Such sad news, such loss, so much to process

What in the world was going on last Thursday?

I was not familiar with Maddie Spohr prior to Thursday. I can’t seem to find out what happened other than that this little almost-2-year-old girl died. Was she sick? Was she murdered? Did she suffer from a known condition? How unexpected was it? (The Spohr web site is hard to reach due to the high volume of traffic it's receiving.)

These questions are on my mind because a little boy died on Thursday in our town. He was 9 years old, in the 4th grade. He goes to, no, he went to my daughter's school. He had a known heart condition. Everything was going as normal on Thursday, a typical day. At some point Thursday morning, he fainted/passed out at his desk. The teacher performed CPR, in front of the rest of the class. He did not regain consciousness. They called an ambulance. He got to the hospital and died shortly after he arrived there.

He was fine in the morning, went to school like any other day, was dead by 2pm.

I don't know his name. They aren't releasing it. My daughter didn't know him directly. Every parent of a student at that school on Thursday received automated phone calls to our cell phones and to our home phones. We received emails. The local paper gave out breaking news updates every two hours. It was shocking. It was unexpected. It was very, very sad.

What happened to Maddie? Not that it matters, ultimately. But in a way, knowing the circumstances leading up to the death helps us put it in broader perspective. Thanks.

Stolen Lines, like, totally

Now that I've opened Pandora's Box and mentioned Work Husband here, it makes sense to continue along that road. Because I feel like it.

I sort of mentioned in yesterday's post, and went into some detail in my comment to that post, about this Work Husband guy with whom I have to work.

One time, when he was conducting a training session on the new version of Excel, he setup a sample spreadsheet with columns for Name and Title and Office Location, etc. He put his first name in the Name column, and for his title, he put "God". I kid you not.

So I've been swearing to him all this time, apparently.

And just now, I saw the following post over at It's Easy to Complain. Fun too. The poster doesn't allow comments, as far as I could see. So I'm reposting his entire post below, and telling you all this: his uber-douche describes MY Work Husband pretty accurately! Only at my work, if I said “You have got to be fucking kidding me," I'd be the bad guy. So I just say it under my breath and read blogs on my phone while he blabs and blabs and blabs.

From It's Easy to Complain. Fun, too:

Don't Waste My Time
Yesterday, in my quarterly review, my boss said he loved how I do my job, and encouraged me to be more of a leader on the team.
This morning, I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business, when the uber-douche I work with tapped me on the shoulder. “Do you have a sec?” he asked. “I am holding an ad hoc meeting and I wanted you to participate.”
I sighed loudly and begrudgingly agreed. I go into a conference room. He sits at the head of the table. Everyone in the room is on the same level within the organization; no superiors are present.
“Thanks for coming, guys,” he said, voice dripping with self-importance. “I wanted to do an impromptu brain storming session for ways that we can enhance the company image in relation to hot button issues of the day, like the green movement, etc.”
The room sat in silence for two seconds. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I said, and I got up and left. Everyone else followed. That is good leadership.

And yes, Work Husband loves to do the tap-tap on the shoulder, or suddenly pops into your office, never asks if you're already working on something, etc. He is 51% why I hate my job. He is about 40% why I am thinking of law school, because he is most likely going to be my boss once our current one retires. And I'd rather incur $100,000 in debt by going to law school than stay here for that fun little experience.

Real Husband vs. Work Husband

[These are the facts: "Real Husband" and "Work Husband" are two different people in real life. A guy I work with is "Work Husband". He has about three years of seniority at this job over me, but we are peers otherwise and we have to check with each other over almost everything we do (because our boss wants consensus on everything). He and I have worked together at this same job for over six years now. I'm not a big fan of his. But he's a hard worker and saves me from having to do a lot of grunt work and a lot of travel. He is a necessary evil, as far as I'm concerned. "Real Husband" refers to Leo, the guy I really am married to, the father of Q. We've been married, in the real-life traditional sense, for ten years.]

They can both be super pissy people. I often fight with both of them. But I need both of them. I need each one to do his job so that I can do mine. And I need to coordinate and collaborate with each one. What's weird is when I work with one within minutes of working with the other.

When I am "discussing" a contentious issue with Work Husband, there is a point where I am awaiting his response, after a couple rounds of question-and-answer. There is slight tension in my neck muscles and I'm squinting my eyes (even though we're talking on the phone) and I'm just stressed in a Is-he-actually-going-to-give-me-a-substantive-response-this-time-or-what kind of way.

When that point is reached with Work Husband, I am used to him coming back with an off-hand dismissive tactic, or with outright defensiveness, or sometimes a direct attack (these are getting more rare, thank god). I've gotten so used to this (we've worked together for over six years) that I have a timer ticking off in me, waiting for his withdrawal from the actual conversation. I am conditioned to expect a lack of resolution and lack of agreement.

I brace myself for this moment. It's like waiting to return a serve in tennis. And that's fine. It's not debilitating stress. But then the ball is not served. He just pretends like he's gonna serve, but he really just starts packing up his gear and is getting ready to walk off the court. It's very unsatisfying and you're left with all this anticipatory energy that just stays in your knotted up neck muscles, even after you've hung up the phone.

I didn't know there was this concomitant tension until the same moment would arise with Real Husband. Same scenario. We're having a contentious discussion and I've thrown out some point or some query and I'm awaiting his response but am really just expecting more contention. But Real Husband actually lobs the ball back! In a collaborative, thoughtful, substantive way. It knocks the tension right out of me. I'm so surprised to feel my shoulders fall, my eyes un-squint. Aaaaah. An answer! A real answer without attitude or strategy behind it. Just an honest-to-god, substantive response. And it is such a moment of simpatico. Like he just gets me. Like, I had forgotten that talking to somebody could be this easy.

It is the most relaxing sensation. And it is an absolute surprise every time, because each time it catches me off-guard how tensed up my muscles are and how good it feels to have them relax instantly, unbidden, unintentionally. Naturally relaxed. Suddenly at ease. Comfortable.

And it is those moments when I know how compatible we are. We are not strangers fighting to mesh two disparate, jagged natures. We just "get" each other. This is the part that works, effortlessly. This is the core of "us". This is when I know there is no mistake, that he really is my Real Husband. And this is when I know how glad I am about that.

Lunch was a ketchup packet

I picked up Q very late, like with 2 minutes to spare before they start charging a dollar a minute. But she'd been forewarned about this, since I knew I had a late afternoon meeting that would probably last past 5pm. My husband was out of town for a job interview. He's been averaging about 2-3 job interviews a week, for about three weeks straight now, and has gotten no offers. This job interview was a five hour drive away. Not sure what I think about that. Meh.

Anyway, she gets in the car and announces she's starving.

Q: I wanna eat FAST. I'm soooo hungry! Hurry up so I can eat!

Me: Why are you so hungry? (as I'm pulling out of the school pickup area, headed home)

Q: All I had for lunch was a ketchup packet.

Me: What???!?

Q: The only thing I ate was a ketchup packet.

Me: Don't they give you something to eat, though? (I knew this meant her lunch account was at zero - usually they call and leave an automated message, but we didn't listen to the messages the night before due to getting in late after a Girl Scout meeting - and they serve some kind of limited lunch offering if you're out of money on your account. It's not much, but it's usually more than a packet o' ketchup!)

Q: Warm bread with cold cheese in the middle.

Me: What do you mean? (I guess I wanted to hear the phrase "grilled cheese sandwich that had gotten cold" but then how would the bread still be warm? I was perplexed!)

Q: I mean the bread was warm and the cheese was cold.

Me: Yeah. Okay. (At least she's consistent. But I still can't quite "get" how that could be.)

It's been a frustrating, very annoying day, with a twist of satisfaction at the end because my meeting went well. But now I'm over-analyzing a sandwich. And wondering how bad it must have been if she chose to eat only a packet of ketchup instead.

Q: Hannah was really nice to me, though! (delivered with a really cute smile)

Me: How so?

Q: She snuck me crackers under the table.

Well, thank god for Hannah. I actually know who Hannah is. I went to Lunch Bunch earlier in the year and Hannah sat across from us. She was the one who kept putting slices of lunch meat from her brought-from-home meal on her face. At one point, she forgot she had left a piece of ham on her cheek. As she got up to leave with the rest of the class, she said, "Oh! I still have meat on my face!" And, to steal a line from dgm, she laughed and laughed.

You can tell dgm's kid and my kid go to very different schools.

Things I've accomplished recently

I finally finished Obama's first book Dreams from My Father. It took me forever to read it. I actually finished it last Sunday, before we left for Disney.

Again I ask: how do you people make time for reading??!?

Thoughts on the book: so much to say about race. Mostly, I came away feeling resigned. I am one of the multitude of White People, the nameless, faceless throng enjoying our white privilege. I cannot be seen as an individual, much less heard, or have much validity in a conversation between myself and a non-white about race. Little of what this white, middle-class working mom has to offer would bear any weight.

I guess it bugs me that my white liberal guilt is meaningless. But it's pretty much all I have to offer. Which is pretty close to offering nothing.

Besides my vote, of course. I can contribute to change in a nameless, faceless way by voting for it, choosing it, supporting it, sending in money to make it happen. But that doesn't change how whites and non-whites interact at my job, to be specific. It's disheartening. I feel like I'm on the team, but barely tolerated as a water/towel girl or something. My support is still overshadowed by my color, or lack of color, to be accurate.

As for other accomplishments: I am making progress at work. I've started some research and am gaining momentum on a major project, so that is huge. Looking forward to this coming week. What a shocker! So, that's good news. Feels like I'm waking up from a long stupor.

And....I have unpacked my suitcase!!! Wahoooo!

Back and Blue

As we drove farther and farther away from Disney this afternoon, my daughter cried for almost twenty minutes with tears dripping off her chin. Poor Q! (In her defense, we had told her we would go into the park and ride some rides before leaving, but our plans changed, so that was a bitter disappointment for an 8-year-old to accept AND we had also told her that maybe we would stay an extra night, but that didn't work out either, so she was dealing with a double does of disappointment.) And in part it's because she's an only child and has nothing to distract her from such moments. These moments make being an only child more of a burden than a privilege.

She said she was sad because she was remembering the fun we had. She looked at me with her watery eyes and specifically mentioned the memory of me jumping up and down on the Delete key as one of the fun moments.

Aaaaahhhh! That is so cool! And, I hope, the life lesson I was trying to impart took hold as deeply as the memory of her mommy being silly.

There was a giant cement keyboard on the ground, and as we were walking past it, I was fondly calling out some of the keys, remembering times when they played a significant role in my life (like the F1 key for Help or the F2 key to get to the system menu...things I don't use anymore, but I can remember when they mattered to me...not that she'd care about any of that). We were almost to the end of it when I saw the "Del" square, and I just HAD to jump on it. I jumped up and down on it and called out "Delete! Delete! Delete! I LOVE the delete key!"

As I was jumping up and down, probably embarrassing my husband, I was mostly thinking about an earlier post wherein I cited things I was grateful for, and the delete key - and sometimes knowing when to use it - had definitely scored a place on that list. (Such thoughts aren't uncommon. I think about blogging a lot throughout the day. Remembering things I've written can really help me do the right thing - like unpack my suitcase! - or feel grateful for delete keys.) So yeah, if you were there and you saw some crazy lady jumping up and down on the giant keyboard, that was me.

So of course Q asked, "Why do you like the delete key?" as we continued on our way toward the elevators.

And I said, "Well, sometimes you know, you're typing something to somebody, maybe sending them an email, and you're all like, 'I hate it when you do that and if you ever do that again I'm gonna be so mad and your hair looks crazy and I can't believe you told Ryan I think he's cute...' and then before you send that email, guess what? You can hit the delete key! Just hit that old delete key...delete, delete, delete...the delete key is awesome! It's like a great friend who stops you from saying stuff you probably shouldn't say and maybe hurting someone's feelings. I love the delete key."

And that was one of the fun memories she told me about the next day. What a great moment for me. I'm all happy about that.

Then she gradually cheered up and told me that she realized that it was fun because we brought the fun with us. And Daddy said we could all go see Monsters vs. Aliens the next day when we were back home, and that helped cheer her up too. Then she put her headphones on and started watching dvd's on her laptop and all was right with our little family for the rest of the ride home.

We're back, and she's still a little blue about it. She's having a hard time transitioning from all of us sleeping together in the same room while at Disney to being back at home, where she is banished to the other side of the house all by herself when bedtime comes along. So, I'm gonna go lie down with her. For tonight, anyway. Just until she's asleep.

(P.S. I saw a sweater for sale there for $540. WTF???? Imagine buying it, and then having your cat piss on it...OMG...)

When Bad Smells Attack

Previously entitled: "Disney Does Not Smell Like Cat Pee"

This is a sister post, without her knowledge or consent, of Cee's post entitled "The Smell" that I dearly loved and often think about, for reasons that are obvious once you read what's below.

I haven't blogged for over a week. I have numerous posts I've started, but haven't had the time to finish, let alone edit. I've been reading all of your posts, though, and commenting as circumstancs allowed. But it's been weird, ever since my trip a couple of weeks ago to New Orleans, in fact. I don't like being away from blogging so much, and it probably shows. I might as well be wearing a "I'd rather be blogging" t-shirt!

And the truly sad part is that I'm pouting (quietly) about my bloggy-depravity, er, I mean deprivation, whilst in the middle of Disney.

It's spring break this week for us, along with millions of other folks in the USA. And yes, we're at Disney. Again. For the fifth, maybe sixth, maybe even the seventh time since Q was born.

I.am.so.over.Disney.

AND, Disney smells. Or so I thought. Disney smells like cat pee. But of course, that's not true. Disney does not smell like cat pee. But do you know what DOES smell like cat pee? My suitcase. The one I took to New Orleans. The one into which I put a bunch of clean clothes for this week's trip to Disney. Those clean clothes went into the suitcase smelling like, well, clean clothes. They came out of the suitcase smelling like cat pee.

Why? Because when I got back from New Orleans, I left my suitcase open on the floor of my bedroom for days and days, maybe for over a week, probably. Guess who thought my suitcase was a fun place to visit? Maybe even a place to relieve herself? Yeah, one of our two cats. I think it was Nibbles, which especially irks me 'cause she's my favorite and I don't like being mad at her. Stupid cat. Stupid me for leaving the suitcase out and open and available. Argh.

So the night we arrived, I discover where the funny smell is coming from. I sort out my clothes and realize I'm gonna have to wash whatever has gotten the pee on it. The next day, I wear a shirt that doesn't match anything, but I think is fairly safe. I was wrong. Everywhere I went, I kept catching a slight whiff of cat pee. And had to switch from automatically thinking, "Man, Disney has really gone downhill. It doesn't even smell clean. Ugh!" to "Oh yeah. That's me. How nice. It's nice to know I'm the kind of person who shouldn't be allowed in the park with all the clean people."

That night, I washed everything I brought. Yep, doing laundry at Disney. Funny how that makes a vacation feel kinda less vacation-y. My husband was highly amused and felt very vindicated. I got several versions of "Maybe now you won't wait so long to unpack" from him, all delivered with sublime satisfaction and whatever that German word is for enjoying other people's misfortune. ["Schadenfreude"]

And I kept hearing my mother's voice from my youth, "Gudnuff, when are you going to learn to take care of your things??!?!!!?!"

Well, now we have the answer. We finally know it's March of 2009, dear mother. I will learn the necessity of getting my suitcase unpacked and put away in March of 2009.

Not this particular suitcase, though. Not from this trip. This suitcase is headed for a trashcan. Disney does not have trashcans large enough for a medium-sized suitcase, though. So, Hyphen-Mama, how does one recycle a smelly suitcase?