Gina tales

I was almost positive that at the age of 5 and 5/6, Asher still did not know what a vagina was. We certainly have not hidden vaginas from him, but we’re not exactly a commando house, either. My lady bits prefer the cozy surrounds of a cotton gusset to the hostile winds of vulnerable nakedness. I hoped that he would catch us just out of the shower and inquire as Levi had done many many times from an early age. No such luck. My assumption that he lacked vaginal knowledge was confirmed.

Asher and I were in the kitchen one morning waiting for Gabriella to get ready for the day. As we sat eating breakfast, we heard Levi talking to Mommy upstairs in the loo.

Levi: Can I

See a

Gi-na? (pron. jahy-nah)

Yes, he does take long pauses in between word couplets.

Gabriella: Yes, Levi.

L: OH! I see a

Gi-na!

Asher: What is he even talking about?

Deborah: Levi wants to see Mommy’s vagina.

A: A gina?

D: VA-gina.

A: What even is that?

D: You have a willy, and your brother has a willy, but Mommy and I have vaginas.

A: You mean that (pointing to my right boob)?

D: No, this is my breast, remember? That’s where babies get milk.

A: Oh yeah.

D: A vagina is in between the legs-like your willy.

Levi: (squealing with delight) GINA! I SEE A GINA!!

A: When did Levi see it?

D: Well, he must have seen us getting dressed or getting out of the shower.

A: Oh. [pause] Can I see you get out of the shower?

D: You have seen me get out of the shower. I guess you just never noticed. If you’re around when we’re getting ready in the morning, you can take a look.

Gabriella: (Yelling to me from upstairs) HAVE YOU SEEN MY PHONE?

D: MOMMY! WE DON’T YELL FROM ROOM TO ROOM! HAVE YOU CHECKED THE USUAL PLACE? (the usual place being my vagina)

It’s not Gabriella’s fault that she constantly asks me where she has put things. Well, it is her fault that she misplaces everything which I find supremely irritating, but she knows that I have a specific talent. No, not shoving things up my vagina! I have an uncanny ability for finding whatever has been lost. It’s the closest I’ll ever get to having a super power. I’m The Finder. If someone is looking for something, I know we won’t be able to carry on about our day until I start searching. It’s a blessing and a curse.

While I do accept the huge responsibility that comes with my super power, occasionally I prefer it when we all look after our own things. My answer to any question Gabriella asks that begins with ‘Do you know where’ or ‘Have you seen’ is always ‘It’s in my vagina’. Every time I reply with that answer, I hope that she will either get the message and look for her damn [insert damned thing here] or go rummaging around my vagina. It would be a win-win scenario for me except that she never goes rummaging, and I always have to find her crap.

G: NO, I HAVEN’T CHECKED THE USUAL PLACE!

D: TELL ME ABOUT IT! I’M ASSUMING AT THIS POINT YOU’LL NEED A MAP. UNFORTUNATELY, THE MAP IS UP THERE, TOO.

A: MOM! You’re yelling from room to room.

D: Yes, Asher, you’re right. I should go upstairs and tell her to shove her phone up her own vagina so she doesn’t have to ask me for it again.

NO! I didn’t say that.

D: Yes, Asher you’re right. I’ll go upstairs and help her find her phone.

Here I am about to find Gabriella's phone. I've got my thermal imagers on so I can see through walls and my Ring-of-Light which illuminates my path during missions and otherwise helps me find my keys in my trendy, large bag. The cape is just for show. And the boots, well, they come in handy in all sorts of situations.

He did it!

We lost the battle, and FreezeFoe is not to be-well not with Quirky, anyway. But, today was a great day nonetheless. “How so?” you ask. “Hadn’t you put all your hopes and dreams into that drink thing only to be told that your idea sucks and that you should keep your day job-if only you had one?” Well, my day job is motherhood at the moment, and I certainly don’t mind keeping it. Now that the users at Quirky have forsaken the invention that would save dinner parties around the globe from disaster, we turn to the bigger, better more wonderful achievements of the day. We turn to Asher’s first solo trip on the bus, today, the 24th of September 2009.

Until this very day, I have been taking Asher to the bus stop, escorting him on to the bus, driving ahead of the bus in order to meet him at school as he debarked from the bus, taking him to class line-up on the blacktop and waiting with him until the morning bell rang. I said I wouldn’t do it. I said I was going to drop him in the water and let him flail and choke until he could swim. I lied. I couldn’t do it. Instead, Asher and I agreed on a plan of attack. Every day, Asher met a new challenge during his journey which would eventually prepare him for his solo flight today.

One day’s challenge meant that Asher had to get on the bus without my help. Another day, I followed him out of the bus and around the school as he guided me to his place in line. Then there was the day I met him at the half-way mark between bus and blacktop as opposed to meeting him at the bus. We hung the calendar on the wall and marked off each successful day. We counted the days until the day with the big bus drawn on it.

The penultimate challenge was to stand across the street and watch from a distance as Asher walked himself to his line. He stopped once to look for me and found me waving my hand wildly. He waved back with his entire arm, turned and found his line. There were no tears. He didn’t try to run. I knew he didn’t need me, and I knew that from that day forward, my presence would only be a distraction.

A small part of me will miss what was my morning routine. The teachers greeted me as I took my place amongst them waiting for the buses to arrive. I exchanged waves with some of the children I knew from Asher’s pre-school. Some of his bus mates started to recognize me. “HI ASHER’S MOMMY!!!” one enthusiastic boy yelled each morning. “Who’s that boy, Asher?” “Which one?” “The one that just yelled, ‘Hi Asher’s Mommy’.” Asher shrugged and barelled on.

Today, he got on that bus. There was a bit of protesting and whining as the bus doors swung open welcoming Asher to his new independence. I nudged him gently up the steps. The doors closed and shut me out. He was on his own.

I was the first parent at the bus stop this afternoon. I couldn’t wait to congratulate Asher for a job well done. When he got off that bus, I grabbed his shoulders and shook him (gently, of course) and shouted, “YOU DID IT!! YOU DID IT!! AREN’T YOU PROUD?” He was.

And so, I am not bitter that Quirky spurned my get-out-of-work scheme (though I’m absolutely convinced that voting was fixed). Instead, I can sleep tonight knowing that my dear Asher, my big bundle of anxiety packed tightly into the body of a 5 and 5/6th year old, has overcome his fear of the bus. Now we can actually turn our attention to Levi who screams every morning, “NO GO TO SCHOOL!! ONLY ASHER GO TO SCHOOL!! NO LEVI!! NO SCHOOL!!” Why can’t we have one easy child?

Not giving up without a fight

Ok, we’re on. FreezeFoe is up for a final vote. This is your chance to help a struggling family find its way out of the cold, dark well of financial ruin. You could also hook us up to some sweet jobs, but it’s probably easier for you to just get on QUIRKY and vote for the FreezeFoe.

For any of you joining us for the first time here at P&C, and you have no idea what the FreezeFoe and Quirky are read HERE.

Voting is open from NOW through Thursday the 24th. That gives you time to vote and time to ask friends and family to vote, too. Please help make the world a better place, one drink at a time.

That’s my plea, and I’m sticking to it. Thank you.

To vote, remember to register on the site and then activate your account via the link sent to your email account.


To all of my readers celebrating the Jewish New Year, Shana Tovah! I tried to convince Gabriella that dipping my favourite fruit in honey meant that Jews are expected to ring in the new year in a naked and sticky kind of way. She didn’t buy it. Maybe you’ll have better luck with your favourite fruit.

Better luck next time

Fooey! The FreezeFoe failed. Fank you…I mean thank you to all who voted – especially those who thought it was a stupid idea but you wanted to help me out without having to fork over any cash. I appreciate it. Before I give up hope entirely and vow never to solicit you again for FreezeFoe votes, I’m going to give it one more go. The folks at Quirky were kind enough to email me and beg me to resubmit the FreezeFoe. Well, in my mind, they were begging. I told them to get up off their virtual knees and stop groveling. It wasn’t pretty. “Yes, yes, I’ll do it just to see you stop demeaning yourselves in such a pathetic manner.” Besides, I’ve got nothing to lose and scraps of food to gain for my small children.


So, watch out. Saturday, September 19 at 07:29PM ET it begins again. This time, it’s personal. I’ll be calling on you once again to see if we can’t get this little thingamabob on the market.

In the meantime, the resume is almost ready, and I’ve just about shoved the last drops of self-doubt and immobilizing fear into the dark recesses of my brain. Occasionally, I experience a moment of terror, and I imagine pawning my wedding ring, selling our art and cashing in on the pittance of savings we’ve somehow managed not to touch-all in the name of hiding out in my little house instead of going on interviews.

Then there’s always the road. No, not the Cormac McCarthy book about the apocalypse though sometimes I feel like I’m living it. I mean the road of comedy. I told my sister Rachel we should take our act on the road. A gay, straight, mommy sister act! Clearly, there’s a gap in the market. Desperate, I know. You don’t need to tell me. She asked me why I wouldn’t take Gabriella. We could be the George Burns, Gracie Allen, gay, mommy, Italian, Jewish couple act. I’m unaware of much competition in that arena. But Gabriella's hell is being on stage, and she would absolutely never open her mouth. She would be the Teller to my Penn or the Harpo to my Groucho if I gave her a horn. There’s a hooter joke in there somewhere. And who would watch the boys? No, Rachel is the obvious choice. I’ll be working on our set once the resume is finished.

Ah, how the mind wanders when one is supposed to be searching for a job. The Goldstein Sisters are unlikely to be performing at a comedy club near you any time soon. It was at the BlogHer conference this year that I realized that my jokes are best delivered at a dinner party with close friends who have had one too many glasses of wine. It could not have been more clear than when of the lady-loving-ladies at BlogHer put me up to doing this Tropicana sponsored video podcast where bloggers offered tips for good living. We were asked to speak for a minute about a variety of subjects from nutrition to friendships to staycations. “Do it, Deborah! Represent the lesbian moms! Our voices must be heard!” How could I refuse?

So HERE, in my accidental Jane Lynch imitation, is my lesbian mom voice sharing my tip for making easy breakfasts. Let our voices join together as we teach the world that we are all one and that LESBIAN MOMS MAKE BREAKFAST, TOO!

And now for the real deal.

Last call for votes

Have you voted on QUIRKY today??

15 MORE HOURS until my fate is decided. The FreezeFoe is either deemed worthy of gadgethood, and I can sit back knowing that I have successfully provided for my family AND saved the world from frozen beverages and cracked bottles everywhere OR I have to get a real job. I’ll probably have to get a real job, anyway, but if the FreezeFoe g oes to market, I might be able to buy my little boys coats for the cold, cruel winter ahead.

Now, until today, the site was experiencing some problems. Many of you had trouble logging on. Try as you might, your votes were not cast. I apologise for your frustrations past and urge you to give it another go. The folks at Quirky worked hard to right the wrongs so that YOU could vote for FreezeFoe.

Please git on there, y’all! (That’s Southern for ‘Get on there, yous guys!’)

A couple of steps to vote, but I know you can do it. I'll repeat the steps for you for anyone who requires a refresher.

1. Go to QUIRKY.com

2. JOIN THE COMMUNITY by selecting link that says JOIN THE COMMUNITY

3. Enter your name and email address

4. Go to email address and select link that activates your account

5. You'll be magically transported to the world of invention and design where you will be asked to complete a survey. You do not have to complete it. Scroll down and select SKIP. Or take the survey. It's a quicky on Quirky.

6. You are then free to vote for FreezeFoe by selecting PRODUCT EVALUATION casting your vote.

7. Do a happy-dance because you have done a good deed and good karma is sure to come your way.

THANK YOU!

Because you don't want us to move in with you

Gabriella has no job (Technology Strategic Sourcing & Operations if you know of ANYTHING-ANYWHERE!), and the money runs out sooner than I care to admit. We’ve made it last this long, but now it’s time to take off the rose coloured glasses and stare right into the belly of reality we’ve so successfully ignored until now. It was fun while it lasted. At least I can say that.

While Gabriella continues to scrape and claw for a job, I now need to dust off the resume and send it out into the world. The good news is that I can tap into my network of friends without fear that anyone will feel in the least bit threatened. I have not had a job outside of the home in over 6 years. And, I haven’t worked in the United States since Y1K.

I’ve actually always enjoyed working in sales and business development (resume available upon request). I didn’t save lives, but I managed to pull my weight, bring in some cash and have a good time doing it. One day, I would do it again...when the kids are in school. One day is here sooner than I thought, and I’m trying to get used to the idea. I just hadn’t banked on getting back in the saddle so soon. As you can imagine, I’m a wee bit anxious. I'm not ready. I don't know where to begin. My mind is racing with all the things I can do to pocket some cash without having to hit the pavement. What can I do that doesn’t involve reworking my resume, cold-calling and squeezing into clothes that are out of style and a couple of sizes too small?

How about surrogacy! I know I can make babies. There may be some interviewing to do, but I’ve got a proven track record, and I certainly don’t have to wear stockings. This town is teeming with would-be gay dads looking for baby makers. Unfortunately, Gabriella would prefer that my productivity occur outside of my uterus. Furthermore, only uncompensated surrogacy is allowed in the state of New Jersey. Yeah, that’s not happening!

Then there’s Quirky. Didja see the article in the New York Times Magazine last weekend about the kid who launched a collaborative invention site? You can submit an idea for a product or gadget, and everyone on the site votes to determine which products Quirky should take from concept to reality. In a matter of days, the team listens to comments and questions from registered users and spits out a product to sell.

It’s my dream destination as I have had roughly 897 ideas for amazing products, give or take, over the years and no possible hope that any single one of them would ever see the light of day. Take the Quim Trim. I credit the poetry of a friend who dubbed it as such. This was my idea for a razor that enabled women to groom, shape and trim the most delicate of places. Behold the Schick Quattro that recently hit the shops. Anyone who knows me knows how long ago I dreamed up that little gem. I have been somewhat of a quim aficionado for quite some time, after all.

Desperately reaching for stars, I submitted an idea that is now up for a vote. I want you to go to the site and vote for it. You only need to register with your name and email address. I’m not looking to win a popularity contest here, people. We need the cash. For real!

My gadget-to-be is listed with the working title: FreezeFoe. It’s an alarm that prevents you from forgetting that bottle of beer or wine you put in the freezer and alerts you when said beverage is at the perfect serving temperature. C'mon, that could fly, right? Please show Quirky the power of the blogosphere. Please.

Go to QUIRKY. To register, you'll provide your name and email address. Then, you will activate your account by selecting the link in the email sent to your inbox. Don't forget to check your email.

Still with me? Hang in there! When you select that link, you'll get back to the site, and there will be survey. Not the survey type? Scroll down and select SKIP.

From there, go to PRODUCT EVALUATION and find FreezeFoe. Cast your vote for my little gadget and your job is done. I know there are a few steps here, but if you can follow a blog, you can register on Quirky and vote for FreezeFoe. I believe in you.

Gabriella will continue to look for a job. I am next out of the gate. In the meantime, maybe I will be able to buy stale bread for the children with the pennies I earn from the FreezeFoe...with your help, of course. All else fails, I’m willing to travel to a more permissive state to house your unborn child.

No, I didn't forget

I’m thinking I might have offended by posting an innocuous entry about Whoopi Goldberg and other celebrity sightings on this day, September 11. I do apologise to anyone who might have thought me cold, unfeeling or selfish. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been labelled as such, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. Truth be told, I started that entry days ago and was waylaid by the many irritations of life (named Levi, Asher and Gabriella). The post hit the stands on this day but was actually conceived long before now.

Also, I’d like to say that today is, and hopefully will always be, a very happy day for some of our friends celebrating birthdays. I refuse to say I’m sorry to them for joining us in this world on September 11th thousands nay tens of thousands of days before the World Trade Center attacks. Instead I say Happy Birthday, DB (Happy 40!!), LG AND AA! We love you, and we hope you’re celebrating wherever you are.

I was in London showing off my WAP phone to my friend during a business lunch. It was the hottest thing at the time-connecting to the web on the phone and accessing the weather or news events. “How funny is this one? A plane just crashed into the World Trade Center. That’s bad driving, isn’t it?” It was beyond my scope of comprehension that there might have been anything more disastrous than a broken window or two and that there could have ever been anything sinister behind such an accident. We laughed and finished lunch.

When I walked back into my office, a media company littered with televisions all over the office, I was met with blank stares and a cacophony of silence. “Did you hear, Deborah?” someone finally had the courage to ask. “What? About the plane? Yeah, I heard.” But I realized taking in all their faces that that I was missing something-something awful.

Such a surreal feeling to be living outside of the U.S. at that time. I felt like I needed to be there, and yet I was relieved to be far away. We called and called to get news from friends at home and in Manhattan. The entire day is a blur as it is for many, but I remember feeling completely lost and confused. I couldn’t absorb it all.

We would fly to New York in October to attend a funeral. Just One. We would absorb plenty during that trip. It was good to be with friends-friends who took us in their arms and welcomed us home. It was good to be outrageously sad with friends who had become our family. So on this day, I remember more than the crime and the losses and the tears. I remember our friends, our family, our blessings, and I wish everyone a peaceful day.

Whoopi does her own shopping

The exciting news of the day is that Whoopi Goldberg bought a house in the town next to ours. I had actually first gotten wind of the celebrity’s relocation from a neighbour who is working with Whoopi on a project. But, I kept it to myself. While I can gossip with the best of them, I try to stick to the banal, happy kind of gossip. Far be it from me to spread the neighbour’s news, so I kept it on the down low. Luckily, I didn’t have to hold on to that secret long because Whoopi was spotted at our local Whole Foods. In what aisle, I don’t know, but she was sans entourage and avec her own canvas bags. A celebrity who shops for herself. Like it.

I admit that I get a little giddy when I see famous people. I don’t care how goofy that makes me. And I’m not afraid to approach celebrities and say, “Hey, Famous Person! You’re neat.” Or something hopefully a bit more inspired.

Since learning of Whoopi’s arrival, I have been contemplating all the clever and memorable things I will say to her when I see her at the Whole Foods. My goal to make a lasting impression-even if I make an ass out of myself as I have done in my past. I'm especially good at humiliating myself in front of stars I love, and Whoopi is definitely on my A list.

Once upon a time, Gabriella and I worked for the nameless company that first aired music videos on cable television. We will refer to that company as Empty Pee. This is the same company owned by Gabriella’s most recent employer, Shmiacom. Many assumed that life at Empty Pee must have been exceedingly glamorous. The truth of the matter was that we were working in the satellite business office in Chicago, and we were relegated to sweeping cinders and watching everyone else go to the ball.

There were a couple of rare, happy moments. We did get comp tickets to see Bill Maher perform, and we were also lucky enough to meet Melissa Etheridge before a concert for which we also got free tickets. And there was the one star-studded event in Chicago in 1997. In a fit of greed and self-importance, Shmiacom opened up a shop on the main drag in Chicago, Michigan Avenue in order to sell merchandise-read crap- from its many disparate channels and programs. It was open for probably a week (or 2 years) before it closed with a whimper. The store was definitely not one of Shmiacom’s finest moments, but the launch party was uber fun for all of us in the Chicago office who were so often forgotten by the mother ship in New York City.

Where else would I ever get to see Jennifer Tilly, Daisy Fuentes, Sherman Hemsley and Greg Brady (aka Barry Williams) in one place? Cocktails were in order to celebrate such a momentous occasion, and we took full advantage of the open bar. It was after a drink or two that Gabriella leaned over the VIP rope separating the great unwashed from the glamorous super stars and yelled over the deafening party music in her loudest Italian-from-Queens voice, “JE-NI-FUH!!! JE-NI-FUH!!! WE LOVED YOU IN BOUND!!” I still have the photo of the three of us in a silver frame engraved with the word FRIENDS in different fonts around it. We spent the rest of the night accosting celebrities and posing with them for photos and making them smile big because they were clearly so very happy to meet us.

Gratuitous photo of Jennifer Tilly & Gina Gershon in Bound

Then there was the time that I met the Isabella Rossellini. I am forever grateful to JLF for inviting us to see a benefit performance of the Vagina Monologues during V-DAY in London featuring an amazing cast of celebs. But no one drew me in as much as the ever graceful and divinely beautiful Isabella. During her performance, I was on the edge of my seat drinking in her every word and searing her image into my memory forever. If I had known I’d be meeting her face to face at the after-party, I think I would have passed out in my seat.

And then the moment arrived. What to say? “I’m a big fan?” “I think you’re really really pretty?” “When I saw you in that sick movie Blue Velvet, I knew you were the kind of little minx I could love forever?” Um, no. So I says to Isabella Rossellini, I says, “That was a wonderful reading. How is it that you came to read for the show?”

D to self: Ok, that was normal. Now just listen and nod and try not to make it obvious that you’re imagining the two of you locked in a naked body embrace.

Isabella: Well, I had seen the show, and I found it so moving and important. And then Eve called me and asked me if I wanted to participate. Of course I wanted to be a part of it, and I said to her, ‘Please, please you must use me!’

And then I sucker punched my super ego in the face allowing my id to escape and deliver a horrifying reply.

D: “Wow, I wish I had been on the other end of the phone when you had said those words.”

Nervous laughter from Gabriella and a couple of friends who had witnessed the exchange. Isabella wasn’t laughing. She had already politely excused herself to follow a platter of appetizers. Guess she wasn’t too impressed.

I’m going to prepare for Whoopi. I thank Donna for tipping me off to her literary works. I’ll be carrying Whoopi’s Big Book Of Manners with me everywhere I go so that she can sign it during our chance meeting. I doubt she'll want to hear me say, “Hey Whoopi! I’d Act like your Sister if you'd let me! (wink)”

Day 1: No surprises

The good news is that I did not waste energy making myself a nervous wreck about today-the first day of Kindergarten. Furthermore, I had anticipated just about everything that happened. Oh the horror. I will tell the tale for those of you who are interested, but it’s not pretty.

As promised, Gabriella and Levi drove to the bus stop while Asher and I walked. The plan was to get him on the bus and jump in the mini-van and follow him to school. “Now Asher, I don’t think that we’re allowed to come into the school, but we will be right behind you in the car.” Asher seemed to accept the situation, but I was not fooled. We arrived at the stop, and we saw some friendly faces. A girl in Asher’s pre-school was there with her older brother. Another mother joined us with her daughter and read The Gruffalo to the children as we waited. Gabriella snapped photos from the car. Asher was completely calm...on the outside.

“When is the bus going to get here?” “Soon.”

Sure enough, the bus rolled up to the stop. The children lined up to hop aboard. I gave Asher a quick cuddle and told him that I had to go run into the car so that we could follow the bus. He stepped on board while I watched...and waited. He disappeared behind the first few rows. I waited. The bus driver sadly could not peal out of the there until the kids were all seated and buckled giving Asher plenty of time to reconsider and find his way back to the bus doors. He was crying. “NO RIDE THE BUS! I DON’T WANT THE BUS! NO BUS!!” He did not want to ride the bus.

I walked him to the middle of the bus and showed him that he could see our car through the back window. I sat him in a chair and fastened the buckle. He was still crying and screaming, but he did not resist, and I thought we might have a chance. As soon as the buckle clicked into place, I hurried off without even looking at him. Next stop, school.

We shouldn’t have followed, and we definitely should not have met him on the other side. Asher got off of the bus looking nervous but controlled until he saw us there waiting to greet him. I had not wanted to be there at school. It didn’t even occur to Gabriella that we should be anywhere but right there. There were other parents there. They met their kids at the buses. They took pictures of them. They lined up with them outside of the school. They went into the classrooms with them. We would do the same. It would be a bad idea.

The principal escorted the children from the bus to the back of the school where they were to line up with their teachers and wait for the bell to ring. Asher did not follow the principal. He dropped his back pack to the ground and bolted like a wild animal trying to escape capture. “Asher!” I yelled running after him. I guided him back towards the principal. “You cannot run away. You have to go to school.” “I DON’T WANT SCHOOL!” He screamed through his tears. “I know, and I’m sorry you feel that way, but it’s not a choice. You have to go to school.” He tried to break free and run. The principal came to my aide.

“And who is this young man?”

“This is Asher.”

She tried her best to engage him. He refused to look at her. He only wanted to run. He would not stop crying long enough to hear her encouraging words. The words were calamitous noise, and freedom was peaceful quiet.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked struggling to keep Asher by my side.

“Asher.” She said. “Why don’t you go into the school with Mommy. (I corrected her in my head as I’m sure Asher was doing in his. He must be thinking, ‘Mommy is the one over there holding Levi and weeping. Mom is right here with the vice grip on my arm.’) I’ll check in on you in one hour. If you’re not having a great time, I’ll call her, and she’ll come and get you.” I’m assuming she’s true to her word. You can’t make that kind of commitment to a 5 year old and not follow through. I don’t know this lady, but I had no choice but to believe that she will keep her promise. Asher was momentarily appeased.

We walked into the school through the front door while all the other children were gathering in back. The librarian recognized Asher from our disastrous screening and wished me luck. She said she’d check in on him. I believed her.

There was no one in Asher’s classroom. They were all waiting outside the room with the teachers. There was a door in the back of the class that took us directly to the waiting masses outside on the blacktop. I pulled Asher along to find his teachers. Mrs. L and Mrs. B watched me pull my crying child to the line and greeted me with empathetic eyes.

“We’re having a difficult time this morning.” I explained to the teachers over Asher’s cries.

“I understand,” said Mrs. L. “It will get better.”

“I give it 6 months.” I replied thinking that I’ve delivered an optimistic estimate.

“Really? Did he go to pre-school?”

“Yup since he was 2.”

“I see. Ok then. Well, that’s the way he’s wired. We’ll all work together to help him make the transition.” I like the teachers. I know Asher will like them, too.

The bell rang, and we all went back into the classroom; kids, teachers and parents alike. By this time, Gabriella and Levi had found their way to the class, as well. Asher cried and protested and refused to take his assigned seat. I pulled him to his chair trying my best to speak softly and sternly. I was sweating. Gabriella was crying. A mother next to Gabriella was crying. She turned to Gabriella and said, “My daughter is actually doing just fine. I’m crying for your son!” They cried some more. Mrs. L finally asked the parents to enjoy coffee and bagels in the cafetorium. What the F is a cafetorium? Who cares? I just wanted to get out of there. Somehow we managed to convince Asher that he had no choice but to stay and that we had no choice but to leave. He was tired, and I could almost hear the words he was clearly repeating in his mind. “I can go home in an hour. I can go home in an hour. I can go home in an hour.”

After a quick coffee, we got in the car to get Levi a promised chawcwit muffin.

“What’s that rolled up note?” Gabriella asked me as we tried to avoid discussing the morning thus far.

“It’s a letter the teachers asked the parents to take home.”

“What does it say?” I untied the blue ribbon and peeked at the first few lines.

“We shouldn’t read this now.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a silly poem that’s going to make us cry.”

“I’m already crying.”

“Fine. But I warned you.”

The First Day
I gave you a little wink and smile
As you entered my room today.
For I know how hard it is to leave
And know your child must stay.
You’ve been with him for five years now
And have been a loving guide.
But now, alas, the time has come
To leave him at my side.
Just know that as you drive away
And tears down your cheek may flow
I’ll love him as I would my own
And help him learn and grow.
For as a parent, I too know
How quickly the years do pass
And that one day soon it will be my turn
To take my child to class.
So please put your mind at ease
And cry tears no more
For I will love him and take him in
When you leave him at my door.

Love Mrs. L and Mrs. B

Needless to say, there were tears.

I know Asher is going to be fine. I know he’ll love Kindergarten. I know I know I know. I know there are lots of children struggling with their first day of school. I feel for you all. My friend called me up while I was writing this entry to check in. She shared her story with me about her 1st grader who has been to the nurse every day since school started. I am not alone. We are not alone. But it still sucks.

The first day is almost over, but we're not out of the woods. I'm hoping for the best and expecting the worst. It's all I can do-that and NOT follow my kid to school. Off to collect him from the bus stop. He made it through the day.

PKSD: Pre-kindergarten Stress Disorder

Asher has his first cold of the season complete with the explosive mucus ejaculations only thought possible in Hollywood’s horror film special effects departments. Asher has a cold, and his first day of kindergarten is the day after tomorrow. I need this cold like a suited-up astronaut needs a yeast infection on the moon.

We’re already losing sleep about kindergarten. Ok, that would be the royal “WE” as in I am losing sleep about it. As described in many a previous post, my first born son is an anxious child, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I was in denial about my neuroses until I had a child who mirrored my every idiosyncrasy and forced me to recognize the nut-ball that I am. If you’re living in your own private Idaho convinced that you are self-aware and you’ve got it all together, I do not recommend parenthood. I don’t recommend parenthood to anyone, actually, but especially if you think you’re all that and a bag of chips.

In addition to the terror of going to a new school and having new teachers and meeting new kids, Asher is also going to be taking a bus. Asher has been obsessing about the bus since I casually mentioned it to him at the beginning of last year. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything, but my years in sales have taught me the impact of the slow sell. If I planted the seed early enough, we could water it, pull the weeds around it and allow the concept to blossom into a beautiful image of thaumaturgic transportation taking us to an extraordinary world of exploration and education. Not so much. He’s petrified.

I want to catapult myself to next month and avoid what might be the most traumatic weeks of motherhood, yet. I know that all of this will seem laughable one day. Kindergarten is literally child’s play next to all the hideous realities of adolescence. But I’m only 6 years into this parenting gig, and Asher is, well, only 6 years into being my kid. I’ll thank you not to add your comment if it happens to be “It doesn’t get any easier.” Why don’t you let me find out the hard way? I’m a first-born. We learn best this way.

“Um, Deborah. Asher is a first-born, too.” “Yeah?!? What’s your point, mutha-fucka?” “Well, if you could get past that anger that is so clearly serving to mask the irrational fear you feel about your son’s failure and ultimately your own failure as a mother, you’d see that he, too, needs to learn the hard way. Just let go, and let it all work out for itself. It’s possible that the hard way won’t be as hard as you think.”

“That’s your advice? Let go? Ignore the suffering that is eating away at my beautiful Asher? Turn my back on my sensitive, loving child who asks only that I protect him from undue pain?”

“Undue pain? He doesn’t want to get on the bus! Get him on the damn bus and be done with it, lady!!”

“Who asked you, anyway? Look, this blog is not a team effort. Shoo! And don’t let the widget hit you on the way out. That’s right, just click on a link and go stir up shit on someone else’s blog. Porco cane!!*”

*Porco cane literally means "pig dog", but Gabriella insists that it is a vulgar way of saying "damn it" and cringes every time I say it. So I say it often.

I do apologize for the schizophrenic moment typical of a stressed-out Gemini. I don’t know about you, but I feel much better. Breathe in. Breathe out. Get to Thursday. Get him on the bus.