This weekend we celebrated a wedding anniversary. I’d tell you which one, but you probably wouldn’t believe it. It’s a big number. Not a landmark number, just a high one. If you follow those “traditional” and modern lists for gifts, this was supposed to be a furniture anniversary. We need some furniture anyway, but that’s not what we got.

Nope. We got one of these and one of these.

Romantic, eh? I’d like to tell you about all the grinding that went on in our house, and how we now have a shower built for two, wink, wink . . . but that would be T.M.I.

Let’s just say we got exactly what we wanted.

I’m getting ready to fly again; this time, fluid free and with all toiletries safely checked through in my rolling bag. As usual, I’m obsessing over the trip and the days I’ll be away. I wonder if carrying this on board would make me feel more secure?

The airline was kind enough to send me an e-mail reminder about all the new restrictions and warning me to arrive two hours ahead of my flight. Excellent! I love to fly!

Mostly, I flash back to Sept. 11, 2001, a morning I spent at the airport, attempting to fly to New York for my uncle’s funeral. It was a morning of fear, confusion and despair, followed by days of more of the same, as we all know. I can’t be in an airport without thinking of that day. We’ve all heard 9/11 stories from people we know. I think the idea of the blogger tribute to those who died that day is very interesting. If you haven’t heard about it, 2996 bloggers will post tributes on Sept. 11, 2006. Each blogger will be assigned a name and will participate by honoring that individual with a post in tribute. I’m considering signing up.

What’s your 9/11 story?

How about:

StL Working Mom is a married mother of two, living in Charlottesville, working in St. Louis, living life like a Mentos dropped into Diet Coke.

A six feet tall* mother of two, she has a misguided penchant for high heels and short skirts.

STLWM enjoys good hair days, a successful blow-out and mullet free adventures.

STLWM is a writer, but you probably haven’t read anything she’s written, but hold your breath, that all-American novel’s bound to be right around the corner.

STLWM has two ginormous children who, hopefully, will continue to love her, otherwise they will grow up and crush her like a grape.

*I’m totally not six feet tall, but got so tired of men claiming to be 6′ or taller, looking me straight in the eye, or worse, up to me, insisting I must be 6′ tall. I gave up and just go with it, usually. In shoes I probably am 6′. I’m not going to argue a measurement.

This is, by far, the funniest back-to-school-related post I’ve read thus far.

We’re getting ready to go back, too. Actually, they are. I get to play hooky!

Joys of having the kids back in school:

1. I get to see “Smoking Kid” — the delinquent in the hoodie from down the street who puffs a stealth Marlboro on the way to the bus stop — every day!
2. No one will stand just outside my office glaring at me until I get off a conference call!
3. I get to stay home for days on end, mired in work and looking frightful. Oh, wait, that’s not a good thing.

Dig me in print!

The Back-to-School issue of Albemarle Family features an article by yours truly, about P.E. programs in Charlottesville and Albemarle County schools. The issue is packed with lots of good info for parents with kids getting ready to go back to school. The best part? The magazine is FREE. Find one at Harris Teeter, Kroger or over 100 other places around town.

Poor Clover is sick. When we picked him up from the kennel a week ago his eyes were crusty and matted. They looked better, then they looked worse. Over the weekend, I noticed his ear was tender and goopy. After a trip to the vet, he’s got ointments, drops and lots of pills.

My hypoallergenic dog has allergies. In fact, I think he’s allergic to dogs.

Poor Clover.

Here are several reasons why I’ve decided I love where I live. You probably wouldn’t like it here; it’s not for everyone.*

1. I went for a walk this evening, on one of the many walking trails that wind throughout my community. The smell of fresh pine hung in the air. The scent did not come from candle or can, nor one of those pine tree cutouts that forlornly dangle from many a rearview mirror. The scent came from actual trees.
2. I’ve taken to walking early in the morning and/or in the evening. Also, sometimes, in the middle of the day. I’m never, ever alone out there. There’s always some other nut (like me) running, walking or biking. Where I used to live, I had good reason to fear the other people I might encounter while out for a walk.
3. I have not eaten fast food in Charlottesville. In fact, the only time I’ve eaten fast food has been on my trips back to St. Louis. This town is so healthy, the Krispy Kreme went out of business. In Charlottesville, we’re the fat people. In St. Louis, we’re svelte. We’re working on that; ah to be svelte in Charlottesville.
4. I don’t have a registered sex offender on my street. I know, I know, it’s the ones that aren’t registered that we have to worry about, but in the neighborhood where we lived, there were no less than seven in a five mile radius of our home. One offender lived at the end of our street, a fact that, when revealed, sent five families running for the hills. The kids’ bus stop had to be moved since it was directly in front of one offender’s home. Check Virginia’s registry here, Missouri’s here.
5. I have yet to encounter a person who is unkind or small minded. People look you in the eye here and greet you hello, or good morning. People smile. It’s weird, but I’m getting used to it. So far, no one has asked where I went to high school. Maybe it’s because so many people here are from somewhere else?

*Obligatory residential disclaimer to outside world in post- #1 ranking environment.

They’re starting to trickle in, aren’t they? Traffic’s just a smidge heavier; the overall trip into any public venue reveals that the demographic skews just a tad younger. A trip to Target included dodging freshmen with parents, selecting dorm room accoutrements. Ah, the last few moments of parental guidance.

The other night, I met the step-brother of a friend of the girl’s. The friend is a fan of graphic novels, so we’ll call her Mouse. Mouse’s brother, whom she clearly adores, we’ll call Benjamin. These are not their real names.

Benjamin is a recent graduate. He’s 23, unemployed (pending a decision Monday), and living with his dad and stepmom. He majored in Art and English. He is disappointed that he has yet to land his dream job.

Wait a minute, I have to pick myself up from the floor. That part always gets me (wiping a tear).

Benjamin will decide tomorrow whether he will accept the job he has been offered. He’s not sure exactly what he wants to do, or what his dream job would be, were it offered. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a person exactly at this point in his life. I was there, exactly there, eleven years ago with a degree in English, a minor in French (?!).

So the teacher in me came out, and the parent, and the years of mentoring interns. I gave advice and was encouraging. I resisted the urge to say, “Plastics.” I was also empathetic and will, if I hear of anything that might interest him, in the way of internships or entry level jobs, let him know. I left, the girl in tow, when he mentioned that I remind him of Anne Bancroft*.

The advice to all college students before you are unemployed graduates is this: I know you don’t want to do it, but while you’re still in the safety of the classroom, try to learn a few things that will pay the bills, and put food on the table. I know you’re all full of idealism and “I don’t want to work for the Man” but pretend, just for a moment, that your survival is at stake and you might just have to support yourself, or even others. Consider your level of comfort. Don’t you want to maintain, or even elevate it? Get some practical skills. Yes, you may hate your first job. You may hate your first four jobs. Most of us do. But don’t be afraid to try them out, even if you know they’re not the dream. Seldom do we find our dream jobs on the first try. Sometimes they have to be created for us. And that only happens after you’ve gained years (and years) of experience.

*He didn’t really say that, but I did start to feel a little like an accidental, would-be Mrs. Robinson.

Dwight wants to know the story behind why I live and work in two places.

There are several possible answers to this query:
1. It’s a whole Lewis and Clark fascination. Lewis, born in Charlottesville. StLMom, living in C’ville. Lewis and Clark, leaving on their expedition from St. Charles, Mo. (just outside of St. Louis). StLMom, living in St. Charles for 17 years before leaving on expedition to C’ville. Hmmm. OK, not really.
2. Uprooted, after living and working 17 years in the St. Louis area, I couldn’t bear to make a clean break. So I kept my job in St. Louis, telecommute Mon-Fri and travel back often where I live and work in the same place for a few days at a time.
3. Almost a year ago, my husband’s project was ending, meaning layoffs for team members. Instead of letting him go, the company set him up with several interviews. The winner? A spot in Charlottesville, a place we’d never even visited. We came. We saw. I interviewed random people on the downtown mall. We decided. Let me compress two months for you: worry, indescision, insomnia, talking, excitement, fear, nervousness. The most nerve-wracking moment came when I had to share with my firm the news that we would, in all likelihood, be moving away. They decided they’d rather keep me. I decided I’d rather stay. We worked it out and, seven months later, I can tell you, it’s still working, even long distance.

I got sucked into watching this last night. It is laugh-out-loud hilarious.

And, yes, I was channeling my inner geek, as usual. I am all about Feedback. I probably just dig him because he’s secretly a software engineer. (Yeah, I’m married to one of those.)

I am not attracted to the idea of being on a reality TV show, although I believe that in time, every one of us will be on either a) reality TV b) a talk show or c) YouTube