Nine Years

Nine years ago today, I went on my first date with the Mad Scientist. I wasn't expecting much from the night. In fact, I had sworn off men for good the night before. I only kept my date with the Mad Scientist because he was so nice and I hoped we would be good friends.  Little did I know . . .

Nine and a half years ago, after taking the New York bar exam (and passing), I got homesick. I found a job and moved back to Michigan. The only problem was that all of my friends were married or engaged. None of them were single and none of them wanted to go out for a girls' night, so I didn't really go out in situations where I could meet guys. (I usually went out with a guy friend and that didn't work well for talking to other guys.)

So, I joined a dating agency. I went on a lot of dates because I was one of the only younger women. But the men! Oh my goodness!!!!

I had one guy who was shorter than me (I'm 5 foot tall!) That same guy refused to even pay the $1.00 for us to ice skate at the public park because he wanted to save all of his money to retire at age 40 and have fun for the rest of his life. It is a good idea, but he DID expect that I would pay for everything. (I had no problem paying, but he especially said he wanted me to pay so that he didn't waste his retirement money!)

There was the really good looking carpenter who couldn't handle the fact that I was a lawyer.

There was the engineer who thought he was doing me a favor by going out with me even though he was NOT good looking, boring, and had an ego larger than the state (all turn offs for me.)

The night before I went out with the Mad Scientist, I went out with a guy who told me he was looking for a woman to marry and take care of him, just like his momma.  He told me I wouldn't be able to continue working when we married!

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. I swore off men for a long time.

But, I had met the Mad Scientist online in early February. We had emailed extensively. We shared a lot of the same views on life. We talked on the phone and enjoyed that a lot. He was great. Too great I thought. So, I went on the date, hoping for a good friendship.

We met at a bar and grill neither of us had been to. It ended up being dark and dingy, so we hopped in our cars, trying to find someplace else. Neither of us have a sense of direction, so we drove around a bit, but ended up at a great bar and grill. We ate lunch and talked and talked. We walked down to get coffee. I tried to get him to hold my hand. He didn't grab the bait!

We then went back to check the meters on the cars and the Mad Scientist had a parking ticket. So, we went back to my place and played chess and talked some more. We had deep discussions--everything from capital punishment and abortion to atheism and religion. He never tried to hold my hand or kiss me though, so I was resigned to him being the friend I had thought he'd be at the beginning.

After a 6+ hour date, the Mad Scientist went to leave. It was then that he finally kissed me!

I knew at that point that I was in love with this man.

And the rest is history.

Remembering

I am not immune. I, of course, remember what I was doing the morning of Tuesday, September 11, 2001. I still have the vision of classmates sobbing on the phones with family members as they learned whether their loved ones had gone to work that day in the Towers. I was glued to the television, watching the horror unfold. I also stared out a window, watching an emergency helipad, created so that survivors could be brought to the local hospital (~200 miles away). The helipad remained empty, but I kept wishing it would be used because that would mean there were survivors. No matter how much I wished for just one helicopter, none came.

I was supposed to fly that week, but ended up having to drive, on the road with millions of others. We celebrated a wedding that Friday and the start of a new life for the couple, but it had a somber cast.

Yes, I remember it all. I remember the tears, the pain, the agony, and the loss.

But no matter how much sparkle the media places on Americans coming together following the tragedy, I don't remember it that way.

Yes, many people felt patriotic. Many people came together to help save lives, to provide relief, donations, and love for the victims, their families, and the first responders. I remember that everyone looked at how they were living their lives and embraced their loved ones just a little tighter.

But I also remember fear, ignorance, and hate.  I remember people turning the other way when they saw a person of middle eastern persuasion. I remember the pride in a voice of woman who had yelled at a stranger on a bus because the person happened to be Muslim. And I remember people refusing to ride a plane or train with women in a hijab. People spewed venom at a peaceful religion, condemning it because extremists were . . . extreme.  And I remember thinking, why didn't anyone turn against the the families and friends of the men who conducted the Oklahoma City Bombing and blame all of the people who lived in the cities and towns around them? What was the difference?

I remember how classmates from Boston and NYC belittled the fear of the people from my home Michigan. I was actually told "They have no reason to be scared. Nobody cares about the middle of the country. There is nothing there."

I remember watching the start of the war in Afghanistan on tv and thinking "how will this stop terrorism?" How does killing innocent civilians save us? We don't go into urban centers and bomb the street corners where the drug cartels live and work. That would be unacceptable, even if that same cartel had killed hundreds of innocent people to protect their turf. Why was it acceptable in a neighborhood outside of the U.S.?

To me, 9-11 doesn't only represent a time when the nation came together in shared grief over a tremendous loss, but it is also the day the psychopaths won.  The extremists who killed so many on that Tuesday morning ten years ago hated that in America differing views were tolerated, that we could work together despite the differences, that we had choices. Today, America doesn't tolerate differences. We don't work together. And the only choice we have is to go along with the majority view or else be labeled unpatriotic. The prevailing attitude of most people is us versus them. There is no longer trust in our neighbor and listening to opposing views is only done for the purpose of tearing down and finding a sound-bite to instigate greater fear and hatred.

I think a lot of the divisiveness that defines our age started on 9-11. People were forced to take their head out of the sand and when they realized that most people didn't think just like them, they started to revolt. But instead of revolting against the psychopaths, they revolted against everything that was different. A society that was once made great by embracing differences is now defined by how little it accepts any deviation from the popular point of view.

So, while I have cried the last couple of weeks when I've heard stories from 9-11 and I remember the pain I felt at that time, I mourn the loss of the America I loved.

How I became a Lawyer Mom

I fell in love with the law as a senior in high school. I took AP Government taught by an attorney (and long time high school teacher). I loved, LOVED that class. It was taught in the socratic method and assignments were to read books regarding issues touching the government and not boring topics (we covered assisted suicide, religion in government, presidential politics, etc). We would be given one side of a debate to argue (and many times not the side we favored). I loved it! I will say it again, I loved it.

That AP Government course changed my life. I no longer thought of myself as growing up to be an engineer. Nope. I was going to law school.

Through college, my conviction waffled. I changed my undergraduate major several times and with each change, I thought about the future and what I would do. Ultimately, I switched to math as my major, with the understanding that I would still go to law school.

When it came time to take the LSAT or GRE though, I didn't know. I loved math by then. I loved the challenge of research (yes, there is research in math) and figuring out the hard problems (including trying to figure out answers to problems never solved before). It was exciting and challenging to me. But, I knew I was not born a true mathematician and would not likely be truly great at it, at least great enough to do more than teach calculus to college students. I had met people who were meant to do great things in mathematics and my mind just didn't work that way even if it was much better at math than most people, including most engineers. Did I want a career where I could never even work toward attaining greatness?

Law on the other hand, still made me happy and I loved the concept. But working in the law meant being a lawyer.  Being a lawyer meant long, long hours at work, no real social life, lots of work. Is that what I wanted? At that time, I believed that I would never marry (hence never have children), so the hours spent being a good lawyer wouldn't matter.

Still, I didn't know which way to go. I felt like it was a lot to consider for a 21 year old and my parents (bless them) were no help. Not that they wouldn't talk it through with me (we always talked), but they wouldn't tell me what to do or even which way they were leaning. My dad would usually spit back what I told him, structured in a pro and con list.

Obviously, I took the LSAT. I went to law school. I started working at a firm. I started billing crazy, crazy hours (on my first trial team, I was putting in 90+ hour weeks). I rarely did anything besides work. I loved most every minute! I had made the right decision!

Then, I met the Mad Scientist, the man who I thought I would never meet. We fell in love almost immediately and within months (maybe quicker), I knew I wanted to have children with him. And here we are, eight years later, married, two kids, and I am still a lawyer. I am still a litigator. I still love what I do, but I hate the hours. And that is how I become a litigator mom.

Dear Nutty

Dear Nutty,

You know I've been getting into this whole blog thing, right? And the wonderful ladies over at Mailbox Moments are doing a link-up where we are to write a long over-due letter to a friend, telling them about a favorite memory. I love their blog and the whole concept of writing letters on a blog, so I wanted to participate. I've been trying to think of which friend to write to and what memory to share. And I kept coming back to you.

But what to share? I've already written about one of my all time favorite memories that includes you. But that isn't necessarily a memory about you. So, I thought more. Do I tell a college story? My 21st birthday jumped to mind. Should I go older, like Vegas or my wedding?

Then I thought on the word "long over-due". What is long over-due? And then I remembered that I owe you a birthday present. Yes, I left you a note on Facebook and I left you a voice mail, but I didn't even send a card in the mail this year. I know it is not required, but I should have done it. Acknowledging how important our friendship is to me is long over-due. So, please consider this your card and I will take you out for dinner in September.

I know a blog post is a long way from how we celebrated your birthday in 1997 (was that the year?). We both went home for the summer to work, you in Minnesota and me in the Detroit area. I worked the night shift as a typesetter for a publishing company. And the week your birthday rolled around, I had just been laid off. I called to wish you a happy birthday during the day before I headed into the office for my last night of work (a Thursday). You told me of your plan to go to Minneapolis for the weekend, to see our good friends who had graduated. I so wanted to be a part of your birthday event, but I had to work.

I hung up the phone, disappointed. Then I thought to myself, what is one last day of work? I called my boss and asked if they cared if I skipped my last day. They didn't. And so, I jumped in my old black cavalier and drove. I drove straight through from Detroit to your small home town in Minnesota (No Doze kept me awake and terribly jittery).

Your directions took me directly through downtown Chicago around 11:00pm, right when Lollapalooza let out. I was stuck in traffic forever. But, by the time the sun was coming up, I was at the Mississippi River. I got out of my car and just looked in awe. I had never been that far west before.

When I came to your town, I remember laughing to myself when I saw the sign said "Population 96" or something similarly small. I had wondered if they changed the sign each time you left for school or a baby was born.

Then, I came to your parents' house, said a quick hello (presumably showered, but I don't remember), and we were off to Minneapolis. At some point we picked up Toro.

The next thing I remember about that trip is driving in down town Minneapolis, totally getting lost. Toro and I sent you the wrong way down a one way street. Then we made it to our friend's house and her fiance met us in the lobby. He didn't recognize me at first and the look on his face when he realized I had come from Michigan is still ingrained in my head.

That night, the kitty cats attacked our feet as we tried to sleep on the couches. And the next day, we all had facials at some place in the Mall of America. We ate at Planet Hollywood. But what I most remember are the laughs and the good times. It was an amazing weekend. I loved every minute and never once have I regretted not showing up to my last day of work.

I know I didn't do anything quite as grand as driving from Detroit to Minnesota without sleep for this birthday of yours, but you still mean just as much to me. I miss you and look forward to our girls' weekend in September.

L&S,

M.o.L.

PS
I'm supposed to attach a picture of us together. I couldn't find one of just the two of us. We will have to rectify that in September. For now, here is a picture of each of us from as close to summer 1997 as I could find (December 1995). And yes, these were taken with the orange camera!

If you'd like to link up a letter or see others, click below.

Why Michigan Is Home

A month ago, I posted my hundredth post and promised if you asked me a question, I would answer truthfully. I have two questions remaining. The first is listing 100 favorite appetizers and desserts, which I think would be too difficult to do, so my truthful answer is sorry, you'll have to google appetizers or dessert for recipes.

The other remaining question is: WHY did you stay in Michigan? Why didn't you get the hell out like the rest of us? Did you always plan to stay there?

The truth is that I had no intention of staying in Michigan, especially the Detroit area. And I left.

First, I left metro Detroit. I attended undergrad as far away from home as I could and still be in Michigan. A full nine hours away from home and I might as well have been in an entirely different world because of the difference from the metro area. I loved it.

As the end of  college neared, I debated about going to law school (or grad school for mathematics) in a big city or the mountains. I never once considered returning to the Detroit area. I loved my family and missed them, but wanted more. I didn't know what I wanted more of--city or trees--but I wanted more.

I ended up going to law school in western New York. I became an entirely different person. I figured out who I was. I grew up.  And I knew I would not return to Michigan. My life waited for me in New York or DC.

Getting my hood!

Then, I graduated. And I studied for the New York bar exam. I studied a lot for the New York bar exam. I lived that summer only to study for the New York bar exam. And I took (and passed) the New York bar exam. I celebrated by taking a trip in Michigan. I spent a couple of days camping with my mom in mid-Michigan, then up to Mackinac with her, then went up to the U.P. for several more days with friends. It was a great trip and it reconnected me with home.

When I returned to New York and re-started my job search, all I could think about was home . . . Michigan. I couldn't keep my family out of my mind. I couldn't shake the idea that if I went to the big city, I wouldn't be back in Michigan. I wouldn't have easy access to lakes, wilderness, seasons, and the wonders of a city. Where else do you have it all? And not returning made me sad. No place could have as much to offer as Michigan, so I sent out a bunch of resumes to Michigan firms in a moment of nostalgia.

Two days later, I was jumping in the car to drive to Michigan for the Labor Day weekend with a lot to think about. I had been offered a job at a small firm in the city where I went to law school and offered another job in DC, working as a lawyer and web editor. I was heading home to think about it and see family before I moved farther away. As I was finishing packing my car, I got a call for an interview in Michigan the next day. I threw a suit in the car and went home. I was offered a job during the interview and accepted later that day. I started the Tuesday after Labor Day. The rest is history. I was home.

On Looks

I have never been happy with the way that I look. I can look back at pictures of myself and realize that I was good looking at times in the past, but at that time, I felt unattractive. I've always felt fat. I am totally fat now, but in high school, I was healthy and muscled, and I felt fat. I wasn't.

I've never felt beautiful. Even on my wedding day, I didn't feel beautiful. I still don't see a beautiful bride when I look at my wedding pictures (which is why most of my purchased wedding pictures do not include full pictures of my face, only turning my head).

As I was growing up, I was told I was not beautiful. I could not be beautiful. I could only ever be cute. In fact, the Mad Scientist is the only person to ever call me beautiful. And I know he believes it. And in moments, I've gotten close to believing him, then the little voice returns chanting that I can never be beautiful.

I know beauty is in the eye of the beholder and beauty is only skin deep. I know that what is on the outside doesn't matter. But it never felt good to not be a beauty. It hurt to know nobody thought I was beautiful growing up (I didn't meet the Mad Scientist until I was in my late 20s).

So when my children were born and I saw how beautiful they were, I couldn't help but let them know it. I must tell TRex and DQ how beautiful they are to me at least once a day, if not more. I want them to know they are beautiful to me and that nothing can take that away.

But then, I read an article earlier this week about continuing disparities in the legal profession between men and women. Despite women representing more than 50% of law school graduates for a long time now, the percentage of women in management positions in firms is still minimal. The article went on to discuss how women are still mostly judged by looks, rather than skills.

I've read dozens of similar articles about professional women, about raising girls, or about how society starts when girls are young to define the girls' self-worth through looks, which is bad.

So, I started to think I was bad for telling my children I think they are beautiful. I cursed myself for ohhing and ahhing when DQ dresses up and I tell her she is pretty. I was angry for singling out TRex to let him know is handsome when he gets dressed. I wanted to thwart my subconscious for trying to keep my children from feeling the pain I had and constantly telling them how beautiful I think they are.

And then I realized that I don't only comment on my childrens' looks. I'm not raising children that will only be good enough if they are beauty queens or fashion models. I don't only give my children praise for dressing well or being pretty. I tell them I love them and hug them when they ride a bike, make a new picture, form a new sign in ASL, or sing a new song. I praise them for their accomplishments both physical, intellectual, and creative. (And I am not trying to raise entitled children, so I also scold them when they are naughty, make them work, and they are never allowed to say they can't and must use "I'll try".)

At the end of the day, society is going to make its own judgments about my kids. It is my job to help provide them the tools to succeed and thrive in this world no matter what is thrown at them. One of those tools is being comfortable in their own skin. Knowing that their mother thinks they are beautiful won't help them in 8th grade when they are picked on, but I hope it will provide them with protection so that they don't believe the mean things that will be said.

What do you think?

One Lovely Blog

My friend Krista over at Thar She Sews nominated me for the One Lovely Blog Award. I am totally stoked to be nominated, especially since I enjoy reading her blog. Actually, I'm a little envious because her blog revolves around her craftiness and I so love to craft, but no longer have the time nor energy. I keep telling myself someday, but I know if I really wanted to do it, I'd do it. I can't imagine crafting in my itty bitty, way too stuffed house. Perhaps someday, I'll have a basement and my kids will each have their own rooms so toys can live there rather than my living room.  Anyway, I'm honored to have been nominated and will gladly tell her and all of you seven things about myself, followed by my own nominations.  (In case you missed it, I did a similar post way back in the very early stages of this blog.)

1.  I started playing tennis my freshman year of high school simply because I wanted a fall sport and I was way too short for basketball and I hated to run so cross country was out of the question. My play was to play tennis in the fall, volleyball in the winter, and soccer in the spring, but I fell totally and completely head over heels in love with tennis. From that fall through the rest of high school, I played tennis year round. I took lessons at the local club in the winter and summer. I took camps whenever I could. I lived and breathed tennis. So, I went from never having truly played the summer before freshman year to first singles my senior year. Unfortunately, I stopped playing in college because I had burned out. I wish I could play now though.

2.  I met my husband on Yahoo! Personals while studying for the Michigan bar exam. I couldn't study 24/7 and all of my friends were working, so they couldn't talk to me, so I went online to meet other people to talk to. The Mad Scientist worked the night shift, so he could send me emails during the day. We emailed back and forth for a couple of weeks. They were great emails, but I had no intention of continuing the emailing after the bar exam since I'd be back at work. But he ended up calling me and asking me out. I went out with him even though the date from hell had happened the night before and I vowed no more men. I figured the Mad Scientist would just be a friend anyway since our emails had been so real and interesting. And the rest is history.

3.  My new love is red wines from Argentina, especially the malbecs.

4.  When I was pregnant with my son, I was petrified the entire time that he would be born during the Woodward Dream Cruise (Thousands of classic cars driving down the main thorough fair with hundreds of thousands of people watching, all blocking the way! And they start to gather and cruise days in advance and practice all the preceding weekends.) I couldn't figure out how I would get to the hospital if I went into labor during the cruise since all of the old and slow cars would be blocking my way. Guess what day my son was born. On Dream Cruise! I had nothing to worry about, everyone got through (I had been at the hospital several days), and it was a silly thing to worry about.

5. I have always been a dog person, despite living with cats most of my life. However, now that I'm older, have little time and a tiny house, I think I'd be happy never having a pet again. (Not that I'm wishing ill will toward my current cat.)

6. I am totally a night person. Left to my druthers, I'd be up until late, late, late, and sleep in. Unfortunately, that is not an option any longer.

7.  I am short and plump and not in a good way. Living the sedentary life of a litigator and having small children make it difficult to exercise. I would love to be able to get up in the morning and ride a bike or join a friend for tennis, but the Mad Scientist leaves for work around 5:00 am and I'm not exercising at 4:00 am (see number 6). When I get home from work at 9:00 at night and finish dinner around 10:00, there is not much time for anything else since I should be in bed at 10:00. Therein lies the quandary. If I could function on less sleep, I'm sure I'd be set, but alas, I need sleep to think.

Now it is time for me to nominate other bloggers. So, here it is, the blogs I find truly lovely for one reason or another. If you've been nominated, the idea is to tell 7 things about yourself and pass it on.  (This is the blog version of a chain letter, but I'm not asking for any money, just your soul!)  If my readers have never visited these lovely ladies blogs, you should totally check them out!

Take Me Back Tuesdays: 1990

I was driving home from work the other night when a song came through my shuffle. I was immediately taken back to 1990. I was sitting in my parents' living room, the burnt orange sheers casting a glow over me. I was on the couch, doing word searches. No more cares in my mind. No more worries of adult life. I was thirteen again, rockin out to a favorite tune.

And let me tell you, I LOVED this song. I found a word search book in my old closest a couple of years ago. It was covered with "Jon Bon Jovi" and "Blaze of Glory is the best song ever!" As I drove, I felt that same exhilaration of the song. Silly as that may be.

But with the final cord, the moment ended and I was back in 2011. Back driving down the express way, going home after working way too long of a day.

What song takes you back every time?

Take Me Back Tuesdays

A new feature is born today: "Take Me Back Tuesdays". I will endeavor to blog about something from the past on Tuesdays. To make myself stick with it, I've even created a button for "Take Me Back Tuesdays". I hope you enjoy my peeks into the past.

 The first installment of "Take Me Back Tuesdays" is inspired by my paternal grandfather's birthday this past Saturday. I believe he would have been 88, but I could be wrong. I know he was older than my grandma and she born in 1925, but don't recall the year he was born. My grandpa died over 14 years ago in February 1997 from complications due to congestive heart failure.

Before that, he was born, I believe, in the south, and raised an only child. He went to military school, but never entered the military despite being the perfect age to join during World War II. I believe it was his health that prevented him from joining.

I'm not sure when, but he moved to Michigan. He lived with his best friend, a reverend for whom my father was named. The day my grandpa died, his best friend paid us a visit and told us a story of those early days. First, you must understand that my grandpa never liked cheese at all. He hated the smell, the taste, the thought of cheese. Back in the 1940s when he lived with his best friend, the best friend came home so excited to share a new experience he had with my grandpa. The friend regaled this story of going out to eat and having the best food ever. Actually, when he told the story, the good reverend in his late 70s, described the food as an orgasm in his mouth. He had never tried it until that day and he wanted to share the experience with grandpa, so he had my grandpa close his eyes and open his mouth to taste this new food: PIZZA. My grandpa did so and quickly spit it out, shocked that his friend would be so cruel! I imagine this is how he looked around that time (although this picture is a couple of years older as it was taken by my grandma).

 

I never remember my grandpa smoking, but apparently he did well until the end of his life. He hid it well.

My grandparents met in the late 1940s and married in February 1951.

My grandparents lived in Michigan most of their lives, but my grandpa was always southern boy at heart. Here is a picture with his cousins and maternal grandma taken during his honeymoon down south.

In February 1952, my grandparents had my dad. He was their only child due to the doctors wrongly typing my grandma's blood and not realizing she was Rh negative, while my dad was Rh positive. My grandparents' two children after my father never made it because of the Rh factor.

This is one of the only pictures I've seen of my grandpa and dad as a child. They were on a trip to the mountains. I presume Tennessee because that is where my grandpa's mom lived, but it could have been the Carolinas as well since most of the family lived there. I love this picture.

This picture was taken on my parents' wedding day in 1974.

This is a four generation picture, taken in Florida when I was 6 months old in 1977. It is my dad, my grandpa's paternal grandma, my grandpa, and I.
 
My grandpa loved cars and worked as a draftsman (although I have a memory of being told he was also an Arthur Murray dance instructor for a time). My grandpa loved cars so much, he never understood why I would go to school to be an engineer and not design cars (he never knew I didn't end up becoming an engineer at all, he died before I switched majors from engineering).

In the early 1980s, my grandpa was relocated to Virginia for work. That is where he ended his career. It was a good time for my grandparents. They were able to travel all over Virginia and Tennessee, down to the Carolinas and take many, many weekend trips in their huge RV. They spent a lot of time with family down south. Below is a picture of a visit we made to Virginia one Thanksgiving. It is me, my grandpa, his mom, who lived in Knoxville, and my dad.

My grandparents also spent a lot of time in the 1980s and early 1990s square dancing. I remember going into their Michigan basement and seeing tons of matching outfits just like this. They enjoyed it so much. These are the times I remember most, after they left Virginia and came back home. They spent a lot of time with us and they still traveled a lot. Eventually, the travel got to be too much, so they bought a place in Florida and wintered there.

The picture below was taken in Florida. This is exactly how I remember my grandpa. Well, like this, or sleeping in his comfy chair in his living room, with his hearing aid off and grandma yelling at him to come to dinner.

The last couple years of my grandpa's life were not easy. He was very sick. Below is one of the very the last pictures we have of him socializing before he died. It was only a couple of years after the picture above, but he had aged considerably.

My grandpa was not necessarily an easy man to know, which should be obvious since I didn't know where he was born, when he moved to Michigan, or much about his back story. (Grandma did most of the talking.) But what was important to me is that he loved me unconditionally.

At Christmas, Grandpa would buy each of us girls special gifts just from him. It was usually jewelry. And it was so special because he took his time to do this just for us.

Grandpa loved ice cream. I spent a lot of dinners at my grandparents house as a child and grandpa had to have ice cream after every dinner. If there wasn't any in the house, we'd go out for ice cream. I wonder if that is how my grandparents met. She worked in an ice cream shop. I will never know. While my grandma is still with us, she does not remember much. And while she lives much of her days in the past, it is a past even before knowing my grandpa usually.

We used to spend a lot of time in the summers with our grandparents as well, especially in their motor home. My grandparents camped with many friends, but the two sets I remember most were headed by firemen. Of the three men, the two firemen couldn't start the camp fires, so that was always my grandpa's job. The firemen, rightly, put out the fire at the end of the night. I have lots of memories sitting around campfires with my grandparents and their friends. Or taking my grandpa's binoculars down to the water to watch freighters go by. We'd take trips to Canada across the ferry. And I remember watching my grandparents play cards and my grandpa being the only man amongst the table of 6.

I was lucky, my grandpa lasted longer than most of the grandpas in my group of peers. It was still hard to say goodbye, especially since by the time I drove back from school to say goodbye, he was no longer with us even though he died the next day. For the last 14 years, Grandpa's ashes have been fertilizer in a memorial garden he planted and pruned and loved for years outside of the church my grandparents helped to build. He was a kind man, a thoughtful man, and his last years before he got sick, he did learn the love for pizza.

I miss you Grandpa and I love you. Happy Birthday!

I Was A Senior Hottie

A month or so ago, Liz over at A Belle, A Bean & A Chicago Dog thought it would be fun to party like its 1995 and convinced us to post our senior pictures, showing our "style".  And "I Was A Senior Hottie" was born.  Since I am a glutton for punishment and my legs looked pretty darn good in 1995, I thought what the heck! Take a gander at Mom On A Line before I was a mom or balancing anything. (At least I didn't know the real balancing act hadn't started yet!)

Captain of the tennis team and first singles, sporty M.O.L.

Not sure who this girl was trying to be. Is that a carpet vest?

My attempt to look like myself. I wore those sandals and that sweatshirt everywhere.

While those were my senior pictures, complete with floral vest and inside out sweat shirt, I've also included my graduation picture.  As you can tell, senior pictures taken in June before senior year did not look anything like the M.O.L. who graduated high school.

Yes, I chopped all of my hair off like two weeks before school let out.

If you want to join in the fun, dig up your own senior photos, post them on your blog, and link up at A Belle, A Bean & A Chicago Dog. Or if you just want to check out the other senior pictures from 1995 (and many other years), go to the site and click on the links.

I'm a Believer

I grew up in the suburbs of Detroit. We didn't go down there frequently. We rarely drove farther than half an hour's radius during the weekdays and on the weekends, we traveled up north or were playing with my cousins. We didn't have a lot of money, so going to the city was not anything that we did.

Of course, my mom took us to a Tiger game. I remember my grandma taking the Editor and I to the RenCen for lunch and eating in the rotating restaurant at the top (it didn't rotate fast, but enough that when you went to the bathroom, your seat was in a different place when you came back).  I remember one trip to the Eastern Market with my cousins as a tween--the first time that I ate pistachios and string cheese.  I recall maybe half a dozen trips to theaters downtown for concerts and plays.  A trip or two to Greektown and Trapper's Alley. A hockey game at the Joe.  Trips to Cobo Hall for the Auto Show, the circus, and going to see the 90210 cast when I was in high school.

It just wasn't a common event for us to come downtown and unthinkable to go anywhere else in the city. But, that didn't stop us from feeling like Detroit was who we were. I was oblivious to the racial tensions between the city and the suburbs. Nobody ever told me about the riots. It wasn't until a couple of years ago that I knew my mother rode through downtown in the midst of the riots on a return trip from visiting her aunt. How scary that must have been for my grandparents to drive their teenage daughter through the violence. I've never asked my mother what she felt at that time or even what she knew. I really ought to. I was shielded from a lot of it.

I didn't know how dangerous the city was, nor that Devil's Night was not common everywhere. I thought it was normal that people burned down the city the night before Halloween. How would I know different?

Then, the people of Detroit started to reclaim their city in earnest around the same time that my eyes started opening.  Things like Angel's Night were born. The Casino's came and with that new hotels and restaurants.  And I grew up and started listening to the news.

I also left and had no intention of ever going back. I didn't think Detroit or Michigan had anything to offer me. I even took (and passed) the New York bar exam upon graduation from law school. I applied for jobs in NYC and DC.

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. I wanted to go home. There was no place was quite like Michigan. No place like Metro-Detroit.  Detroit had problems, but my heart was there.  Where else can you find a collection of local diners that specialize in greek food and chili dogs?  Where else is the home to the Big Three? The birth of the American middle class? Where else can you find people with the heart and determination of Metro-Detroit? The love for professional sports even with out winning? The history and the future? No where, but here.

I was offered a job in a firm downtown. I accepted. My dad was not happy. He didn't feel it was safe for me to be downtown. (In his defense, he had been carjacked in a bad part of the city, a couple of years before I started working downtown.)

I have been working in downtown Detroit since the fall of 2002. I love it. I admit that I don't get to see a ton of the city, but I've discovered more and more through the years. I am not blind to the city scape that at times resembles a hockey player's smile, but improvements continue. Detroit still has its problems. It has a lot of work to go to make it great again, but it is on its way. I love Detroit. I love working here. I love looking out my window and seeing Canada across the river. I love energy of the people I meet in the city and the excitement so many have for its revival. While I still live in the suburbs, I still consider myself a Detroiter. I'm excited about the future of this city and proud to be part of it. I'm a believer.

Shadows of My Past

I think it is funny how much certain places can bring back such overwhelmingly strong feelings.

Whenever the Dancing Queen is hospitalized in her primary hospital, I have to walk by the ultrasound department to get to the peds floor. I walk over the  swirls the ultrasound tech sent me to walk over during my ultrasound of DQ to get her to move her hands. (She always had them over her heart.) The first time, my husband and I joked about the swirls. We thought the tech had sent us to walk on the squirrels.

I remember the jokes, but only after I get the painful reminder of the consultation room. Only after I remember lying on the table holding back tears when they said my baby was sick. I can't walk by those swirls without hurting from the memories. But in a cruel twist of fate, I must walk over those swirls frequently for my sweet girl.

Another similar place is my OB office. I had my annual appointment today. The entire time, I thought of how I used to sit there, trying to figure out how I would become the mother of a sick child. All of those fears and insecurities raced through me.

But more troubling was that I remembered myself before DQ in that waiting room. I could picture clearly who I was when I was pregnant with TRex and before the diagnosis with DQ. And I saw the huge change to who I am now. I'm not sure I like what stress, lack of sleep, and three plus years of constant worry have done to me.  But how do I change? Can I get back the woman I once was? Do I  want to?