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  • Shouted Greetings

    January 6, 2010

    Yesterday I was eavesdropping chatting on Twitter and I saw that my friend michaelsownmom was talking about how her little boy waved and shouted a greeting at a woman who was walking down the street, but the woman didn’t respond. And understandably, that bruised his feelings just a little.

    I replied to her that my six-year-old does the same thing – if someone is walking down the sidewalk in front or behind the house, he’ll stop what he is doing and holler Hi There! and wave with his hand high in the air, sometimes until they are clear out of sight.  I added that I really have to fight the urge to stifle him, but really, why?

    MichaelsDaddy chimed in that he sometimes feels like he needs to protect him from the rejection of those who won’t respond in kind.

    I think every parent can relate to that, the overwhelming urge to protect our babies from the hurts and rejections of the world.

    If I am to be honest though, I think one reason I want to temper Sean’s enthusiasm in shouting greetings to all who pass is because, for reasons unbeknownst to me, it’s a little embarrassing. We tend to not do that kind of thing much these days and our world is probably a little darker for it.

    But like MichaelsDaddy, also known as Tom, I too want to protect my baby from those who won’t acknowledge him or respond in kind.

    But the cold reality of life on this planet is that there will always be a steady stream of rejection to be had.  So, from a practical standpoint, why not start practicing now?  Why not get used to rejection from complete strangers so that way when he grows up and is on Twitter and gets notice of 14 unfollowers, it won’t hurt his feelings. As much.

    But immeasurably beyond that, to stifle him would be to counter the exact thing I’m trying to teach him – always reach out, always extend kindness to others,  even when it is not acknowledged or returned.

    The Internet Is Awesome

    August 16, 2009

    Friday night I drove far far far FAR away from my home to have dinner with Screwed Up Texan and Amy who writes Living Locurto.

    I had never met either of them before, but chances are, if you read someone’s blog, you probably know more about them than people who really know them know about them — it’s just that you’ve never actually met them.  Diagram that sentence, I dare you.

    Anyway, we had a delightful time sharing stories and chatting about all things blogging and everything else.  We discovered that we are all three artists and photographers, share a similar world view and we all three have children about the same age.

    I also thought it was interesting that if you round up a smidge, we are all just about 10 years apart —  30, 40 and 50 — interesting but insignificant.  That’s what I love about the internet — it neutralizes the usual barriers like age, race, region, religion, economics, education and all the other silly ways in which we divide ourselves.

    I’ve done a number of blogger meet-ups in my four years of blogging and I always come away feeling like I’ve found some long lost members of my tribe, that I’ve found people who understand why I do what I do.  Some of those gals whom I’ve met through blogging, and you know who you are — they  are some of my best buds. I know I can count on them.

    I think that is just an amazingly cool thing, to connect with awesome people whose path you would never cross in real life.

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    Screwed Up, Loco Locurto and Crazy Old Lady

    I was glad when I uploaded the pictures and discovered they were actually blurry and it wasn’t just that one itty bitty glass of wine I had with dinner.

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    This is what photographers do when they go to dinner.

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    Aren’t they cute? Go read their blogs.

    Kansas City Here I Come

    June 26, 2006

    Last Saturday, I took my first solo trip away from Sean. I took a day trip to Kansas City to have lunch with some blogging buddies.

    I had been looking forward to it for more than a month. I looked forward to getting away on my own for the first time in a more than a decade and I looked forward to meeting people I only knew through the computer. I wondered if it would be like Christmas. Would all the anticipation and excitement and curiosity of what was hidden be disappointing when all was revealed? It seemed like Saturday would never come and then suddenly it was here. When it was time to kiss my baby goodbye at the curb, my intestines were busy learning macramé.

    Off and on over the course of the preceding week, I previewed and prepared Sean for Saturday morning, as the experts who write books tell you to do. I told him that on Saturday I would be taking an airplane ride but that I would be back by the end of the day. I reminded him that he would have daddy all day to himself and that they would do fun things like go to PetCo.

    As Saturday approached, he said to me out of the blue: “Mommy, I don’t want you go on an airplane. That scare me.” I couldn’t think of a single thing that would have prompted this remark, so I asked him what it was that scared him. “I don’t want the airplane to tip over,” he said solemnly. I reassured him the plane was not going to tip over and that he need not worry about it. I told him that Uncle Dick has been flying airplanes for thirty years and never once tipped one over. That seemed to set his mind at ease or maybe he just kept it to himself. I worry that that it was the latter.

    I got out of the car and opened the door to the backseat to give him a kiss goodbye. I looked at him sitting in the backseat of the car, still in his baseball pajamas, still sleepy, still so little. Tears stung my eyes. Bye Sweet Potato!” I said to him tipping his chin up with my thumb. I sounded falsely happy. I looked deep into his eyes. “I’ll see you later today, ” I promised. “You be a good boy for daddy.” I kissed his nose.

    “Bye Mommy” he said, rubbing his eyes. Then he gave me a smile and waved at me by scrunching his fingers in and out as though he were working dough. “Dear God,” I whispered to myself, “Don’t let the plane tip over.”

    It turned out that Saturday was the best Christmas ever. I got more than I ever imagined and it was better than I could have imagined. I will write about the wonderful ladies I met in the coming week when I have time and can do it justice. (In the meantime, Shannon at Rocks In My Dryer has a well written summary and pictures too!)

    When Sean and Antique Daddy picked me up at the airport that evening, my heart was full. It had been a very good day. Any day you make sixteen new friends is a good day. And now I was home. I opened the car door and kissed my boy. He was exactly where I had left him. “Mommy!” he said, “I look for you but I not see you today.” He had missed me.

    Thank you God, I whispered to myself. Thank you for this boy, my husband, my sixteen new friends and not letting the plane tip over.