RAH RAH REE, Let me see you M-O-V-E!

We are moving around the corner and the process has felt like a long break-up that keeps trying to backpedal and see if there's anything vestigial from the relationship that can be saved. Like that tinny song: "She said/What about/'Breakfast at Tiffany's'." Remember that one? A mutual affection for an Audrey Hepburn film can't save us. It is time to pack up and move on to the greener pasture. Moving has been going on for soooo long now, I have given it a new name. Moving, or as I like to call it, Finding all the loose change in your house that was ever minted. Ever. Oh, and also finding: beads, doll shoes, Legos, stickers with dust and dinosaur bits festering on them, and enough hair rubberbands to keep an entire cheerleading squad suspended in mid-air. I am almost persuaded to believe that while I was out, a cheerleading convention took place in my home and they tried to clean up all the hair rubberbands and beads and stickers but they just couldn't. Spirit sticks are a mess.

***

At a writer's conference, a woman I've never met turns to me, "Oh my gosh girl, you look great. Even for a writer!" I said, "My stars, you do, too! What's your secret? You must be a writer!"

Laughter.

Then, simultaneously, She: "No, but I do like your glasses." I: "No, but I do love your hair."

We look at each other's nametag. We have the same last name.

I: "Are you married to a Korean?" She: "No. Chinese." I: "Did you write a book about it?" She: "Haven't written it about surviving that yet..." I: "Oh. I have a book for you, then." Smiles.

*** I went to this poet nerd camp when I was in high school. There was a tandem cheer camp taking place on the same campus. I remember overhearing the cheerleaders, who marched and cheered going to every meal, "Yeah. The writer kids? Like, all I hear they do the whole time is...write?!"

***

I don't know what day it is lately except today is a day that I am supposed to be moving. Not just moving houses but moving ideologies. I've been sulking lately about my book. Have you ever been working so hard on something, just gutting yourself to make it so excellent and then the gal who has more friends and a way cuter haircut does something similar but it's still a bit pedestrian? Yet everyone around her is RAH-RAH waving their spirit sticks and you just...Yeah. That's not a good place to set up camp. You've got to move on from that jealous onlooking position and find a place where you can be even more excellent and refined and distinct. But it's tempting, isn't it? To just begrudge popular girlfriend of her phenomenal blog audience and multiple book deals, even though most of her sentences appear to be bought at a discount on 1-800-CLICHE.COM? It's altogether seductive to think that such a career blossoms overnight. I know it doesn't. I also know that my goal with this book is not stardom. It's to share a message of humor and hope.

Plus, jealousy has a way of painting some pretty ugly lines on our faces. they don't fade but grow ever deeper with each jealous brushstroke.

And let's be honest. Book deal or not, no author can really afford the Botox.

Pint-sized gowns

I sat through the planning meeting for thekindergarten graduation convinced I must be dead inside because I wasn't crying yet over gowns and tassels and Pinterest party decs or even over my baby, who hasn't been a baby for a few minutes now.

We hustled to the graduation after I barely showered, nearly died of Lego impalement and carried younger one shoeless into the church where I sat in the empty pew for introverts who score low on the parenting small talk test.

The pint-sized gowns filed in, a million iPhones captured their well-orchestrated pairings and twinkling smiles some with open spots where baby teeth once parked.

I sat wrangling my younger and shushing my mate held attention for sweet songs and slideshows, corrected the grammar in my head of speeches and prayers because sometimes I get in my own way, even sitting down.

My mate snapped the obligatory diploma take and transfer; You made it, kid! Except not for first grade looms. Even from here I see sandtraps on both sides of the fairway.

My mate handed me the phone and then I saw it, the worst injustice, solidified, crystallized, preserved there so plain I started to cry.

Children are born each day into abject poverty, to arms that abuse and smother, to homes where hunger is real little feet run bare, not on purpose.

And here is mine, embraced, just as each child betasseled and begowned tonight at the graduation--where I graduated from overprivileged to overwhelmed by the love these shepherds in skirts show our messy pints, cherishing their persons not always so refined, filing in two-by-two, loving them through difficult consonants, vowels, holding their wobbly hands that write names between two pale blue lines that remind me of the two pale blue lines that once changed my life six years ago on a different kind of test.

On taking my kids to B-Dub

The only reason I knew of this establishment in our little downtown walking district is because Loverpants had taken the kids there before and called it a successful time. There were reports of children (whom I birthed) willfully consuming food matter in a restaurant, and actually behaving themselves in a public place, versus behaving like those dancing noodles that are often scene flagging your attention at car washes or the like.

So I suppose you could say this was all Loverpants' fault.

A few weeks ago, the kids and I had frolicked at a playground in the afternoon and were henceforth requiring sustenance. I was in the kind of mood that one experiences who spends many days in a row with people who basically eat only 4 foods, not 4 food groups but just 4 foods (cereal, fruit, veggie turkey slices, mac n' cheese, rinse and repeat) gets in where she cannot SHE CANNOT. Not anymore. I was feeling faint and wanting to just sit and order from a menu and then for that food to miraculously appear on a tray before me. My stars! I think this might not just be a stardust fantasy, but, lo, I believe such a place actually does exist!

So, my children ventured once more to the magical emporium known as Buffalo Wild Wings, this time with their mother. I remembered that Loverpants had mentioned the kids ate well when he took  them to B-Dub. Soft pretzels and chicken wings and french fries--oh my! As I am a vegetarian, I don't usually go to places whose main export is the fried poultry, n'ah mean? So, this was my maiden voyage to B-Dub.

The place was, as advertised, and you have my full permission to roll your eyes so far back into your skull that you actually gag on them, because I really was happy to be there, n0t because I like sports or beer or chicken, but I like cheap food that my kids will eat. Judge if you must.

We ordered and all was going well. Until...

Until this man who looked to be a waiter because he was wearing a B-Dub jersey sidled up to our table.

He just kept chatting with me. It went something like this:

Hey, how are you guys doing? We're good, thank you!

So...do you guys come here often? Thinking: What is that? A pick-up line for my 6 and 3 year-old? Yeah, buddy. They're regulars here. Never miss a Braves game on the big screen.

What did you order? Thinking: Oh gosh. Is he asking me what I ordered to drink because he thinks I'm a single mom and wants to send me over a pity drink?

Well, I just wanted to tell you about a new position we created here... Thinking: Oh he DEFINITELY thinks I am a single mom and wants to offer me a pity job! Oh this is the worst!

See, so I'm the new guest experience Captain, and it's my job to make sure you're having a great time! Thinking: Ack! He's a cruise director for B-Dub!

So if you want to try a new wing flavor or change the TV channel, just give me a shout, all right? I am so embarrassed. For him. For me. For humanity. 

The good Captain then wrote down his name for me, which, once again, felt like some flirtypants leaving his number for me on the check, call me maybe? Ugh.

Then I looked over at a table of high school kids in their prom attire. And as if going to B-Dub for prom dinner didn't strike me as odd enough, the kids were sitting at one end of the table and their parents were sitting at the other.  I thought that situation seemed very Duggar-style but what do I know? Times, they are a-changin'...Patrons can't order wings without a shaman named John the Guest Experience Captain helping them navigate the menu. High schoolies can't go anywhere without their helicopter parents.

This was all hitting me at once, and so I wondered, dear readers. Seen anything new and exciting lately? Do share....