The girl was a few months old when the JonBenet Ramsey tragedy occurred. I remember, as images of the tiny beauty queen splayed across the television, my MIL calling and saying, “promise me you won’t take the girl on the pageant circuit.” I promised. That was easy. The fully made up children with giant hairdos gave me the creeps; that was not the life I wanted for my little girl.

Unfortunately, we have little to do with what our children want to be when they grow up. Since she was small, the girl has described her dream occupations as pop star, diva, drama queen and the like. She desires the stage and since she could talk, has always been “on.”

So despite my efforts to keep her sequestered in a High School Musical world, her music teacher took note, and cast her as Sacajawea in the school’s production of Lewis & Clark, the musical. Now, don’t get too excited. She’s the “B team” Sacajawea. There are two performances, one during the day, one at night. The other Sacajawea is a fifth grader and has the evening role. The girl will, no doubt, be the star of the afternoon show.

We’ve been very supportive during the whole process; rehearsals, drama, costume issues, memorizing, listening to the CD of the musical nightly. We hoped, of course, she would score the more popular evening edition, but alas, as a fourth grader, it was not entirely unexpected. Thing is, the fifth grade Sacajawea has had the flu for a week. She’s been out of school, missing, by my calculations, about 10 hours of rehearsal. She was back, suddenly, today, ready to perform in the show tomorrow. Seriously, I’m wondering, is she up to it? Will she do it justice? Is she still SICK? Hey, why not put MY KID in, instead? She’s ready to go!

I’ve gone easy on the masterminds behind the musical; they’re under visible strain, wrangling this giant cast of elementary school kids. I haven’t said a word but on the inside, I’m a raging Evil Stage Mother, wanting my kid to hog the spotlight and steal the show. I’ll behave, though, I promise. Although I can’t promise I won’t wear my “I’m Sacajawea’s Mom” tee shirt to the play.

Dad and I like to call it early and then see how close we are. Follows are my picks, as in, who/what I’d like to see win (P), and the one I think will win (F), for most Oscar categories. I’ve left it blank where I have no idea. Leave your picks in the comments and we’ll see how we do:

I love movies. I enjoy everything about the industry, but no, have never had a desire to be a part of it. I am one of those odd people who will watch the Academy Awards tonight, as I have every year I’ve been able. My father shares my passion. When I was a child, and could not stay up to watch the entire show (Sunday being a school night after all), I would awake the next morning with a legal pad on my bedside table, with each of the winners listed in my father’s distinctive script. I cherished the knowledge, as if knowing all the winners were critical to my success at school that day.

So while I rarely see every nominated film prior to the Oscars, I see them all eventually, taking time to load up the Netflix queue when there’s a documentary or foreign film that has as yet escaped my attention. I look forward to the goofy acceptance speeches, the wardrobes (annually, my mother will say, “look at that dress! She’s falling out of it” about any number of stars), the hateful looks from non-winners and the lifetime achievement winner, who always makes me cry just a little bit. Remember Jack Palance and the one-armed push ups? Remember that?

One day I’d like to go to one of those schmancy Oscar parties, you know; the ones that are black tie and sponsored by Grey Goose and boast some semi-celebrity host on site as the crowd watches the Hollywood festivities on a super giant screen.

Until then I’ll snuggle fireside on my couch, wrapped in a blanket and eating popcorn. The snow is falling thick and wet outside today. It’s a good day for television. A great day for movies. 

D & J called to make sure everything was OK. My blog absentia was noted and cause for concern. I’m taking a bit of a break for a variety of reasons. It’s unplanned so I’m sure my return will be just as unplanned. Meanwhile, I’ll be in a Girl Scout cookie coma on my couch. E-mail me if I’m needed.

This had me in stitches, with tears in my eyes.

Go all the way to the end.

Nominated, natch
“Babel” was a global “Crash”
Brad Pitt looks so old

**** this movie gets four stars on the “Greg should see it” rating scale, certifying this is NOT a chick flick.

The girl was in the kitchen getting a glass of water. Suddenly we heard a crash and the sound of breaking glass. “Don’t move!” I yelled, realizing she was, as usual, barefoot. The boy and I rushed to her rescue. The boy, wearing shoes, of course, came up behind his sister and lifted her straight up under her arms and carried her, straight-legged out of the kitchen and into the livingroom and safety. It was a simple act, sweet and touching from a big brother who would have his sister believe he’d let her walk over glass under most circumstances. Even though he had nothing to do with it, he stuck around and helped me clean up the glass. The girl went to put on shoes and helped sweep, then mop the kitchen floor (if you’re gonna sweep it, you might as well wash it, right?). Even though he said, jokingly, “you should ground her for a month,” I know he was glad he was there to play hero to his little sis. Not that he’ll ever admit it.

I have been traveling, as you could probably tell from my previous post. I’m back where I belong 90 percent of the time, however, so all is returning to normal.

You should know that if I disappear from this blog for a period of time, say four to six days, it is probably work-related stress and/or travel. It may also be that I’m not trusting myself to pour my true, current emotions through the keyboard. I’m counting to ten before I blog.

If, however I disappear for a month or so, look back at the last post. I’ll probably tell you where I’m going and when I’ll be back.

If I’m gone for more than a month, with no word of why, alert the authorities.

But that’s not what I wanted to tell you tonight. No, I wanted to tell you about the Airshrew. In the row ahead of me, across the aisle, sat a woman on my plane. She was tiny, in designer jeans, embellished hoodie, large sparkly platinum rings and acrylic nails. You know this woman. You’ve seen her. Her eye makeup was excessive. She spent the beginning of the flight perusing her People magazines. She spent the middle and remainder of the flight berating her husband for his stupidity. I snapped to attention when I heard, “Did you sleep with her? Did you? Well then how would you KNOW, Asa, you idiot.”

YIPES.

I then heard her tell poor Asa how asinine he is for the next hour or so. At one point she held out a pack of gum for him to take a piece. When he reached for it she SMACKED his hand and yelled at him for touching her gum. WHAT?

I prayed during the landing, not for a safe landing, but so that Asa would smarten up and dump that disaster of a woman and that please, God, they wouldn’t be catching the same connection, and staying or living, in my town.

I’m happy to tell you Charlottesville, that the airshrew is not one of our own. I could hardly write this if she were because EVERYONE would know her and tell her at which point she’d come find me and berate me endlessly for my stupidity.

1. Essential: undergarments. I forgot once and had to go buy some ’cause I’m no Britney.
2. The Suit or The Outfit. Usually when I travel for work, I have a Big Meeting or Presentation. This time, I have an Evening Event. Normally I have The Suit with a wrinkle-free oxford, the uniform of the PR Professional. Since the Important Networking Opportunity is in the evening, I’ve packed a long black skirt, black sweater (because it’s about seven degrees outside) and a red wool blazer, just to prove I’m not boring. I have not forgotten the stockings or the Standard Black Pumps.
3. The Backup Outfit. You know, just in case you put on The Outfit or The Suit and it looks ghastly/fits all wrong/had something explode on it midflight/can’t get de-wrinkled in time. Don’t omit the Backup Outfit; having this along can save your life.
4. Jeans. Like many offices, Fridays are denim-friendly in mine. Of course, in my home office, all days are denim-friendly, so these babies get a lot of wear.
5. Layering options. It is winter, so I have a couple of sweaters with tees and long-sleeved shirts to layer underneath. I also have blazers and jackets to throw on top. It’s really cold so I’m prepared. In the summer, though, it’s also important to have layering options. Conference rooms where Big Meetings are usually held, are notoriously cold.

I had a teeny, tiny breakdown over the weekend. Those around me would claim that it was more of a medium-sized breakdown, but all agree, I lost my ever-loving mind for most of the day.

As a parent, few things push me over the edge. With babies, major poop disasters were no problem. Also barf; no big deal. I can clean up puke without puking myself and it no way makes me feel as if I’m having a nervous breakdown. I can deal with gross bodily fluids. I can even deal with frightening situations, not freaking out in the least when the girl had three different surgeries before she was five years old. I also calmly held her split and bleeding eyelid together as my husband drove us to the ER one memorable evening (she slipped and fell in the shower, landing her face on a ledge).

Bugs, however, can unravel me with alarming speed.

Saturday morning, I took the girl for a haircut. (Foreshadows at twilight, seven feet tall.) I was informed, post shampoo but before the trimming, that the girl had a condition that prevented them cutting her hair, and a trip to the drugstore might be in order.

ACK! BLECK! WAH! I shouldn’t have been surprised at all since no less than three of the girl’s best girlfriends had the crud in recent weeks, but still was mortified, horrified and dismayed our weekend wouldn’t be what I’d planned. Instead, I spent the next five hours washing, combing, cleaning, vacuuming, laundering and painstakingly examining each of the millions of strands of hair on the girl’s head. Somewhere in the middle I called my husband, said something about “my worst nightmare” (not overstating too much, eh?) and bursting into tears. To his credit, he came to my rescue for a bit, providing some relief in a day that was just overwhelmingly bad.

Even now, I’m still recovering, trying to get my spirits back up to normal. The girl was not as traumatized; it all seemed like a rite of passage to her, since her best friends had recently gone through it. If anything, she thought I was a total freak with my OCD behavior of the next few days. Leave it to me to go the brink of insanity over something microscopic. Sigh.