning. Rob was a saint (the only Jewish one!) and drove us to the mall to buy a new lens for my camera. This was remarkable because a) Rob hates malls and b) Rob hates Christmas (he did even before he converted). So I immediately sainted Rob based on his patience and willingness to take us to a mall two days before Christmas.

After the mall, we went to the shul to pick up Kelley for lunch, and I was put to work cutting out dreidels. The senior rabbi thought it was hilarious that I came to visit Kelley and she put me to work (I, however, was not surprised).

It was a rainy day, so after lunch, we retreated to the house, where we popped corn and watched the movie "Iron Man." It was relaxing, which was good, because we had to return to shul after it ended to attend a Hanukkah party.

The latkes weren't nearly as good as the ones Kelley made, but it was fun to see all the families there--almost 250 people! There were kids running everywhere. I told Kelley she was trying to kill Mark with the dessert (ice cream sundaes with chocolate sauce, donut holes, sprinkles and M&Ms) but she pointed out the people in charge of dessert also had a son with diabetes.

Mark and I played dreidel, and he beat me numerous times. Kelley had told us about her co-worker Max, who always carries a superhero action figure in his pocket. Mark asked Max who he had in his pocket today, and Max said, "I knew you were going to watch Iron Man today, so I have Iron Man in my pocket!" He let Mark play with him during the party.

By the time we got home, we were all exhausted. We were sitting in the kitchen winding down. I was holding Romi, when suddenly, out of nowhere, there was an ear-splitting crash, and I looked down to see shattered glass everywhere. Quick little Romi had sent his bowls of peas flying, shattering glass all over the floor. And suddenly, we weren't relaxing anymore. Romi thought it was pretty amusing to watch us all scurry around, vacuuming and avoiding glass.

And then it was quiet again. Kelley sat with the little Rome-ster quietly feeding him on the couch. I joined them for a quiet moment, which Romi once again shattered, but in a different way this time (read about it here).

The next morning was our last together, which would've made me sad, except that it was Kelley's birthday. I'd been waiting all year for this day, which I celebrated by waking up and immediately shouting at Kelley, "I'm 39, and you're not!" Hey, it may only be a 6 month difference in age, and I'll be there soon enough. But I figured what good is a friend's 40th birthday if you can't tease her about it??

We celebrated Kelley's birthday by going out to lunch. Romi attempted to make us miss him a little less by ceremoniously throwing up all over the table, but we were kinda used to it by then, and were completely unfazed. Then it was time for us to head home, back to the land of Christmas. It was hard to say good bye, even if we'll see them again next month. I'll miss that sweet, happy little baby Romi in the meantime--I mean, who else am I going to smother in kisses and repeatedly proclaim the cutest baby in the universe?

Giggling with the Gludts

Kelley keeps telling me what a small town Tucson is, but for a small town, there sure is a lot to do!

Monday morning we woke bright and early. Kelley had to work in the morning, leaving Mark and I to visit with Rob and Romi, which was really nice.


We picked Kelley up at work, and drove to lunch at a microbrewery on the University of Arizona campus. Afterwards, we loaded up the kids and headed for the Children's Museum of Tucson, which was super fun! The boys liked the museum a lot, but I think that Kelley, Rob, and I had the most fun of all.

We started in the electricity room. Kelley and I ran up to an electric machine that turned on lights according to how strong you are. Kelley could only turn on two of the four lights, so I mocked her, and tried it myself. Of course, when I tried, I could only turn on the same two lights. Then Rob walked up, flipped on all the switches and lit up all four lights. He put Kelley and I in our places!

Next was the fire and police room. It had a real police motorcycle, which Kelley immediately climbed on, and a fireman, whom I immediately hugged. Kelley hopped off the motorcycle, and ran into a little puppet theatre, where she put on a puppet show making fun of me.

But we couldn't resist the firetruck. When we lived in Washington D.C., we'd toured a firehouse once, and had convinced the firemen to let us climb aboard the engine. Rob had laughed at us being so silly, and took lots of pictures. Well, we re-enacted that photo, with Kelley driving and flashing the lights, and me cracking up next to her. (We got to push a lot more buttons on the museum firetruck.)

It was a good 20 minutes before we realized Mark wasn't in the room with us. When we'd tired from laughing, I called out to him, and he came into the fire/police room to ride the motorcycle. He totally dug that.

We moved throughout the museum, playing with blocks, writing funny things on the wall with lasers, playing instruments, scaring dinosaurs. Kelley and I had a Dance Dance Revolution dance-off, and then Rob showed us how his strong heartbeat could power a bass drum. (Although Kelley's drum beats were much cooler!)

One of our favorite rooms was the jungle room, where you could attach little stuffed frogs the wall, and hoist them up toward the ceiling. When they got high enough, a ceiling fan smacked them, and sent them flying across the room (it represented them "hopping" but man, they flew!).

We spent a good two hours in the museum, and only left after Mark got bored (we adults could've stayed there all afternoon!) Rob then drove us around downtown Tucson, while Kelley pointed out the highlights.

Then it was home to celebrate the second night of Hanukkah. We lit the menorahs, Kelley and Rob sang more prayers, and we scarfed down our dinner so we could run off to our next fun adventure.

This took place at another fine Tucson institution--the zoo! They were celebrating Zoo Lights, which were literally thousands of Christmas lights strung up all over the zoo. The animals were all in bed, but it was still pretty spectacular to walk around and see all the lights. We had cookies and cocoa, and walked into a bear exhibit just in time for a snowfall. ("Are we near a bear?" Mark asked, and Kelley told him "By polar bear" and I said, "I didn't know there were bipolar bears!")

We also saw Santa, and an elephant (not together). One little girl, about two years old, was so excited to see the elephant that she ran up to Kelley, arms outstretched, and said, "Can you pick me up?"

"Of course," Kelley said, and I told her that little girl could tell a mommy when she saw one.

Hard to believe, but Day 2 of our trip was even better than the first!

Happy Hanukkah!

Mark and I boarded a plane yesterday, bound for Tucson. But when we disembarked, we'd actually landed in the land of Judaism.

That's right, besides being my friend, Kelley also happens to be a rabbi. As such, she and Rob spend an inordinate amount of time doing Jewish things. Which works out for us, because we don't, and so we have a really good time being fake Jews, in the wrong desert.

Rob drove us from the airport to shul, where we attended our very first baby-naming ceremony. The ceremony was nice, and the baby was gorgeous (though I was partial to another little baby--Romi!). However, I can't describe the reception afterwards, because Mark picked that time to show Tucson how a really bratty California boy acts when he's super cranky. So I showed them what a really mean mom looks like by dragging him out of the food line, and out of the shul. Because I was so mad, I didn't even put my bagel down--I just walked right out of the shul, fuming, dragging Mark in one hand, and a bagel on a paper plate in the other. It was pretty comical.

Even though we'd been in a Jewish temple, Mark and I had a serious "come to Jesus" discussion on the car ride home, and it worked. His behavior improved, and I am happy to say that he is still alive and breathing (it was touch and go for a while there).

After lunch, we hung out at home, just visiting. We spent the better part of the afternoon telling Romi how cute he is, and then smothering him in kisses. He laughed at us, and rolled all over the carpet--it was very entertaining. He really is just so dang cute, and watching his parents attend to him is pretty cute, too.


Mark found Star Wars Monopoly, and convinced Kelley and I to play. Kelley was really pathetic, and at one point was down to $6. While Mark and I laughed and taunted her, she somehow collected enough rent to buy apartments, and then towers, and ended up running us into the ground. I'd like to report that she had some remorse about this (we are guests, after all), but she did not. Bad Star Wars tycoon!

Then it was time to make dinner. It was the first day of Hanukkah, which meant latkes and applesauce! If you've never had a latke, then man, are you missing out! Basically, it's a big ol' fried lump of potatoes, with homemade applesauce or sour cream on top (or, in my case, applesauce on the side and ketchup on top). The only thing that would've made it better was a tortilla (I bet that's how the Mexican Jews eat them!).

Rob put on some Hanukkah music, and Mark, Kelley and I went to work peeling potatoes and apples. This was a bit of a challenge, since Kelley has the worst peeler ever made, and I was counting down the minutes until I sliced my hand open. She finally took the dang thing away from me, and gave me a new job--peeling fiery hot potatoes. Ever played a real live game of hot potato? I don't recommend it, although it didn't seem to bother Kelley. (The irony is that when I was washing dishes, she stuck her hand in the water and said, "Wow, that's hot!")

Soon enough, the food was ready, and it was time to pray. The one thing I've learned in this household is that you can't pray too much. (During one visit, I was talking to my mom on the phone, and said, "I've gotta go, it's time to pray!" She said if I had been anywhere else, she would've been really worried!)

Kelley and Rob sang the prayers, and lit the first candle on the Menorah. Then they gave Mark a present--Star Wars Legos, which were a big hit (we all enjoyed them!). Mark and I gave Romi some cute clothes for Hanukkah, but they weren't as much fun to play with.


And so I spent my first day of vacation in the very best possible way--with my close friends, and my son. That's what vacations, and holidays, are really all about--sitting around on the couch, laughing, making the baby laugh, and just having fun together. It's the best present (Christmas or Hannukah) you can really get--even better than Star Wars Legos!

I'm raising a cave man, not a boy

Yesterday's quote of the day.

Mark: "Sometimes, when I'm feeling too lazy to get a cup down from the shelf, I just drink right from the kitchen sink."

Me, not sure I heard that correctly: "What?"

Mark: "Yeah. When you're in the shower, sometimes, you know, I'm thirsty, but just too lazy to climb on the counter, open the cabinet, get a cup all the way down, climb back down, and then have to fill a WHOLE cup with water. So I just turn on the faucet and drink from that instead."

Me, shaking my head: "Do me a favor--don't tell me these things, OK?"

Who wants a ticket to the Gun Show?

Really? And how do you get upstairs when the escalator's turned off?

Mark was brushing his teeth this morning, and informed me he couldn't do a very good job.

"Why not?" I asked, puzzled.

"Because," he said, holding his rotating pirate toothbrush out for inspection. "The battery's dying--it doesn't work very well anymore."

To which I told my genius son, "If you actually move it around with your hand, you can brush your teeth WITHOUT BATTERIES! Try it!"

He did, and was amazed. "Oh," he said. "I didn't think of that..."

Sigh.

Oy to the World

Sunday night was our annual Christmas dinner and gondola ride. It was the usual gang--me, Edra, Monica, her mom Jan, Vic, her mom Kaye and sister Wende, Randi, Dancing Amy and her former roommate Gretchen, Kathleen and Monica's friend Tony.

My mom also joined us for the first time, taking Mark's place. Mark spent the last two gondola rides being grouchy at dinner, then falling asleep promptly after the boat left the dock. This year I figured I'd spend the money on someone who would a) appreciate it a little more, and b) stay awake! Mark was not happy about the decision, but my mom certainly was.

So Mark stayed at home with my dad. They set up Mark's train, watched T.V. and tried convincing my mom and I to feed them chocolate pie for dinner.

I worried all week that we'd get rained out, but the weather held, and it was a beautiful night.

We went to dinner at a local Greek restaurant, which was yum-my! The food was good, the restaurant was warm, the company was great.

After dinner, it was on to the gondola. We rode in the big boat, which holds 14 people and was expertly rowed by one gondolier in back. We covered ourselves up in thick blankets, and passed around champagne and homemade cookies. Kathleen made these amazing 7-layer cookies, and when we passed them to the gondolier in back, he couldn't stop raving. "Those are so good!" he cried out. "My mouth is so confused by all the layers!"

There was also another gondolier in front, but he had the easy job--making us all laugh. He joked the whole time, doing silly poses, and declaring that Monica was the glue that held us all together. He called out to everybody--on foot, or in other boats on the canal--"Hey, here's Monica! You already know her." We couldn't stop laughing.

He also loved the fact that we had one man--Tony--and 12 women. He kept telling everyone that Tony was the man, and calling on Tony to kiss all the women each time we stopped under a bridge. Tony happily obliged. The gondolier even challenged him to a contest to see who could kiss the most women--I think Tony won, because he kissed Dancing Amy, who's pregnant, and was deemed a kiss and a half. It was hilarious, Tony kissing the women in the back of the boat, the gondolier kissing the women in the front, and then they met in the middle of the boat, and gave each other a friendly hug.

Tony was praised and called "The Man" so many times that at one point, another boat chugged by, and its occupants called out, "Where's Tony? Way to go, Tony!"

Oh, and the houses decorated with lights were pretty spiffy, too. There were the usual displays--the giant Santa face made out of lights, and the house with the roller coaster and Ferris wheel. There were some new entries, too--many Jewish homeowners got into the spirit this year!

My dad asked how I knew they were Jewish, and I answered, "They had blue and white lights, GIANT dreidels, blue menorahs, and flashing Stars of David. And one house had a big sign that said, 'Oy to the World!'" (I loved that!) I'm happy to report that Christians no longer hold a monopoly on ostentatious holiday light displays! :-)

The only bad thing about the gondola ride was how quickly it was over. We spent an hour drifting in the canals, laughing, but it didn't seem that long. Too quickly we were back in the open water, heading toward the dock. The funny gondolier asked if Tony was taking all the women out to celebrate afterwards, and Tony answered back slyly, "I was thinking of just going back to my place." He's such a great sport, that Tony!

It was a great night, all the better because the big storm scheduled to hit us, didn't. At least, it didn't start raining until 45 minutes later--and by then, we were all safe and warm at home.

Cub Scout Caroling

Last night was Mark's Cub Scout pack meeting, where I am proud to say, Mark earned his very first Scout badge--the Bobcat badge!! He's now officially a Cub Scout, and can recite, on command, the Cub Scout promise and the Law of the Pack.

It was a pretty cool ceremony. Twenty-eight boys earned the badge (all first-year Scouts like Mark). They climbed onstage, circling around a fake campfire and logs. After reciting the Boy Scout promise, the pack master (leader of the pack? I'm still learning the lingo) invited the parents onstage, too. We congratulated our boys, pinning their new Bobcat pins onto their hats. Then we handed over their badges, and badge cards, and hugged them. I was so proud of my little Scout!

Then it was time to go Christmas caroling. You know those old-fashioned postcards that show Christmas carolers in the snow, all decked out in warm clothes and scarves, singing from songbooks in hand? Well, we didn't look anything like that. This was definitely not a Currier & Ives moment.

To begin with, the only snowflakes in sight rained down from a giant inflatable Santa snow globe on someone's lawn. The closest we got to winter weather was the light dew on the grass. Secondly, most carolers in our group were only about four feet tall, wearing shorts, Cub scout shirts and maybe, occasionally, a sweatshirt. (Mark sported a new white one a size too small that he'd found earlier on the playground.)

Our group consisted of parents, who sang the carols by heart, and Cub Scouts, who did not. They had a song sheet with the words to help them (but no lights to see them), and one mom accurately noted that kids only know the songs by heart if they've watched the animated Christmas shows starring Rudolph and Santa. I begged to differ, saying the kids did know Christmas carols, they just know the honked-up, offensive versions about killing Barney the dinosaur, or jingle bells, Batman smells. (I warned Mark beforehand I didn't want to hear those or any other versions on our walk!)

The first house we came to was aptly decorated for the holiday. They owned the aforementioned inflatable snow globe, and the house was trimmed in festive lights. The porch light was on, and it seemed an inviting choice for our first song.

Which is when we learned the next difference between postcard depictions and real-life caroling. In the postcards, the singers always had an appreciative audience. In real life--not so much. The occupants never even came outside! It didn't deter us, though, as the boys sang their hearts out, and a couple ended with a flourish, sliding across the lawn on their knees, waving jazz hands.

Then it was on to the next house. The door was open, and through the screen, we could see two yappy dogs. The kids started singing, the dogs started howling, and once again, the homeowners refused to acknowledge us. The good thing is, I don't think the kids noticed!

We had better luck at the third house. They heard us down the street, and the two occupants came outside. They looked nervously at the mob, at the boys jumping over the hedges and on the lawn. But they were encouraging, clapping and waving at us. The singers basked in the adulation, then readily moved on to the next house.

And so it went, Scouts serenading empty houses. Finally, someone suggested moving across the street, which had more porch lights on. So we herded the boys to the other side.

Where we were infinitely more successful! This time, we picked only houses with Christmas lights, figuring since they celebrated Christmas, they would appreciate our yuletide spirit. Most doors had glass panes in them, and we could see who was home by the flickering blue TV lights. We sang carols at five or six different houses, to elderly couples, a young family, even a woman whose husband scooted down the hall when she answered the door to the mass of Scouts. People were surprised, a little unsure what to do during the song, but I think overall, they appreciated the effort. (Have I mentioned there are few things cuter than little boys in Cub Scout uniforms? They just look so darn sweet, although Mark would die if he heard me say that!)

We were on a roll, and thought we were gonna end on a high note. However, at the last house, the homeowners not only refused to come to the door, they actually turned the porch light out on us! (Bah humbug!)

But it didn't bother the boys. It just meant they could return to the school--to hot chocolate and cookies!--that much faster.

It was a really fun night. It was great to celebrate Mark's first big Scout achievement, and to connect with all the other Scouts and their parents. It was also fun to celebrate with the neighborhood, even if they weren't as into it as we were. But mostly, it was just fun to be together as a family, and celebrate our third Christmas together.

It is beginning to feel a lot like Christmas!

You know you're a parent if you...

...Need a band-aid, and the only ones in the house are Scooby-Doo or race cars.

...Plan your social life around the babysitter's social life.

...Can name all the characters in the "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" books.

...See a photo of a friend's kid using power tools (hi, Jamie and Suzanne!) and can name that Achievement number in the Cub Scout handbook.

...Have ever set up a Webkinz account.

...Know it's Poke-ee-MON, not Poke-ee-MAN (and use that knowledge to torture your child).

...Know that "evolve" refers to Pokémon characters, and not Darwin's theory.

...Have stepped on a Lego barefoot in the middle of the night, and cursed your sleeping child under your breath.

...Are more concerned that your kid's clothes are clean than if they match.

...Know that, out of all the Go-Gurt flavors, Cotton Candy is the best.

...Know that children's T.V. shows now consist solely of mouthy pre-teens or flatulating cartoon characters. (And you realize now just how violent Tom n' Jerry really is!)

...Use the phrases, "Chew with your mouth closed," "Use your manners," or "What do you say?" on a daily basis. (Bonus points for knowing the answer to the third one is "Thank you!")

...Never, ever, ever, ever, EVER want to utter the words "Tie your shoelaces" or "Well, then you should have worn a jacket!" again.

...Know to ask "For DS or Advance?" when you see "new Gameboy game" on a birthday or Christmas wish list.

...Own, and still use, a piñata bat.

...Have explained more than once that if it contains the words "roll up," it's not really fruit.

...Have ever said "Well, I'm going to eat candy for every meal when you grow up, too!"

...Have instantly regretted making the above statement.

...Agonized over buying "cool" vs. "healthy" food for group snacks, and were relieved that apple slices count as both (even with the caramel dipping sauce!)

...Can relate to any of these bullet points.

Somebody call Rosemary, I have her baby

Sometime during the past week, Mark turned into the devil child.

It's not Mark himself I have a problem with--I love my son, who's usually very cute, sweet and funny. Ordinarily, I wouldn't call him a devil child. But Mark has been making some bad food decisions lately, resulting in really high blood sugars that make him act horrible!

Intellectually, I know it's the high sugars making Mark sass me and talk back with an increasingly snotty voice. I know it's the high blood sugar rolling its eyes at me and answering "Uh huh" in a surly tone when I ask if he made his bed yet. I know it's the high blood sugar that stands before me, arms crossed, with an "I don't care what you're saying" smirk on its face.

Like I said, intellectually, I know all this. And usually, I can reconcile this intellect with my emotions, and just...let it go. Usually, I can ignore the snarkiness, give Mark a shot of insulin, and know that in 15 minutes, he'll be back to his cheery, happy self. But usually only happens when Mark follows the game plan.

But for the past few school days, Mark has not followed the plan. He made up his own game, which includes a complex set of food substitutions and deletions. He bought a ticket on the Blood Sugar Roller Coaster, and rode it hard, climbing high up the peaks, then crashing hard into its low valleys. Moodiness, the monster accompanying the soaring highs and lows, was buckled gleefully into the seat beside him, prodding and poking, further inflaming him.

And so today, I am out of patience. I am out of goodwill and the rational explanations I gave Friday (AND Monday, AND Tuesday) on the dangers of bolusing insulin, then not eating. I am tired of Mark switching out his lunch for snacks, of him eating snacks whenever he feels like it, of him eating but not bolusing for it, or of him skipping food altogether. I'm tired of seeing his glucose meter read 30, or just HI (over 500). And I'm tired of him being grumpy and cranky because he feels like crap (and that it's all self-inflicted).

But mostly, today, I'm just tired of diabetes...

Farewell, dear friends

They were bright, comfy, and kept my child warm. They were no mere utilitarian garments; they were fashion statements. They offered shelter from the wind, and on days when he needed protection from the cold, or from a yelling mother, a place he could zip up and hide in. They served him well. And now, they are gone.

I'm talking about Mark's sweatshirts. I've written before about his propensity for losing things, especially clothes. But these sweatshirts...the rate at which he loses these is baffling. It's mind-numbing. These sweatshirts are a particular albatross around my neck.

It all started in kindergarten, shortly after I got Mark. I loaded him up with school uniforms, including inexpensive blue sweatshirts. And although the kid returned home from school each day, his sweatshirts did not.

It's frustrating, especially because Mark refuses to wear long sleeve shirts, which means he's cold a lot. I used to worry about him being cold, but then one day, I had an epiphany--if he really was that cold, he'd wear a frickin' sweatshirt, instead of recklessly abandoning it on the playground.

So Mark being cold doesn't bother me any more--if he's cold, he's old enough to do something about it (callous, I know). But it bothers the school staff, who kindly ask if Mark has any warm outer garments at home, or gently suggest Mark might benefit from a jacket on such a cold day. To which I always respond, "I send him to school with a sweatshirt every day--it's his responsibility not to lose it between here and home." They think I'm mean, but I don't really care.

It got so bad that one wintry morning, as Mark headed off to school shivering yet again, I let him have it. I told him if he didn't come home with an armful of sweatshirts, he'd better not come home at all.

What I meant was an armful of his sweatshirts. But he took me literally and came home with an armful of blue sweatshirts--none of them his. He simply scooped up every blue sweatshirt in the lost and found bin.

They included all three kid's sizes and even an adult-sized medium. Whereas I'd only bought him solid pullovers, he brought home an assortment of plain zip-ups, and pullovers and zip-ups with the school logo. These most certainly were not his sweatshirts, but at that point, I didn't care. I figured the other school kids were out there wearing Mark's lost sweatshirts. I looked at it more as a trade--an exchange--than an outright theft.

But now even those sweatshirts are gone. In a weak moment, I let Mark talk me into buying him some Old Navy hoodies; a lime green one that looked like a pigeon pooped on it; a black one with a basketball outline on it and a brown one with an eagle. His Auntie Edra gave him a cool brown Tony Hawk sweatshirt, which he recently tried leaving in a restaurant (we rescued it, only to have him lose it again last week). You guessed it, they are all gone, gone, gone as well. (Gotta admit--I wasn't sad to see that ugly green one go...)

And so begins a new era. Tomorrow morning, at 8:20 a.m., we will leave the house for school, and Mark will return to wearing an uncool, inexpensive blue pullover sweatshirt. He will not only balk at that, he will downright refuse, citing the fact that all the other kids are allowed to wear whatever they want. (To which I'll reply, "Yes, they wear what they want everyday because THEY BRING IT HOME!")

No matter where you are in the country, I'm sure you will hear him scream in indignation that he is soooo not wearing that stupid blue sweatshirt to school. And then he will go about purposefully "forgetting" or "losing" said blue sweatshirts at school.

Which will prompt the second wave of screaming, shortly before winter break, when Mark is told that thank God he gets such a generous weekly allowance, or else he wouldn't possibly be able to replace all those sweatshirts himself.

Introducing the newest blogger on the Internet...

It's Mark! He's been asking me all week to set up a blog for him. He says he wants to write some of his own stories. So I did, and here it is:

http://allthefunihave.blogspot.com/

I'm not sure how often he'll update it (he got a little frustrated with all the typing, so I had him narrate instead), but enjoy. The good news is, he's not nearly as verbose as I am (online, anyway) so I'm sure his blog entries won't be as long-winded as my own. :-)

Chistmas kicked my butt today

(It kicked Mark's booty, too...)

We started the morning with Mark's Cub Scout den, selling fresh mistletoe in front of Trader Joe's. I worried that Mark would whine or complain (because this involved actual work), but he did great.

At first, he was only interested in the money box. He wanted to arrange and rearrange the bills. A few people asked what we were selling, and Mark said, "You can sell it, Mom." I reminded him that no one wants to buy mistletoe from a grown woman--they want to buy it from cute little Cub Scouts.

I gave the kids some advice--smile big and hit up all the moms and grandmas. They can't resist a clean-cut boy in a uniform. Be polite, say thank you. And make eye contact with every person who walks in or out the exit.

It worked! We sold about 100 bag in just under two hours. The boys got very creative, shouting out, "Mistletoe for sale! Only one dollar, and NO tax!" I thought that was a very smart sell, considering the economy.

We only lost one sale the whole morning, when a woman explained what mistletoe is for. "You hang it up and kiss whoever walks under it," she teased, comically puckering up at Mark. He ran away quickly, bag still in hand.

After lunch, we put up the house Christmas lights. I climbed up the little step ladder hanging them while Mark followed behind, handing them up to me. He was very helpful, even warning me not to fall (like last year, when I almost knocked myself out) or cut myself on the broken orange light.

Then it was time for the big Christmas purchase--the TREE! We went to the same lot as last year, because they delivered our tree for a couple extra bucks. Except it was a different group selling trees this year! Dang it. I couldn't figure out how to get a tree home in my little compact car. I drove over to Lowe's to buy myself some time, and perhaps think of a solution.

The solution was...to toss safety out the window! Literally. When you buy a tree, they wrap it up in a mesh bag until it's a skinny little fir tree roll. I figured if I bought a medium-sized tree, I could toss the tree in the back seat, let it hang out the window a bit, and we'd be home in no time, tree (and car) intact.

I just forgot one little thing--the backseat is where Mark sits. And he was not very amenable to riding back there with a Christmas tree on top of him (spoilsport!).

Which left him...the front seat. When we grew up, not only were kids allowed to ride in the front seat, they fought to ride in the front seat. Every car ride of my childhood began with one kid screaming "SHOTGUN!" three other kids groaning, "Awww! No fair!" and one parent yelling, "Just get in the damn car!"

Back then we didn't have fancy front seat airbags--hell, we didn't even have seatbelts. (Or even, for me and my little brother, seats!) But nowadays, they put graphic images of little kids being squished to death by said airbags on the sun visor. Everywhere you turn in the car, it's telling you don't let kids under 12 in the front seat.

Well, those instructions are completely not helpful when it comes to Christmas trees and compact cars. I estimated the ride home was short--only five minutes-- which I've driven a thousand times without an accident.

So front seat airbags be damned, we threw the tree in back, sticking out the window, and Mark in the front seat. He was thrilled. He told me very seriously he wanted to watch me push every button (apparently, he thinks that's how you drive a car), then he set about pushing every button himself.

"What's this button do?" he asked, changing the radio station seven times in a row. "And is A/C on? What's A/C? What's Auto? Can I lock my door?"

It felt kinda funny to have him riding next to me--for once, I didn't feel like his chauffeur. I asked him to stop touching everything--between that and the tree flapping out the window, it was just too distracting. But I let him roll down the window, which he promptly stuck his head out of, and did his best dog impression with the wind whipping through his hair.

Soon enough we were home, and the tree was ceremoniously displayed and decorated. We drank hot chocolate and listened to Christmas music, which he mocked by asking, "Is this your boooooyfriend singing?"

"Yes, this is Harry Connick Jr.," I told him. "Don't talk about your daddy like that!"

In the end, I was really tired, but the house looks great. I am glad to be done with the big Christmas tasks (OK, well, maybe not shopping), even if I have to take it all down again in three or so weeks. But in the meantime, I enjoyed the outside lights and the fresh pine smell inside. And, most of all, I enjoyed the helpful little elf by my side all day.

The difference between kids and adults

Yesterday, Mark heard a radio announcer talking about Hanukkah. I explained what Hanukkah is (yes, for you, Kelley!), but didn't get much past the eight nights of gifts.

"Wait, they get presents for EIGHT NIGHTS?" Mark interrupted.

"Yup."

"Well, I'm Jewish," he said.

I looked at him, and said, "I know for a fact you are not Jewish."

"I'm HALF Jewish," he clarified.

"Well, then you get presents for four nights!" I told him.

But when he realized there's no Santa involved in Hanukkah, he sold out his Jewish heritage pretty quickly.

He was still thinking about holidays when he got home, and asked which my favorites were.

"Um, Christmas and Thanksgiving, I guess."

He wrinkled his nose. "Mine are Christmas, Halloween and Easter."

It didn't take a genius to figure out why--two are centered around candy, and one around toys. You can't fault an 8-year-old for thinking in those terms.

He asked why I liked Thanksgiving more than Halloween or Easter, so I told him, "I get two days off work, and I get to spend them with the people I love most--our family and friends."

"Yeah, true," Mark agreed, but he still wasn't sold on it.

He talked about the letter he was writing to Santa, and his wish list. It was the same as last year--he wants a skateboard, iPod, and cell phone (doesn't matter that he has no one to call). Which lead to a little discussion of how Santa makes toys, not electronics, and maybe he should revise his list a bit or he might be really disappointed.

Mark asked what I want for Christmas. I gave the same answer--"To spend time off with my family and friends." I really meant it.

To me, that's the best present ever. A good bottle of wine, a warm cup of coffee, a shared meal--all those are better with family or friends. Watching my son, nieces and nephews tearing open gifts, or running through the house together. Laughing with my sisters-in-law about my family. Laughing with my brothers and parents about the kids. Laughing so hard with my friends that we snort, or the sound disappears altogether, and we hold our stomachs, laughing silently, like mimes.

Holding my friends' new baby boy, and watching him crawl for the first time, or sit up by himself. Catching up with friends I haven't seen in a while, and hearing about their lives over the past few months. Listening to them comment on how tall Mark's gotten, and how big his cousins have all grown, too. Sharing homemade cookies, or coffee cake, or an evening gondola ride and Christmas lights with my favorite people.

That is what I want for Christmas. I can't think of a better way to celebrate the season than spending time with the people I love most.

And that is what I'm giving Mark for Christmas, too--he may not appreciate it as much an iPod, not now anyway. But someday, when he and his cousins are grown and gathering together again; when Christmas Day includes all of their kids, their friends, and their aunts and uncles; when he realizes that a cell phone conversation is not as important as a face-to-face conversation; then, he will appreciate it.

And then he will know that even though his mom is a big sentimental baby, maybe she's right. Maybe there are presents that we already have, that Santa can't bring. And maybe we can be thankful for that every other day of the year, not just at Christmas.

Chop, chop

How do you know you have the best friends in the world? They leave work early to attend your son's cello recital!

Now that, my friends, is love.

I dropped Mark off backstage last night, where he changed into his dark pants and clean white shirt. The kids were all dressed up, hair slicked back, or filled with ribbons. They stood in a long line to get their instruments tuned. A teacher walked by and told them, "Looking good, smelling good--have fun tonight!"

Edra, Monica and Kathleen--Mark's proud aunties--attended the recital with me. It was packed--seriously mobbed! We arrived in time to snag the few standing-room-only spaces left. I saw Mark scanning the crowd for us, so I waved at him. He kept scanning, so Monica and I both waved, until finally he saw us, waving his cello bow at us.

Boy, were we in for a treat. First we listened to the 4th and 5th graders pluck their violins for about 15 minutes. Then we heard them bow the strings for another 15 minutes.

But the entertainment was also visual. Because seated on the stage steps were about 30 wiggly 3rd grade violinists, patiently waiting for their turn. Well, they were patient for about five minutes. Then they started squirming and whispering, being generally disruptive.

And in front of those 3rd graders, seated on metal folding chairs, were the 3rd grade cellists. Which included my son. Who could probably use a few lessons in concert etiquette.

At first, he, too, was fairly patient. He sat quietly, staring at the crowd, taking it all in. Pretty soon, he realized he was tired, and rested his head on the cello. But that wasn't much fun, so he started rolling his eyes and making faces at the crowd. Who must have responded positively, because he then showed them his cello-twirling abilities.

But my son is a social boy, and quickly tired of the solo performance. He needed some interaction, so he turned in his seat to talk to the violinists on the steps. Who were all trying to be good. And were trying not to respond to Mark. They either ignored him, or goofed around with the neighboring kids.

Which is when Mark realized the benefits of playing cello--the bow is much longer than a violin bow! And can be used to prod other children just out of reach. So he involved himself in the wiggling, squirmy mob by poking kids with his bow.

"Oh my God," Edra said, as she watched Mark. "I am going to go down there and sock him."

Except that the crowd was too thick. So I used my telepathic skills, willing Mark to look up at me, which he finally did.

I pointed two fingers to my eyes, then pointed them at him. From across the auditorium, I mouthed the words, "I'm watching you! BEHAVE!" He stuck his hands out, palms up, and mouthed back, "What?!?!"

But he got the message, and he knew I would stomp downstage and quiet him myself if neccessary. But before I could threaten him any more, the music teacher announced it was the 3rd graders' turn.

The violinists jumped up, and followed the teacher's steps to properly hold their violin. I can't remember all the steps, but they included things like "stop sign" (hold the violin out front), "airplane landing" (put in to your chin), "head flop" (put your chin down on the violin), "helicopter" (wave your bow in the air) and "chop chop" (put bow to instrument). They also demonstrated the "crab pinch" and plucked at their instruments. And of course, we were treated to some magical bowing as well.

My irritation at Mark's squirrelly behavior melted away as soon as he started playing. It was replaced with pride, and I'll admit, I got a little teary watching my little man "chop chop" and play the magical four notes they've practiced. He did so great! He waved his bow in the air, he plucked the strings, he kept his bow straight. He even paid attention! It was awesome.

I couldn't stop beaming. Afterwards, I helped him put the cello away. His aunties were waiting outside for him, and started applauding when he walked outside. He hugged them all and thanked them for coming, then we went to dinner to celebrate.

I love music, and I've been to a lot of concerts in my time. But I have to say, this was one of my all-time favorite performances ever.

Why moms yell, part 2

Tonight is the Winter Recital at Mark's school, which includes performances by the 3rd, 4th and 5th grade strings ensemble. (The violinists and cellists.)

When he handed me the concert flier last week, I asked, "Are you performing?"

He answered, "Yes!"

I asked, "Are you sure?" (He's only had 8 lessons--didn't know he was ready to perform in public!)

Again, he answered, "Yes!"

So, okay. I marked the recital on my calendar.

As we left the house this morning, I asked if he needed the cello.

"No," he said. "It's Tuesday--violin day."

"I know, but aren't you going to practice for the concert? Maybe they're holding cello lessons today, too."

He assured me they were not. I didn't believe him, and asked him three more times. He gave the same answer--no.

And so we walked to school. He was telling me a story about music class when suddenly he turned and said, "Where's my cello? Didn't you bring my cello?"

My inner voice screamed "ACK!!!!!" My hands twisted into lethal weapons, searching for his throat, but I shook off the imminent throttling. I bit my lip, then said, through clenched teeth, "You shed you din needit." (That's how "You said you didn't need it" sounds through clenched teeth.)

"I need it!" he shouted. "I have practice today!"

No kidding, I thought. That's why I asked you 10 times. But what I said was, "Fine. I'll drive it to school. If you are out front, I will give it to you. If you are not, I will drive on to work. Do you understand?"

He nodded yes. I headed back to the crosswalk, where the crossing guard said, "Wow, that was too fast! How'd you get back here so quick?"

"I didn't make it to school," I said. "I'm on cello-delivery duty." She laughed.

I dropped off the cello, and to his credit, Mark was waiting in front of the school for it. (He knows I'd have driven off to work with it!) I'm glad he was there, because honestly, I can't wait to hear the recital. I can't wait to see my little Yo-Yo Ma(n) in action!

Oh, happy day!

It arrived, it arrived!! A big manila envelope, stuffed into my mailbox Friday morning, with a return address reading "Office of Vital Records."

Vital, indeed--it contained Mark's new birth certificate. Which I've been waiting for since October 2007. Which I was first told would arrive in July, then September, then October, then finally January 2009 (maybe). Which I *may* have told a little white lie to expedite, in hopes of procuring a passport by next summer. (It was for the greater good, people!!)

But whatever, it's here, the final piece of the adoption puzzle--with this document and the adoption decree, let there be no doubt in anyone's mind that I am now, officially (according to the State), Mark's mom. (Huzzah!)

It was strange to see the birth certificate in person. I was expecting an amended certificate, something with the words "adoptive mother." But no, I am listed simply as his mother; the certificate looks like any other, with no caveat or disclaimer that this child is adopted or that this mother is not the biological mom. It reads as though I actually gave birth to the little guy myself!

Right there under all of Mark's information (time/date of birth, hospital and city of birth), are the words Mother: Heather Dinsdale, printed in black ink. It lists the mother's birthday (mine!) and her name (again, mine!) at the time of Mark's birth. The "father" field is completely blank--no mention of Mark's birth father at all.

The whole thing was kinda shocking--I am given far more credit in his birth than I deserve, and Mark's birth family is completely obliterated from the record altogether. It was very strange indeed, as though they never existed. Talk about re-writing history--I didn't know you could do that legally.

But, again--whatever. What matters most is that I now have official government-issued documentation of Mark's birth--one of those things birth parents take for granted, a legal record proving a child is theirs. The only proof I had before was a blurry, illegible photocopy of Mark's original birth certificate.

I immediately collected the certificate and other paperwork I'd started, and finished the task from last month--obtaining Mark's Social Security card. I'd already tried once, unsuccessfully. But I tried again today; I signed in to the Social Security office, received my number, and was promptly called to the window.

The window manned by the very same mean man who'd denied me Mark's new card last month! Talk about bad luck.

But I didn't want to fight today--I just wanted it done. And so, I did something completely out of character--I sat down, and shut my big mouth.

It worked! When asked, I silently pushed all the documentation toward him. The only time I spoke was when he asked about the father field.

"Father unknown?" he said.

Which I took as a personal accusation--you don't even know who the kid's father is?? In my head, I launched into a whole explanation about how Mark was adopted, and did have a father, but that the father was removed from the record.

Luckily, my filter was working, and my brain said, "STOP! He doesn't care--just say YES!"

And so I answered, "Yes, father unknown." And bit my tongue.

I was rewarded with a receipt five minutes later, saying the new card will arrive in two weeks. That was it--mission accomplished!

I about skipped out of the office. I couldn't believe how fast and easy the process was. I walked into the sunlight while visions of college plans danced in my head. (And visions of savings bonds, savings accounts, my son's future employment--all things are possible with a Social Security card!)

I didn't physically give birth to Mark, but you'd never know by looking at the certificate in my hand today.