He's fine, but I'm bummed

Being a responsible adult sucks. Big time.

We're headed to Southern California this weekend for the annual Brown alum Super Bowl party/game marathon, and I was all set to take the family to Disneyland on our spare day. Imagine TheBoy's delight! Imagine how big TheGirl's eyes will get! Imagine the thrill of replacing my faded, hole-riddled, 12-year-old Eeyore t-shirt! What a great mom I am!

Then I started doing my research. And I quickly realized that taking the 4.5-year-old and the 14-month-old to the happiest place on earth for a day was the worst idea I've had since drug-free childbirth. Every website I turned to had one thing to say about day trips to Disney: Don't do it.

So we're pulling back. Instead of Anaheim, we'll take the kids to the Santa Monica pier along with a bunch of other Brownies and spouses. It will be lots of fun, TheBoy will get to ride the big-ass ferris wheel, and Judybat and I won't have to spend the rest of the weekend recovering.

Still ... I was really excited about replacing that t-shirt.

Next week: Driving

We have walking. It's official. Tonight, just seconds ago in fact, TheGirl made it a good eight steps on her own, freestanding, without anybody holding her hand. She doesn't quite have the hang of it yet -- she keeps her head too far back to maintain much balance, and she's got her feet too close together to really work up any speed -- but still ...

She leaves for college next week. That is, at least, what it feels like at moments such as this, as if our teeny tiny things are well on their way out of the house, into their own lives. One step follows another, etc. It's enough to make a mother want to weep.

Except, of course, that I can hear TheBoy screaming in the background because he doesn't want his Ima to wipe his tushy for him even though the entire world -- or at least the parts within sniffing distance of his rear end -- recognize that he's not yet capable of taking care of his own needs in that department. And TheGirl took those baby steps away from me only to fall down -- baby go boom! -- on her butt, and immediately start to cry.

So we have a ways to go before they up and leave. But it doesn't always feel that way.

Bus stories

Three times in the past month, I've landed on the bus next to somebody who wound up crying. And I never know how to handle the situation, or seem to handle it correctly. Once was a young woman, maybe late 20s, who was clearly in the middle of a nasty breakup -- her cell kept ringing, and she kept answering and saying things like, 'It hurts too much to talk to you anymore.' Another girl, this time maybe 23 or 24, got on crying and just happened to sit down next to me. Then there was the elderly lady who just burst into tears for no reason.

All three times, I asked if they needed anything. In one case, I even had a tissue to offer up. (A tissue? My hero!) But what is the appropriate response to mass transit weeping? Anyone? Most of my busmates seemed to think averting their eyes was the answer.

And yet, Portland busgoers still step up when need me. Last week, my bus got stopped in the middle of a bridge behind a stalled car. We sat for about 15 minutes, until the driver finally radioed in to his supervisor, who suggested just pushing the car to the other side of the bridge and out of the way. That's exactly what we -- or rather, a collection of large men who were not carrying little Girl's -- did. The boys came back, we gave them a nice ovation, and we went right on our merry way. It was one of those nice little Portland moments: This is a big enough town to have busses that people actually ride and bridges to go over, but not big enough to let a little thing like a stalled car actually slow traffic down.

Imagine the George Washington Bridge in a similiar scenario.

Sad but true

Sorry about the recent silence, but it's hard to find anything worth sharing these days. We wake up in darkness. We go home from work in darkness. It's 3:15 as I type this, and the sun is already starting to slip down below the tall buildings outside.

Plus, I'm not feeling so hot about myself. Last weekend or thereabouts, I was playing on the floor with TheBoy when he turned very serious.

"Mommy, let me tell you something. You are very fat."

I didn't really have a response for that, so he continued.

"Mommy, you need to stop eating so much sugar so you are not so fat."

Ouch. And yet, he's right. I gave myself a year after the baby was born to, literally, let it all hang out. As a result, my baby gut has turned into a beer/ice cream/brownie/french fry gut. Somehow it's less attractive on me than it was 14 months ago.

This week I finally gutted up and started doing something about it. But finding inspiration for that is just as hard as inspiration for writing. It's cold and wet and grey here in lovely Portland, and all I really want is a cheeseburger and a nap.

This week Oregon's new domestic partnership law was supposed to go into effect. I'm not a huge proponent of domestic partnership laws; I think they're a way to distract us from fighting for true equality. (Exhibit A: When AR and I moved here for her job, we took advantage of our new county's Domestic Partnership Registry ordinance so that I, then playing the role of stay-at-home mom, could be covered under AR's health plan at work. But the @#$%ing Feds TAX her on the benefit she receives for me, because they don't consider domestic partnerships to be valid.)

Nevertheless, I was irked when groups like Concerned Oregonians Against Reason and Decency led a petition drive to put a referendum of the law on the next ballot. And then I was ENRAGED when - after decency prevailed and the petitioners failed to gather enough signatures - a federal judge blocked the law before it could go into effect. (I'd say something here about conservatives only favoring states rights when it comes to abortion and only labeling judges "activist" when they make decisions deemed liberal, but that's a whole 'nother rant. Maybe two.)

Many couples who were planning on registering under the law on Monday attended a candlelight vigil instead. I asked a friend of mine, who is seven months pregnant, if she and her partner were going to the vigil. (Registering as domestic partners would save them the hundreds of dollars in legal fees it will cost for her partner to adopt their baby and be recognized as a legal parent.) My friend said no. She said her partner "doesn't want to be sad and have a
vigil. She wants to b(expletive removed) slap somebody across the face."

I'm not a big fan of the B word, but I can't help feeling this is the appropriate response. In fact, I think we should make a community event out of it - maybe a b-slapping in effigy rally.

Dude, don't make the lesbians angry.

Happy New Year!

I spent the whole day in my pajamas. How about you?

I used to think a nice, brisk hike was the best way to start of the new year, but as my resolution this year is to cultivate sloth, a three-hour nap seemed more in line with my goals. (Thank you, AR, for helping me to achieve those goals today.)

That's not really my new year's resolution. AR would like me to resolve to write more for the blog, but I resolved a few years ago not to make any more resolutions. I don't really believe in them - except for that last one, of course. That one seems to have stuck.

I like starting off the year with a day of fasting and quiet contemplation, which I did in September. This year, the Kol Nidre sermon - one of the best I've ever heard - urged us toward an absolution so complete as to free us from our own grudges, because - let's face it - those grudges only hurt the ones who carry them, not the ones who caused them. So inspired, I did resolve then to achieve that highest level of forgiveness, but whom to forgive? Clearly, I am blessed, because there isn't a soul in my life who has wronged me so that I'm in need of forgiving. Then it occurred to me: George W. Bush.

The rabbi did say it wouldn't be easy, and I do believe that letting go of my anger - so inconsequential to the man to whom it's directed - would lighten my load. But you know what? I just can't do it. GWB, if you are reading this - and of course you are - I've decided that you are beyond redemption.

So much for resolutions.