wonderful christmastime

According to several recent magazine articles, the above mentioned tune by Paul McCartney, was voted the most annoying Christmas song in readers polls.  Though I myself love holiday music, I don't enjoy the songs we hear in department stores.  I prefer classics by great singers like Ella Fitzgerald, the Harry Simeon Choir, Nat King Cole (excluding the overplayed "Chestnuts")--you get the picture.  So I found myself in total agreement with these articles.  

However, this is not a post about the joys and groans elicited by holiday music.  Instead I'm writing to say that this has in fact been a wonderful Christmas time.  Though its also a time of stress as we are moving some day to be determined but very, very soon, like next week soon, we have truly enjoyed the holidays.

STEP ONE to suddenly enjoying Christmas the way you did when you were a kid:

Have a three-year-old.  

This was the first time Eliza really got into Christmas and the whole idea of a tree, decorations, Santa, delicious desserts and presents.  Everything, from decorating the tree, to listening to Christmas music, to making pumpkin pie to opening presents has been a blast.  When C walked with the tree last Sunday, Eliza jumped up and down with joy.  She put the first ornament on the tree, a Hello Kitty ornament my stepdaughter purchased for us last year.  Ornaments with Rudolf, ornaments that made music, miniature Empire State Buildings, everything caused Eliza to squeal with delight.  Eliza and I baked cookies and heated up apple cider the day we trimmed the tree--all this brought her great joy--especially the cookies.  

STEP TWO:

Start a real tradition with that three-year-old.  

This holiday has been a lot about time side-by-side with Eliza in my tiny kitchen.  I'll admit its been mostly making sweet treats that cause her eat like a shark in a feeding frenzy, then bounce off the walls for hours when the effects of the sugar rush take hold.  I rolled out the cookie dough, Eliza cut out star shapes, I put the star on the cookie sheet, Eliza sucked down a gumball-sized scrap of dough, repeat.  We made pumpkin pie together, or rather I should say I made pumpkin pie and she licked the pot I'd used to make the sweet chiffon filling.  

Christmas Eve was the evening we established our real tradition.  Coming home from church, I washed my hands and set up to hand-make pasta spaghetti.  I haven't made spaghetti in about five years but since Eliza has a new interest in the mechanics of the kitchen, I thought it might be fun.  It was messy, a little tense and my dough didn't turn out quite right but it was more fun than I thought it would be.  Eliza worked the crank and together we made handmade spaghetti.  My first real tradition with my little girl.  Next year, Christmas Eve dinner, homemade sauce, homemade meatballs and hand made pasta.  Eliza wolfed it all down, proud of her contribution to this meal.

STEP THREE:

Get that kid a fair number of fun presents.  I overbought this year.  I would have done just as well gifting Eliza with half the booty she ended up with but she loved it all, really loved it.  The book I got for her about ballet class, the fake Melissa and Doug cookies, the little doll kitchen--her main gift the one thing she'd asked for and a new doll with some doll clothes.  She loved all of it, unwrapped every gift like she was the luckiest girl in the world.  Even a little ornament with a kitten dressed in a tutu was like the greatest thing in the world to her.  Everything she opened had to come out of the box right away so she could play with it.  She didn't open all of her presents before breakfast because she was having too much fun playing with the first few she unwrapped.

I felt the letdown that Christmas was over for the first time since childhood last night.  When we got home from the lovely intimate dinner party we attended last night, I looked at the tree and wanted to cry because Christmas was over.  My little daughter knelt in front of her new kitchen with her new doll, happily enjoying her new toys and I felt that great wonderful feeling--

all was right with the world.

Naked Blowtorch

Although I've yet to set fire to my hair, I've called a hair dryer the "blowtorch" for at least two decades.  I've always hated the loud, blasting whine of the hair dryer.  Just bending over to remove it from the cabinet below the sink fills me with dread.  It's this nasty, garrulous dart gun of heat that's need will always annoy me.

You see, I've got bad hair and no hair dryer, hair product of fancy haircut will fix this.  But this isn't an ode or lament to my bad hair.

Eliza's been sick for over a week now so I've taken to blow drying her hair.  After a few days, the hair is too dirty to ignore but my pet peeve against wet hair with nasal congestion has led me back to that lower cabinet in the bathroom in the hope of not sending my daughter to bed with wet hair.  (Oh, the bed head, the horror!)

Well Eliza loves it.  Although she complains that its "too noisy," the York Peppermint Patty sensation of the wind in her hair elicits whirls of giggles.  She crinkles her tiny nose, mouth open and shakes her head side to side.  

Ordinarily I sit her on my lap for her blowout, but tonight, I placed her on the floor naked and sat on the closed toilet seat, aiming the dryer at her head like a gun.  Eliza saw this as an opportunity to enjoy some mobility as I sparked the torch.  Lately, Eliza topless has reminded me of a young Mick Jagger--the moppy hair, the skinny ribs, the grinning, kind of snarly face.  Savoring the moment, as she spun around and offered me the back of her head, I aimed the dryer at her butt, her little legs, her shoulders.  Eliza squealed happily and turned around, cupping her face with her tiny hands and tossing her head back.  Deep knee bends, some hip shaking and wild dance moves accompanied these ten minutes of pure pleasure.  Perhaps this night will foreshadow my daughter's adult life as a video music star (she's got the moves and her love of the hair dryer might lead to a future passion for gusting wind machines).  However, I hope as an adult she wears clothes.  

For tonight, its one tired Mom, one extraordinary girl and hopefully, a forever mental picture of my girl grinding to the roaring blast of the blowtorch like a young rock idol.  At least the next time I bend down for the dryer, I'll have happy associations as opposed to the usual disgust with my pathetic bad hair.

so so so

Today was not a good day.  Too much laundry, too little patience, too much anger directed at my little girl because she refused to use the potty.  But then the evening rolled around and after I'd had some bad moments with my girl, we went on to have a wonderful night.  

As I taped on her overnight diaper, I apologized for my bad behavior and told her that my bad mood was due to my impending return to work.  

"You don't want to go to work?" she said.

"No," I said.  

This isn't entirely true.  There's something liberating about walking out the door alone, no toddler in tow.  All I have to do on the days I work is dress myself and walk out the door.  I don't have to ask, "Diaper or underwear?"  I don't have to beg some dwarfish version of myself to put on her shoes and wear a coat.  I don't have to slice apples, skin pears and wipe up shit.  Work is not all bad.  Its the transition to work and after work that's the tough part for me.

"Oh its okay," she said.  "We'll play together when you come home from work.  And you always bring me lots of toys."

I laughed at her simple logic.  She doesn't really miss me when I'm at work.  She knows I'm coming home eventually and she likes the time with other people.  After my untaming of the shrew impersonation, who could blame her?

"You like it when I go to work?" I said.

"Oh yes," she said.  

"Why?" I asked.

"My Tima comes," she said.  

This is Eliza's babysitter, a young student I've come to care for very much myself.  

"You like your Tima?" I asked.

"I love Tima," Eliza said.  "I love her cause she's so, so, so chocolate."

Chocolate was not the word I expected to hear after all those sos.  Nice, fun, plays games with me, happy.  But not chocolate.  My daughter has apparently noticed the differences in skin tones, ethnicities.  Pretima is from Guyana and her skin is dark.  

"You and I are vanilla and Tima is chocolate," Eliza said.

A place scarier than Hades, more frightening than Oz...

Welcome to the nap-free zone.  This is my world now, the world of the big-girl bed.  Without the crib to keep her prisoner, my daughter howls when I leave the room, demands I read one more bookie than demands "one more toy."  When I give in and offer the toy, the call to battle "one more toy" sounds again from that tiny mouth.  

In my last day as full-time Mom before my return to work, I find our day surprisingly lacking in fun mother-daughter bonding time.  Instead, I fold laundry, clean the bathroom, toss out old food in the fridge, skin and cut apples ("more apples Mama"), wipe up pee, pack up summer clothes (I'm moving in less than a month) and shut my daughter outside my room when she won't stop crying.  In short, a day I've looked forward to since Thankgiving reared its poultry scented head last week is turning out to be a bust.  

I envisioned fun trips to the book store, a visit to the library, perhaps mother daughter pedicures.  Instead I find myself completely overwhelmed by work prep, household chores and a daughter who demands more than I can give right now.  Finally, hoping the nap would give me the time I so desperately need to read or do something for myself, has vanished.  With the bed comes the freedom to get out of it.  Oh she is leaving me alone, I am in my room by myself while I type this with no cries for Mama.  It's a blessing.  But instead of the peace and simple quietude I'd hoped for, I hear legos being tossed around the room, the sound of items falling from closet shelves, what the song "Row, row, row your boat" would sound like if sung by articulate, ravenous, wile coyotes.  

I still savor my time in the my room alone, typing at the computer.  And I will miss my girl as I rush from one errand after another while Eliza is at school tomorrow.  But oh, how I long for a rewind, a way to go back to the start of the day to make it better.  I'd hold off on the laundry or the packing until tonight.  I wouldn't yell at Eliza because she seems to have given up on the potty.  I wouldn't be so damn exhausted.  

Let's face it, Eliza is three and just because she seems incapable of using the toilet consistently doesn't mean she can't develop in other ways.  Many three-year-olds no longer need naps.  She's moving forward, growing up and as long as she plays by herself, at least I have an hour or so to myself without whining.  

Now I have to scare up the energy to get dressed, put in my contact lenses and get out to enjoy something of this day before C and the stepkids descend on me, ravenous for dinner.

"We cuddle and kiss ourselves!"

I haven't worked since November 7th and its been glorious.  I return to work this Friday and I'm very sad that my wonderful time with my daughter is drawing to a close.  I only work for eight days and due to Christmas hiatus, I'll have another long lay-off between shoot dates but my time with my daughter has been so valuable, I can't help but feel saddened by my return to work.  

First of all, I really enjoyed being off for both Eliza's birthday and Thanksgiving.  Eliza had a wonderful birthday and Thanksgiving weekend has been nice, though very exhausting.  Eliza's school was closed this past Wednesday for Thanksgiving break and Eliza woke up on Wednesday and asked for underwear.  So my little girl is officially deep into potty training.

Up to now, potty training has been nearly non-existent she's been so resistant to the idea of it.  Though she loved the potty training books, she slammed down the toilet seat lid and refused to go at school.  Attempts to force her into it by letting her run around diaper-free resulted in her holding it in for as long as six hours.  It seems that attending a class where everyone is already potty trained except for Eliza made matters worse.  The best they could get from her in school is she'll agree to sit on the potty, immediately wipe herself and then flush the toilet.  

Wednesday rolled around, school was closed, and suddenly Eliza asked to wear underwear.  She peed and pooped like an old pro.  Her eyes lit up and her smiled covered the width of her face whenever she sat on the potty and achieved "success."  I called C to tell him about our daughter's sudden development and we gleefully applauded her newest achievement.  I put her on the phone to tell him about our day and she told him about the potty, then said, "I'm with Mama today and we cuddle and kiss ourselves."  I think she meant to say "kiss each other" but I still found it to be just about the cutest thing I'd ever heard.  

Thursday (Thanksgiving) continued with underwear but after a big pooping accident, she cautiously asked for diapers.   I gently refused and the rest of the day progressed without accident but as the weekend continued, her desire to use the potty has been sporadic.  She's been in and out of diapers over the past two days.  So far today, she's both used the potty and and peed and pooped in a diaper.  

Any magical ideas I had about her training quickly once she decided she was ready have vanished.  I see with this child I have a long road ahead of me.  I'm sending her to school tomorrow in underwear and discuss it with her teachers.  Unfortunately, Eliza sees pull-ups as a diaper and if she's in a pull-up, she'll just go in the diaper as opposed to even attempting to make it to the potty.  Since she had so much success the first two days, I think her refusal to go diaper free has more to do with laziness/distractions than an inability to go.  

But I'm nervous that returning to work will set her back.  I am really ready for her to be out of diapers, primarily so she can start ballet class with her schoolmates come January.  

Eliza also graduated from the crib to a big girl bed on Black Friday.  So far, it's been okay but she refuses to nap.  Whether this is due to the bed or the fact that my stepchildren have been here all weekend is anyone's guess.  I've really enjoyed hosting Eliza's siblings this weekend.  Eliza worships her teenaged sister Katie and its been a real joy to watch she and Katie have pretend picnics and walk like penguins.  Eliza loves their being here so much, its worth the sleeplessness that often accompanies their visits.  

Our apartment is large, loft-life space so Eliza doesn't have a room separate from the living room, just an alcove.  I think its also tough for my stepchildren, particularly Katie who is 16, to sleep on fold-outs in the living room.  Basically, for three full days, Katie had no privacy or time to herself though she's handled it all like a real trouper.  As much as we enjoyed the weekend, I think Katie was happy to have a tutoring session to return to on Sunday and Eliza was relieved, though sad, to see them leave Sunday night.  Sunday evening was all about Eliza and Mama and I think it comforts her to have the quiet routine that goes with an empty apartment.  She was in bed fast asleep by 8:15.

We are officially moving out of this enormous one bedroom at the end of the year.  There are several possibilities, all smaller than this place but I don't care.  Though I might have less closet space and a crappier kitchen (95% of New York kitchens suck), my daughter has never had her own room.  The fact that its taken C this long to wake up to the fact that she needs a room just shows you how responsive he is to other people's needs.

Yes!

Hi, I'm still here.  Thanks for the shout out from Patty, all is fine here, its been almost one month since my last blog confession.  Eliza is doing so much cute, fun stuff lately, I've been thinking how I need to come back here and write them down before I forget them.

Eliza's favorite word of the moment is "Yes."  She says it very clearly with the Y and the S enunciated.  She sounds so much like a little adult.  If I hold up a pair of tights and say, "Would you like to wear these?" she says "Yes."  If I hand her a toy she likes, she says "Yes."  In the middle of the night when she wakes up talking to herself, she says "Yes, you can do that.  Yes."  I am not doing the cuteness of this work justice.  Its something I must get up and running on video but the second I come at Eliza with the video camera, she turns into the photographer herself and heads straight for the eye piece.  Like a true TV actor, she knows where the lens is and unlike a true TV actor, she chooses to hide from it.

Speaking of TV, I've left the show I've been working on since June called "Fringe."  While I liked the actors enormously, the hours on the show were too much for me.  It seems there was one overnight scheduled per episode and I just can't be coming home on Saturday mornings at 7am with an almost three-year-old.  The person I started the job with quit back in September and they've been scrambling to find some one to replace her.  In the meantime, I was offered to job share with a fellow script supervisor I really like so I opted to jump off "Fringe" and jump onto "Cupid."  

I've never, ever left a job early so it was not an easy decision to make.  While Cupid might have slightly better hours that Fringe, I still expect it will not be a picnic.  The big pro was being able to job share with my friend, who was willing to work through November so I had plenty of time to give my notice.  Cupid is also on an eight day per episode schedule, a slightly easier schedule to navigate than Fringe, where episodes tended to balloon into 10-11 days with reshoot days added on later.  

So now I'm enjoying some time off with my little girl who turns three on Friday.  I'm having a lasagna party for her at school on Friday and then a mermaid-themed birthday party in our apartment on Saturday.  I'm easily overwhelmed and right now I'm a little anxious about everything going well for both parties.  My daughter loves birthdays and birthday cakes and for the first time, she seems very aware that her birthday is here.  I want it to be a wonderful weekend for her.  

Thanks all for checking in and I promise to write more regularly for the next few weeks.  Happy November to all!

Dark Days

I've been free from work for the past two weeks and its been a tough journey.  Whenever I walk out the door, I have so many hopes for the time I'll have with my daughter.  I probably end up trying to do too much to make up for all the time I miss with her.

I got home from work around 3am on Saturday morning which is a good night for us.  I was up early the following morning to take Eliza on a short train ride to New Jersey to go apple picking with friends.  I should have realized the day would be too much but I was free from work, it was a beautiful day and I wanted to enjoy my time with my girl.  

It was a beautiful day but by the time we got back to New York, it was too late for Eliza to nap.  C was gone on a business trip and I found myself completely void of anything resembling energy.  When Eliza doesn't nap, she gets hyper.  I popped in some videos but nothing worked.  I counted down the hours until her bedtime.  

Sunday was a better day.  Perhaps realizing my limitations, I stayed close to home.  We went to a nearby playground and enjoyed the beautiful weather.  We both napped in the early afternoon and then I took her shopping for more fall clothes in the evening.  It was a wonderful day and I felt rejuvinated enough for a jaunt to the Bronx Zoo the following day.

We had a fantastic day at the Bronx Zoo and I'm glad we went.  There was trick-or-treating, hayrides, a hay maze and other Halloween-themed activities.  Though we had a wonderful day, I found myself shrewish, impatient and exhausted for much of it.  The Bronx Zoo is a long subway ride away and on the way home with a hyper toddler who again hadn't had a nap, I really contemplated hurling myself off the train in a place where no one would ever find me.  Factor in C who sauntered in with his eldest daughter at 7:45pm just as I was trying to usher Eliza into bed, and you'll see how much fun I had that evening.  

I vowed to have a better day the following but again I tried to do too much.  Though we had a fun morning with a friend, Eliza again didn't nap.  C showed up with his son who was exhausted after a long trip with his mother and I had two exhausted kids in my house.  The evening passed smoothly enough with both kids going to bed early.  On Wednesday, I dropped Eliza off at school determined to enjoy the day.  I confess to spending most of the day lying in bed, trying to catch up on my sleep.  I've had a nasty sinus infection since that day we went to the Zoo and haven't slept much because of it.  

When I picked Eliza up at school, she was her typically happy, buoyant self.  Thrilled to see she's adjusted to school so well, we set off for home where I stupidly prepared a too ambitious meal that she didn't eat.  We still managed to have a nice evening and I put her to bed at her usual time.

She woke up sometime after nine, fussy, whiney and writhing.  Exhausted myself, I simply brought her into bed with me.  C wasn't home so I had the big bed to myself.  Usually, taking Eliza into bed with me comforts her but this night it didn't.  She kept writhing, crying, and gyrating around.  Eliza had had a cold since she started school and I stupidly thought she was frustrated by an inability to sleep with her congested nose.  

Except I know better.  I know my daughter.  She sleeps, even when she's crazy congested, she snores like a little old man.  My daughter had an illness coming on and I, in my own, exhausted, oh I can't deal with this kid anymore way, did not see it.  

Finally, I dumped her in her crib telling her that since she couldn't stop crying, I had to have some space.  Nice Mama moment, right.  This, of course, set off the horrific screaming of a devil-child.  I flopped on my bed and nearly felt like I could sleep, even with the racket.  It was close to midnight.  I don't remember when I'd had a full night's sleep.

After a few minutes of letting her scream, I got out of bed and pounded the walls like a lunatic.  I simply couldn't listen to that screaming anymore.  All I wanted was to sleep, to get away from the screaming and the whiney, writhing child who would not let me comfort her.  I'd always been able to soothe her in the past.  Why couldn't I this night.

Suddenly realizing my daughter needed me and it was time to be a grown-up, I went to her crib to lift her out.  Expecting some kind of scared, angry reaction I received just the opposite.  Eliza threw her arms around me, moved in to kiss me like a love-struck heroine in a Greek tragedy.  Realizing this was her way of apologizing, she was trying to let me know she was sorry for upsetting me so much I suddenly felt like I might split in two from the pain of knowing how wrong this reaction was. 

My daughter needed me.  And not only was I not there for her, I was angry with her.  I sat in the rocking chair with her and explained to her that Mama was very, very wrong.  She didn't need to feel badly for what she'd done, that Mama should have never, ever acted like that.  I'm not sure how much she understood but she finally fell asleep in my arms.  Finally, I was able to comfort my daughter who'd fought being soothed all night long.

Later that night, Eliza sprouted a monster fever.  I brought her into the bed with me and C slept on the couch when he got home after midnight.  Eliza couldn't really sleep because of the fever.  I offered her Motrin but she threw it up.  I continued to feel exhausted, sick, harried like I'd never felt harried before.  But I made it through the night.

We saw Eliza doctor the next day who diagnosed a serious ear infection that had leak and could have ruptured had we not seen the doctor.  Eliza spent most of the day crying, falling asleep for short periods, then waking up and crying.  It was hard seeing her so lethargic.  She'd insisted on wearing her red party dress and matching red shoes to the doctor.  She looked so lovely, lying on the middle of my bed in her elegant dress.  It was so hard to see her so out-of-sorts, so miserable, so clearly not herself.

Around 6pm the fever broke and my daughter was suddenly my daughter again.  When I put on her new CD and she even mustered a little shoulder shimmy, I felt reborn.  We'd come a long way in those 24 hours.  I'd almost lost her and now she was back again.  I felt a new appreciation for my wonderful daughter.  

After I'd had that bad moment that night, I thought that Eliza would be better off without me.  I know C and I will not be together much longer and I seriously thought I should leave her with him.  But once he got home and started to help in his negative, passive-aggressive way, I realized no matter how overwhelmed, how impatient I get, my daughter is better off with me.

I'm not saying that he's a terrible father and I don't want to turn this into a competition.  I'm just saying that like it or not, my daughter is stuck with me.  That's what's best for her.

Shopping with my little lady

Sometimes, I resent that I have to do practically everything with a child affixed to my leg that I forget these excursions are often the best times we spend together.  For example, I had to visit the local grocery store with Eliza this afternoon.  One time Eliza knocked over a jar of spaghetti sauce, splashing red sauce all over the floor.  Other nights have found me running down aisles in search of my daughter who thinks it's funny to run off and hide.

By the way, this store is only a short block away, I have a big stoop outside the entrance of my building and the store aisles are so narrow that I save the stroller for big trips only.  Just in case you're wondering why I choose to have Eliza walk beside me.

But then there are days like today when Eliza stays with me throughout the store, obediently puts objects down when I tell her too and some one else breaks a glass jar nearby.  Today, Eliza stood beside me and chatted to the cashiers, thoroughly charming them as I checked out.  Always wanting to be the helpful one, Eliza insisted on carrying the basket back to the store entrance where she placed it with the other baskets.  

It was a lovely excursion.  If only she'd eaten the dinner I'd prepared afterwards and would go to bed without a fight.

Love Moments

I've thoroughly enjoyed my week away from work.  The greatest moment of my day is when I show up at Eliza's school to pick her up after naptime.  On Monday, though she didn't sleep I found her buried under her little white baby blanket.  I crept down on the floor beside her as she slid her little arms around my neck and held me with surprising strength.

"Mama, you're here," she said, hugging me tightly.  "I'm so glad you're here."  

We snuggled on the floor together as the other kids slowly woke up and I gathered her in my arms to enjoy the rest of a wonderful day.

On Wednesday, I arrived later due to an afternoon parent meeting.  When she saw me her face broke out in the loveliest expression of pure happiness.  I thought my heart might burst at that moment, I was so incredibly happy to see my little love.

On Friday, the last day of my full week off from work, she waved to me, her hand obscured by the white blanket.  I waved and crept over to her.  A song by Fiona Apple that I love called "I Know" played quietly on a nearby radio.  I scooped my girl into my arms for a wonderful embrace and quietly sang the lovely words from the song "And you can use my skin, to bury secrets in.  And I will settle you down."

"You're here for me," Eliza said.  "Mama I'm so glad you came home.  You came to come get me."

Monday is the last day I'll pick Eliza up from school for a while.  On Wednesday, I have to attend a production meeting for work (absolute, complete waste of time) and on Friday I'll be back on set.  Though I love the paycheck and the ability to get out of the house, this job is not working out for me.  I accepted it knowing it was a big experiment and now I'm sad to say tis really has to be it.  I realize I'm fortunate to have a week and a half off every month but I work 65-72 hours the weeks that I do work.  Getting home on Saturday morning at 5am, 6am, even 9:30 am only to return to work at 6:30 am on Monday is too difficult for me.  I work with people older than myself who do this every day, no week and a half off, without difficulty.  They commute from Connecticut and work these kind of hours on a regular basis.

I can't though.  I still feel like I'm recovering from last week at work.  Forget that I went three days without seeing my daughter even though we worked in the area, I can't see myself working these kind of hours ten years from now.  It's a good job, I'm lucky they let me job share but I have to recognize my own physical limitations.  

And while I hope to find a job, one that won't enable me to pick my daughter up from school for an entire week, I have to believe that another job will at least allow me the ability to see my daughter's wonderful face every night.  When I can walk through the door and say "Mama's home."

What are you wearing?

I'm off work this week and its wonderful.  While I like being around adults and eating food some one else has prepared, the hours away from my daughter are tedious at best, and heartbreaking at worst.  The week following the labor day holiday was particularly brutal; I did not see or hold my daughter for three days in a row.  

By Thursday, I'd really had enough of no Eliza.  Sure, I know its temporary and eventually my daughter and I will be reunited, but three days in a row of watching the world go by while other people tend to my daughter completely was too much.  I remember crouching on the floor on the set that serves as our main character's office, begging Eliza to tell me what she was wearing.  I felt like some kind of pervert, intensely clutching the phone while I asked an underaged girl this question.  I was so desperate for a "look" at my daughter, somehow knowing that she wore her little red and blue dress with the fireworks, lulled me out of my misery for a bit.

Yesterday, I finally got around to doing her most of her laundry from the past two weeks.  In the space of those two weeks, she'd worn her new stretchy pants from Target, however not with the matching shirt, her pink shorts, her heart blue jeans and a variety of pink tee shirts.  I realized as I tossed the items into the washing machine that I hadn't seen her wear 90% of these items.  

Then I smiled knowing for the next week and more, I'll get to see exactly what my little daughter is wearing, day and night.

Going by at warp speed

As the mother of a new baby, I heard the same phrase repeatedly from older family members, acquaintances and well-meaning strangers at rest stops: "They grow up fast.  Enjoy her."

So I did.  Writing down as many things as I could so I wouldn't forget.  Enjoying the sleeplessness because my extreme fatigue seemed to slow down time.  I'm still sleepless but time is now suddenly moving way too fast for me to recall most of the cute things my daughter does.  Something wonderful happens and I think, I have to write this down later but when I do, like now, I don't remember.  

Eliza started school last week.  I took the day off so I could take her.  I'm off this week and hopefully most of next so I can enjoy her as much as possible.  Now that she's in school three days a week, the days aren't only for the two of us.  As sad as that feels, I'm also looking forward to getting back to writing, real writing for the first time since she was born.  

Everything she does right now is so cute, so wonderful that it's too much to write down.  I stayed with her during the entire first day of school excluding nap time.  She did pretty well though she had a bit of a meltdown when it was time to sit down with clay and another kid sat in the seat she wanted to use.  When I came to get her after nap time, she told me "I want to stay in school."

Last week, my mother watched her for the day until my babysitter was available.  Eliza told my mother "I'm sad that Mommy's at work."  As my mother tried to discuss the topic with her, Eliza said something along the lines of "I don't understand why Mommy has to work."  My mother explained, and this is largely true, that Mama works so she can buy Eliza presents.  "She wants to buy you a Halloween costume."

This delighted Eliza who then started to skip all over the house, singing about her new Halloween costume.  And I did, I ordered her a doozy of a princess Halloween costume online.  C opened it when it arrived, causing whoops of delight from my daughter.  The following day, I decided to try it on Eliza.  "It fits perfect," she said as the layers of purple and pink fabric draped over her wonderful little body.  

"Thank you for my costume, Mama.  You got this for me," she said as she danced around, easily the loveliest princess ever.  "I like that Mama goes to work."

I laughed, understanding what she meant.  I'll also add that she's said she likes that I work because her Katie, Harry, (brother and sister) and her Tina (babysitter) come over. 

But today as we rode the bus home from school together, Eliza cuddled up with me and said "I'm glad you're home Mommy."

Goodbye Lovely Summer

I know there will still be long gorgeous days but technically, the summer is over.  The city pools will be closed so there won't be any days of lounging poolside in a local playground.  Next week, Eliza starts school.  I am going to be so busy at work the next two weeks (save next Wednesday, when I take off to take my girl to school), there will be little time for leisure.  

I love the summer.  I don't even mind the heat.  I love the long days, with no rush to get anywhere.  I loved the trips to Coney Island, the handful of days at the beach, the night we watched the sun set over the Hudson River and I chose not to worry that Eliza was up well past her bedtime and eating ice cream when she didn't touch her dinner.  

I love the trip we took to Pittsburgh for my mother's 70th birthday and the two days we visited the water parks.  

I spent Labor Day weekend at my mother's house near the Jersey Shore.  I chose not to make the annual pilgrimage to C's parents beach house.  If you'd read my entry about our Fourth of July weekend, that comes as no surprise.  I didn't get home from work until close to 5am on Friday night anyway so I was hardly in the mood to travel 4-6 hours just to go the beach when I can travel for one hour and go to one close to my Mom.  Since we'd just returned from a long trip to Pittsburgh, C agreed that strapping Eliza into the car for an extended period of time was best for her either and I go the weekend with my girl.  

On Saturday evening, I decided I had to have some kind of wagon, you know like a radio flyer kind of thing, to tote Eliza to the beach when I visit my mother.  I dragged Eliza to Target but the only wagon we say was very expensive and too big for me to take out of the store.  I decided to take her to a playground.  I've seen several along the Bay on the south side of Route 35 and wanted to visit a place different from the playground we regularly stop by.

But every playground I passed, though it looked promising, offered absolutely no parking.  The side streets were so narrow, parking along the street was not an option.  Eliza sat in the backseat and protested as one playground after another passed her by.  The sky grew redder as the night grew darker but it was too late to turn around.

Finally, I found a playground with parking.  Only after I pulled in did I see the sign that said it was permit parking only.  Apparently the playground was part of some club that probably wouldn't accept me as a member.  It was close to 8pm and feeling pretty confident that no one would police the park at that hour, I pulled in.  Eliza happily ran out of the car onto the sandy playground, her giggles soaring high into the air.  Behind the playground. a group of tween boys played baseball.  Three other kids and their caretakers were the only other people at the playground.  Eliza raced up a pretty unique kind of jungle gym thing and hid in it's center.  It was several tubes that all connected into a cylinder like tunnel that reminded me of a spaceship.  

I peered in at Eliza and called her my little astronaut.  

She rode the swings, she rode some kind of bouncey seesaw.  She was afraid of a steep slide but I finally convinced her to go down it with me.  The sun slowly disappeared and one by one, the other people left until we were on the only two people in the park.

"Eliza, it's time to go.  It's dark."

"No Mama.  It's not dark yet.  It's still light.  It's not going to rain."

"All the people are gone now honey.  We're the only ones here."

"I want to go down the slide with you one more time."

So I did.  Here's to the wonderful, long, not so lazy days of summer.  I already miss you like crazy.

Letting Go

Work is winding down for now.  Unless the schedule changes, I should be off and free to be full-time Mom to my girl until Tuesday, August 26th.  We're going to Pittsburgh the weekend of the 22 to see my grandparents.  I can't believe a year has passed since the last time they've seen Eliza.  That's way too much time.

Work has been good in the sense that it has given me financial freedom from C.  Eventually, I'm convinced it will give me real freedom from C.  I vacillate all the time about what I should do as far as he's concerned.  It's hard breaking up a family, especially as I care for his other kids and will no longer be a part of their lives once I split.  C has some good qualities, I too often focus on the negative.  My going back to work has helped us get along a lot better.  In the end though, we will never be happy together and I refuse to be one of those women who's always complaining about her situation but never takes action to change her life.

Eliza has taken real steps towards independence and its beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time.  I am no longer the center of her universe.  C, his kids and frankly, the babysitter have all moved into equal roles in her life.  Eliza will start preschool in a month with a class mostly comprised of kids older than she.  She fit right into the class which was wonderful.  But I will miss her on my weeks off from work, I will miss all the wonderful time we've had together just as I miss it now.

I'm sure Eliza would have made this move even if I'd not returned to work.  She would have started preschool in the Fall, made some friends and started to form a life independent of all of us.  I am grateful and proud of the little person she is becoming.  

But oh, how I miss that tiny little baby who wouldn't let me put her down.  My little girl still needs me, but she's my little girl anymore, she's her own little person and oh boy, is she lovely.

Because My Girl is Just So Awesome

The bank dilemma of last week appears to have been solved.  The money was credited to my account but it seems the record of the deposit, on their end, is nowhere to be found.  When I have more time, I plan to move my money to a different bank.  It appears that Chase Bank's system makes them a little vulnerable to these kind of problems.

I don't want to go into that too much because I'm about to return to work, which always feels a little like going underground.  We often refer to it as being in the trenches or reporting to the factory only to be released when the foreman tells us it's time to go home.  I want to briefly talk about how wonderful my girl is.

Eliza will be starting a preschool/day care kind of program in September.  She's a few months younger than the other kids in her class so the center's director asked me to bring Eliza by last week to make sure she'd fit into the class and be able to follow-along.  At first Eliza clung to me, refusing to speak any words.  The first word the director heard her say was "Dora" as we passed a Dora backpack in the cubby area.  

We entered the classroom as the kids were putting on sunscreen.  The director spoke to Eliza about putting on sunscreen to protect the skin and asked if Eliza wore sunscreen.  Eliza nodded emphatically, said she always wore sunscreen to the pool, to the beach but she couldn't "go into the Dead Sea because the water is very, very salty."

I knew then that it would all go well.  Eliza followed instruction, sat in the circle for story time (with a good deal of shushing from me), and even helped put toys away.  When the teacher asked Eliza to introduce herself, Eliza's finger went around the circle asking every other child his or her name.  

We went back to the center today to drop off our deposit and Eliza immediately asked "Can I go meet my friends now?"  

We visited my mother over the weekend to celebrate my mother's birthday and Eliza's interaction with my autistic adult brother also was lovely and amazing.  When I was young, my brother could pass for normal.  However now, with his lobotomy standard haircut, coke bottle glasses and frequent seizure expressions, he is easily categorized as "different."  Billy is also pretty tall, often doesn't make eye contact and doesn't interact in a regular way.  When he first pressed into my mother's house in the middle of a coughing fit, I didn't blame Eliza for clinging to me and saying "I'm afraid of Billy."

I told her I didn't want to be afraid of Billy.  When he came out of the bathroom and I said hello (ignored) and Eliza grinned and waved enthusiastically (ignored), I wondered why we'd gone through the trouble of visiting on his birthday in the first place.  Billy didn't look at either one of us, bent in an odd position and farted loudly.  Then he smiled and acknowledged our presence.  Nothing like a good toot to get the party started.

Later, as I tickled Billy and Eliza jumped to my side, ready to tickle and tease, I suddenly got emotional.  My daughter's kindness and tolerance is astonishing.

The day after Billy's party, I took Eliza to visit my mother's neighbor.  This neighbor, who I'll call Karen, runs a small day care center out of her home.  With a pool, seasaws, mini cars and mini-roller coasters, it's like candy land for kids.  Eliza has come to know Karen's regulars.  At one point, all the kids were clustered on the swings.  One girl crossed too close to another kids swing and ended up on the ground crying.  I picked up the crying child and Eliza immediately crossed to the kid who was swinging and said "You hurt her."  Eliza wouldn't resume playing until she knew the other girl was alright.  Her consideration was wonderful.  

That's my girl.  Less than three years old and looking out for everyone.  I wanted to record some of this stuff so I won't forget.  Years from now, when my daughter is a teenager screaming about how much she hates me, I want to come here and remember the person she really is and will be again.

Because Chase Bank Sucks

If anyone out there is still reading, I could really use your comments here to pass along to Chase Bank.  Last Friday I deposited my paycheck from my first week at work--a 72 hour work week.  I have the receipt to show that a deposit was made on that day.  However, according to Chase Bank. this transaction never happened.

There is no record on Chase Bank's computer of the transaction.  No entry that says a deposit was made, the money is pending, nothing.  The little slip of paper I received after I made the deposit only states the amount, the last four digits of my account number, the branch address and a transaction number.  Apparently, none of these numbers were capable of effectively calling up this transaction.  

I spent a large portion of the day on the phone, punching in numbers as I was passed from one automated system to another.  When I finally got through to a person, they told me I'd need to call the branch that accepted the deposit.  Unfortunately, whenever I called that number, I found myself back in the same automated system I'd just come from.  Insisting some one transfer me directly to the location led me to a woman at a different location.  She was kind, took down the same information for the third time, and told me she'd put in a request for an "inquiry."  When I finally dragged Eliza to the bank and produced the receipt, the woman at customer service said that yes indeed an inquiry had been made and I should be contacted shortly.

The end of the day rolled around with no contact.  When I called the 1-800 number, this time to file a complaint, I detailed the information a fourth time.  No answers were provided, no promises to rectify the matter were made.  The receipt I've been given apparently is useless in terms of tracking down exactly how my money was misplaced.  Basically, the woman told me I'd have to wait 48 hours and then return to the branch with my receipt in hand.  I asked her repeatedly why the receipt wasn't proof enough that the transaction happened and she again replied, "I'm sorry, I understand your frustration."

I desperately need that money that Chase Bank can't find.  I was pretty sick all day because of this.  I explained to the woman today that I don't have the time tomorrow to spend on the phone in the hope that they'll fix what they've done.  I realize that mistakes do happen but their inability to offer any real assurance that the problem will be solved and that the receipt is proof that I made a deposit is inhumane, cruel and completely unacceptable.

Sing it loud, sing it clear, Chase Bank sucks, they suck, they suck.  They have to fix this, immediately.

Why Coldplay Rocks My World

So Mr. Gwyneth Paltrow, aka the lead singer of the band Coldplay has taken over XM satellite radio.  Not satisfied with the heavy rotation they enjoy on practically every contemporary radio station, this band has such world domination that XM has dedicated an entire station to all Coldplay, all the time.  My response to this news was, as I'd said to a recent paramour (yes, you read that right), "We all need more Coldplay in our lives."

More on that recent paramour later.  Don't get excited; there's nothing to tell.  It was only a work crush that passed unacknowledged and ended when the job ended.

Tonight, while ODing on Coldplay and liking it, I recognized that the band had done a cover of an excellent Echo and the Bunnyman song.  "Lips Like Sugar," a song from the early 1980s that would have surely been a classic had anyone actually heard it, pounded from the stereo with the lush orchestration of a typical Coldplay song.  Eliza, already dressed in her tutu and swimsuit top, sashayed with joy, cognizant of my newfound Coldplay, stuck-in-the-80s happiness.  Facing her, I did the funky monkey (arms pedaling up and down like a jackhammer), the snappy sway (wiggling side to side while snapping my fingers), and the non-trampoline bounce (jumping up and down like an idiot).  Every move I made, my daughter echoed with the sure steadiness of a miniature clone.  Roaring into the funky monkey yet again, I started laughing wildly flattered by my daughter's apparent attempts to create a mirror image of Mama.  

Eliza threw her head back, imitated my laugh, and pumped her arms up and down with the vigor of a steam engine.  The song blared through the apartment and I remembered the early 80s, the fantastic boyfriend who'd introduced me to Echo and the Bunnyman, and felt overjoyed to share this moment and this Coldplay with my wonderful, wacky and utterly delicious daughter.  I've said this so many times and I'm sure I'll continue to say it until Eliza hits the terrible tweens; this kid is the big love of my life.  So many moments I spend with her are so great, so amazing I think I might implode from the inside from complete and devout happiness.  How great is music and dancing and the joy of sharing the two with my love.

So this is me for now, relishing Coldplay and the lovely Eliza.  Going back to that paramour, as I said it was really nothing.  He was 26, fourteen years younger than myself, great-looking, smart, kind and totally interested in me.  How lucky did I feel when a guy with that much going for him found all 40 years of me interesting.  Back in April, I'd had the move-out date set and an apartment secured.  I went to work deliriously happy, amazed that I could still feel that way about anyone.  In the end though, I let it go, as did he.  I'm a mother now and I've no room in my life for mindless flings.  It was flattering, it was fun, but there's nothing more to add.

On the last night of a six day work week, he and I chose to spend our lunch hour sleeping in the video room.  Nothing more happened, we simply slept on couches that were joined at the armrests in an L shape.  We lay down, both knowing we were only a few inches away from actual contact.  I lay there, my iPod blaring Coldplay in my ears, thinking this was closer to actual intimacy with an adult than I'd had in years.  It felt sexy, daring, and enormously comforting all at the same time.  When it was time to return to the real world, I sat up, pulled out the earphones and told him that we all need more Coldplay in our lives.  

Timecards

Lest anyone think I exaggerate about the hours we work in TV, here's my schedule last week.  We are not paid for travel time so these hours don't indicate a big pay day.  This is a big travel job with only two days scheduled to be shot at the stage.  

Monday--left at 6am, home at 9:50am.

Tuesday--left at 7:30am, home a few minutes before midnight.

Wednesday--left at 10:15am, home at 2:30am.

Thursday--left at 3:25pm, home at 6am.

Friday--left at 3:30pm, home at 9:30am.  

Everybody wants to be me!

The Necessary Action

I'm on "vacation" this weekend with C and his family at their beach house.  His parents hadn't seen Eliza in a while and I thought I could make it through a weekend without any dramatics.  I should know better.  I start work tomorrow and didn't want to send Eliza off with C to his folks without me.  I thought I could be a grown-up and make it through one weekend.

Unfortunately, I am such a screw-up that I didn't.  I realize I am only human and my relationship with C is so unfortunately bad, of course I'm going to mess up.  It's impossible to pretend in close quarters that he and I get along.  His parents love Eliza and she is having a fantastic time here.  I don't belong here, I'm not really wanted here, I shouldn't be here.

C's mother has been perfectly welcoming to me.  She has her agenda with Eliza, and though I don't agree with a lot of what she does, she is Eliza's grandmother and she loves her.  She is much healthier than my mother, she tries to make us all happy and she wants to have a relationship with her granddaughter.  The beach house is beautiful in a wonderful town with a boardwalk and rides.  It's a little paradise for Eliza.  I wanted to come here and enjoy my daughter at the beach.  C's mother also wants to enjoy Eliza at the beach--the problem is, she wants me to go away.

Now I have to preface this by saying, she doesn't want me gone all the time.  She just wants her moments with Eliza and she doesn't want me to interrupt.  The problem is; I love being with Eliza so much I do interrupt.  We all went to the beach on Friday and I gave Eliza some time alone with her grandmother by the waves.  But she was having so much fun, I had to finally approach them to be a part of it.  I'd already told C's mother they'd babysit Eliza the following night and they could take her for to the bookstore in the morning.  I figured we could all enjoy her together on the beach.  For the most part we did but if Eliza and I were playing in the sand, his mother would come up with a toy and say, "Come over here."  Little things, manageable things really, but it feels like a competition.

So yesterday rolled around and C started to act like a jerk.  His parents took Eliza into town and C spent the morning with his brother and brother's girlfriend.  I worked while everyone else was out having a good time.  C's parents brought Eliza back for her nap and I'd hoped to take her to a local water park for the afternoon.  She didn't want to go.  C had been nasty to me all day and finally I exploded and told his mother we didn't need them to babysit after all.  I know this was stupid and wrong for me to do.  I don't want to put her in the middle of our shit.  But I didn't want to spend the evening with C.  

Eliza decided she wanted to go to the beach with C and her uncle and "aunt" and the three of them took off for the beach, leaving me with C's mother.  She was in every way kind to me, didn't bring up my outburst and helped me get out a bike.  I had a great bike ride but I missed my daughter.  I knew she was having a great time at the beach and I longed to see her.   I enjoyed the ride and tried to make the most of my time without her.  

When C returned, his mother encouraged him to include me in his plans with his brother.  I refused, saying I wanted to spend the evening with Eliza.  His parents were taking her to the boardwalk rides and even though I knew they wanted to do this without me, I'd be happy to be the third wheel, watching my daughter have fun from afar.  I don't have a good time with C.  I don't enjoy his company.  I know it's awkward and it makes his family uncomfortable.  I know my presence now makes everyone unhappy because C and I don't get along.  This is his family.  We are not married.  

C finally convinced me to go out with him by saying I'm so on top of Eliza, I deny everyone else the chance to have a relationship with her.  This is not entirely untrue.  It's not that I don't want others to have time with her, I just enjoy her so much.  This is part of the reason I'm returning to work.  I know I have to get a life in order to allow her to have one.  

His mother was thrilled to have Eliza all to herself.  She said repeatedly how much she has to have time with Eliza without C or myself around.  This is a bit of an alien concept to me.  We don't act like this in my family.  While I'm sure both my parent relish time alone with Eliza, it is not forced upon me whenever I'm with them.  I am extremely close to my grandmother and we saw her once a year.  I don't even think she and I did things alone together until I was older.  My family would never say, as C's mother has said to me, that Eliza acts differently towards them when I'm not around so I have to give Eliza time with her alone.  I don't have a problem with this if I've got something important to do.  However, on my last weekend with her before I return to work, it's hard to let go.

And this is the necessary action, letting go of my daughter.  I went out with C and we had an okay night.  His mood swung back in the wanting to please me mood.  Whatever had been bothering him before had disappeared.  I am not blameless--I freak out about his mother and her eccentricities when I should not complain about them to C.  She's not going to change and as much as he defends her it probably bothers him too.  But I would have much rather been on the boardwalk watching my daughter smile and wave from the rides then with him.  

I missed her so intensely while I smiled through dinner.  Usually I enjoy going out, having an adult night but I'd hardly spent any time with her during the day and let's fact it, C doesn't really want me around.  And even if he did, we're past the point of saving this now.  I don't belong here.  And yet I came so I could be with her before I returned to work.  I came so she could have the wonderful weekend she's having and I could be a part of it.  

I know I have to leave and I know that I will.  But how will I handle entire weekends without her?  Weekends where she's happily jumping in the waves with her grandmother and father while they all rejoice in my absence?  What kind of life will I be able to give her alone?  She doesn't have beach houses and siblings and healthy grandparents in my life.  I'm afraid she'll go for a weekend and decide she doesn't ever want to come back to her crappy life with Mama.  And then there's the other issue of how much I'll miss her because I don't have a life.  

I have wanted things to work with C for so long for this reason--my inability to spend blocks of time without her.  This is the way it is for split and divorced parents; they shuttle the kids back and forth.  C will go on to have a new girlfriend, one whom Eliza might relate to and love.  I am 40, in a terrible career, virtually ignored by many of my friends because people fall into busy lives.  

This weekend proves that I can't stay with him.  I can't put his family in the middle.  He is their son, they love him and see him as faultless.  To be honest, I find it shocking that his mother is so open about time with Eliza without her own son around.  My father used to say how much he wanted time alone with Eliza when she was littler and didn't respond to him.  Now that she's more into him, he seems to really enjoy the times that we're all together.  As my stepmother said recently, "Your father is your father first.  When he saw Eliza hit you, he was really upset."  So I don't really know how to take C's mother being that she's so different from my own family.   Tonight as we left, C's mother was in the driveway with Eliza saying "Who are you going to go on the ferris wheel with first?"  When Eliza didn't answer, she asked again and again.  Finally, she offered the response she wanted.  "You'll go one the ride with Grandma."  Eliza repeated this statement and C's mother hugged her, elated.  It's no big deal, but I find it funny and a little bit creepy.   I think her heart is in the right place but it does take some getting used to.

Like I said, I need to get a life so my daughter can have one.  I need to do something with myself so when she's happily enjoying her time on the ferris wheel with people who don't love me, I'll live.

The Off Switch I So Desperately Need

My mother has told me that I need an off switch for my brain and she's right.  I think too much.  I don't have the ability to enjoy life.  My father asked me recently if I was ever happy.  My job starts on Monday at 6:30 am and I don't want to do it.  With such an early start on Monday, it's quite possible I won't see Eliza at all during that week.  Five days without seeing my daughter is not a life I want.

I really want to work.  My mother started to work full-time when she and my father split.  I became acutely aware of how much happier my mother seemed as a working woman.  Her job provided her with a real sense of personal accomplishment.  She was a reporter for a local newspaper.  Growing up, I dreamed of being a writer as well though I thought I would do better than a local newspaper.

Now I'd happily take a local newspaper job but I can't seem to make anything happen with my writing.  On one hand, I haven't tried as hard as I could but as I get older, the chances of anything happening with my writer grow slimmer and slimmer.  I took a magazine writing course earlier this year and wrote a wonderful essay about my three miscarriages.  It has since been rejected or ignored by every magazine I've sent it to.  At More Magazine, they sent a kind personal rejection which would indicate that it will get published somewhere but my follow-up with a different story idea was ignored.  

I continue to write for my freebie magazine and hope it will pay off in some sense.  So far, I've only managed to accrue one good clip.  They'll publish a personal essay if I write one they like so I've got to get on that.  

I want Eliza to know a happy Mama, not this odd basket case that I've been for the past two years.  Part of what was missing when I was home with her was the working me.  I don't mind my job as a script supervisor, I simply don't want to do the hours anymore.  It feels great to be in demand, even after close to three years out of the loop.  It also is flattering that they're willing to let me job share with a great friend.  What other kind of job offers some one two weeks off a month?

But being completely unavailable to my daughter for five days in a row is not the kind of mother I want to be.  Although my mother worked, she was always there for me.  I could call her, in an emergency she could be home for me in an absolute emergency.  She only worked 15 minutes away.  

How do I get to where I want to be?  With a decent job, a home for myself and Eliza and the ability to have dinner with my daughter most nights?  I feel like such a failure.  I'm 40 years old and this is the best I can do.  A career where I make less money than I did when I started, work longer hours and will never get promoted.  It can be fun, there's still elements that I love about being on set but who else would work 80 hours a week for entire seasons and never get promoted.  And the skills I've acquired on this job aren't translating into another position.  

So I made an extremely bad career choice, now how do I fix it?

Photos from that day on the beach in Tel Aviv

Gifted

I had a bad Mama day on Friday but made up for it with a perfectly wonderful day on Saturday.  We had a lovely day together with a morning spent at the playground, lunch at a nearby bagel place and then a wonderful afternoon and evening together.  C and Harry were around in the evening and Eliza enjoyed her time with all of us.  Then it was time for bed and she only wanted Mama.

I wonder what it will be like to not put her to bed for two straight weeks.  I worry about what that will do to our relationship but I have to keep it all in perspective.  I need money, I was offered a job.  I'm doing what I have to do and these two plus years at home have to count for something.

I want to travel back to a wonderful day in Israel.  After a week in Ramat Bet Shemesh, I felt pretty trapped.  I think I started to have a bit of a nervous breakdown.  It really started to hit me how gone my friends are, how little I'll see them from now on.  I had also put down a security deposit on an apartment and here I was in a foreign country, pretending all was well with C.  I felt incredibly guilty.  We'd been staying in a city where women covered themselves from head to toe by choice!  I heard more Hebrew than English.  Our first bus experience didn't make me confident about traveling alone.  

On Monday, three days after C arrived, he rented a car.  We'd planned to head to Masada that day but by the time he'd picked up the car and we found a map, it was well after noon.  We chose to head into Tel Aviv, about 45 minutes away.  I can't say I was excited about visiting the city.  I wanted to see history, not a city that sounded like Miami in the guidebook.

The Mediterranean Sea is more beautiful then I realized.  While Tel Aviv certainly felt like Miami, the Med cast it's spell.  Still I felt discombobulated.  Though I pretended to be in a better mood, I felt very depressed.  As we climbed the hill into Jaffa, the historic port adjacent to Tel Aviv, the Sea and the landscape was overwhelmingly gorgeous.  

We parked the car and posed for the obligatory photos in front of a stone wall that overlooked the Mediterranean.  The water was a clear and aqua blue.  Eliza saw the water and begged to go swimming.  We'd packed swimsuits and towels and made for the beach.  

C chattered cheerfully as we walked down to the shore.  I smiled, nodded, went through the motions.  Eliza wiggled and screeched as I spackled her with sunscreen.  We passed a cafe/bar on the water that looked incredibly inviting.  I longed to sit there with a glass of wine and watch the world go by.  Eliza rushed ahead, reminding me that such places are no longer possible.

I changed Eliza into her swimsuit on the beach.  C changed hidden by a stack of towels.  He and Eliza ran for the water but it was too cold and Eliza quickly rushed in the other direction.  He wanted to swim and left me to chase her up and down the steps of an abandoned lifeguard station.  

I didn't feel like being on the beach, no matter how gorgeous it was.  I was stuck in a foreign place with no ability to find my way out of the situation alone.  C said that I'm the sort of person who is easily overwhelmed once I step out of my comfort zone.  That's true in a way but I went to Italy by myself a number of times and greatly enjoyed the experience.  

I am fiercely independent.  Strip me of the ability to rely completely on myself and I'm lost.  I'd even managed to travel to a foreign country, rent an apartment and live alone.  Yes, I had a friend there to pick me up at the airport, to take me to the grocery store but ultimately, I could have stayed indefinitely in Ramat Bet Shemesh with Eliza.  I felt trapped because of the lack of transportation but I'd managed to enjoy the time we'd had alone together.  

But I couldn't be adventurous with her.  I couldn't sit at cafes and write for hours.  I couldn't spend two hours on a bus to the Dead Sea.  I was sitting on a beach, totally dependent on some one else to provide me with a ride home.  I didn't even have a cell phone should C and I some how get separated.  

And while he swam, I was stuck chasing Eliza up and down a set of rickety steps.  I wanted to put on my swimsuit and jump into the Sea.  

I looked at Eliza, and thought "I don't want to be a mother anymore."

C returned from the Sea and took Eliza on a walk along the shore.  I sat in the sand and watched them walk away, thinking how much I'd like to go home alone.  I wondered if I even loved her anymore.  All I wanted in those moments was my freedom.  I didn't want to be dependent anymore.  I wanted to be completely reliant on me.

Slowly they returned and as they approached I snapped photos.  I will post them later, these lovely photos of Eliza in her pink swimsuit, walking towards me with blue sky behind her head.  She smiled with a smile I hadn't seen before.  

"Mama," she said and held out her hand.  I opened my palm and she softly pressed down a handful of shells.  Her little fingers wrapped around mine.

"See Mama?"

I looked at the shells in my hand.  They were small, nondescript, white.  Utterly unremarkable.  Eliza smiled at me proudly and pressed her head against my chest.  Her hair was damp and I hugged her.  She looked at me again, smiling and seemingly waiting for something.

  

"Oh they're so beautiful!" I raved.  "You found such beautiful shells!  Eliza, these are wonderful!"  

Little kids and shells, I thought.  They collect them and think they're getting something special when shells are just as common as seagulls.  Shells sit in small boxes on dresser tops and fill up drawers for years, forgotten after only a few days.  Once you visit beaches on a regular basis, you learn there's nothing special about shells at all.

Eliza grinned, overjoyed by my false enthusiasm.  She ran back to her father and said, "Mama likes them, Daddy.  Mama likes the shells."

Only then did I realize, Eliza had given me the shells as a gift.  I'd thought she'd handed them to me to show me what she'd found.  I hadn't realized that her little mind would want to gift me with something.  Something small and round and white and beautiful.  Imagine how beautiful shells are to a child.  Imagine that child collecting them so she could give them to her Mama.

I snapped back to life in that moment, amazed by the thoughtfulness and generosity exhibited by my wonderful daughter.  I wondered how I could have created such a magical child.  The rest of the day was perfect.

I wish I could say the rest of the trip went well but it didn't.  I think I lost it completely on Tuesday night.  Again it boils down to everything that was going through my mind: the fear of being in a country that feels a little unstable, the bad food, the uniformity of the people in the town we stayed in, the lack of ability to get around the country by myself.

The joy of spending time with Meredith and her family again.  When would we all be together again?

But not once during the trip did I feel I didn't want to be a mother again.  I still have those shells in a pocket of the diaper bag I took to Israel.  I take them out and touch them from time to time.  I will keep them and treasure them.  I will never forget where they came from and the happy little girl who presented them to me, with a look of overwhelming pride.

Exhausted Ramblings of a Failed Mother

Tonight I feel like a complete failure as a mother.  I worked yesterday, the first day on my new job.  It was one day of reshoots for the show's pilot.  The day only went 13 hours, not too bad.  I even made it home in time to put Eliza to bed.  

I looked forward to spending the day with her today but somehow everything got a bit out of hand.  After C left for work, I realized we were out of toilet paper.  I also desperately need to go to the grocery store.  I had an interview scheduled for my freebie writing thing for the magazine in the morning and a get together with Catherine, the woman I'll be job-sharing with on the TV show in the afternoon.  Since the woman I interviewed for the magazine is a friendly aquaintance with a son close to Eliza age, I said yes when she suggested I bring Eliza and her nanny could watch both kids while us Moms did the interview.  

Bad move.  Getting out the door with Eliza in tow isn't a good idea when I don't have a lot of time.  At first, Eliza refused to play with my friend's son and the interview was interrupted several times.  The TV seemed to unite the kids in ways I'd never imagined (my friend's suggestion) and when it was time to leave, Eliza refused.  Eventually I coaxed her into the stroller but didn't get home in time to hit the grocery store.  With virtually nothing to offer her for lunch but yogurt, I quickly plunked her to bed for her nap and made one quick phone call.  

Catherine arrived and we went over some stuff for the job.  Eliza woke up and Catherine and I sat at the computer, creating forms we'd need for the show.  We went for a walk but I realized not shortly after leaving that Eliza had taken a massive dump and I hadn't brought diapers.  Catherine left and I was stuck carrying Eliza home.  It was a messy poop that managed to get all over my shirt and skirt.  The night just went downhill from there.  I got dinner on the table too late, she barely ate it, C walked in the door just as I was putting her to bed, wondering where dinner was which is often the case.  I never know when he'll be home.  I am so tired of his strutting in the door at 8:30 and wondering if we've had dinner yet.  It's his passive aggressive way of saying, "I'm home, feed me."

I hadn't had a fun day with Eliza, I wish he'd go to grocery store with a list or unload the dishwasher sometimes.  How about letting me know when he's used the last of the toilet paper and running turning on the dishwasher when his kids have dinner at our place?  Transition days--the days after I've worked are always tough for me.  I'm a little tired and out of sorts and have to adjust back into my role as house slave.  

I didn't have one fun moment with my girl today.  About an hour after I'd put her to bed (abruptly, I'll add, annoyed when she ripped one of her books), I went into her room to apologize for my lack of patience, my anger, the silly things I'd done wrong that day.

"Mama," she said softly, lifting her head.

I touched her cheek and said, "Eliza, I'm so sorry for everything I do wrong."

"Good night Mama," she said.  

I've got a lot on my plate right now and with so little outside help, I realize I'm not always going to be a fun Mom to be around.  But still, days like today are so hard.  Eliza and i didn't have one fun moment, I was simply too busy and too exhausted.  

I went into my room and cried, then read the script for my first episode.  It's good, in a gross way, but very, very tough to shoot.  I won't have as much time off between episodes as I thought because we will have a lot of second unit to shoot.  So I'm going to have transitional days, days like today constantly for the next five months.  I am trying to look at it as a gift, it is a gift to have a job when so many people are struggling these days.  

I'm 40 years old, I don't think I can do the hours anymore.  I don't want to be a tyrant with my girl.

Just because

And just because this is so freakin' cute, I must include this.  I sold my baby bjorn and my baby backpack on craigs list yesterday.  I'm not going to have another baby so I might as well clear some space on my shelves.  Eliza cried as the woman who bought the backpack left our building with her tiny baby on her back.

"I want my ladybug backpack!" Eliza cried.  I am not sure where the ladybug came from.  Earlier that day, when I'd put the backpack on to see if I could remember how it worked, Eliza saw it, shook her head and said "That's too small for Eliza."

Apparently, her feelings changed when I slid another baby onto another mother's back and said good-bye to my daughter's babyhood.  While corresponding with the mother who purchased the backpack, I emailed her this picture.  This is Eliza on C's back in Florence, Italy.  I had to share it with you...

Just because.

Update

Mom went to the doctor today.  Her heart rate is too high and her pulse is through the roof.  They adjusted her medication.  I wish she'd head to acupuncturist or holistic healer at this point but I am not a doctor, I am not qualified to tell her what to do.  It's frustrating, knowing that her heart is not working properly and that she could have a heart attack at any moment.  I tell myself this heart attack thing, it could happen to anyone.  It's not much of a comfort.

The good news: the symptoms of internal bleeding have disappeared.  I am grateful.

Yesterday morning, I accepted the job on the new TV series.  I will be alternating with a good friend.  I will work for two weeks and then be home for about a week and a half.  I am already mourning the loss of my time as a full-time Mom and the life that I saw for Eliza and myself in that apartment away from New York.  I am stuck in New York with C for now.  If the show gets cancelled, I'll move out then.  If the show gets picked up for another season, I'll move out and hire an au pair.  Since I often have to leave for work in the wee hours of the morning, there's no way I can work in my field without a live-in.  I'm only committed to work on the show for five months (even less if the network pulls the plug right away) so I can't seek an apartment or an au pair just yet.  It sucks, frankly.  The very thing I need to make the break is keeping me here longer.

The apartment that I loved that I had to say good-bye had sliding glass doors in the dining room that overlooked a grassy field.  I see Eliza and myself sitting there for dinner and I think, what a nice life that would be.  I know the reality might be very different but this is the life I want.  Dinner with my daughter every night.  A life without him.  

Oh, how I dream of the ability to earn a living doing something else entirely, something that won't demand the kind of time and energy that this TV world requires.  

I took a magazine writing class this winter and hit it off with the teacher.  I thought she could be something of a mentor and have emailed her since the class ended in March.  On June 1st, I mentioned an essay I was writing about how parents in the United States are far more over protective than parents in Israel.  

She sent me a blanket email that she'd sent to several people searching for sources for a story she was writing.  Her story is apparently about today's hyper-parenting culture and how we are overwatching our kids.

Coincidence?  I don't f-ing think so?  Funny?  Not to me, not at first.  Now I find it amusing and realize how I've got to crank this essay and send it out.  It's apparently such a good topic, established writers feel compelled to steal it from me.

Maybe I've got what it takes to make it as a writer after all.

A Day in the Life/Wednesday

8:11am, Wednesday morning, my cell phone rings.  I look at the number and realize it's the the producer from the job I interviewed for on Tuesday.  I'd decided to say no to the job but I wasn't ready to tell them, so I let the phone ring.  Two minutes later, my home phone rang.  I know they wouldn't call both lines to tell me they'd decided on some one else.  

I called my mother for reassurance.  She agrees that just because I say no to this job doesn't mean another TV series won't call me some time in the future.  I call the producer back and prepare my refusal as I listen to the phone ring.  The producer shocks me by asking me for the name of the person I'd like to alternate with.  

Quick explanation: sometimes script supervisors (my job) alternate on TV shows.  It's basically job sharing.  I work episode 10 and then kick back while the other script supervisor works episode 11 and then I return for episode 12 and so on.  Basically, I work for a week and a half, then have a week and a half off.  The time that I work, I work 14-16 hour days so it's far from a walk in the park.  But then I have a week and a half where I work a day or two from home and that's it.  I don't get paid for my week off but I'll take it.  Instead of not seeing my kid for nine months straight, I don't see her every other week.  It's about as doable as it gets in my line of work.

The producer had told me during the interview that alternating wouldn't work on this particular show.  I hadn't even brought it up, didn't even suggest it.  He made it clear that it wasn't a consideration.  To have them call me less than 24 hours to say they were considering it felt like quite a coup.  They'd liked me, they'd really liked me.

It's also pretty busy here in the TV world and there aren't a lot of script supervisors with solid television experience.  So maybe he realized he had to consider it or end up with no one.

I call my mother, ecstatic that they'd consider alternating.  She says she has good news too, that the doctor's office called to tell her to stop taking Coumadien.  She's been on this blood thinner in order to prevent a stroke since she went back into Afib (rapid heartbeat) this past winter.  Blood test reveal her Coumadien level is dangerously high and she must stop taking it immediately.  Why does she see this as good news?  Her body's been acting weird lately and she's relieved to have an explanation.  The drub also makes her very tired so she's happy to stop taking it.  We hang up, both happy.

My babysitter arrives for the morning and I head out to write and do errands.  I return to find Eliza freshly awake from her nap.  It's a a beautiful day and I pack up to take her to a nice playground along the river.  Eliza has fun running through the sprinklers and repeatedly filling a bucket with sand.  I call my mother from the playground to tell her what a nice day we're having and after two rings and get her answering machine.  The long beep lets me know she's got a lot of messages.  Suddenly, I wonder if that call from the doctor was good news.  I leave a message and ask her to call me later that night.

It's past six so I take Eliza home and make macaroni and cheese with broccoli and zucchini.  We eat around 7:30p, a time I consider way too late.  I excuse myself saying it's summer.  I put Eliza in the bath and while I get her ready for bed, the phone rings.  I need to get Eliza to bed so I check the caller ID and I'm relieved to see it's my Mom.  I get Eliza in bed and call my mom around 9p.

My mother spent the day in the hospital.  Apparently, the Coumadien levels and some other symptoms indicated internal bleeding.  They wanted to admit her but my mother refuses.  She's happy to be at home, not in the hospital.  She sounds okay, just tired and sick of spending half her time in a doctor's office or hospital.  We hang up and I look up some information on the internet.

So my mom could be bleeding internally.  It could be all kinds of things, many of them fatal or it could just stop on it's own with the elimination of the Coumadien.  I read accounts of people who'd lost family members due to internal bleeding and people who swore Coumadien saved their lives so please don't sue.

I talk to my mom again and she sounds great.  She is already feeling better, free from Coumadien.  I am not good at waiting but that's all I can do right now.  Wait and hope that whatever is going on in my mother's body rights itself.  

I go to bed and wonder how I'll swing child care if I take the job.  Even if I alternate, I'll still need some one to come at 5:30 in the morning when I leave for work.  Who's going to want to do that?  Will I have to stay with C longer, just so I can work?  It almost defeats the point of my returning to work in the first place.

And then I lie awake in the darkness and wonder if my Mom will be okay.

The Dilemma

I spent Sunday looking at more apartments for my daughter and myself and found a nice place.  It's not in the neighborhood I'd wanted but it's a nice apartment and I think it'll make a lovely home for us.  After looking at several other places, I called the owner to tell her I'd take it.

As I was on the phone with her, my cell phone rang with a work call.  I interviewed today for the script supervising position on what looks to be one of the biggest new shows on TV this upcoming season.  If I agreed to do the show, I'd make a great salary, enough to free me from C for a long time.  I wouldn't be able to take the apartment I looked at on Sunday but I'd find something else and stay in New York.

There's always a catch and it's a big one.  With car chases and special effects galore, I can expect to be at work all the time.  The producer was honest during the interview.  He said if the show goes for a few seasons, I'll see my daughter again when she's five.

The hours I've complained about on television shows are not an exaggeration.  We report to work where and when we are told and we leave when they say we can.  Sometimes the locations are convenient, other times I'm in a van for an hour going to some remote park two hours outside of Manhattan.  Mondays start at with us arriving for work at 6:30am and end around 9:30pm.  Since the start time for the following day is determined by what time we finish shooting, I can't even say when I have to leave home until the night before.  

Can I do this kind of job as a single mother?  I want Eliza's home to be with me but if I work, her living with me doesn't make a lot of sense.  Although C works long hours too, he can be home for dinner more nights a week than I can.  Occasionally, he can work from home and he can adjust his hours if necessary.  His oldest daughter can babysit.  His brother's fiance works close by.  In a pinch, his son's babysitter can probably step in.  

Me, I got nothing.  So if I take the job, I have financial freedom from C but I feel like I risk losing my daughter in the process.  If only some one could assure me that I will find another job, create another career, one that will enable me to give my darling daughter the life I want for her, then I could say no to this without remorse.

Instead I sit here wondering, why I'd want to say no to something that will provide me the freedom to get C out of my life.  And I know why I don't think I can say yes, it's that little girl in the next room I'm so afraid I'll lose.

Jerusalem, Part I

I'm going to return to Israel today and write about our first foray into Jerusalem.  Eliza, C and myself took a bus into Jerusalem on Sunday, the day after Rafi's Bar Mitzvah.  As we waited for the 418 bus, C asked a passing woman if the 418 took us into Jerusalem.  I'd told him that David instructed me to take choose the 417 over the 418 for some reason.

The woman smiled, pointed to me and said, "She'd have to sit in the back."  Then I remembered--David had mentioned the 418 bus had separate seating.  Orthodox Jews often separate men from women--if you read my post about the Bar Mitzvah you know I didn't get to see Meredith's son get Bar Mitzvahed because we sat with the women behind a partition.  But I didn't realize that separate seating meant I'd sit at the back of the bus with my squirmy, noisy toddler while C napped up front.  As we walked up the hill towards the 417 stop, C said, "Who are you, Rosa Parks?"

Traffic heading into Jerusalem is dreadful and it seemed like it took forever to get into the city that means so much to three of the world's biggest religions.  As we drove through the streets, I thought the city looked crowded, hilly and very ugly.  Hoardes of people dressed in dark clothes stood at bus stops.  The driver let us off on a busy street that didn't look much different from a city anywhere (except for the Arabic and Hebrew writing) and told us to grab another bus into the old city.  We managed to flag down a taxi and he dropped us off at the Damascus Gate.  David had told me to avoid the Arab and Christian quarters within the walls of the Old City section of Jerusalem, declaring them unsafe.  Now here C and I were, hauling our child down a series of steps when we realized we were in the wrong place.  We followed the walls of the Old City to another gate, also within the Arab Quarter.  

I was so frightened, I didn't even realize the street felt wonderfully quiet and lovely.  C asked an Arab man for directions and I yelled at him, convinced it was foolish to ask for directions in an unsafe neighborhood.  As we walked, it soon became clear that the biggest group of people in this area were tourists and that we were fine.  The streets were the width of a sidewalk broken into a series of steps.  Walking through the Old City is like walking up an endless staircase.  There areas that are flat and don't involve steps are rare.  As we neared the Jewish quarter and the alleyways became more crowded.   The Old City is not where you want to be if you've got a small child and a stroller.  

Eliza fell asleep as we passed through the security gate to the large plaza that surrounds the Wailing Wall.  Much of the Old City is covered; it's hard to describe what I mean by this.  The streets are covered or so narrow, I felt like I was inside an indoor flea market.  When we came out to the wailing wall, the shock of the sun caused me to shade my eyes.  I took in what was left of the great temple Herod built more than 2,000 years ago.  A giant wall comprised of sand colored rock climbed towards the sky.  I stood with Eliza while C donned a cardboard yamulke from a small box at the entrance of the men's side.  People young and old passed into the prayer areas while a speaker blasted the Muslim call to prayer.  The wailing wall lines a small hill or temple mount as it's called that now houses a mosque known as the Dome of the Rock.  The golden dome gleamed so brightly in the sun, it hurt to look at it.  I've heard that the air feels remarkably different up on that hill that overlooks the Old City.  According to the guidebook, there was only one way for a non-Muslim to get up to the Dome of the Rock.  We never found that way.

Having successfully found one of the holiest sites in the Jewish world, we followed a crappy map in the guidebook to the Jaffa Gate and the tower of David museum.  At this museum, we saw ruins, models and a film that told the story of Jerusalem's 5,000 volatile years.  The top of the highest tower offered a spectacular panoramic view of the Old City.

Knocking two main sites off our list, we tried to find the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.  This church houses chapels for four nationalities in the Christain faith; Greek Orthodox, Latin (Roman Catholics), Armenian and Copt (Egyptian).  The Church of the Holy Sepulcher's big claim to fame is that it's believed to be the site of Jesus' execution.  Three stations on the Via Dolorosa, the path Jesus was said to make through Jerusalem on the way towards his death, are marked within the church.  Inside the church, you could climb a set of deep steps and be on the hill known as Golgotha, the place of the skull, supposedly the ground where his cross was raised.  

Unfortunately, we couldn't find the church.  Armed with a paper map from the tourist's office, we repeatedly found that streets the map noted didn't exist.  Windy steps and alleyways hinted of places that might lead to the church, but these streets felt ominously empty.  Because the skyline is not visible throughout much of the Old City, we couldn't even look for the dome of the church.  After literally dragging the stroller and Eliza for hours, we finally gave up and decided the church perhaps didn't exist.  Ending up at the wailing wall again, with the Muslim call to prayer reverberating through the streets, we worked our way back to the Damascus gate to seek out Ben Yehuda street, a place the book noted as good for dining.

All we found were various hot dog, falafel and other fast food choices.  We sat at an outdoor table and watched Eliza eat an enormous hot dog while C ordered a falafel.  I felt exhausted, defeated and virtually unimpressed with Jerusalem.  I'd so wanted to fall in love with this holy place.  While I found it interesting and vaguely fascinating, it also felt a little too foreign to me.  The Hebrew and Arabic lettering, the lack of bathrooms, the dearth of healthy eating choices all felt overwhelmingly intimidating.  I wanted to be a happy traveler, traipsing around a strange city with my daughter at my side.  Instead, I wanted to cry and thump my shoes together in a desperate attempt to  go home.

The day ended dreadfully with a too-long walk to the bus station.  Once there, it became very difficult to find out exactly where we could get on a bus to Ramat Bet Shemesh.  An indoor board listed buses and gates but we only saw the words Ramat Bet Shemesh in passing, while the board changed over after several buses departed.  C asked the person who sold us our tickets and she said vaguely "Outside."  Once outside the station, dozens of different kiosks listed bus numbers but we didn't see "417" anywhere.  Heading back in for a third time, passing through the metal detectors and over to the elevator, we literally ran into the caterer from Rafi's Bar Mitzvah.  He was on his way back to from the barbecue Meredith and David hosted for Rafi's school friends.  The caterer remembered us, the proud parents of the energetic-two-year-old whose main goal in life appeared to be toppling the tray of treats he'd carefully laid out.  He was kind, gracious and took us outside to physically point us to where we had to go.  It turned out the 417 bus left from a different street entirely and the kiosk wasn't marked.  We would have never found this bus had we not run into the caterer.  

On the bus, C and I sat separately, not because we had to, the bus was simply too crowded.  C was relieved by this turn of events.  He'd put up with my grumpy, nasty, "I hate this place" all day.  He was done with me and I was done with Israel.  I handed Eliza to him and sat back, hoping the trip home wouldn't feel as long as the trip into the city.  Eliza chattered happily on the seat behind me and eventually came up to sit with me.  She pointed to the woman seated beside me who was reading and highlighting a book written in Hebrew.  "Mama, is that your friend?" she asked,  "Is that girl your friend?" 

The woman, a black woman I would guess to be in her mid-forties, smiled and responded positively to my noisy and all-too-active daughter.  She spoke perfect English and I found myself seriously wondering who she was and what was she doing in this place.  She asked Eliza her name, Eliza told her and then asked the woman's name.

"This is a tough one," the woman said.  "LeGott."  

After a few attempts, Eliza only seemed capable of saying "Gott."  The woman smiled and got off.

"Where's Gott going?"  Eliza asked.  "She going to see her Mama?"

I explained to Eliza that LeGott had to get off the bus, that this dark street in the middle of who knows where, must be where she lives.  But of course I have no idea.

To this day, whenever Eliza sees a bus she asks about Gott and then says "She went to see her Mama!"

I think we would still be wandering around that bus station in Jerusalem had we not run into Meredith's caterer.  Meredith loved this story and told me that there's always stories like this when people visit Jerusalem.  That it's the kind of city that elicits events that seem to be orchestrated by a higher power.

I suppose that's one way to look at it but since I am a bit of a non-believer, I just see it as damn lucky.