I have to say (no you don't, Elizabeth). OK, I'm gonna say that the fight over numbers at the rally in D.C. last weekend really annoyed me. Imagine conservation firebrand Michelle Malkin and blogger Pink Elephant whatsher-name pinning the hugely blown up 1.5 mil on ABC, for heaven's sake. Have they no shame?

Soon afterwards, a writer for the liberal lobby group Media Media used the "l" word to refer to Malkin and company -- a word currently known as Congressman's Joe Wilson articulate response to President Obama's health care speech. Grow up and stop acting like morons. Some of us care about the decisions currently being made on health care and financial regulation and whether more young women and men go to Afghanistan.

In the battle over numbers, the point of the march, whatever it was, is gone -- it seems as if, in the conservative/ liberal blogosphere, the silly season is all seasons.

Crone in training

So when did I become the wise older woman?

I seem to find myself giving advice to lots of people. And fending off some who seem to want to befriend me and get help with their love lives, employment, future books.

I'm getting a little rude, I fear. I tell some people, who want to get the benefit of my foolishness, that I've got not enough time and friends who already don't see a lot of me.

I am blessed with faithful friends -- who give me advice, sought and unsought. Maybe I should send a few of these questing folks to talk to them.

I'm not a crone yet. But when, God willing, I get there, I'll have had much practice.

Friends in low places -- like Congress

I have to say that I'm finding the debate about reforming health care troublesome. People are saying the stupidest things. And it's not even a matter of what people want in the bill -- it's a matter of what is actually supposed to be in the bill. Coverage for illegal immigrants? As Obama said last night -- no, its not in my bill. "Death panels"? Talking to your doctor about end of life planning isn't like asking him or her to kill you if you become sick. Abortion coverage? Well, that's not totally clear -- and should be the subject of concern and conversation. Something might actually come of that.

But generally, the kind of mob moronics cropping up all over America doesn't give you much faith in the democratic process. Do you truly want South Carolina's Joe Wilson to be your health care proxy?

Hall of Mirrors

It is not fun when someone rips you to shreds, even if it's done efficiently and coldly in virtual reality.

According to this acquaintance, I'm a woman who puts various folks in "baskets" based on their potential usefulness to me.

Of course, on one level, it meant absolutely nothing -- the person hadn't met me more than once. OR maybe it meant that I had hurt their feelings, and they were lashing out at me the only way they knew how. Or perhaps it meant I had narrowly avoided becoming friends with someone with a cruel streak.

After I got the email this morning, I sat at the computer, feeling nauseated. So they didn't truly know me. Yet I had to ask myself if perhaps there was not a tiny truth somewhere in the spite. The truth that I've become jaded and quick to protect myself in the face of potential complexity or rejection. The truth that I'm stressed and tired by drama at home, and don't have a lot to give my friends right now.

Having said all of that, I'm not sure that any of it is completely accurate. Surprised to have evoked that kind of personal attack from a person I had seen as thoughtful and gentle, I asked myself: would I have launched poisoned arrows like that if someone had hurt my pride?

God help me, I hope not.

Transition

Well, we're back in school -- and this transition is harder than a few others. The move from middle to high school, from parochial to public, has been full of drama.

Facebook alarums -- breakups with new friends. Seeing the DQ at the mall with two boys her friend Dawn knows -- one a high school grad who introduced himself to me as "Rson." Her dad and I need to have a little talk about kids who hang out on Friday nites at the Exton Square Mall.

Mr. C appears to be doing OK as he goes from elementary to middle school, although his new school is vast compared to his old one acrorss the street. He has some interesting teachers and some people he knows from his old school -- not to mention the chess nerds. Well, we still go running and walking there -- and cut through it to get ice cream at the sole store in "downtown" Glenmoore.


Right now, with my own projects, there' s not a lot of time to post on the blog. But be watching for a new feature -- hopefully in a few weeks.

I hope your summer to fall transitions are going more smoothly. Happy Labor Day!

Love bites

It's only recently that I've felt that parenting requires significant self-sacrifice. As she gets into the teens, the DQ disputes pretty much everything.

Apparently, in spite of the pizzas and taquitos crammed into our freezer, the chocolate milk and cookies and candy and covered raisins, our food is way too "healthy."

I guess she can't forgive me for buying tofu pot pies and hiding the goat cheese in the feta in her salad last week.

All of her new friends have relationships. Just because you didn't have one when YOU were 14 doesn't mean I shouldn't, she said. In the same breath, however, she told me she never wanted to have sex.

So I think we're alright for now.

She doesn't read for kicks. When she does, it isn't Regency romances, but vampire novels.

She doesn't exercise away stress. She doesn't seem to be turned on by ideas, as I was at her age.

Sometimes negotiating our differences is painful, exhausting, tearful. And sometimes we just agree to disagree, and move on, knowing how much under all of this we still need each other.

Ch ch ch changes

Sorry I've been absent for a while. We've had a few melodramas around our home.
One involves estate taxes -- but I can leave a lot of that to the lawyers (who ever thought I'd say THAT?) And the other involves the DQ's transition to a new school -- where apparently there are "scenes" (she's a scene, into heavy metal and colorful expensive sneakers) and "emos" (no purpose in life? dress mostly in black), lots of folks talk "gangster" and everybody has been in a relationship, whether hetero, gay or bisexual. She's been having tummy problems. On the positive side, she likes her new school and her new friends.

Peer pressure -- whether she's feeling it or putting the chains around her neck herself, is a scary thing. Somehow I don't think my son feels it -- but he's found his chess nerd niche for the nonce.

"You don't like labels, do you Mom" asked my daughter as I was telling her preppies aren't totally bad. Got it, baby.

So I'm back in the role of supervisor, scanning the internet, talking to parents, checking out her friends and her friends parents -- all the while knowing that the control I have is getting more limited. She's not the only one feeling the stress.