Who is this woman?

Sometimes, simply because I am a parent, I find myself doing things that I never imagined I would.

I had this thought last night as I was working to change the chinrest on a violin.

My life A.D. (After Daughter, as opposed to life B.C. or Before Children) has including a string of out-of-body moments where I look down on myself happily doing something completely out of character.

It started in the very beginning when I changed my daughter's first diaper. I had never handled another human being's poop before. I couldn't even imagine myself doing it until I did.

Now that my children are older I find myself doing even more out-of-character things. Designing costumes, tuning violins, organizing fundraisers, substitute teaching and interacting with other people's children. These may seem like such ordinary things to every one else but when I catch myself doing them, sometimes I step back and say, "Who is this woman? I don't know her at all!"

I think the rate of change is all out of whack. One day you're suddenly a parent and your world is completely different. But over the next few years, you so gradually change from the parent of a baby, to the parent of a toddler, to the parent of a kid, to the parent of a preteen...

It happens so slowly on a daily basis but sometimes you stop and look back, shocked to find that your offspring aren't still in diapers.

What's most amazing to me is that, generally speaking, I am so happy with who I've become. I could never have imagined back in college that I would one day be this person.

Last week I was seeking some advice from the people who know me best. And without fail, every one of them said the same thing to me, in almost the exact same words.

"You've been doing for others for so long. Isn't it time you did something for yourself?"

I thought and thought about it and I finally came to realize something. It has all been for me. This...thing...this motherhood thing is what makes me the happiest. I've been "doing for myself" all along.

And doesn't that just make me one unbelievably lucky woman?

Your Beeswax, Mind It

One thing I like about our new digs is the conveniently located shopping plaza in our neighborhood. I'm not sure I've ever lived anywhere where it was so easy to quickly drop off some dry cleaning or pick up a few groceries.

The downside is that it is easy to pick up that food you're craving but know you shouldn't have. And they sell 100 Grand bars. I love those damn things.

We also love the doughnuts in the bakery there. Well, I love doughnuts in general, just on principle, but theirs are especially yummy.

Yesterday I gave in and went and bought four doughnuts. It's bad enough that the doughnuts are so easily accessible to me. I thought I was doing pretty good to buy just one for each of us.

And then the cashier lady yelled at me!

She was mad that I bought four when I could have a dozen for less money.

At first I laughed it off, "Oh, I know. But I don't want all those doughnuts in the house."

But she scoffed at me. She scoffed! She yelled and rolled her eyes and told me I was wasting money.

What the heck, lady? You're not my mother. I don't remember asking for your opinion. If the eight cents I wasted means that much to you, you can have it.

Our friendly neighborhood grocery doesn't feel so friendly anymore.

Not Old Enough

I busted my husband last night.

I was waiting for him to come home with my daughter after soccer practice so I kept watching out the front window. So I saw his car pull into the cul-de-sac. And I saw my daughter sitting in the front seat.

He beat my daughter into the house so I asked him, "When did your daughter turn twelve?"

Oh, maybe it's important here to note to you non-parenting types that you're not supposed to let a child under twelve sit in the front seat because it is not safe with the passenger side airbags most cars have today.

Well, that interrupts the flow of a mediocre story. Suddenly I feel like a late night talk show host whose story has gone nowhere. Anyway...

He gave me a sheepish look.

Of course it took my daughter forever to get into the house, because she's...well...her, so I both teased him and let him know that I didn't like that at all. He was so busted.

I decided not to say anything to her because I knew she would feel so guilty.

My son wasn't privy to any of this. But this morning as we were pulling though the drop off area at school he loudly pointed out, "Look! That little girl is in the front seat. That's not a good idea!"

My daughter got instantly silent.

But my son went on and on. "That's dangerous. Her daddy should know better."

I swear my son and I aren't in cahoots. We're just two peas in a rule following pod.

Old Enough

Any kid who turns seven-years-old today--or any kid younger than seven--was born into a post-9/11 world.

In fact, I think any kid who will turn seven between today and nine months from today belongs to a special group of 9/11 babies.

There is a whole subset of women out there who were pregnant on that day. The women who were pregnant and lost husbands and lovers on that day will always belong to a group of amazing women who have a special place in the heart of America. But there are American women everywhere who bore babies into a world they hadn't thought they would have to.

I'm one of those women. I was almost seven months pregnant on September 11, 2001. My son was born in December.

Those 9/11 babies are starting first grade now.

Those 9/11 babies are old enough to ask questions.

Those 9/11 babies are old enough to realize that something is...different.

One day this summer I took the kids to a little New York-style pizza place near our house. They have a huge mural on one wall of a pre-9/11 Manhattan skyline.

My son who is fascinated by all things New York-related was naming the buildings. But he didn't know what those two tall, "twin" buildings were.

My daughter, oh-so-sophisticated and educated on the matter, told him that they were the Twin Towers that were knocked down by terrorists. And he started to ask questions.

So I sat there in a little dive pizza place and told my son all about it.

I told him how much had changed in the world. I told him how many people died, how many kids lost parents. He was taking it in and I was doing okay, until I told him about how it had effected us.

I told him that this was why his father has had to go away so much. I told him that this was why Daddy was gone for most of his baby years.

I couldn't help tearing up. Those were the hardest words I had ever had to say. Kids born into the post 9/11 world, especially those born those few months right after, especially New York kids, and especially military kids, are different.

Maybe they are better than they would have been. Maybe they are worse. But they are different.

And now they are old enough to understand, to learn about it in school.

Every year on this day I have one prevailing thought. We were so lucky. Lucky that my husband was here for his son's birth. Lucky that my husband wasn't at the Pentagon that day. Lucky that the chain reaction of political events that eventually sent my husband to Baghdad did not kill him.

Most of all, lucky to have our post-9/11 and our pre-9/11 children in our lives. And lucky that they feel secure enough to talk to us about it.

What's Up with the Girl

My daughter and I spent yesterday together. It was nice to have time alone with her. She is growing up so amazingly fast and our times alone are few and far between.

She's been up to so much lately.

First of all, a few weeks after we arrived here this summer she tried out for an advanced soccer team. And she made it. I was so proud of her. I wasn't sure how she would hold up here in a new soccer system, but she's been doing just fine. Tonight she starts a special clinic that is supposed to prepare her to try out for the next level up (the travel team) next year.

She's also been rocking the violin. We're on day 81 of our 100 day practice challenge. Her goal is to graduate this level (Book 2) this year and she's right on track.

She has been fitting in well at school so far. She made a best friend and talks about one boy all the time. Those two kids actually won the student council elections so it sounds like she wormed her way in with the popular kids.

She was tested last week to be placed in the right level math and language arts classes. She ended up in Intermediate Math (Yay! All that summer work paid off.) and Intermediate Language Arts. (Boo. She's been testing in the 99th percentile up until now.)

Yesterday we got our hair cut. She sat patiently and waited for my stylist to finish my cut for over an hour and a half. Then we had lunch on the patio of her favorite restaurant. She couldn't stop telling me how happy she was.

We concluded our day with a trip to the bookstore and The Talk. You know...The Talk.

She really is growing up fast.

She's such a good kid. Completely good hearted, empathetic and kind. She wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up, but she's also been writing novels in her spare time. (She's done more writing in the last few months than I have.)

She can drive me completely nuts, but I love her and appreciate her more than I could ever say.

The Best Excuse

Today my husband opened up the washing machine, took out his wet flight suits, hung them up, and left all of the other laundry in there.

When I asked him about it he said, and I quote, "I didn't know what you wanted to do with that laundry."

Well, my plan was to let the wet clothes sit in there until they started to mold and made the house smell like we were hiding dead people in the crawl space, so I'm glad he didn't do anything as radical as put them in the dryer.

Clothes Make the Kid

Now that public school is in session here, I realized something.

The public school kids here don't wear uniforms.

In Louisiana, every school--public or private--had uniforms, except for ours.

Not only did our kids not wear uniforms, they were encouraged to wear "play clothes" because learning is a "dirty business" and no kid should have to worry about their clothes.

And let me tell you, wear play clothes they did. My kids wore jeans and t-shirts daily.

Our new school has a new dress code. No jeans and all shirts must have collars. But since the policy is still new, you can tell that a lot of parents are stretching its limitations. But I'm a rule follower so I have spent an inordinate amount of time trying to find clothes that fit my kids' personalities but still fit the dress code.

I hated wearing a uniform to school as a kid. In sixth grade, when I was well into puberty and had the body of an eighteen year old, I had to wear a jumper. And my uniforms always had...gulp...buttons and so grossed me out.

What about you? Did you wear uniforms to school? And did it affect you at all, because let me tell you...

After all those years of Catholic school uniforms I broke out in college. Nothing but soccer shorts and sweatshirts for me. With Teva sandals. And socks.

You know, come to think of it, I still dress like that today. Damn plaid jumpers.