I spent this year tripping through life in a fabulous pair of $7 heels and a necessary set of $300 bifocals. Throughout this time I have fought and succumbed, overcome and lost, and ran until I fell and skinned my knees at least a dozen times. I have done things that I absolutely thought I could not do and watched sure things slip right between my fingers. My heart has ached and my mind has raced. I have been cocky and I have been ashamed. I would not say this year has been good, but amazing strides have been made.

<I know I have no room to complain, but the road to self discovery can be a real bitch.>

And then there was this night.

And then there was you.

And I want you to know how amazing I think you are. How much I enjoyed the time we spent together. And how utterly thrilled I am that, if even for a moment, you were in my life.

You are truly someone who I did not think could exist.

You were a million things I’d like to list, but can’t, for fear of leaving even one out.

You were everything that is good and nothing that is bad.

You made all of the right decisions and did all of the right things.

And at bottom, I am horribly impressed.

What is more, I’d like to thank you for being none of the good poetry I’ve written and all of the bad poetry I didn’t, because if I learned one thing, it’s that no kissing inspires good poetry and good kissing leaves nothing more to be inspired.

You have left nothing more to be inspired.

And I know that after this night, we both go back to our normal lives. Me here, and you there. And I know that 1643 miles is just too darn far away to ever attempt anything more than what we’ve already had. My life is here and my hopes and dreams and heart are centered around that. Your life is there and your hopes and dreams and heart are centered around those. Nobody understands more than me what it’s like to follow a dream to where it leads…wherever it leads. And nobody understands more than me what its like to love a city. I have loved that city, too.

And that is what I want for you. I want you to love where you are and who you are and what you are doing. I want you to live what you think is right for you, for as long as you think it is right…until God leads you to something else. If God leads you to something else.

And the thing is, I would never want to steal your dreams. I would never ask you to abandon anything your heart desires (not even your time) for someone with whom you’ve spent such a limited amount of hours. It’s not realistic. So it’s not what I do.

It is just my hope that you will know that a girl down here in Texas…who is trying her very best to be everything she can…in a million ways that matter…and fifteen ways that don’t…thought…thinks…that you are remarkably special. Exceptional. Amazing. And I hope that you walk away from this knowing that.

And I want you to know that I am not hurt. I couldn’t have helped but like you. And I couldn’t have helped that you lived so far away.

It just is what it is.

As always.

Is what it is.

…but I did have fun. And I am not sorry. This night, you gave so much back to me that I have lacked for years. The things that you said were restorative and significant and nobody can ever take that away from me. And you didn’t even know you were saying them. You weren’t trying to fix anything. You were just speaking from the heart. And it was amazing.

Thank you for that.

Thank you for everything.

It is truly my hope that we can be friends. Of course, I would love to get to know you better. But the last thing I would ever want to do is put any unnecessary expectations on you. Or pressures. Or make you feel uncomfortable in any way.

That is certainly not what I want.

So I will leave it at this.

And I will return to my life of lipsticks that last too long and mascaras that don’t run and argyle socks and rat feeding and kitchen cleaning and camera wielding and video game playing and Methodist church choir singing and musical theatering and writing and daydreaming and cooking and, of course, mothering.

And I am so very happy with that.

But if ever you want to say hi, or need a laugh, or forget how amazing you are, then I am here for any of those things.

Until then, I hope you find your new year to be the most wonderful anyone has ever experienced ever.

And I wish you a very happy, happy 2009.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Day 123 on Lexapro.

Day 100 on Lamictal.

posted a few days later…

This night, Em and I snuggled on the couch as we watched The Wizard of Oz together. It was her first time to see it and a very special experience.

Later, we could not stop talking about it: the Emerald City, the horse of many colors, the tin man, the scarecrow, the lion, and Dorothy. She was amazed by it all.

There were some parts, though, that left her feeling a little uneasy.

“I did not like that witch,” she said excitedly. “With all that green hair!”

“With that green face!” I reminded her. “And all that black hair! She was something, wasn’t she?”

“Yes,” Em agreed. “But I did not like her.”

“Why not?” I asked, half expecting the answer I quickly received.

“Because she was scary!” she exclaimed.

“That is true,” I said. “She was scary.”

“I don’t even know why she had to be in it!”

“To make the story more interesting,” I replied. “And because there needed to be an obstacle. She’s the obstacle. Without her getting in the way, the end wouldn’t have been as satisfying.”

Just like in life, I thought to myself. Without obstacles, the rewards would never be as sweet.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Day 113 on Lexapro

Day 90 on Lamictal

posted much, much later…

There are times, I admit, when I become too tired, or busy, or lazy…to effectively discipline Em. To stick to the schedule. To enforce the rules.

I hate these times.

The events of this day, I believe, were the result of my most recent string of unusual allowances and slip-ups.

And I paid for them dearly.

You see, my Em has a very…strong…personality.

The same qualities that I sometimes celebrate — the ones that give her the guts to wear her ladybug raincoat all day long — are also the ones that can turn on a dime.

And not be used for good.

Like this evening when I went to pick her up from school.

I was in a hurry, you see,  as Jennifer Black was coming to join us for dinner. I needed to get home as I was preparing the meal and wanted it to be ready by the time she arrived.

But as soon as I started the car to go, Em announced that she needed to use the restroom.

She was already buckled into her carseat, of course.

Unfortunately, I knew that I could not ignore this statement. We’ve had enough accidents in our time for me to take this subject very seriously.

But I was annoyed.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had to go before? When we were still inside?” I asked her.

With no clear answer, I had to unbuckle her from her carseat and lead her back into the school.

When we reached the bathroom, she wandered from stall to stall trying to decide which one she wanted to use. When she was finally satisfied with her choice, she finished her business and set about to washing her hands.

And so the ritual began.

The ritual that was not to be disturbed in any form or fashion.

Even though it involved retrieving paper towels from her classroom and running across the length of it to throw them in a certain trash can when she was through.

I tried to be patient.

I really did.

But we needed to go. And she was on a mission in the hotspot of four-year old distractions — a classroom full of other kids.

Kids that like to hug. A lot.

So when she decided she needed to wipe her hands…again…and throw the towel into the same faraway wastebasket…again…I said no.

And I took her by the hand and led her kicking and screaming outside the door of her school.

Outside, she fell to her knees and let her body weight go so that I couldn’t walk with her.

So I picked her up.

When I did this, she straightened her body, making it almost impossible for me to carry her, too.

Inside the car, she proceeded to flail and twist in such a fashion that I was physically unable to buckle her carsat.

So we had to wait.

Ten minutes later, I somehow finally snapped her in.

And the whole time she threw the tantrum, she was screaming wildly that she hadn’t thrown her paper towel in the right trash can.

Oh my gosh.

This night, by the time we got home (and she had sat in timeout for a period long enough to sufficiently bother her), I was worn out.

But then Jennifer got there and we all settled in to a lovely meal together.

And Em became calm again.

And we ate and had fun and put her happily to bed.

And then Jennifer and I sat on the couch in the dark and watched television shows that made us laugh.

Which was exactly what I needed.

To be sure.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Day 112 on Lexapro

Day 89 on Lamictal

posted much, much later…

The year that Em was born, when she was only 3 months old, we decided to pack up and move everything we had from Chicago to Houston. It was a split decision, but one to which I became desperately attached very quickly.

I thought if we moved to Houston, things would be better for Em.

And for us.

We could have a fresh start. With a nicer place to live. And friends. And a whole host of other things I’d been missing for years.

I thought this would help things.

And so, without telling my mother-in-law, we loaded our car and a U-Haul truck and drove all the way down to Texas, leaving the winter wonderland that is Chicago behind.

And just in time for Christmas, we found a place to live that was a million times better than where we’d been.

The excitement was palpable.

We had a new baby. A new home. And a new chance for everything to be alright.

There was always, I thought, a chance for everything to be alright.

And that Christmas Day, when it snowed, I was delighted.

“Em brought the Chicago snow with her,” we all said. “She is a snow baby!”

And we all thought it was magic and terrific and right.

And when it stopped snowing that Christmas, it didn’t snow again.

Until this day.

And I could feel it in the air.

When I drove Em to school this morning, the air was cold and wet.

“I bet you it will snow today,” I told her.

“No,” she replied. “It can’t snow today because it isn’t Christmas yet.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I think it just might snow anyway.”

And this evening, when I picked her up, ice was falling lightly from the sky.

“It will snow soon,” I told her. “I just know it.”

And we were so excited.

As soon as we got home, we opened all of the blinds and waited for it to fall.

But we didn’t really see anything.

It was not until I peeked through the window that I noticed a thin coating of white powder on the cars and bushes outside.

“It snowed!” I squealed. “Em, look! It snowed!”

In an instant, we flung open the door and flew outside without our jackets on.

Em danced on the porch excitedly with her hands stretched to the sky until she noticed a small accumulation at the foot of one of the porch columns.

With bare hands, she scooped it up and delightedly threw it to the ground.

“Give some to me,” I told her. “I want to show you something.”

So she handed a small amount to me and I packed it into a tiny ball.

“Look,” I showed her, “it’s a snowball!”

Then I threw it right into the ground.

She was delighted.

For a very short amount of time, we made tiny snowballs and chucked them mightily into the concrete beneath us.

And then we went inside.

This night, we went to bed early because we were so very tired.

And while we slept, so much snow fell from the sky that it still coated our world the next day.

Lightly.

But it was there.

And it was magic and terrific and right.

Just like my Em.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Day 111 on Lexapro

Day 88 on Lamictal

posted much, much later…

This day, as we left our home, we opened the door to find that it was raining outside.

“I need my raincoat!” Em yelped in response.

“Yes,” I replied. “That is not a bad idea!”

And so I ran back into the house and retrieved it from her closet.

Then we put it on and pulled up the hood and headed to school.

And she was really proud.

The raincoat is, you see, very adorable. It looks like a ladybug. It is red with black dots and big eyes on the hood and antenna sticking up, too.

Em was so cute in it.

And she knew it.

So, when she marched into the hallway where her classmates stood, she couldn’t understand why they reacted the way they did.

First, it was the boys.

“Look,” they said. “Em is a ladybug.”

And she smiled proudly at them.

But the smile faded when it became apparent that the laughs that erupted were not so nice.

The hurt I saw in her eyes stabbed me like a million knives right through my heart.

Then she turned to the girls, who were already pointing and laughing wildly.

By this time, I was on my knees behind her.

So when she turned to me, I was waiting.

And so softly, and so sadly, she whispered, “Why are they laughing me?”

Right then, my heart was certainly broken.

I had no answer.

I just leaned my head into hers and shook my head.

Then, a teacher came up and and began praising Em for her choice to wear such an adorable ladybug raincoat.

“How smart she is,” the teacher said. ”This helps her stay dry even when it’s raining outside.”

And eventually the laughter died. And the kids moved in.

“Let me help you take this off,” one of them said, pulling at Em’s red coat.

And then something happened.

With amazing resolve, Em turned to the girl.

“No,” she told her. “I am keeping this on all day.”

Then she turned to me and told me she wanted me to see her cubby.

“Okay,” I replied, as she led me into her classroom.

When we arrived at her cubby, we deposited her backpack and I asked if she needed help removing her raincoat.

“No, Mommie,” she repeated adamantly. “I am wearing this all day!”

And she did.

Monday, December 8, 2008

Day 110 on Lexapro.

Day 87 on Lamictal.

posted much, much later…

This day, we are getting very excited for Christmas to come.

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Day 109 on Lexapro.

Day 86 on Lamictal.

posted much, much later…

This evening, Em and I enjoyed a visit from some wonderful friends.

My sweet friend Sarah (also known as Kim’s other best friend) brought her baby son, Isaac, to spend some time with Em and me.

Sarah was in my first grade reading class and I still remember how she got in trouble for playing with the velcro on her tennis shoes.

It was, after all, difficult for any of us to resist doing the same.

Now she is a writer for the Baltimore Sun.

And she has developed an interest in photography.

So, we were excited about playing photo shoot together on this night.

“It will be much better than Barbies,” Sarah wrote when I suggested the idea.

And it was.

Although my own camera battery had died, Sarah got a chance to photograph Isaac and Em.

Together.

And Apart.

The resulting pictures were just adorable.

After the photo shoot, we went to our favorite Mexican restaurant where Em proceeded to get sick.

No. She really got sick.

And they had to clean it up.

But then she said she felt better and begged to stay.

So, against my better judgment, we did.

And, despite a rough start, the rest of our meal went exremely well.

Over a dual serving of Plato Mariachi, we ate and laughed and talked incessantly.

Then the time came to say goodbye.

This night, I was so glad we got to spend some time with these wonderful people.

And I hope they come again soon.

Saturday, December 6, 2008

Day 108 on Lexapro.

Day 85 on Lamictal.

posted much, much later…

This morning, Em woke up next to me.

For a short while, we laid silently next to each other.

Then she broke the quiet.

“Where are my swimming pools?” She asked seriously.

“What swimming pools?”

“The ones you bought me.”

“I did not buy you any swimming pools, dear.”

“Oh yes, you did,” she said. “You bought me a big one and a little one.”

“I did?”

“Well, it was in a dream.”

“You dreamed?”

“Yes.”

This admission was a big deal to me. Dreams, in my mind, are a strange concept. Especially for a four-year old.

And she had never recognized anything as a dream before.

Or so I thought.

“Em, have you ever had any other dreams?” I asked her.

“Oh yes,” she replied.

“What do you dream about in those dreams?”

“Monsters.”

“What kind of monsters? Funny monsters?”

“No,” she said. ”Scary monsters…who go like this…”

And she wrinkled her nose and waggled her fingers menacingly.

“Oh no,” I said. “That’s terrible!”

“Yes, they are terrible,” she agreed.

And it was at this moment I had an idea as to why she’d been waking up in the middle of the night screaming desperately.

And why she wanted to sleep with me.

Every night.

It was those darn scary monster dreams.

Friday, December 5, 2008

Day 107 on Lexapro.

Day 84 on Lamictal.

posted much, much later…

Early in this day, before the sun ever rose, Em woke and told me her tummy hurt.

And then she threw up.

All over my bed.

At that time, I texted my boss and let him know I would not be coming in.

It was only 3:30am.

We were up most of the morning after that.

Then, at around 9am, we both fell asleep again.

And we spent the rest of the day sleeping off and on, with her nestled in the crook of my arm.

We were both worn out and worn down.

And it felt so good to just rest.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Day 106 on Lexapro.

Day 84 on Lamictal.

posted much, much later…

The first thing I did this morning was pick up my medication.

***************************************************

And this afternoon, in the midst of trying to get things done, I asked E. Liz for some help.

I told her I needed help focusing on all of the projects I had at hand. The house. The business. Everything.

It all needed to be done.

And my head was a mess.

The inability to concentrate, I wrote to her this afternoon, is an issue.

Then I promised to feed her delicious treats if she agreed to help me out.

So she did.

And in the midst of eating delicious treats and watching White Christmas, things did get done.

And once again, I was beside myself to have such a wonderful friend as E. Liz who does not ask questions. She just shows up and monitors the activities of her 32-year old friend like it was the most normal request in the world.

And for that, I am eternally grateful.