I walked into the gym for the pep rally and found a spot on the bleachers at the bottom left corner.  There are a lot of kids in here–and I don’t know one of them.  Oh wait, there’s Lisa.  Our neighbor introduced her to me over the summer.  She babysits for them and they thought it would be nice for me to know at least one person at school.  Nice of her to wave.  How obvious is it that I’m sitting here by myself listening to conversations all around me?

I’ve spent all day listening.  Homeroom was interesting.  Everyone bounding into the classroom excited to see who would be there, to catch up over summer.  It didn’t take long to figure out who the popular kids in the room were.  If the squeals and hugs hadn’t given it away, the gawking and fawning were impossible to miss.  And there was plenty of time piece it all together.  Time truly slows down when you’re the 14 year old new kid sitting in the middle of a room of your peers.  Is the teacher ever going to show up?  Will I finally get a chance to use my voice to at least say “here.”

But that was hours ago.  Since then I’ve wandered through halls trying to find classrooms on this sprawl of a campus.  My friends from home won’t ever believe that the hallways are outside.  Guess we don’t have to worry about the snow here.  I suffered through lunch trying not to seem so obviously alone.  There is no way I can come back and do this all again tomorrow.  Two thousand kids laughing and joking and rushing around, and I’m being carried by the current like a salmon that’s given up.

…to be continued

I wish I had come up with the name Amy Farrah Fowler.  I like to say it.  I like to hear Jim Parsons say it.

Amy Farrah Fowler

Amy Farrah Fowler

Amy Farrah Fowler

Is 41 too late to change your name?  It wouldn’t be my first time.  I’m on my second first name, my third last name and what seems to be only my first middle name unless you count the fact that I use my second maiden name as a middle name as well as my given one.  Though since my second maiden name is a second then it really can’t count as a second middle name because it was a last name before it became a middle name and well I’m just not sure what to call that name now.  Let’s call it my first third name.  I’m sure it would prefer to be a first.

What the hell am I talking about?

I was adopted.  What I found out in my 20′s is that I had been given a different first name at birth.  So while I always thought Amie was my first first name, it’s really my second.  As for Adams–married name.  Hurst was my maiden when I got married, but Hurst wasn’t my first last name.  I had another before that but had it changed legally in 7th grade.  Yeah, yeah mom wanted us all to share a last name and seeing how she got remarried and my dad was getting ready to make scarce (not that he gave me a head’s up or anything) and well if you knew my first last name, you would have changed it too.

Got it?

So while I probably can’t go by Amy Farrah Fowler maybe Elizabeth is the name I should latch onto.  It’s the only one that is still my original–and maybe that’s why I kept it when I got married.  I’m like a royal princess or something with four names, though if you ask the federal government I really only have two and one stinking single letter in the middle, but that’s a whole different story.

PS-If you don’t know who Amy Farrah Fowler is…I just feel bad for you.

Back in high school, I rebelled.  I didn’t swoon over popular boys found on the cover of Tiger Beat magazine.

I refused.  I saved my sighs for the boys I could see every day walking the halls.

But I loved music.  Challenge me on any 80′s tune and you will lose.  Lose I say!  I am the queen of 80′s music.  So do you have any idea how much fun I’m going to have tonight??  I’m going to see Duran Duran!

When I found I was going I thought first of my friend Andrea.  Poor Andrea was one of those girls who argued with others over which of the band members she was going to marry–lengthy conversations at the lunch table ensued. Why do I refer to Andrea with sympathy?  I wasn’t part of the conversation, and that pissed me off.  So one day I raged at Andrea.

“You’re never going to meet Duran Duran!  You will never marry any of them!  So SHUT UP!”

I still feel guilty about that today.

So tonight I will take my friend Deb to the concert with me, and you know why?  Because she told me she had a poster of Roger Taylor in her room throughout high school and she kissed him good night every single night of high school.  I can’t take Andrea because she doesn’t live close by, but Deb will enjoy the concert as much as Andrea would.

Tonight I will sing every word (okay to all the songs from the 80′s) and I will dance and I will scream and I will sigh over the boys I should have given my attention to in high school.   They would have gotten me in a lot less trouble.

I am about to go tell my son that his mother is dead.

He’s 14.

He knows too much about the dark side of this world already.

He’s my baby.  How do I tell him?  How do I break his heart?  That’s not supposed to be a mother’s job.  I’m supposed to protect him–not hurt him.

Will he ever forgive me?  Will he ever forgive me for being the one to tell him?

My baby sister is dead, but I have had years to get used to the idea.

Him?

Nothing can prepare you for losing a parent.  We’ve been honest with him as he’s gotten older, but he was afforded the optimism of youth–until today.

I couldn’t bring myself to pull him out of school when we heard the news.  There is no reason to rush.  I wanted him to have this one last “normal” school day.  His life will be far from normal for some time I imagine.

Please let him survive this.  Please let him persevere.

Please help me find the words.

I’m a mom.  I’m a blogger.  I’m a photographer for crying out loud, but have I captured my memories of your childhood?

I know I can’t hold on.  I can’t prevent you from growing up–from becoming an amazing man.

But you’re my beautiful little boy too.  You will always be my beautiful baby.  Even if you won’t cut your hair “until baseball season starts.”

As proud as I am of the incredible person you are becoming, I miss the little baby who disappears with every passing minute.

You are my reserved one.  Never my obvious cuddler, never one to be effusive.

Those giant blue eyes that you hide behind that hair–they take my breath away every time you let me see them.  I’m so grateful you give me a glimpse of them from time to time.  I’m sorry I grab my camera every time that you do, but I don’t want to miss these moments.

Because seven years of them have already gone by.

Happy Birthday my baby.  I am so proud to be your mom and I will love you forever.

Old picture.  No editing.  I’m just glad I had a camera handy.

When you finish your plate of cut-up hot dog pieces and there’s a pile of ketchup left what else are you supposed to do?

I might do that next time I’m at a restaurant.

“Um excuse me ma’am but you seem to have a little hollandaise on your chin…and your nose…and your lips.”

How much more fun would life be if we occasionally dipped our faces in a leftover pile of ketchup?

Life before the mirror.

No worries about wrinkles or zits or grey hair or flabby arms or muffin tops.

Life before the comparisons.

No photos of ridiculously fit high school associates on Facebook to compare yourself to.

Opportunities for fun everywhere you turn.

Why was it I was in such a hurry to grow up anyway?

The sky was so blue. The water was that gorgeous aqua and the sand was a cliche powdery white. The green of the palm trees was crisp and clean against the sky.

I had to stop the car, take off my shoes and walk on the beach.

When I’m near the beach I must feel my bare feet on the sand–put them in the water. It’s an overwhelming desire to greet the edge of the world–to experience the water that has traveled from places I’ve never been and connects me to places I miss with my whole heart.

I’m compelled to feel the water on my feet no matter how cold it is.

I belong at the beach.

That is where I can breathe. The beach is where I feel the most in touch with…something…the earth? Mother Nature? A spiritual thing. I can be all by myself there staring out at the horizon and never feel alone.

I’m renewed by the the sounds of the water lapping on the sand, by the scent in my nose. The softness of the air–the humidity–it comforts me. At night, during the day, I feel safe there.

But which one? Which beach is mine? Where would I plant myself? I know my future is there.

A bungalow with beach roses and a picket fence. Palm trees in the yard that make scrapping sounds in the wind. White exterior walls that reflect the sun, a view of the water, the ability to hear the seagulls and waves all the time…heaven.

Courtesy House Beautiful

It doesn’t need to be a huge home, but must have a good kitchen and a warm inviting place to entertain.

Courtesy House Beautiful

A cozy study as my own retreat.

Courtesy FemTalks

An extra bedroom for guests–maybe two.

Courtesy House Beautiful

And an outdoor shower. Definitely an outdoor shower.

Courtesy Coastal Living

A porch with a swing and some rockers.

Courtesy Better Homes & Gardens

Courtesy TripAdvisor

I can see my little bungalow now.

You know about Sleeping Beauty and Snow White and Ariel and Belle and all those other chicks who needed a prince to save them, right?

Have you met this princess?

Allow me to introduce you to the Princess-Who-Can-Defend-Herself.

She sits in my friend Susan’s office.

Do you know Susan?  How can you not!  She is this amazing blogger, astrophysicist, mom, writer, activist and oh yeah cancer survivor.

While I love the sentiment of  not teaching our children that the only way girls can be saved is by a muscle-bound man who swoops in on a blazing white steed–or beat up old truck for that matter–I do know when a princess could use some help.

Susan had an awful day yesterday–and I mean awful by ANYONE’s standards.  And yet?  She wrote a beautiful post about being lucky.

She blows me away.

I can’t make my friend’s cancer disappear–and damn I wish I had been put on this planet to do just that–but I can let her know that I am lucky to have her friendship, that I love her and I totally have her back if she does happen to run into that bitch cancer in a dark alley.  I’ll even bring a baseball bat to knock the wench out of this universe.

I want Susan to know that she is not alone.  Yes, the fight is hers, but she has an army of princesses (and princes) behind her.

Want to join me?

Take this badge.  Put it on your blog (it links to her post referenced above).

Why?

Because each and every one of us–we are lucky.

*for every blog that posts this button, I will find a way to donate $1 to Crickett’s Answer.  I’m totally stealing this idea from Kristen and Jessica,  but I thought it rocked and our friend needs us. Oh and if you want to donate money to Crickett’s Answer too, please do.

When it’s 5:30 p.m. on the evening before Thanksgiving and you haven’t even been to the grocery store yet, don’t get on Twitter…and tell a reporter “sure, c’mon over and try to capture Thanksgiving disaster at my house” in an hour and a half.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and your loved ones. My life is full with so many wonderful things, and the amazing people I’ve met through this blog are among those I count on this day.

Thanks to American Express for sponsoring my writing today about small businesses.  American Express is presenting Small Business Saturday, a way to honor the local merchants who are the backbone of the economy, this Saturday, November 27.  They’re offering statement credits to people who shop at small businesses, advertising for small-business owners, and donations to Girls Inc. for “Likes” of the Small Business Saturday page on Facebook.  Join the celebration by clicking the “Like” button and then visiting the Facebook page to learn more about the program and read the terms and conditions that apply.

You taking advantage of the days off after Thanksgiving to get some holiday shopping in?  I most certainly am.  Not one to take advantage of the 3a.m. sales, I will be visiting some of my favorite stores this weekend.

One of my favorites is Fibre Space in Old Town Alexandria, VA.  It goes along with my newest addiction–knitting.  I learned about Fibre Space from the fantastic site Try Handmade.  The yarns this place has??  Amazing.  Seriously, I spend hours there petting the yarn frequently (it’s a problem I know, but I don’t want help).

The other thing I love about the store is that all of the people who work there are not only knowledgeable, but also really nice.  I’ve asked what have felt like the dumbest questions and they not only take time to teach but offer to have me come sit and knit to practice.

Plus the other cool thing?  Danielle, the owner, is all about social media and has been working to have a real online presence as well as fostering a mutual support system with the other small businesses in Old Town.  You can always pop into the store or the website and find out what else is going on in town.

The store offers great sales, classes, get-togethers and even movie nights.  I was there on a recent Thursday night and they were having to bring out more chairs for all of the people who were pouring in to socialize and knit.

I am being compensated for this post–yes, but this is a store I truly love.  And I MUCH prefer to support my local small businesses whenever I can.

Hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

…And tell me what you’re planning to shop for.

I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective, which endorses Blog With Integrity , as do I.