First off, am I the only one who’d never heard the term “meme” prior to entering the blogsphere? It has its own definition, you know, outside the blogsphere. And I think I like the word, but I’m not so sure I like what the blogsphere is doing to it. The obligatory “tag” associated with blogsphere’s memes cause me shudders and remind me of my disdain of chain mail.

But, I hate coming off as the party-pooper more than I hate chain mail. I’ve been tagged too many times now — twice on this particular one — to continue to blow them off gracefully. No longer can someone excuse my behavior as “shy” instead of the alternative accusation of snobbery. But, really, I’m not all that bad. Just struggling with my own personal issues.

You see, I don’t mind being tagged. I rather like it, in a strange-need-to-have-my-ego-stroked kind of way. It’s the tagg-ING that gets my panties all in a bundle. So, I figure I can tweak the “tag” to something more palatable to my own personal hang-ups, and still play along with the party. I’m never one to follow rules, anyhow. Besides, I need something to get my feet wet again.

So, here goes, and apologies to any tags I’ve failed to acknowledge in the past. Really, I’m not a snob, you see…just shy.

Four Jobs You’ve Had

1. Waitress, of the cocktail, seafood restaurant, spaghetti house, fine dining, and retirement home varieties.
2. Solicitor. Yeah, that was my official title. I hung out on the boardwalk, too. And got paid $40 a score. (People! Minds out of the gutter, please! Interested in a time share? Free tickets to the local theme parks and a gift certificate to your favorite restaurant for two hours of your time…)
3. Manager-Trainee. At a bank. Shudders.
4. Title-less position (because that was the hip thing to do in those days) at a dot-com in the height of the dot-com era. My $10,000 investment? Um, let’s just say it was a nice write off a couple of years later.

Four Movies You Could Watch Over and Over

None, really. I just don’t get the fascination with watching movies again and again. Now, if the category were “Four Movies You Can Get Sucked Into on a Lazy Saturday Afternoon When You Accidently Turn the TV On”, I’d answer:

1. Dances with Wolves
2. Grease
3. Dirty Dancing
4. Christmas Vacation

But, really, it would only be because the evil TV made me do it…

Four Places You’ve Lived

1. Virginia Beach, Virginia
2. Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
3. Charlottesville, Virginia
4. Raleigh, North Carolina

Four TV Shows You Love to Watch

(blushing)
1. 24
2. American Idol (Only for the opportunity to scoff! Really!)
3. Survivor (10 seasons and still devoted. God, I’m sick.)
4. Grey’s Anatomy

And, really, I promise, that’s ALLLL I watch. I don’t even have cable! (Ok, so there’s the rare glimpse of Dancing with the Stars, and maybe, every once in a while, you can catch me watching Trading Spouses or The Super Nanny (Schadenfreude, folks, schadenfreude!), but really THAT’S IT.)

Four of Your Favorite Books

1. The Known World, Edward P. Jones
2. The Bird Artist, Howard Norman
3. A Walk In The Woods, Bill Bryson (Ass though he is)
4. All The Pretty Horses, Cormac McCarthy

Four Places You’ve Been on Vacation

1. Spain
2. Greece
3. Yellowstone National Park
4. Edisto Island, South Carolina

Four Web Sites You Visit Daily

1. Google
2. My Favorite Blogs (yeah, you’re guilty, too)
3. Bueller?
4. Bueller?

Four of Your Favorite Foods

Only Four?!
1. Macaroni and Cheese — the REAL kind
2. Coffee Ice Cream
3. Tomatoes
4. Cheese

Four Places You’d Rather be Right Now

1. Yellowstone National Park
2. Africa
3. A Coffee Shop, with my knitting
4. The Beach

Four People I’m Tagging

1. See No Evil
2. Hear No Evil
3. Speak No Evil
4. The Mailman

Wow. What can I say? Have you ever got the feeling you’re on the cusp of something, but exactly what, you’re unsure? [Waving Hand] That’s me, right now.

This entry won’t be so introspective, or well thought-out, or witty, or anything, really. I’m just marking the moment.

I started a job last week — a very part-time job. I’ll be working 10-12 hours a week, both from home and at the client’s site. The work is scheduled to be completed in October, but I’ve reasonable suspicions that this could become a quasi-permanent position. As it is, the income will be very nice, and will relieve some of the pressure we’ve been under the past two and a half years.

This week, I received the required readings for the doula certification process, and I’m beginning to cobble together child-care to cover the time I need to be away for the training workshop in April. I’m finally at a point in my life where I think I can pursue this goal I’ve had for several years. Perhaps, if I’m lucky, by this time next year, I’ll be heading off in the middle of the night to help a woman in labor. How cool is that?

And, finally, I recently made the decision — very confidently, in fact — to put my kids in pre-school only three days a week next year. I’d toyed with the idea of putting Zoe in five days a week, primarily based on pressure I’d (irrationally?) felt from other mothers doing the same. But, in a moment of clarity, I realized I truly wanted a few whole days with my children — now while the time is available. Realizing this was the way I truly felt was, in some ways, a watershed event for me.

These three things, coming together at the same time, mark that something I feel I’m on the cusp of. I don’t know exactly what it is, and I don’t know if it will be successful, but, maybe — just maybe — I’m hitting that stride I’ve sought for so long.

Oh. A blog. My blog. Totally and utterly neglected, like I’d like to neglect my dog. Life has gotten crazy, and crazy doesn’t make for good writing. Or even bad writing.

I’ll be back.

Good neighbors and friends who are willing to bail you out of a pickle — on a moment’s notice. Today’s pickle? Oh, just the minor problem of arriving at school to drop your kids off only to discover there’s no school today. This normally wouldn’t be a problem at all, except, it just happens to be my first day of work at a new job. Whoops. Minor problem.

Thanks, Holly, for keeping this one off the “teetering” column.

And just what this all says about my organization skills? Well, that’s one for the “Things That Make You Go Hmmm” category.

Those cute clothes I was talking about a while back? One huge caveat: boys briefs. As if the clumsy cut and construction weren’t bad enough, they then add cartoonish characters in garish colors that, though intended to be cute and funny, come across as down-right scary. Think “Clowns.” SCARY. CLOWNS.

Needless to say, I’m not posting a picture to illustrate my point. Just take my word on it. Really, you don’t want to go there.

Several years ago we were vacationing with a group of friends in the mountains. Some of our friends had children at the time; we had a dog. We were sitting on the porch discussing the fatal load of “stuff” that seems to creep into every home beginning the moment a child is born and ending…well, never. Pack ‘n Plays. Wipes Warmers. Bouncy Seats. Swings. Stuff. I tried my best to remain silent, painfully aware that my dog ownership — despite its unbelievably taxing demands on our family — hardly qualified us to have an opinion on the topic. When the topic turned to the amount of, and highly-specialized nature of, toys available to kids these days, I felt I could, at last, have some say. Had I not been a kid once? Had I not played with toys once?

“It’s all marketing. Kids don’t need black and white mobiles at 1.3 months of age, followed by soft-and-scratchy toys at 2.4 months of age, followed by whatever developmental toy is deemed to be necessary at the next stage of growth. Kids are resilient AND smart. Sure, they need stimulation, but pots, pans and Tupperware can do wonders.”

I was met with silence. One woman, finally, spoke up.

“You’re wrong, Kristy. Wrong.”

“Really? Seriously? Look at you. You’re a well-functioning adult. We all are. And I seriously doubt you had a black and white mobile dangling over your crib at 1 month. Do you think you suffered for it?”

Again, silence. And then, “Yes, actually I do. I think my mother could have done a better job selecting toys for me at different ages of my life. I hope to do that better job for my own kids.”

I shut up, and went back to being a mere dog owner. I didn’t agree with her, but I wouldn’t let what I perceived as her own emotional hang-ups color my beliefs. I wasn’t going to be the one worrying about what toys I handed my children, fearing long-term repercussions on their well-being should I make the wrong choice, but, if she wanted to be that kind of mom, so be it.

And when my child was born a year later? A black and white mobile hung from her crib.

Of course, it didn’t, really. (A mobile perfectly coordinated with her room decor did.) But, figuratively, that black-and-white mobile dangled above her crib single-handedly forming nerve paths and boosting IQ points well into her toddler-hood. For all intents and purposes, my daughter ended up with all the developmentally - appropriate - or - is - it - really - a - marketing - scam toys she could have wanted.

So much for my conviction. Sort of. I hadn’t pulled a 180 as much as I’d simply seen the other side of the story. Every time I dangled one of those Einsteinian toys in front of her, I felt both ridiculous and positively “MOMMY!” at the same time. I was stimulating her growth! I was a marketing executive’s fool! In reality, things were probably somewhere smack in the middle of the pendulum, but my beliefs sat squarely on the pendulum, swinging from one side of the matter to the other. Entirely ambivalent.

Flash forward nearly four years.

During a chance encounter with, essentially, a complete stranger, the question of my “employment” came up.

“I stay at home with my kids,” I answered.

“You’ve made the best choice. Absolutely, the best choice.”

What was intended to be encouragement and an “atta-boy” struck me, instead, as unbelievably arrogant and self-righteous. I thought to myself, “Really? Just how is it the ‘best choice’? How could he possibly know?” I wasn’t offended as much by the fact that he’d unwittingly insulted the choice I’d made just two years earlier (I’d continued to work from the time my daughter was born until the time my son was born — only then had I decided to stay at home), as much as I was offended by the fact that he felt so sure about my current choice. I, myself, having had the experience on “both sides of the fence”, could clearly see advantages and disadvantages to both sides, and, simply, couldn’t be as sure about my choice as he was, apparently, for me. I’m not saying I think I’ve made the wrong choice in staying at home, I’m simply stating I can’t so easily, completely, and confidently endorse my choice at the expense of the other option. Again, entirely ambivalent.

My ambivalence on so many parenting issues isn’t a manifestation of any lack of confidence; it’s decidedly not an indicator of second-guessing my own decisions. Instead, I believe my ambivalence has at its root my ability to consider — and respect — the many sides of any issue. It’s more than a matter of respectfully ceding personal decisions to their rightful owners; it’s a matter of truly empathizing with more than one side of so many issues.

It all sounds so respectful and mature, this empathetic ambivalence of mine. But, really, a good dose of strong conviction would do me no harm. Conviction can be convenient, and not speciously so. It can be a salve upon your worries, a reassurance to your concerns. Conviction can be a sturdy boat in a stormy sea of questions. Stand upon your convictions, and you stand tall. Ambivalence isn’t such solid ground. Often I find myself seeking terra firma, but never — quite — getting there. Knowing where I stand? A noble pursuit. Too bad I must cross middle ground in my noble journey. I’m, too often, caught in its quicksand.

Yesterday afternoon, as I pondered this issue in my head (and on my keyboard), I watched my kids play together, entirely contented. For a moment, I had no desire to interject myself into their play — they were self-assured and happy. Moments later? I wondered whether I should get down on the floor and more fully engage myself with them. Tupperware vs. Einsteinian Toys. The debate rages on…

Perhaps I should return to the days of mere dog ownership. It was far more convenient.

XM satellite radio. With its myriad offerings and commercial-free broadcasts, I’m finally tuned in to music again.

Of course, the kids are, too. Just why did I have to introduce them to XMKids? Not one of my smarter moments. Yeah, we tune in. And we like it, dammit.

At least I haven’t quite sunken to the depths of the mother who called into said show and requested a song — for herself. Happy Meals? Check. Video distraction? Check. Wearing the same clothes two days in a row? Yeah, Check. Calling in to a children’s radio station to make a request? SO. NOT. GOING. THERE. Please?

I’ve never been a jewelry person. A ruby ring lost in the backyard when I was in third grade put a sour taste in my mouth for the stuff and, apparently, it has never washed away. It’s a rare day when I have earrings on. Rarer, still, a day with a necklace or bracelet. All of them at once? Almost never. A lone wedding band and engagement ring adorn my left hand, and, most days, that is all.

Until this holiday.

On Christmas morning, I opened up a small box from my mother. At the same time, my sister opened up another box just like the one that lay in my hands. Diamond necklaces. Thirty small stones arranged in a circle and set in platinum, the dismantled and reassembled pieces of a family heirloom watch.

“Wear it with your t-shirts. Wear it every day,” my mother said. She knew I wasn’t used to such finery. “Just enjoy it.” She’d had the watch for years and seldom wore it. Although exquisite, it simply wasn’t practical. With these necklaces, she’d wanted to give us memories we could wear, and enjoy, every day. And so I do.

Soon after I started wearing the necklace, I noticed my daughter paying particular attention to it. She cranes her neck to get a better view of it, and, while we’re snuggled in bed reading stories, she slowly reaches a hand out to touch the shiny object. Like a magpie, she is, curiously drawn to hoard shiny things.

Similarly, I can remember sitting next to my grandmother in church, playing with her bracelet. For each child and grandchild, a silhouette charm dangled from the chain. I’d sit there, pawing each silhouette, and daydream about a million things: Hills and trees. Tobacco sheds and battered barns. Sunshine and stained glass. A rosary of dreams, now returned as memories. My mother’s gift this holiday packaged more memories than she realized. I can only suspect Zoe’s doing the same when she reaches for my own necklace. Daydreaming of a million things.

At first, it startled me to have her grab at the necklace. I was too touched-out from a long day to abide the curious hand seeking the trinket around my neck. My initial reaction was one of selfish recoil. I wonder if my grandmother suppressed a similar reaction when I reached for her bracelet so long ago? If she did, she never let it show. She’d sit there, patiently, and let me dream my dreams, ostensibly paying more attention to the preacher in the pulpit than my curious hands. Only now, I wonder just how devoted she was to his words. Maybe, she, too, was absorbed in a little daydream of her own, ignited by the shiny trinkets dangling on her wrist.

I wonder this, you see, because I’ve since come to follow my grandmother’s lead. When Zoe’s magpie now seeks that shiny necklace of mine, I no longer rebuke her advances. I let her finger and paw the pendant and find her way through her dreamspace. And sometimes, I find myself there, too.

“Mommy, come to my party!”

“Can I bring my knitting?,” I asked, sheepishly. (Really, Kristy, you could give her your full attention. But I have to finish this sleeve! Really, I do!)

“Yes, you can. It’s a knitting party and a birthday party. With cake!”

That’s my kind of party.

(Hope you liked the cake, Ms. Pea)

A week of near 70 degree temperatures in January. Last year, the opportunity to be thankful was lost upon me until it was too late. Not so, this year.

I’ll take that as an achievement.