American Girl

She waits another week to fall apart...

If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have peace. ~ Thomas Paine

I know a girl who, pregnant during the World Series, told her husband that should the Red Sox actually win, she would be willing to name the baby she was carrying Boston.  Assuming he was a boy, which he is.  And Boston is his name.  (I don't really hold it against any of them)  A woman in our Lamaze class was planning on naming her child "River", because her last name was the same as the name of a famous river that goes by River (Name here). 

 

According to "Freakonomics", the more phonetically a name is spelled, the lower the education level of his/her parents is.  Jazmine = 11.94 years of education, while Jasmyn = 13.23 years of education.   Very wealthy parents are not likely to name their girl babies Mercedes or Crystal, which is kind of ironic, isn't it?  This according to "Freakonimics" research, and not my own.

 

It's fun and interesting to wonder why people chose the names they did for their children.  Hope is probably no big surprise.  Her middle name, if you know it, is probably even less of a surprise. 

 

Sometimes a name will trigger a suggestion as to how/where a child was born, or perhaps conceived.  April might have an obvious birth month.  Dawn might suggest an early morning birth.  I once heard a mom call her son "Winter" and when he didn't respond, she resorted to using his middle name and bellowed "Winter Storm!!  Get over here right now!"  Ha!  Very clever.  More information than I necessarily needed or wanted, but still adorable.  I guess.

 

All this to say that we were in church for Hope's Christening, as were some other babies and their parents and families, when we heard the baby named Tequila get called up.  Tequila Rose.  Now, in cases like this, I know better than to look at Ryan, or my brother who shares my sense of humor.  The other brother might have been safe enough, but  you can't always be sure.  To be safe, I looked down at my hands.  But I am weak.  When I started to hear things like "We welcome you, Tequila, into the family of God..." well, what can I say?  I had to turn off my ears, it was the only way.  In a panic, I just started repeating, to myself of course, the first song lyrics that popped into my head.  "What do you do with a scurvy pirate?  What do you do with a scurvy pirate?  What do you do with a scurvy pirate?  Make him walk the plank!"  over and over.  Thank you, Backyardigans.

Is it just me, or is it impossible to imagine the conversation that took place over the naming of this child?  "Well, she wouldn't be here if it weren't for all that..."  No, it's just too much!

 

We managed to get through it.  To my surprise and disappointment, no one even made mention of little baby Tequila, until we were at my house.  Then Ryan's brother picked her up and called her Guinness.  That started it all.  All of Hope's new nicknames.  Due to the proximity of her conception and St. Patrick's Day, Guiness kind of stuck, but there was some disappointment that she wasn't a boy named Jameson.  Or, for those of Irish descent, that Ryan's name wasn't John Power.  Some of the names they came up with are damaging to my reputation, so I won't share them.  (Ex)Stacey totally doesn't apply to me, and neither does "Lucy (In the Sky with Diamonds)"  For the record. 

 

I'll never look at a girl named Mary Jane the same.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 13:11 | link | comments (10) |

I've been thinking a lot lately about the butterfly effect.  The itty bitty things that happen to us, producing gigantic outcomes.  When I was getting married the first time, we had to attend pre-marital counseling sessions, as ordered by the Catholic church.  I think there were four two hour sessions, 30 young engaged couples sitting on folding chairs in a large room just trying to get through this so they could get on to more important things, like what color foil embossing should be chosen to best offest those personalized cocktail napkins.

 

On the last night the only thing on my mind was crossing this obligatory task off of my massive pre-wedding to-do list.  Then we had the quiz.  It was a simple thing.  Sit where your partner can't see, and answer these simple questions.  I don't remember them all, but they were basic; How many children would you like to have, what is your fiance's favorite color, TV show, food?  And the kicker:  What is your fiance's worst trait?  I breezed through the quiz until I got to that one.  Not because it was difficult to come up with anything negative about this man I loved enough to consider spending the rest of my life with, but because I couldn't decide between the two worst things.  Hmmm.   Kinda makes you think.

 

Then, we revealed our answers to eachother.  Woah.  Not only was he completely off base on just about everything about me, but my worst trait?  I was annoying.  Annoying!    When I questioned him on that, he shrugged and said it was either that, or my family, and he thought I would get mad if he said that my family was my worst trait, so he settled.  Chuh!! 

 

That was it for me.  I was calling off the wedding.  It was almost funny, this silly little class that I hadn't taken seriously at all had done it's job.  I felt this odd sense of calm come over me.  A little bit of sadness, a whole lot of fear, but still an undertow of tranquility that told me I was going to do the right thing.  I would wait until after the class, go back to his apartment and deliver the news that was sure to devastate him.  That's right Honey, your annoying fiance with the difficult family is setting you free.

 

Then it happened.  We had run into another couple that we happened to go to high school with at this class.  They were more his friends than mine, but I recognized them and they were nice.  They were planning a wedding too, obviously.  Imagine that.  Small world.  On that last night, they invited us out for a drink after class, and before I could open my mouth, my soon-to-be-ex fiance accepted for us.  So we went.  I figured, ah, what's another day of being engaged, in the grand scheme of things?  I'll just call off the wedding tomorrow.  Sleep on it, I told myself.  So practical.

 

Except that I had a really good time that night.  Not because I drank excessively or anything like that, but just because going out with another couple and catching up about high school and  life and whatever just made me re-think my decision.  I can't exactly explain what came over me, but I didn't call off the wedding.  I got married.  We even attended the wedding of the couple who saved us as a married couple.  Less than a year later, I was divorced.  I'm 100% certain that had we not run into them that night, I would have gone through with my plan to call it off.

 

The divorce actually came to me in another "Aha!" moment.  I was working at a job with a bunch of young people who attended happy hour every Friday night.  I never joined them, because my husband frowned on that sort of thing.  Finally one week a coworker who had been nagging me to come out with them told me to invite him along.  So I did, and he said no, so I told him I was going without him.  And I did.  That night, I did drink heavily.  I was talking to a boy named Skip who worked in my office.  At some point in our conversation, I started to say that I was thinking of divorcing my husband, but I stopped myself in a panic.  He heard enough, and encouraged me to say what I was going to say, but I couldn't.  I didn't.  I went home later and when I woke up the next morning I found that someone had been rummaging through my drawers.  My personal papers.  My checkbook.  My email.  When you're a bit of a neat freak you notice things like this.    There was nothing incriminating to find, but still, it was such a violation.  I called him at work and told him off.  He came home immediately, all apologetic and fearful.  I left, drove around for a while, then went to my brother's house and told him I was getting divorced.  His response?  "Thank God!"  I slept on my brother's couch that night, and my husband never even called to see where I was.

 

I was sad, not becuse I was going to miss him, but because I had been stupid enough to marry him in the first place.  I felt like I had sacrificed my life to make him happy.  I was young, but I felt old, and the stigma of being "divorced" forever more, not "single" but "divorced", as if they're not the same thing, really stung. 

 

Then, on Monday, I ran into Skip at the network printer.  He was printing something big and my job was behind his, so we stood there, waiting, and he said "I think I know what you were going to say Friday night, and if I'm right, I'd just like you to know that I would be honored if you would consider me a potential candidate for dinner and drinks some night."  And he walked away, and just like that, I knew I was going to be ok.  For the first time in well over a year, I was happy.  I was young and free and had the world at my feet and though I never took him up on his offer, I wish I could let him know how much those words meant to me at the time.  Isn't it funny, how something so small can have such a big impact on someone's life?

 

Whew, I got lost in that story, sorry.  It just makes me think about how it all works.  How I can't have regrets, because if everything hadn't gone exactly as it had, I wouldn't be exactly where I am today.  Maybe if I hadn't married him, I would have found some other less offensive guy and married him and had some kids and this whole different life.  And he wouldn't be Ryan, and THAT would be a tragedy, because if there's anyone on this earth who's perfect for me, and a perfect father for perfect little Hope, it's him.  It's hard to even fathom that Hope could have someone else's chromosome, and just like that, she wouldn't be who she is.  It boggles the mind.

 

Just now I asked Ryan what he thinks my worst trait is, and without even looking up or pausing to think, he said "Can I pick two?" and I gasped and agreed, and he said "Your lead foot, and your propensity towards driving while angry."  And see?  You can't even compare them, because if my worst trait is not something that annoys him, but something that makes him worry about me, you just know that it's right, no matter how many times I got it wrong before.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 14:32 | link | comments (12) |

Hi, it's me...the girl who doesn't want to talk about it.  This is my last post on the matter, I swear.  It's a fantastic update.  I have a chronic disease!  Yahooooo!  Well, we're not entirely sure about the chronic part, but it's looking that way.  I flunked my blood test.  Thyroid trouble.  A non-functioning thyroid, to be exact.  The list of symptoms is beyond exciting....fatigue, depression, hair loss - everything I've been whining about!  It even explains why my nails keep breaking and my uncanny inablity to swallow at will.  My doctor told me that with my blood results being what they were, she was surprised that I was even up and about and functioning on any normal level.   I think I fell in love with her a little bit.

 

The only bad thing is that there's a strange lump involved that's being investigated, but I've decided that in the worst case, I'll take a cancerous tumor over the way I've been feeling.  Yeah, it was that bad.

 

So that's it.  I got my wish for a magical pill that's going to cure me.  Not immediately, but knowing that help is the way makes all the difference in the world.  And there you have it, my last word on the matter that is my mental health. 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 12:33 | link | comments (10) |

The following is a completely hypothetical example:

 

You know how, for example, you tell your mom that you're having marital troubles, and she's wonderful and supportive, but then you work things out with your mate and everything is just fine, but you just KNOW that your mom is always thinking about those troubles you spoke of?  And even though you've worked through it, she's still going to ask, in a very sympathetic and well intentioned way, every once in a while, how things are?  And you know it's because she loves you and she's worried that there still ARE problems and you're just keeping them to yourself, but there's just no way for you to convince her that everything really is fine, and so she goes on forever and ever thinking that your marriage is doomed and someday you'll open up again and be honest about it.  Know what I mean?

 

Well that's kinda how I feel about my last post.  I don't want to go on and on about it, and I don't want to be known forever as that depressed blogger.  (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)  If I post normal, or even happy stuff, I don't want people thinking "Oh sure, she's typing like everything's A-OK but we know the truth!".  So, if I promise that I'm in good hands, and dealing with the situation, can we just move on and pretend that that particular post is not hanging all around?  Pretty please?  Besides, if I'm tired of complaining about it, you've GOT to be tired of reading about it.

 

Bigger and better things;  My brother was here last night and got a phone call from the girl he met on St. Patrick's Day.  A phone call that made him smile, despite the fact that both our brackets had just gone in the crapper, and that made him blush and tell me to shut up when I pushed for details after he hung up.  Sounds serious, yes?  Very exciting.  I haven't met her yet, so I can't give her my official stamp of approval, but she can't possibly be any worse than the A-word.

 

I got a fortune cookie with a typo or two in it:

RMG, you know what to do!! 

 

Now please settle this argument for me;  Suppose you order Chinese Take Out (over the phone) and you go there and pick it up and take it home.  When you pay, do you include a tip?  Does it make a difference if you pay with a Debit/Credit card and the receipt has a place for the total, and blank line for the tip, and another blank line for you to print the revised total, including a tip?  Assume, for fairness, that this is a restaurant that also has tables and waiter service, and probably everyone gets the "tip" receipt.  Who pays for the next dinner is riding on your answer.

 

And now, a mommy/baby love story:

 

The day after we decided to try to become parents, Ryan and I were walking to dinner in Kona, Hawaii.  On the way we passed this little shop that had the sweetest little purple dress in the window.  It was teeny-tiny and came with this colorful little Hawaiian lei.  It was the most adorable baby dress that anyone has ever seen.  We continued on our way, and all through dinner I obsessed about this little dress.  I just had to have it!  I knew that some day I would have a little baby to put in it, and it was just kind of the realization of that dream.  So of course, on the way back, I got it.  All this time I saved it on the top shelf of my closet, and now, here it is:

Awwwww!   She wore it to Grandma's house the other day.  Yes, we know it's too cold for such a summery dress, but she's going to be busting out of it come summertime, so we had to have this photo-op now.  Have no fear, we layered her before leaving the house.

 

My trip to L.A. turned out to be a success.  I celebrated for about 5 seconds, then realized that this meant that my too-heavy workload wasn't going anwhere.  Sigh.  However, my new (temporary) assistant is starting on Monday.  Yahoo!

 

Ok, now let me see....Yep, that's all the news that's fit to print.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 13:31 | link | comments (29) |

I've been doing the whole "If you don't have anything nice to say...." thing because my mother raised me right.  But I realize that not only does this little mantra make for a very boring blog, but it's also unhealthy and this is my blog and if I want to stomp my feet and pull my hair like a spoiled little girl, dog-gone it, I'm gonna do it. 

 

I finally bit the bullet and visited the doctor about the potential that I'm a homicidal maniac  possibly suffering from postpartum depression.  This has been building for a while now. Ryan and I have two different theories on when it came to a head.  It occurred to me that this problem might deserve my attention just over a week ago, around 3:00 in the morning, when Hope started crying 15 minutes after I had fed her and put her back in her crib, and I started punching and tearing at my pillow while chanting "no, No, NO NO NO NOOOOOO!!".  (Not my proudest moment, but what good is a blog if it's not honest and embarrassingly soul bearing, right?)  Ryan was able to pass that off as sheer exhaustion and overall stress.  His key indicator was when I, of all people, refused to go out on St. Patrick's Day.  Yeah, those of you waiting for all the good stories will have to wait till next year, because as much as I tried to get myself in the mood, I just couldn't.  I couldn't leave my baby for one more night without the guilt searing my heart like a hot poker.   I sat home in my recliner with my baby, and when the phone calls encouraging me to stop being a wuss and come join them at my favorite little bar on the happiest of all nights kept coming in, I turned the ringer off and was in bed by 9:00. 

 

I suppose, in retrospect, this is not normal behavior.  The truth is that I haven't been "normal" since I gave birth, and my mental well being was questionable for nine months before that.  One might argue that of course I'm not going to be "normal" ever again, because I'm a mother now and this is the new version of me.  However, I'm going to propose that this is not how the new "me" is supposed to feel.  This is not how anyone should ever have to feel, and I'll just leave it at that.

 

Soooo, I went to the doctor, and it was less than helpful, to be honest.  And so, I feel worse.  There's nothing quite like admitting to a professional that you feel completely hopeless and leaving with the feeling that you were right, there really is no hope.  She's uncomfortable with prescribing anti-depressants while I'm breastfeeding.  I'm not wild about the idea of anti-depressants even if I weren't, but I was so desperate that I was willing to overlook that, just this once.  At this point, I would walk on hot coals while swallowing swords and juggling mousetraps if I thought it would help break through the fog.   So of course, there's psychotherapy, but every cell in my body is screaming that it would be futile because this feels so very chemical.  I mean, here I am talking about it right now, and it's only makes me feel worse.   Psychotherapy would be like holding an AA meeting at the local pub over a round of beers.  I suppose this hopeless feeling is one of the symptoms and it's just a vicious cycle, a cruel trick that Mother Nature is playing on me.  Bitch.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 12:10 | link | comments (12) |

I'm thinking about my nice unlogged visitor from Australia...I hope you're ok.  Please check in when you can. 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 10:39 | link | comments (8) |

Breakfast of Champions:

 

And Derek Jeter, {sigh},

 

It doesn't get much better than that, right?  Happy St. Patrick's Day!

 

My trip can be summed up in one phrase;  "You can still lose even if you really try".  Who said that?  Matchbox 20?  It couldn't have gone better, but I don't know.  I have reason to believe that this is my last trip to Los Angeles.  I've been wrong before.  A few times.  But probably not this time.

 

The World Baseball game was crazy!  U.S.A. vs. Mexico, and those of us cheering for the U.S.A. were by far the minority.  I saw 4 fights, and there was absolutely no security.  We were late because the parking situation was insane.  I can't imagine living in a place with no real mass transportation.  Just imagine 80,000 people all driving to a baseball game at the same time.  Yikes!  Plus there was construction, and for some strange reason 3/4 of the parking lot was sealed off.  Then the game was so good that we didn't want to leave till the end.  (We lost) And when we did leave, we had to RUN because we had to go right to the airport and avoid all the fights and the same parking nightmare.  We also had to run through the airport to get to our flight before it took off, and by then I was so riled up that there was no way I could sleep.  Which means that the last sleep I had was the two or three hours I slept Wednesday night.  YAWN!

 

Anyway, even when not in a Yankee uniform, you can always spot Derek Jeter on the field because of his thighs.  Shut up, Red Sox fans, you know you hate him because he's beautiful.

 

Oh, I saw Tom Cruise and a very pregnant Katie Holmes making out for the "Kiss-Cam".   Guess those rumors aren't true after all.

 

Missed my baby.  SO much.  When I got home she took one look at me and cried and cried and cried.  So sad.  I hope she forgives me soon.

 

It is the most happiest day of the year, so no more complaining from me.

 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 13:59 | link | comments (4) |

I'm leaving on a jet plane (that's going to crash into a kabillion bits somewhere amongst the Rocky Mountains.)

 

Hmm.  Somehow that's not as catchy as the original version of the song.

 

My schedule for the next 35 hours or so is insane.  My flight is at 5:30 today, and I'll be getting home around 6:00 AM Friday morning.  Already today 4 people have emailed me junk that says "I need this by Friday, hope that's not a problem."  Um, Hello!  BIG problem!  Not only will I not be here to work on it (and those stinkers KNOW it!) but Friday is the most happiest day of the year!  I can't be expected to work, much less have annoyingly impossible deadlines to meet.  I'm putting my foot down.  I'm saying no, and I don't care what they think.  I do have to look out for #1, after all.  And #1 is going to start celebrating the moment she gets off the plane.  Do I not deserve one day of happiness and fun?  Why yes, yes I do!

 

Please keep Ryan in your thoughts as he gets launched into the world of single-parenting.  I miss them already.

 

It's not all bad though, because we're going to the world baseball game tomorrow night.  That means Derek Jeter!   I head to the airport right from the game, unless of course Mr Jeter invites me to stay.  Shut up.  Allow me my fantasies.

 

I fully expect all of you, if you're my friends, (and you are) to be ready to celebrate with me on Friday.  This means you must wear green, and start drinking early.  Pictures of you in your green are encouraged.  Pictures of you drinking early are strongly encouraged.

 

Love you guys. XOXOXOXOXOXXO

posted by: AmericanGirl at 11:16 | link | comments (8) |

Open Discussion:

 

What would you say to someone who seemed to have a perfect life, a supportive family, and no obvious troubles, yet no will to go on? 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 15:40 | link | comments (16) |

Prepare to be dazzled:

 

Ok, ok, I know it might not seem like a big deal, but to her parents, it's HUGE!  Big girl!  Next thing you know, she won't be right where we left her anymore.  Then she'll be off and running to school....dating....college....and then poor Ryan will be walking her down the aisle.  Sniff....sniff!!

posted by: AmericanGirl at 18:21 | link | comments (14) |

Everyone seems so blue these days.  Since I don't want to be an outsider, I'll admit that I am too.  In fact, I'm completely overwhelmed with blues.  Are bloggers more depressed than the rest of the population, or is it just that we hang it all out there, so our depression is more obvious?  Or maybe depressed people are more prone to seek out blogging as a form of therapy.  In other words, are we depressed because we blog (Ha!) or do we blog because we're depressed?

 

Here, maybe this will help some of you:

 

Go Away, Winter Blues!

 

I'm completely over my head at work.  My work load just literally tripled.  A bunch of people in my office were fired, and now it's looking as though they won't be replaced.  It's a big scandal.  It's an absolute nightmare.  My to-do pile is so big that I totally don't know where to start.  I work on whatever someone is asking me for at the moment.  When the phone rings again, and it's someone else asking for something, I drop what I'm doing and work on that instead.  Nothing is getting done, and there's no nice feeling of satisfaction at the end of the day.  Anything that says "A.S.A.P" instead of an actual deadline goes right to the bottom of my pile, because as soon as possible is sometime in the distant, undetermined future.  Nothing is possible when I'm just putting out fires all day.

 

Speaking of putting out fires, I'm having very unsettling dreams.  In one of them, the guys from Ryan's firehouse are here visiting.  As they're downstairs playing poker, I hear Hope cry and go to her crib to get her.  Only it's not her, it's a doll in her place, all stiff and plastic with messy acrylic hair and wide plastic eyes.  So I start screaming to these guys that something is wrong with Hope, and there's no response, so I grab this stiff little doll wrapped in her favorite pink flannel blanket and run down the stairs to show them, and they barely look up from their cards.  When they do, they laugh and shake their heads and tell me I better call 911, because that looks all messed up.  Not even Ryan cares.

 

The other version is that I wake up in my bed and my house is on fire.  The walls are completely engulfed in flames.  So I jump up and run to Hope's room, and these same guys, the guys from Ryan's house, are just casually walking around as if the place isn't burning.  They say they're waiting for a line but there's no sense of urgency at all.  Hope isn't in her crib so I start looking all over, asking them all where she is, and they just shrug.  There's a guy looking through a collection of National Geographics on the bookshelf.  Downstairs in the kitchen two guys are opening up the cabinets while fire covers the ceiling, looking for something to eat.  Someone is drinking coffee.  I can't do anything to get an appropriate response from them. 

 

Ryan says I cursed at them in my sleep.  Well yeah, they totally had it coming.  I know they're just dreams, but it just brings to a head the fact that it's hard to trust a bunch of guys you don't know with your husband's life every day.  People think it's so easy and fun and exciting to be a firefighter's wife, but the truth is that it sucks ass.  I barely know them.  They could be the greatest firefighters in the world, or they could be sloppy guys who make mistakes or they could be crazy buffs who think their turnout gear makes them invincible to fire and therefore take chances they shouldn't.  I'm just not taking to this new house very well, and it's not their fault, but it's just one of those sucky situations where you have no control so all you can do is whine about it in your blog.

 

So there it is.

 

I'm convinced that my flight to Los Angeles is going to crash over Colorado.  Why Colorado?  I have no idea.  Maybe it's the flight back home that's going to crash, I'm not sure.  Certainly it will be whichever flight has to navigate through stormy weather, because in my day-nightmares, it crashes into the foothills of the Rocky Mountains in a sleety hailstorm, and my poor baby won't even remember me.  Woe is me.

 

6:14 PM and my work phone is making that little half ring that tells me someone is calling even though I have the phone in night mode.  It's keeps going till 9:30 most nights.  I just want to cry.

 

Ok, happy news.  Hope can roll over!  I have pictures.  Action shots.  I'm way too lazy to post them now, so you'll have to trust me until I have more energy.

 

6:28 PM, which means that it took me 14 minutes to write that last paragraph.  I'm signing off now.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 18:28 | link | comments (9) |

Holy crap!  I stand corrected.  There IS a God!

 

I don't have to go to L.A.!

 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 19:22 | link | comments (9) |

I'm completely overwhelmed with stress that I can't write about.  Since I'm busy avoiding this stress, here's a bunch of annoyances that I can blog about:

 

My hair is falling out at an alarming rate.  Anna is getting married.  There's an arsonist setting apartment buildings on fire in Brooklyn, and absolutely no one, especially not the media, cares because no beautiful people have died yet.  I can't figure out how to clean my wood floors without leaving a sticky residue.  Hope woke up five times last night, for no apparent reason, after sleeping through the night for a week.  My fish died.  I'm addicted to Drugstore.com.  People are yelling at me all $#%^ing day long.  I have a meeting in five minutes with a guy who stares at my chest the entire time I'm with him.  I'm hungry.  My best chat buddy is leaving me for a week.  (JUST KIDDING!  Have fun!!)  My deoderant smells like a peach tree.  I'm hot.  My head hurts, and I hate everybody, and I don't feel ANY better.

posted by: AmericanGirl at 12:29 | link | comments (11) |

Happy Weekend!   

 

posted by: AmericanGirl at 19:37 | link | comments (12) |

Hope's Christening is coming up.  This isn't an event that's especially important to me.  To be honest, if it were just she and I, I wouldn't be going through it at all.  When she's older, I would educate her with an open mind and let her make her own decisions regarding the whole religious thing.  But, since I'm not an orphaned single parent, and it's important to her father and, well...everyone else, we're doing it.  I'm not against it, I just don't care, because I don't believe that babies are born in sin, and sentenced to life in "Limbo", which the church has backed down on anyway, because it was ridiculous to begin with and everyone knows it.  Ok, no one seems to know it, but there it is.

 

In "Peter Pan's Return to Neverland", Wendy's daughter Jane sings "I'm too tired to listen, I'm too old to believe all these childish stories.  There is no such thing as faith and trust and pixie dust.  I try, but it's so hard to believe, I try, but I can't see what you see..."

 

It's interesting to me that as we get older, we grow out of our die-hard belief in magic, fairies, Santa, etc..and yet most people seem to believe even more in the power of prayer and grown men walking on water as they age.  We go through the teenage years which cast doubt on everything, and somehow most come back to God.  It's fascinating that people believe the bible to be based on fact, no questions asked.   A talking burning bush?  Sure!  Turn around and be turned into a pillar of salt?  Yup, no problem!  Parting the red sea with a wave of one's hand?  No problemo!  No one anticipated that the levies might break - Yeah, right!  BS!

 

What, exactly, is wrong with all of you? 

 

Just kidding. 

 

I realize my views are not popular.  That's ok.  I don't blame people for having faith.  More power to them, as long as they're not using it as an excuse to be complete and utter assholes.  It doesn't bother me that people believe in God.  I just don't.

 

One might say it's hypocritical of me to Christen my baby, in front of "God" and everyone.  Yeah, so it is.  But when her father feels strongly about it, what do you do?  I'm not going to change his views, and I wouldn't dream of trying.  I'm going with the flow here, because it doesn't mean anything to me.  It's not like I feel strongly that it would be damaging to her to go through this little ritual.  And he feels strongly that it IS important, so it's a no-brainer.

 

So here comes the dilemma.  A close friend of mine has asked Ryan and I to be Godparents to her unborn child, who shall be born next month.  Hum.  I explained to her that I was currently non practicing, just after inviting her to Hope's Christening.  Yeah.  I also explained that Ryan and I were not married in the Catholic church, and some churches have a problem with that, and some don't.  (Even Santa Clause is more consistent, by the way! LOL)  Anyway, I cringed and told her that while I was honored that she chose us, I wasn't sure how I felt about vowing to raise her son as a Catholic.  In the very unfortunate circumstance that his parents are taken away from him, I would certainly feel fine about raising him, but taking him to church every Sunday?  That's just not going to happen.

 

She said that to her, it's more of an honorary title, and she chose us because she admires us as a couple, and feels we would be a good example to her son.  She said she would check with her church about the requirements, and left it with a "Well, talk to Ryan about it and get back to me, but there's absolutely no pressure."

 

So, what would YOU do in a situation like that?

posted by: AmericanGirl at 13:18 | link | comments (12) |

Do you remember February 26th, 1993?  I do.  I was three weeks into my first "real" job as systems trainer for a bank.  I trained bank tellers on a new computer system that was being rolled out, branch by branch.  That week I was working in Harlem.  135th and 5th.  It was a surreal experience for this Long Island girl.  My boss at the time made me paranoid and teamed me up with a boy.  He was from the Bronx, serious on the outside, and silly and immature on the inside.  His last name had an "n" with the tilda on top, and he taught me how to make one on the computer.  I think it was "Alt" and 265, or something.  ñ  We were both brand new to the job.  We were told not to walk the streets of the neighborhood under any circumstances, and don't dare attempt the subway.  That was before Harlem was beautified.  I was to take a yellow cab from Penn Station, and then in the evening, call for car service to take me back to Penn Station.  My only exposure to the big bad world would be walking from the bank door to the car door.

 

On that day the boy had to report to another branch, so I was on my own.  Sceeery.  The tellers had all been trained, and my only role was to show up at the end of the day and help them "prove".  Bank lingo for adding up all your junk at the end of the day and making sure you made no mistakes.  They closed at 4:00, and that's when I had to be there.  As I got ready for work I saw the breaking news, smoke coming from one of the twin towers.  I was mildly interested.  My mom reported that "Something bad happened."  No one knew.  It wasn't like the news of today where first things first, no matter what, they say "We don't believe this is terrorism."  Back then, our first thoughts didn't jump to terrorism.  It was a different world.  

 

At the train station I was the only one heading into the city.  It was odd.  In the mornings, the regulars knew exactly where to stand on the platform, so that when the train stopped, the doors would open right in front of them.  I always wondered how they knew, and how the train conductor always managed to stop at exactly the same place.  I thought that a fun conductor might stop two feet later.  They never did.  There were no regulars at that time of day.  Only me.

 

It was snowing.  When you get Queens, around Woodside, before the tunnel, you can see the towers.  On TV I saw the smoke coming up from the side of the tower, but in person, from the train, I couldn't.  Maybe it was the snow.  I thought it must not be a very big deal.  All under control.  No one was making a big deal out of it.  Especially me.

 

My cab got pulled over on the way to the bank, on the other side of central park, and I was annoyed because he was making me late.  He got out of the car and went to talk to the police officer, leaving his door wide open.  I thought for sure someone was going to jump in and take me for a ride.  He didn't get a ticket.  I don't even know what he got pulled over for.  When the lights came on, the cab driver turned to me and said "I didn't do anything, you didn't see me do anything wrong, right?" and I shrugged at him in my best girl-from-Long-Island disinterested way.  Look alert, but not interested, and no one will bother you.  Look fearful or cautious, and they'll eat you alive. 

 

Things at the bank branch were not going smoothly.  They made a lot of mistakes.  I managed to get all the tellers in proof, but not the branch, I don't remember what the problem was.  Around 7:30 the phone rang and the branch manager answered it.  When she hung up, she called for everyone's attention. She said "The thing at the twin towers has turned out to be espionage, so they're asking everyone to evacuate the city.  If you live here, they want you to go home and stay home, otherwise, leave and go home."   Ok, first of all...espionage?  WTF?  Second of all, I was putting on my coat.  The branch manager looked at me and said we're not leaving here until my branch is in proof.  I sighed and took off my coat. 

 

At 8:30 someone called from branch division, there were bomb threats, we had to go.  We had just gotten the branch in proof.  I was waiting for car service.  It wasn't scary, it was just mildly exciting and interesting.  People talked about the bombing of the twin towers like they talked about a car fire on the Major Deegan.  Interesting to look at but kind of a pain in the ass.  Maybe they wondered what espionage was.

 

I wonder how many people remember the details of the day modern America's hymen was broken.  Looking back, I don't remember a surge of patriotism.  I don't remember outrage.  I don't remember any real sense of fear.  Maybe there was and I was too self absorbed, or young, or stupid, or naive, to notice it.  But I don't think so.  In another world you might look back and say "Damn, what's it gonna take?".  

posted by: AmericanGirl at 12:35 | link | comments (11) |

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