Good Friends Are Like Stars...

...you don't always see them, but you know they are always there. -- Confucius

We went up to Massachusetts to spend Thanksgiving with my family this year. While there, I decided to help my parents by clearing out some of my old junk--stuff that's been cluttering up their space for the twenty years that they've lived in the house. The two nightstand drawers in my old room were crammed with letters from the late eighties and early nineties--these were my college years when I would go back home over school breaks and summer vacations.

I've been going through the letters slowly, trying to decipher my friends' almost-illegible scrawl. My goal was to throw out most of the letters, but yet keep a representative sample that would sum up the place and time, as well as each friend's individual personality.

A large proportion of the letters were from my freshman year at college. I guess this is because my old high school friends and I had yet to form any close friendships with kids at college, so we were, understandably, clinging to our former lives. 

Summer of '88: Me and a few friends, back together
 after our freshman year of college.

As I read through the letters, I wasn't surprised by all the mentions of cute boys, classes, partying, and roommates (whom ranged from awesome to awful). But what did surprise me, what I wasn't expecting to read, was so much written about our friendships with one another--what we missed, what we meant to each other, how close our bonds were, etc. We were surprisingly introspective young women considering we were just out of high school. 

For example, here's what one friend wrote to me in September, 1987, just after we'd gone our separate ways to different colleges thousands of miles apart:

"My problem is I meet a lot of people but have no close friends. I wish in a way you and our other friends were with me. Though we'd all be trying to break away from each other, we'd still have each other there.... I miss you, Sue! I talk about you a lot. It's so weird to be starting new again! I like it, but there are certain security things I miss, like our group."

That is pretty self-aware for an eighteen year old, if you ask me. 

In another letter, a different friend wrote:

"Sue, I really miss you and I know it sounds dumb but I really wish that you were here because you truly have been so strong for me on so many occasions. You are truly my best friend (a term I no longer use so lightly!) and I don't know how come I deserve you sometimes."

I love you, crazy girls.

Twenty years later, I'm blown away by the level of intimacy in these letters. I'm sure at the time I didn't think much of it; it would've just been how things were, how we felt about one another, and the way we communicated and responded to each other. But because I'm so far away from that time, and my focus is on family rather than friendships, it just seems so, so remarkable that we felt that strongly and deeply about each other.

I still love these ladies, though we remain geographically isolated from one another. I miss having them in my life on a regular basis, but even more, I miss having a gang of cool, smart, interesting, and fun women around to whom I can talk, vent, and bitch, and who also completely have my back. My husband and family are wonderful and supportive of course, but it's not the same.  

So if any of you lovely ladies--my dearest friends from childhood and beyond--are reading this, I just want to thank you for all the love, laughs, hugs, support, and advice you've given me over the years.

I couldn't have made it through without you. And I miss you so much it hurts.

What Is There Not to Like About Preschool? I Don't Know, Ask My Daughter.

My three-year-old daughter goes to preschool three mornings a week for a total of eight hours and fifteen minutes of school weekly. Just about the right amount of time away from Mommy, if you ask me.

After picking her up from preschool, as I'm forcing buckling her into her car seat, I almost always ask, "How was school today? Did you have fun?" And just about every time she answers, "A little bit...not too much."

Whoa. Though I struggle to understand how it's possible, the reality is that my little lady does not like school.

My baby, about to begin her first
day of school

The very idea flabbergasts me. Painting! Dress up! Play-doh! Story Time! Playground! What's not to like? Okay, so Mommy isn't there, I get it...but how can having six other little girls around to play with (not to mention seven adorable boys) not be way better than one distracted mom who's always interrupting the game to answer the phone or check Facebook? 

We never had this problem with my son, who was always like, "YAY! SCHOOL TODAY! I LOVE SCHOOL!" from the moment I first dropped him off at Ms. Joan's class when he was two-and-a-half years old. He is a sweet, friendly kid, and the teachers would marvel at how easily he got along with everyone--he just as happily played kitchen with the girls as he did cars with the boys. 

I know I shouldn't compare my kids, but earlier this year, upon picking my daughter up at school, the teacher greeted me with, "Wow, your daughter and Millicent can really get into it with each other!" Apparently, the two girls had been fighting over who got to use the single pair of classroom binoculars. 

Don't be mistaken, my baby girl is a complete love--she's warm and affectionate (just ask her Grandpa, into whom's lap she climbs unbidden, or her Poppa, at whom she bats her eyelashes sweetly); quick as a whip; and, according to my father, the funniest of his five grandkids. Girlfriend knows how to work an audience, that's for sure. 

But school is not, apparently, her thing. So far she has chosen not to make a big deal about going in the mornings--there haven't been any fights about it. I suppose that could change, but hopefully it won't; since I can't relate to not liking school, I doubt I'd be able to deal with the issue properly. What's the best way to handle this? Being stern and forcing her to go? Letting her stay home? 

If it comes to that, I'll have to call in the expert on not liking school: her daddy.  

Just Call Me Kindergarten Cop

There is a girl in my son's Kindergarten class with whom he's become fast friends.

My husband and son ran into This Girl (I'll refer to her as "T.G." from now on) a few weeks ago, and she went on and on about how she wanted my son to come over her house for a playdate.

I had met T.G.'s mother only once before--at back-to-school-night--and, let's put it this way, she's not exactly the long-lost best friend I've been hoping to find. My first impression was that she was a little brash. I'm sure she's a perfectly decent person, but her scratchy smoker's voice and aloof manner turned me off.

However, my lovely boy wanted a playdate with his new friend, so I wasn't about to say no just because the mom was not my cup o' tea. Of course I had to give her the benefit of the doubt.

I knew T.G.'s last name so I tracked them down through whitepages.com (and felt pretty stalker-ish doing so), called, and her mom and I set something up for three days hence.

Kindergarten Halloween party

The day of the playdate, just as we were about to leave for their house, I noticed our machine was blinking; it was a message from elementary school. T.G.'s mom didn't have our number so she had the school call to cancel the playdate. No explanation, no apology, no nothin'.

Oh, how my sweet boy cried and cried! All I could do was hug him and tell him I was so, so sorry over and over again as his little body shook with giant sobs. The anger flooded my body--how I hated T.G.'s mother at that moment!

If I could've given my son a decent explanation--"Honey, T.G.'s little sister swallowed poison and was rushed to the emergency room"--I think it would've been easier for both of us to accept. But instead, we were left in the lurch.

The next time I saw her, at a class event, I avoided her because I didn't trust myself to make nice-nice after what had happened. And a Kindergarten classroom isn't exactly the ideal place for a confrontation.

It's been a month now, and she hasn't called to apologize or reschedule the playdate.

So everyday I grit my teeth while listening to my son go on and on about all the fun he and T.G. had during recess, or about how funny she is, or blahblahblah. Oh, sure, he may have forgotten all about his first heartbreak, but his mother sure hasn't. Grrrrrrr! I can't help it, but hearing that girl's dumb name instantly turns me into one of Sarah Palin's Mama Grizzlies.

So, guess what, T.G. and T.G.'s mom? Mama Grizzly is watching. Do NOT hurt my cub again if you know what's good for you. I will attack...and that's a promise.

Cat Scratch Fever

Ted Nugent power chords played in my head as I read the brochure the vet had given me on Bartonella, "The Cat Scratch Disease Bacteria." (They give me cat scratch fever! Cat scratch fever!) Apparently, the Bartonella bacteria, which is transmitted from cats, can cause 22 human diseases, of which cat scratch disease is the most famous. Who knew?

When we adopted Paulina six months ago, she was a tiny, skinny thing. "She'll fatten up soon enough when you bring her home," the director of the shelter had assured us. But Paulina is just as skinny today as when we got her. She doesn't eat much--sometimes I even have to throw out food that has sat in her bowl for too long.

That was bad sign #1. Then there was the drooling and bad breath, both of which aren't normal for cats according to the various web sites I consulted. But the potential seriousness of the situation didn't sink in until a friend of mine who owns five cats came over and gave little Paulina a cuddle: "She is WAY too thin!" she announced.

So I called a recommended local animal hospital/veterinarian and, luckily, they were able to fit me in that very afternoon. The minute the vet picked up Paulina he became very concerned: "She's nothing but skin and bones!" (Oops, our bad.)

It turns out our 3-1/2-year-old cat only weighs 4.3 pounds.

The vet ordered a bunch of tests--to the tune of $600--and we sucked it up because, let's face it, guilt is a powerful motivator.

Should we have known something was wrong with Paulina? Neither my husband nor I had ever had a cat before, and little Paulina was always so sweet and uncomplaining. Besides, money has been tight lately, and I was afraid a visit to the vet would open up an extremely expensive can of worms (which is exactly what happened).

But then the vet said something about preparing myself for the test results and went on to mention the possibility of needing to have a conversation about "how to deal with the psyches of your kids" down the line. That's when it finally hit me: Crap, could Paulina be terminal?!

Thankfully, the feline leukemia and AIDS tests came back normal. The vet isn't 100% sure what's going on with Paulina, but her gums are red and painful, her white blood cell count is really high, and according to the X-rays (add another $200 to the running total) her intestines are enlarged, while her liver and kidneys are way too small.

The vet gave Paulina a long-lasting antibiotic shot to hopefully treat her inflamed gums and whatever else might be driving up her white cell count, and prescribed some special, hypo-allergenic (and wicked expensive, cha-ching!) food for the irritable bowel disease he suspects she might have. So far, Paulina has gobbled up two bowls of the food since yesterday--more than she's ever eaten in the same time period before--so that's a good sign, at least.

Meanwhile, the Bartonella test results won't be back for a few more days so we don't have any Cat Scratch Fever Disease diagnosis as of yet.

All we can do right now is wait...wait and give Paulina extra cuddles, make room for her on our bed at night, and make sure she feels loved and wanted. Poor little baby.