Getting older?

Is it a true sign of getting older that I can find myself appreciating Liz Phair's recent work? Is it a slippery slope to Josh Groban?

That doesn't mean I don't still love Exile in Guyville. Really.

It has begun.

Boo-hooing has officially started.

I dropped Annika off at her last day of pre-K this morning. Annika was really excited to bring cupcakes and cookies to share with her friends and teachers. She's a teeny bit sad to leave the school/daycare she's been attending since she was 18 months, even though she's excited/nervous about Kindergarten next week and way psyched to go to San Diego tomorrow.

I dropped in to see Annika's 3-4 yr-old teacher, Carol, and the tears started flowing. Since I'm an emotional sort, I suppose it shouldn't surprise me how much I'll miss these familiar and trusted people who have helped Annika along the way to becoming the sweet, smart almost-Kindergartener that she is now. I know Annika will miss them, too.

The key is, I suppose, not to let Annika see the full-on waterworks next week. That's going to be tough, but the big sunglasses should help.

The Diamond Sea.

Gazing out over the water when I was in San Diego last month, I thought not once, but a few times about the Sonic Youth song "The Diamond Sea"...images of water and mirror reflections, and the recurring line, "Time takes its crazy toll."

Tuesday represents Annika's last day of pre-Kindergarten. Wednesday, everything will have changed. We escape out of town and back to San Diego for a short break, and when we return, Annika will be attending Elementary School. Time takes its crazy toll. It seems impossible she could be old enough to go off to school with a Tinkerbell backpack, and I'm so wanting to keep a perfect image of her as she is right now and hold on to her so very tightly. Elementary School seems so big, and she seems so very small, and the thought of her being alone or afraid for even one moment scares me terribly and makes me ache. All the while that I reassure her that she'll make new friends and learn new things, and as much as I know she's more than ready for this transition, I can feel my chest tightening with anxiety. Today I made up a story for her about her first day, and she said, "I like the story because it helps me feel that I don't need to be afraid." I hope I'm saying the right things.

I know that when I see the ocean again on Wednesday, I'll be thinking of The Diamond Sea and time taking its crazy toll, and I'll dream of falling in love with the diamond rain that might make it all ok.

Time takes its crazy toll
And how does your mirror grow
You better watch yourself when you jump into it
'cause the mirror's gonna steal your soul

I wonder how it came to be my friend
That someone just like you has come again
You'll never, never know how close you came
Until you fall in love with the diamond rain

F-r-i-d-a-y Night!

Put little girl to bed? Check.

Tidy up? Check.

Get back to work for a bit? Yup, I'm going to do that.

Am I totally lame? Totally.

Danke schoen, John Hughes.

I was sad today to read the news that John Hughes, writer/director of 80s classics like Sixteen Candles, Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, and Ferris Bueller's Day Off had died suddenly of a heart attack. He was only 59.

I suppose it shouldn't be surprising that Facebook suddenly exploded into a mass John Hughes movie quote exchange. After all, we practically grew up with the clever, awkward, funny characters Hughes brought to life. We identified with Samantha Baker, and fell in love with Jake Ryan. We wished we could be as fearless as Ferris Bueller, and we reveled in Ed Rooney's downfall. We saw the sensitive soul behind the tough facade of John Bender. We felt for Duckie when Andie went off with a rich guy whose name sounded like a major appliance.

How many hours did we spend together watching the movies in the theaters? And then on video? And then, years later, how many times have we sat there and re-watched the movies on tv just to prove that we can still recite from the Hughes lexicon?

Sixteen Candles will always be my favorite of the Hughes teen movies. The awkward girl triumphs over the superficial. The beauty is won over by the geek. So even though the cocky Ferris Bueller may be the most iconic of the Hughes characters, maybe I love John Hughes most for believing in the geeks and the awkward girls. I needed him to.

Reoriented. Sort of.

I made it home on time yesterday, which seemed like a miracle, given my luck with air travel these days. Everything smooth, everything on schedule, short layover, nice flight attendants, no one spilling over from the seat next to me into my already tiny personal space. Well, the guy next to me from Chicago to Wichita was rockin' out to Gospel on his ipod while drinking two vodka cranberries. Interesting.

I think Annika grew several inches while I was away this week. Seriously. She's also now officially enrolled for Kindergarten, which begins on August 17. I think she's ready for the transition to big kid school. I, however, am being dragged forward kicking and screaming.

I'll be working from home the next month, which makes me ridiculously happy. Also, as a reward for the grueling travel schedule over the past three months, I booked a trip to San Diego in August, funded in part with a free ticket from United. I had the opportunity to visit San Diego for work earlier this month and absolutely fell in love with it. R. will be out in CA picking up work from a show in Chico, CA, and he'll drive down to meet Annika and me. Can't wait to put my toes in the sand, smell the salt air, sleep with my balcony door open, and discover this lovely city that I didn't get to explore when I spent four days in a windowless conference room. I normally feel so guilty about treating myself to something so nice, but this time, I'm really ready for a real break, even if it is just a few days.

At the moment, I feel on top of things. I know this could all change by tomorrow morning, but for tonight, I'm content to be at home with my little one, and even more content in the knowledge that the next time I hop a plane, I won't be next to a vodka-drinking Gospel guy as I head off to work, but next to dear, sweet Annika. And that's enough to make everything seem all right.

No thinking for a little while.

Stay out super late tonight
picking apples, making pies
put a little something in our lemonade and take it with us
we’re half-awake in a fake empire
we’re half-awake in a fake empire

Tiptoe through our shiny city
with our diamond slippers on
do our gay ballet on ice
bluebirds on our shoulders
we’re half-awake in a fake empire
we’re half-awake in a fake empire

Turn the light out say goodnight
no thinking for a little while
let's not try to figure out everything at once
It’s hard to keep track of you falling through the sky
we’re half-awake in a fake empire
we’re half-awake in a fake empire

Goodbye.

If I had to attach one word to the summer of 2009, it’s been goodbye.

I’ve spent the last three months traveling back and forth to Virginia for work. Unlike the summer of 2006, during which I spent a crazy, hot summer in Houston, at least Annika weathered my comings and goings with little impact. At 5 ½, Annika is now old enough to be affected by her mother’s weekly trips to the airport and stays at a Hampton Inn 1500 miles away. And the little gifts of books and trinkets and tiny hotel shampoos and conditioners, though appreciated, don’t ultimately mean very much. Every week without fail, Annika says, “Mommy, I don’t want you to go.” Though I take a fistful of medication every day to balance my moods, I can feel the limits of the regulatory effects of serotonin reuptake inhibitors being stretched beyond capacity. When you miss your little girl, and when you’re consumed with guilt over leaving her every week because you’re sure you’re damaging her with your absence, there’s nothing strong enough to help, except maybe that glass of wine that numbs you ever so slightly while eating your uninspired chain restaurant dinner.

While I was home one sunny weekend, abortion doctor George Tiller was killed at his church while his wife was getting ready to sing in the choir. I went to his funeral.

I met Rob and Annika one weekend at Rob’s dad’s house in Virginia. Rob’s dad’s wife Barbara has Alzheimer’s, and drifts further away each day from the smart, funny, and engaged person we’ve come to know and love so much over the last ten years. But several small, precious moments amidst the sadness. Barbara taking Annika upstairs to find Annika’s plastic jewelry. Barbara declaring a restaurant they go to weekly a “rare and wonderful treat”!

I’m in San Diego this week—a welcome break from the regular trips to Virginia. I’m immersing myself in its loveliness. Water everywhere, sea air, boats, laid back and happy people. I wonder if my health care plan would pay for me to move out here. I could surely cut back on pharma-a-go-go.

I try to hang on to the good things. “A rare and wonderful treat,” she said. Salt air and boats in the marina. Little views of everyday kindnesses. A sea of white carnations at a funeral.

One more week back and forth for now. One more week of goodbye.