“I a princess!”

There are some moments where you can see a flash of the person you hope your child is becoming. It’s hard to know during those moments how much of it is brainwashing (admittedly by me), desire to please you, their own personality or good upbringing (:-)). But they sure do make you feel good inside.

K’s teachers are constantly telling me that she speaks her mind (loudly). One of her teachers calls her “fresh.” Which is probably more accurate than my preferred word of “sassy” since it communicates her tendency to defy authority from time to time.

At any rate – judge for yourself yesterday’s scenario:

K said to her preschool teacher (ticking off each of the following with successive fingers):
- “I can surrender”
- “I can protect”
- “I a princess”
- “I’m wearing a purple dress.”

“I look pretty now, right?”

Says her teacher: “What’s the fifth one? And if you’re a princess, does that mean you want a prince to come swoop you off your feet and rescue you?”

Replies K: “oh no, I can do all that myself!”

- “I can rescue things.”

My Self-Rescuing Princess

• I’ve lived in three areas in my life: the South Bay of California, Providence, and Metro Boston. Two of those, I’ve lived in for more than 16 years each.
• The last guy I was with, I was with for nearly 17 years.
• My career has spanned exactly three companies – one for almost five years, and the current one for nearly seven. In the tech and PR industries, that’s serious tenure.

So the fact that, in the same week (last week), my divorce became final AND I tendered my resignation, is actually pretty shocking. I’ve covered the divorce pretty thoroughly now, I think, and frankly, the actual event seems rather anticlimactic. Now I just need to get the certified copy of my divorce decree so that I can go to the Social Security Administration office and reclaim my name. Hopefully this time, I can escape without a black eye. (Long story.)

The second bit – changing jobs – is a really big deal for me. I joined on July 11, 2005, after having served as the US PR (public relations) lead for a year and a half, so I’ve really been with the company for more than eight years. When I first joined, I did so because it was the first one of my clients whose customers spoke with a true passion. These people were converts. One might even say zealots. They told me about the millions of dollars their companies had made or saved as a result of my company’s software. It might have taken them a bit of fast-talking to get the deal approved because it was a smaller company that preached a different way of doing things, but when they were successful, ho boy. The best story I can tell is the one of the manager who became VP of IT/CIO of a $1B+ company in large part (by his own words) of my company’s software. Now THAT’S some serious personal ROI.

And when I joined, it was even better. The people were (ARE!) the smartest, nicest, most genuine, interesting, educated, intelligent, committed (there’s that word again), funniest people. I’ve made some very good friends who have helped me through rough times, propelled me forward in “normal” times and turbo-boosted me in good times. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Needless to say, my last few days are somewhat melancholy ones as I remember everything that I will miss. I’m using this post to thank every single one of those folks – and you know which ones you are, even if you don’t read this blog – for how they have enriched my life over the past seven years.

I have a great and exciting opportunity in front of me. I’m looking forward to it. But I sure will miss my friends.

Now, what am I going to do for the week or so that I have off between jobs?

For my buddy LC - I hope my departure doesn't diminish the chances of us finally ordering that whole roasted pig we've talked about...

My little girl growing up

One of the things about parenting that people talk a lot about but you don’t really appreciate is how you feel when your kid tells you that someone hurt her. In this instance, I don’t mean physically – Day care/pre-school has its perils, so my kid has been pushed, bitten, kicked and had her hair pulled, but mostly it all falls under what I would call reasonable expectations. Here, I’m talking about the emotional hurt – and the realization that your kid not only mature enough to feel it, but also has grown enough to articulate it. Case in point:

K to me (out of the blue): Some of my friends call me a baby.
Me: Oh? Who calls you a baby?
K: A lot of my friends.
M: Which ones? Can you name them?
K: J____, A____ and C____.
M: How does it make you feel when J, A, & C call you a baby?
K: It makes me feel sad.
M: I’m sorry that it makes you feel sad. It’s not nice to call people names.
K: But S____ never calls me a baby, right?
M: I’m glad that S never calls you a baby. Maybe the next time that A, J or C call you a baby, you can go find S or maybe D____ or D____ or J____ or anyone else that doesn’t call you a baby, and play with one of them instead. You can even tell A, J and C that it makes you feel bad, and then go find another friend to play with.
K: Yeah, because I don’t like being called a baby. So if they call me a baby, I go find another friend, right?
M: Exactly. Does that sound like a good plan?
K: Yeah. ‘Cause I’m not a baby, right?
M: No, sweetie, you aren’t a baby.

If you could only have heard the tone she used. That’s the first time I think she’s really articulated an emotional hurt that clearly. She’s told me that she’s upset, or angry, or sad, but rarely can tie it directly to a contributing factor, and is usually distracted before she finishes her story. So it broke my heart, and it’s another sign that my “baby” is growing up – far faster than I realized she would.

And in fairness to the other kids, they’re four (and potty-trained to boot), and K isn’t yet three, and has an accident on a daily basis. So in their minds, she *is* a baby. But it doesn’t make me feel any better.

To lighten things up though, I’ll share two other interludes from this week:

K to me: am I your best friend?
Me: yes, you are my best friend. Am I *your* best friend?
K: No!
Me: ! Then who’s your best friend?!
K: Daddy. Then you.

This other interlude happened while I was traveling for work, but seriously cracked me up:

Apparently J forgot to send K to school with a Show and Tell item (Tuesdays are usually my day, and as I said, I was traveling), so when the teacher asked her what she had for Show and Tell, she walked to halfway to her bag (where her item would usually be), stopped in her tracks, turned around, put her hand in her pocket, and took out her “black and yellow car.” She then proceeded to describe it to all her friends, including showing them how fast it went and chastising another kid for trying to take it. So what’s so funny about it?

The car doesn’t exist. It’s completely imaginary. I’ve never even heard of this car before (not like her pretend phone, her pretend Tara or her pretend Mommy).

Have I mentioned that my daughter has a very healthy imagination? This is going to bite me in the ass when she’s a teenager and lying through her teeth about where she’s been or whose house she’s staying over at.

K: “I’m Mommy, and you’re Katherine.”

Me: “So I’m Katherine?”

K: Yes.

M: Then I must be really cute.

K: And smart!

That’s my girl. Second interlude involves our seemingly never-ending potty training battle. K’s dad and I often remind K that she needs to “listen to her body.” We use this phrase a lot, particularly when it looks like she needs to poop but refuses to go to the bathroom. Fast-forward to Monday. I’m in the shower, and J is downstairs getting changed. K is in the kitchen eating breakfast when all of a sudden:

I’m listening to my body, Daddy!!! Daddy, I’m listening to my body!!!!

J runs up stairs as K is running to the bathroom, and we have success. Too bad it was the only time this week.

I think we’ve all enjoyed these nights, and so when we got to Z, we decided to start again –  with a twist. This time, the host (as determined by alphabetical order, of course), decides what ingredient we all work with, ala Iron Chef/Chopped. For A night, Amy decided on Artichokes. And this past weekend, Colleen decided on, of all things, Bologna.

That’s right. You heard me. Bologna. You have to understand. Before Saturday night, I had literally NEVER had a slice of bologna in my entire life. So when Colleen decided that “B” stood for “Bologna” I was struck by a wave of concern and an itty bit amount of disgust as I contemplated how my tummy and taste buds were going to react. I don’t even like Mortadella, for god’s sake. How on earth was I going to manage that much bologna? Not to mention that it would absolutely kill my Weight Watchers efforts.

If you want to see what dishes we made (from bologna cake to BBQ bologna to pickled bologna), you can check out our new blog, Alphabetize This. I’ll give you a sneak peek at my contribution here.

So, how do I feel about Bologna now? It’s better than I thought, but, well, let’s just say I’m not in a rush to go get some more bologna any time soon.

Bologna Bruschetta

On the other hand, if you’re here to hear about my sassy kid, you’ve come to the right place. Those of you who are Facebook friends of mine will have already heard this story, so you can feel free to tune out now.

On Saturday morning, we ended up in Panera after a surprisingly successful emergency potty run (K was switched to underwear on Wednesday at preschool, and we’re trying to continue it). K loves muffins, and since we were at Panera, I decided to buy one for her for her afternoon snack. After much deliberation, K selected “the one with the polka dots” (a chocolate chip muffie), and we left holding a brown paper bag that held K’s treasured treat.

K: Can I hold the bag?

Me: Yes you may, until we get to the car. But you can’t open it.”

K: Okay!

[get to the car. try to take bag away.]

K: No, Mommy, I want to carry the bag!

M: I don’t think that’s a good idea.

K: Can I just hold it?

M: If you hold it, you can’t open it.

K: But I want to.

M: But you can’t. If you are going to open it, then I won’t give it to you.

K: But I want it!

M: Are you going to open it?

K: No.

M: Okay. You may hold it. But don’t open it, otherwise I’ll take it away from you, okay?

K: Ooooookaaaaaay, Mommy Dictator.

[Helpless laughter ensues.]

I gotta be honest. I never expected to be called a dictator by my 2 1/2 year old. Now, for those of you wondering where she learned the word “dictator,” this is a cautionary tale. It’s possible, just possible, that a certain mother of hers may have repeatedly called her “My little dictator” whenever she was issuing commands. As in, “My little dictator, we don’t give commands, we ask,” or “Are you being a little dictator? Are we supposed to be giving commands?”

I don’t *think* I’ve called her this in a couple of months, but it’s certainly true that I was doing it for a bit. Fast forward to today, and apparently my child fully understood my context and decided to pay me back. She got such a reaction that she’s called me a dictator at least 2-3 times a day since. It’s really hard to stifle the laughter! As my friend Kathleen says, “smart kids means better back talk.” Don’t know how smart the kid is, but her vocabulary is certainly growing by leaps and bounds.

Of course, two minutes after this little interlude, the following happened:

Mommy, I started to open the bag. You’d better take it away from me.

Priceless.

K's Favorite Pair of Shoes

K has also very clearly been showing her fashion sense. whenever given the choice, she chooses pants with pockets and mismatched sneakers. And she looks damn good in them too.

I think I’m in trouble.

Here we are eating a new year dinner, only to be interrupted by lions!

I talked last week about how much I loved party snaps as a kid – as you can see, K does too:

I think K enjoyed it thoroughly. I know I did!

Around Christmas time, I  always make it to Cali for at least a week with the kiddo, and my oldest sister and I have been celebrating Thanksgiving together for the  past 16 or 17 years (with one or two exceptions). Besides, those holidays are important, but as established earlier, I don’t have the strength of memories associated with those holidays that others do. (As an aside, why haven’t you all told me about your favorite traditions?!)

But Chinese New Year…This I remember.

There could be several reasons for this:

• As a kid, you get little red envelopes called lai see which contain money.
• It’s everyone’s birthday party.
• You get to play with things that go bang.
• There’s food. Lots and lots of food.
• There’s a book about it. And I’m in it. For real. (See below)

But to be honest, I think I really like Chinese New Year because my grasp on Chinese culture is tenuous at best. Chinese New Year is the one time that I have a decent grasp of what’s going on and what I’m supposed to do. And it so neatly wraps up so many of the things I associate with being Chinese into one little package.

It’s also just a lot of fun, particularly when you have a kid. Next week, we’ll go down to Chinatown to see the lion dance and partake in the rest of the festivities. I expect to hear K say, as she often does, “Don’t be scared, Mumma – it’s just a lion.”

So on this Chinese New Year, K and I both wish you a hearty Gung Hay Fat Choy.

This book is now out of print, but I do have a copy that I use to read K. She loves looking for Poh-Poh and Gung-Gung as well as her aunties, uncle and mommy in the book. Her father once remarked that in every picture in the book, some 4-year-old little urchin is reaching for food. Some things never change.

Of the 200+ articles I found on the web, my trusty Google News search suggests that only eight actually named NF as the cause of the tumor. 8. Out of more than 220. The rest merely referred to a “rare genetic disorder.” What’s more concerning is this: the CEO of the hospital where the operation took place told CNN that it was the same disease as that of “The Elephant Man.” Except the latest research suggests that Joseph Merrick, popularly known as “The Elephant Man,” is suspected of having Proteus Syndrome – a completely unrelated disease. If the medical community doesn’t even understand NF, and the press doesn’t report on it when provided an opportunity to educate, it’s no wonder that so few people have ever heard of the condition.

NF1 is the most common neurological disorder caused by a single gene, occurring in one in every 3,000 births. According to the Children’s Tumor Foundation, NF1, and the much rarer NF2 and Schwannomatosis (collectively, the three are the “Neurofibromatoses”) affect more than two million people worldwide, making NF “more prevalent than cystic fibrosis, Duchenne muscular dystrophy, and Huntington’s Disease combined.” Yet I’m almost certain you’ve at least heard of each of the other three conditions, and nearly as certain that you likely haven’t heard of NF.

In fairness, those three conditions have significantly worse prognoses than NF, and complications are generally much more severe. But I still find it at least somewhat astounding that outside of the medical profession, relatively few people have heard of this disorder.

No, I don’t want the condition to be defined by a worst-case scenario that’s not likely to happen in the US, but – and I hate to sound like a shill here – just as other conditions can benefit from research funding and support organizations, so too can the NF foundations like the Children’s Tumor Foundation and NF, Inc. I hate to put it this way, but frankly, we could use the publicity.

Call it gawking, rubber-necking, education or research – Humans by nature are curious. We seek to understand, to compare, to understand often so we can be relieved or so we can help prevent it from affecting ourselves or one of our loved ones. This phenomenon can lead to two of the most important actions – scientific research and funding. The latter is necessary to perform the former and is the easiest thing that the general public can do.

I’m not trying to turn this into a circus freak show, but I can’t help wondering – doesn’t it behoove our community to educate the general public during those rare occasions when we draw their attention?