Now, I will say that hubby rocks, and he’s of the family-oriented sort.  No skipping on key family events for golf games.  The daycare ladies swooned when they learned he does Maddie’s hair every day (and purchases all her hair accessories).

But no matter how sensitive he is, I don’t think he’ll ever buy a self-help book, much less recommend one to a friend.

Tonight, as I stood in line at the bookstore, one professionally dressed man chatted up a friend he saw near some display tables:

Suit 1: What are you looking for today?
Suit 2: Nothing in particular.  Had a few minutes to kill while the rest of the family caught a movie.  I’m meeting them for dinner in a bit.
Suit 1:  If you’re interested, this book right here is pretty good.  [I had to peek.]
Suit 2: The Four Agreements?  What’s that about?
Suit 1:  It’s all about how to live your life...put into four principles.  It’s really helped me.

I never realized I had a self-help stereotype, but two forty-something suits discussing a new age book is just...weird.

My husband’s cousin, a young husband and father, is currently at Ft. Riley, KS for last-minute preparations to be deployed to Iraq.  He’s a Navy man, a Lt. Commander, who was a month away from leaving the Navy when he got the call.  Now he’ll have a year “boots on ground” in Iraq. 

Hard, yes.  But he’s not alone in getting the call, so I won’t bemoan the unfairness.  The rest of his company is doing a tour in Afghanistan, so he’s going with the Army.  Not sure how that works, exactly.  But it’s funny to read his weekly e-mails detailing the cultural adjustment he’s making to working with different branches (Air Force is also represented). 

My father was also a Lt. Commander.  The Navy gave him a first-rate college education in engineering, and he served immediately upon graduation.  Dad is a Korean War veteran, and I enjoy hearing about the career he had in the Navy.  During a recent visit, he showed pictures of his ships, even the ceremony they do when people cross the equator for the first time (think fraternity hazing).  I’m amazed that decades later he can recount the date of photos by the way flags are flying...and pick out himself by locating a white speck up near the Captain’s seat.

Dad was fortunate never to experience brutal combat.  My father-in-law was not nearly as fortunate in Vietnam.  He was a helicopter gunner, and he still occasionally cries out in his sleep.  The nightmares only started to recede about six or seven years ago. 

I know only one soldier so far who has lost his life in Iraq...the son of my sixth grade teacher.  Andrew Lamont was only two years older than me, and his mother was my favorite elementary school teacher.  His helicopter crashed into a river early into the conflict, and I think of him whenever I hear about the numbers that scroll across the bottom of the screen each night. 

I hope Ryan’s cousin makes it home safely to his wife and son.  I hope his sisters get to see him emerge from a plane, exhausted from the journey, but safe nonetheless.

I hope.

In the past, I’ve had existential blog angst, but this time I have more of a question about the direction of writing for a personal blog.  The reality is that I don’t feel free to post personal content.  Either it’s unsafe, possibly disrespectful of my children’s privacy, or potentially a problem if someone from work were to discover such an intimate accounting of my mind’s inner workings.

Matt is of an age now where the things I want to write about are “his” domain.  His first crush.  His struggles to work in a year when his teacher doesn’t seem to be a great fit (although he adores her, I don’t think she returns the feeling...which is a heartbreaking thing to witness).  The thoughts I have about his acceptance into the gifted programs (which feels a bit braggy to write about, even if I have questions about whether I think it’s a good placement, it seems as if it’s still to much like a subtle way of saying, “My kid’s perfect."). 

So here I sit, not posting much.  I’m not leaving yet.  I’m just not sure what to write about. 

Luckily, summer starts in a week, so I will have time to consider the possibilities.  I’ve been writing about teaching ideas on another blog.  Just because it’s less personal.  Less of a struggle to find appropriate ideas.

However, I have posted a clip of my best friend (now sister-in-law) and her interview on Fox Business Network. 

It’s nice to see that other people recognize she’s one of the best in the world (quite literally) at what she does.  Funny to know also that she still knows how to drive me bananas. 

I hesitate to post it here, because it has her name, which is the same last name as my own. 

And well, all three of you might be waiting for that chance to show up on my doorstep with a platter of arsenic-laden brownies.

If you have a Facebook account, however, and I know you in some manner...let me know.

Which Memorial Day BBQ moment at my father-in-law’s house would have sent you over the edge?

A) The potato salad sitting on the counter when we arrived that was room-temperature AND we were 2 hours away from eating
B) The hamburger patties, cooked well-done and fresh off the grill, stacked directly on top of two raw patties.
C) The photo on the freezer—My fil wearing a t-shirt, an apron, and NO PANTS.  The rear-view shot is a forecast of my husband’s butt in 25 years. 
D) All of the above

When my mil noticed my jaw on the kitchen floor after viewing the photo, she laughed and said, “Just you wait.  In a few years, you and Ryan will be cooking naked, too.  Maybe you alREADY do.”

This led to some unfortunate visuals of my parents preparing their famous cross-rib roast. 

I’m not sure if the nausea I feel is e. Coli or if there is some lingering psychic trauma.

It’s been years since I nurtured the museum side of of my art history past. 

I felt like Thelma busting free with Louise, however, when a casual friend and I headed to San Francisco today to visit the de Young Museum.

Art.  The best museum cafe food in the history of the world.  More art.  A great new book, All Over Coffee, by Paul Madonna.  Strolling through the Japanese Tea Garden.  Did I mention art? 

The architecture of the museum, by the way, is fab.u.lous.  The tower observatory has a 360 view of the city...stunning. 

Going with a person who enjoys a museum (L was a graphic design major) instead of a husband or a child...the most relaxing stroll through exhibits in years. 

Since the day started at a doughnut shop with the whole family, this is rounding out to be one of those days I am actually content.

Content.  I like the way that rolls off my tongue.  Content. 

Back in December, we had some bad news about Maddie.  We’d taken her in to be tested for Type I Diabetes (never mind why, not the point here).  Our doctor informed us that, while she did not currently have the disease, she tested positive for an antibody that means she could very well develop it in the next few years. 

I think I chronicled the fact that I used the Internet and my doctor’s advice to find out more about a medical study called TrialNet, a long-term research project about Diabetes prevention.  I corresponded via e-mail with a few professors and researchers, and we arranged for her to have more bloodwork done in March...with more accurate labs.  We did a great job waiting until the results (which take six weeks), and they finally arrived on Friday.

She is negative for all diabetes-related antibodies, and it appears her first test was a false-positive (a fairly common occurrence, we have learned). 

I love good news.

Speaking of good news, my niece successfully delivered a son last week.  She has diabetes (part of the reason we had Maddie tested), and so her baby was a month early, but he’s healthy enough that he arrived home today.  A special Mother’s Day treat, to be sure. 

I grew up over almost 400 miles from where my husband and I settled, and this means I never see anyone from my hometown.  Other than my parents, who seem to think court orders are no big deal (just kidding, Mom!).  Actually, my friends from my hometown escaped, never to look back...Another sad tale of towns with a poor economy, so the young leave.  Or stay and become government employees.  Or potheads, though my crowd didn’t run that way.

I have been wondering about my childhood best friend.  One of two, actually.  When I was young, her parents got a divorce, so I have vivid memories of holing up in her powder room prepping for the divorce hearing.  She was supposed to talk about which parent she wanted to live with, from what I recall, so we roleplayed.  She sat on the toilet to testify, and I was Judge Wapner.  How divorce court really was, I have no clue, but this was my dearest friend, and her parents split very early in our childhood. 

After the divorce, her mom relocated to my current town, and I’d see Jennie on school holidays and summer break.  During the summer, we were inseparable, and I think I spent just as many nights at her house as I did my own.  In the school year, we wrote letters that I’m sure were trite and lame beyond belief...involving our made-up world of stuffed animals based on Snoopy, Belle, and characters of our own making.  Time passed, and after she graduated from high school, we lost touch.  Her dad moved, and with it, my ability to find her again. 

Then I met a boy from her town.  He asked me to marry him, and I said yes.  From our second date, I remember wondering if I’d ever run into Jennie again.  Would I recognize her?  Would her platinum blond hair have darkened into a light brown? 

Once, this Fall I believe, I received a mass mailing from her mother, a woman I only knew as a CPA named M---.  I used the e-mail to write a note asking if she was Jennie’s mom and that I was trying to locate her.  No dice. 

On Thursday, however, my principal dragged me to an event at Maddie’s pre-school.  She’d lovingly brainwashed my daughter to want to attend an early Cinco de Mayo celebration (a more technically accurate, Uno de Mayo, or is it Premiere de Mayo?  I have no idea.) As I stood in line for the most amazing authentic tacos ever, a little East Indian boy fell over and hit his head on the play structure, so I went to pick him up and reunite him with his father, who stood about 30 feet away.  I noticed that new people had stepped into my spot in line, but I decided to just get on the end and not deal with it.

Then I saw her.  Jennie.  Standing in line, waiting for tacos at the Uno de Mayo fiesta.  Near her stood an adorable little girl.

“Mari?” she said.

“Jennie?”

“Oh my God.”

“Who’s this adorable girl?”

“Oh,” she said nonchalantly, “This is my daughter Maddie.  She’s three.”

It was then that I started to laugh, and as she glanced at me with a perplexed look on her face, I told my childhood friend, “That’s my Maddie over there.  She’s three, too.”

All year long, I’ve been hearing about “The OTHER Maddie”.  Even my daughter talks about her, and a co-worker tells me her son calls my Maddie, “White-haired Maddie,” while the other one is “Black-Haired Maddie.” I ignored most of it, because, who cares?

But it turns out that for almost a year, our children have been playing together, all the while, the two moms oblivious to the connection that spans back more than 30 years. 

All I can say is, the world has a funny way of bringing people in and out of our lives, and I’m grateful that our daughters brought us back together.

Went to writing class tonight, and the instructor told me she pitched my essay to the editor at our local paper (a circulation of about 10,000—a sixth of our population). 

The editor said she would be happy to publish my piece at the going rate for a 700-800 word article:

Wait for it…

Wait for it…

$17.50

Times have been hard on the newspaper industry, and the newspaper just dropped their rate by half.  The upside, however, is a clip, bringing my grand total to three.  Woohoo!  Small pleasures are still pleasures.