Momnesia

Off Hwy 81 in Newton County, Georgia.

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AUGUSTA, GA -

Emmie: "I know wuss makin da clouds! Dat CLOUD MACHINE!"

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Head: Obama picks Sotomayor for Supreme Court
Subhead: She's a self-described 'Newyorkrican' who grew up in a housing project

For Jeebus sake! I'm not Latino OR a New Yorker, and when I saw this headline I almost banged my forehead against the screen in frustration. The term you're looking for, Oh Intern Who Seems to Have Taken Over Subhead Writing for the AP, is "Nuyorican," a kind of compound word that you find in Latino communities, like "holope" for "hold up/robbery." Copy editors: it is not enough to know a lot of vocabulary and grammar. You must also have social and cultural knowledge in order to place these words in context.

I'm laying on the bed, eating some pasta, watching a "Law + Order" marathon, and working my way to the top of Mt. Washmore. Emmie comes in and climbs on my legs, which are hanging off the bed. My knees DO NOT bend that way.

"No, honey," I say. She keeps climbing. "No, honey."

"Why?"

"Because you're hurting my knees."

She keeps climbing.

"I said 'no,' Emerson... Young lady, I said NO."

"Why?"

"I just told you it was hurting me."

"But you da mommy."

"But I'm not invincible."

She freezes and looks hard at me.

"Wuss bincible?" She asks.

"It means nothing can hurt me."

"Yeah!" She squeals happily. "Cause you da mommy!"

(Sigh)

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We're leaving the bowling alley at 2 a.m. Emmie doesn't see the curb and skins her knee.

"Eeeeeh! I can't take it anymore!" she whines, and I snicker as I buckle her into her seat.

"Okay, honey. Dial it back, please."

"I got a boo-boo on my knee," she complains.

"That's awesome," Jim compliments her.

"No!" she says. "It's hurty."

"We didn't say it wasn't hurty. We said it was awesome," I said. "We'll take pictures of it later."

""NO!" She insists. "Iss NOT awesome. Iss not good. Boo-boos are not good."

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We're driving to midnight bowling and the sky is overcast...

"Mama," Emmie moans from the back seat. "I miss the stars."

"Oh, well... The clouds are covering them up right now. We like clouds, too, right? They're nice and fluffy."

"They're pollution!" Natasha, 8 years old, insists.

"Way to spin the positive back there," I say.

"Really," Jim seconds.

"I know what the problem is," Emmie yells, excitedly.

"What?"

"The stars are SLEEPING on da clouds!"

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"I want to know who was sitting around one day and thought, 'Let's take tiny plastic pets and put them in tiny pink cages and sell it as The Littlest Pet Shop,'" I rambled to Lindsey, a nice, quiet girl I hardly know. By the end of our chaperonning duties at this tween birthday party, she will probably know my bra size and least favorite foods. I will probably still only know her name. That thought does little to shut me up.

"Well, everything smaller is cuter, I guess," she comments, mildly.

"Right. Little ax murderers..."

"Oh, in a My Little Maximum Security Prison?" she smiles.

Oh. Well. I couldn't have said it weirder myself.

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AUGUSTA, GA - "My friend went to Australia and she said there were dead kangaroos just everywhere," Amy said.

"Really."

"People would hit them and just keep going."

"Weird."

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AUGUSTA, GA. - "Yeah, we used a whole roll of tape playing with this today. Not all on her face, obviously." I said.

"No, of course. The other half was taping her butt together," Amy joked.

"OH, I didn't even THINK about that!" I said.

Dangit. Opportunity knocked. I ignored it like a band of missionaries waiting on the porch.

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Because THIS unlucky fellow will forever been known as The Putz Meister

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"Do you know what number we use to call the police?" I ask Emmie.
"Uh, what?"
"911."
"Oh. 911."
"But only in emergencies."
"Yes. Only in 'mergency."
"What number was it?"
"911."
"Very good!"

"Danks. And what number call Bob the Builder?"
"Well... I don't know." I admitted.
"Mama. We. Need. Dat. Number."

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E-mail to A.W.
Subject: "An invitation to join me on Facebook!"
Message: " Joooooiiin uuuuuuuuusssss!"

E-mail to me
Subject: "Re: An Invitation..."
Message: "I will never join your evil cult!"

Subject: "Re: Re: An Invitation..."
Message: "Fine. But you will be the last to know when the zombie invasion begins."

Subject: "Re: Re: Re: An Invitation..."
Message: "I am not afraid of zombies!"

Subject: "Re: Re: Re: Re: An Invitation..."
Message: "Then you will die."

Scott and I are talking about water boarding. Is it torture? Is it legal? Is it acceptable for us to have different standards for soldiers in a standing army v. members of a self-supporting militia? Perhaps no other subject inspires such feelings of naivete, helplessness, and inadequacy within me.

"Back in World War II," he began (where he always begins, by the way). "If you came in behind an enemy army and tried to sabotage the supply line, there was no Guantanamo. You were lined up against the nearest wall and summarily shot."

"I guess that's war," I conceded, reluctantly.

"That's war," he agreed. "That's what happened when you come in behind an enemy and try to infiltrate the rear."

I start snickering. He glares and continues.

"It's bad when an enemy soldier is caught doing it. It's worse when it's a civilian," he says. "WHAT?"

I snort. "You said 'infiltrate the rear."

He cackles. But I sense the discussion is over. I guess we're not really on the same intellectual level. He an amateur historian. I'm an amateur 12-year-old boy.

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I'm pulling away from my parking space when Emmie takes Scott's hand: "I know what we can do today," she says.

"What?" he asks.

"We can make Mommy a present!"

That sounds great to me!

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"Sweetheart, it's almost time to eat dinner," I said, as Scott was grilling asparagus and reheating leftover pork chops from Saturday.

"No dank you," she said, shaking her curls.

"Oh, come on," I teased her. "I know you're hungry. Daddy said you played like crazy all day long. There must be something you want."

"Wull..." she pondered. "I might lite some steak..."

Psh! Wouldn't we all!

AUGUSTA, GA. - Half of the fun of Trivial Pursuit - especially a 20-year-old edition - is the fake answers people come up with when they don't know the real ones.

"What U.S. city is named for a British Prime Minister?" Amy and Jim asked us.

"Blairsville, Ga.," I laughed. The real answer is Pittsburgh.

"What did Ted Kennedy wear around his neck at the funeral of (that girl who was killed in the car accident)?" I asked them.

"An albatross," Jim chuckled. The real answer is a neck brace.

Oddly enough, that albatross came up three times in the game.

"What Samuel Cooleridge poem featured an albatross?" I asked them, rolling my eyes. Why not ask the name of the play that featured the characters of Romeo + Juliet?

"Rime of the Ancient Mariner," Amy answered, easily.

And then I got a question: "What is the largest web-footed bird in the world?" After eliminating emus and ostriches, and pondering geese (which, in my limited experience, can grow large as a VW), I guessed the Emperor Penguin. It was as good a guess as any. But the answer: the albatross!
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Plasma Car Winner - Kenny Adams, from eVince Unlimited!

Episcopal Day School Jump Drive Winners:
- Tom Spain
- Linda Walker

Rhineharts Gift Certificate Winners:
- Michelle Simons
- Austin Rhodes
- John Makekau
- Lori Blackman
- Debbie Van Tuyll
- Amber Carlson
- Lisa McCollom
- Roberta Terry

Congratulations to the winners - but, thanks most of all for donating blood!

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Everyone on Facebook is getting on my goddamn nerves:

"Oooh, I biked 400 miles after work today!"

"Oh, I'm so cool! I went to the gym and ran for two hours straight on the treadmill!"

"Yeah, I wanna be special, so I went to the gym and bench-pressed your mom 2 million times in reps of 500!"

Screw YOU! I ate two doughnuts today and sat on my ass for three hours straight, editing photos and compiling an e-mail blast. I've been walking every day I can, and I wish I had more of a 9-5 job, but I will never join the leagues of the competitive exercisers on FaceBalls.

That was probably more "personality" than I needed to display. But I don't care.

AUGUSTA, GA. - Emerson and I have been working on spelling short words together. She learned "B-A-L-L" and then I changed it to "W-A-L-L." She's clearly been thinking about these changes.

"MOMMAMOMMAMOMMAMOMMA!" Emmie ran shrieking up to me with her sketch pad in her hand.
"What, sweetie?" I asked.
"I know how spell anudder word!" she said, eyes wide and mouth in a huge smile.
"Oooh, what word?" I asked. Call? Fall? Hall?
"DOLL! She shrieked. "D-A-L-L!"

Well... you can't argue that she's entirely wrong.

AUGUSTA, GA. - I was at a meeting yesterday with a client and his agency rep. The rep and I have become friends outside of work, and I adore him and his wife - and their three beautiful children. But sometimes friendship is not advantageous in business...

"Let me write down your e-mail," the client said.
"Sure! It's stacey dot hudson..." I began...
"@zombielover.com," the rep finished.

LMAO!

But NO.

And... hee!

Emmie clicked her fingers for the 1st time and gasped delightedly: "I tink my snaps are here!"

She snapped, albeit softly, several times and cackled: "Now I can snap anywhere I want to snap! Dis is awesome!"

Waiters everywhere tremble.

Check out our ad info, but more importantly, check out my big brain in making this thing work!

Of course, me also make stupid, and forget to put source of data. Me fix now.

AUGUSTA, GA. - Alice and I are both wearing black wrap dresses and turquoise-tinted necklaces. Amy and Erin are wearing the same jeans. This is all kinds of wrong.

AUGUSTA, GA. - Parenting has become a spectator sport. We set the bar extremely high for what is "good" parenting and start judging the moment we hear someone did something that could be considered one drop dangerous. Read the rest of the article here.

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AUGUSTA, GA. - I was trying to get laundry moved over and dinner completed, and in the meantime, Emmie climbed on top of the washer when my back was turned.

"Emmie! How did you get up there?!" I laughed. Really, the thing is twice as tall as she is!

Emmie gave me a fierce look and raised both fists in the air: "I YAM 'TERNAL THUNDERRRRR!" she roared.

Um, what?

"You're turtle thunder?" I asked, uncertain what she'd just bellowed so triumphantly.

"NOOOO!!!! I YAM 'TERNAL THUNDERRRR!"

"You're eternal thunder?" I asked, amused.

"YEEESSSS!" she yelled.

"Okay. Well, Eternal Thunder needs to get down off the washer, please." I said.

"NOO! I YAM ALL POWER!"

"Well, All Power, you're about to get a time-out." I grinned, my hand on my hip. She giggled.

"Okay, mama. Sowwy."

"That's alright. If you'll just go charge daddy's razor so I can use it on my legs, All Power, I'd appreciate it."

Do you think Justin Timberlake is in town?!

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AUGUSTA, GA. - I think it probably says horrible things about me that my proudest moment so far as a parent was yesterday, when my sister was singing "The Diarrhea Song" over the phone to Emerson, and Emerson made up her own lyric:

"When you pants fall down and you unnerwear is brown - diarrhea!"

I was like, "Aw, her first rhyming couplet!"

"The Diarrhea Song" from the move "Parenthood"

Alice's boyfriend had to get a squirrel out of their apt. today. He cornered it in the bathroom with a bucket and tossed it outside. None of their 15 cats even blinked a wicked eye at the thing.
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AUGUSTA, GA. - A woman passed out outside the office about 30 minutes. Pedestrians walked around her, until someone from the office saw her lying on her back, spread-eagle, on the sidewalk. Her flip-flops had been kicked off, and her purse was tossed away from her. She stared, unseeing, at the sky, while white foam frothed from her mouth. A horrible "hhhhgggg.... hhhhggggg" sound told us she was struggling to breathe.

Jason ran in: "Hey, there's some lady, like, dying out here on the sidewalk."

Erin called 911. I rolled her on her side so she could breathe and stroked her back while she regained her breath. Heather went through her bag for medication and ID. Her name was Sara. She had no driver's license, but she had some kind of ID. No meds. No medic alert bracelets or dog tags.

We'd never seen her before - or never noticed her, anyway. She was clean, but her clothes were 20 years outdated and her cheap, thin polyester shirt easily showed through so her bra straps were visible from the in the back.

Her name was Sara. She was alone.

It took the paramedics - it seemed - 20 minutes to get there. In reality, it was probably five. But knowing there is a fire station at 10th Street really pissed me off. I wonder how long it took for the dispatcher to relay the information.

They checked her blood sugar with a small device, and by the time they had loaded her up on the the gurney, she was regaining her faculties, sitting up and rubbing her forehead in confusion. Most likely, it was an epileptic seizure. It would explain the lack of driver's license, the obvious suddenness of the attack, and the relative fast regaining of consciousness. It doesn't explain the obliviousness of passersby.

The paramedics milled around afterwards, laughing and telling jokes with the firemen while the ambulance wheeled her off to MCG.

She never said a word.