Once Upon a Time

Ah, bedtime stories at the library. The trouble is no one has been coming. A more established library has bedtime stories the same night. So, I usually wander the stacks and find three or four books a few minutes before showtime, just in case.
Only last night was a little different. I watched in stunned disbelief as at least six little ones, parents in tow, padded in in their pjs. I changed up the tone and meter, threw in a few silly voices and shortened some stories and when their attention was blown called it a day.

That's it?

What time did you start? That was the time it took me to drive over here. We thought this would be a fun library.

We usually go to the other story time and last week they had award-winning children's books, from our state, as a theme. She sings a welcome song and half-way through they get their wiggles out and then at the end... they get milk and cookies. The kids really look forward to that.

Part of me wanted to tell her to go home, tuck her daughter into bed, snuggle up next to her and pull out the child's favorite book but I refrained.

I can sing in the car or the shower... with the radio turned up...really loudly, but get me in front of a group of adults expecting Disney tunes and choreography and I'm no good. Now, I'm not saying it was incredible but milk and cookies? Who can compete with that? I actually thought they were great suggestions for our programming and passed along her name and number but give me the old school bedtime any day. I wouldn't have missed that with my kids for anything.

A Fierce and Desperate Thing

A couple of little guys in my class came down with something. Their symptoms include but are not limited to: finding me in the library just to say Hi, being the first one to class, wanting to sit on my lap during storytime, lifting chairs twice their size, general atypical rowdy behavior. That's right--they've got a Crush with a capital C.

A little boy's crush is a fierce and desperate thing. It's a beautiful and embarrassing experience to be the focus of such pure, blind adoration. I employ the classic female strategy: feign ignorance, continue to treat the little guys the same as before and wait for time or the end of programming to remedy the situation.

It occurred to me that the crush is not all that different from adult male courting behavior. I just get to see its genesis. I guess we're alright unless the boys start chest thumping, butting heads or getting tattoos, then drastic measures will need to be taken.

Parent Torture Conference

I went to conferences burning with shame and futility. Shame in that special way only a school official can make you feel. I had two choices: go to conferences and politely accept the D and F grade slips so graciously offered or stay home and wallow in my bad parenthood. So, I went--this year--stomach roiling. I met with each and every teacher (except PE) and was so overjoyed at the solitary B slip, I nearly cried. I cry a lot at school which I find mortifying. I feel as if I've slipped into Valerie Bertinelli's skin and am now a part of some horrible after school special. Pass the martini.
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First the Axe, Now the Leather

So, my hubby and I went out strolling on a beautiful November Day and came home with a leather motorcycle jacket. We popped into a great little vintage shop and there it was, waiting- 50 bucks, just the right size. He tried it on and it was over. My eyelids fluttered involuntarily and if I had long hair, I would have tossed it.

He slid on the jacket and we headed out the door. Suddenly, female eyes were upon us. Now, I'm not paranoid but they were everywhere giving long, pointed looks. I felt vaguely inadequate to the allure of the jacket. If I had known, I would've spritzed up a little in its presence.

I'm mildly embarrassed by the ease of our seduction. A little leather and it's over. I think someone elses wife made them give up the female catnip. I, personally, will rest a little easier knowing that in the event of my untimely demise, he is equipped to re-enter the dating pool but until then, he's mine.

First, he picked up the guitar, now, I've equipped him with the jacket and I'm hearing rumblings about a motorcycle but I'm standing firm. No motorcycle unless it's a his and her set. Although, maybe we should get one and he can hang onto my back in his little jacket. He would be a nice accessory for my midlife crisis bike.

Bracing for the Change

I couldn't let this day pass without a nod to the historical significance of this day. Today, I'm proud to be an American. It's awe inspiring how far we, as a nation, have come from the days of segregation and slavery. Others will more eloquently and appropriately express these sentiments, those who have lived that history. It's not often you see history unfold before you and know that you are part of it. Last night, we sat the kids down and had them watch the election with us.

Yes, mom and dad, I did vote for Obama and here's why. I have to seriously consider someone supported by both Colin Powell and Warren Buffet. I didn't like the half truths McCain resorted to in his campaign. I was disappointed. Given McCain's age and previous bout with cancer, I didn't like his choice of running mate. Since, McCain chose a female running mate, he should have chosen a savvier, more substantial one- they are out there. Obama is intelligent, charismatic, and must feel the responsibility of being the first African American president heavily. He has a clear vision of how he will lead this country.

I am terrified of the power President Obama will wield once in office, the changes he has championed. I don't know what the reality of those changes will look like. I am terrified but hopeful. Hopeful, that he will chose his advisers wisely and with care. Hopeful, that he will be able to lead us out of this mess we're in.