Raw Drip

I’m sick and tired of getting into trouble with Adam’s teacher. Lately, everytime I drop him off, I learn about some crucial thing that I forgot to bring in – a library book, a parental release form, cupcakes for the class party, or worse, homework assignments (yes – 4 year olds get homework these days!). Between two kids, two schools, two jobs, and too much crap for two to do, Dick and I are left looking and feeling like the most disorganized, neglectful and careless parents in the class.

Our inability to coordinate with one another was recently highlighted when I walked Adam into his class one morning and a sea of kids in red t-shirts greeted us. Adam, with his gleaming white shirt on, stood out like a sore thumb. Apparently, it was red shirt day and I didn’t read the memo – again. If I had seen it (Dick forgot to bring it in to show me), I would’ve learned that red shirts were mandated by the teacher for the class field trips to the library.

As I struggled to explain, Miss Melissa said to me, “Well, ‘mam, I explained the process in the note I sent home with Adam yesterday. You know, you should try to read everything we send home with him to avoid these types of situations in the future.”

(Is it just me, or was that kinda’ bitchy?)

You see, like most naughty children, I find myself pointing in Dick’s direction and saying the adult equivalent of, “But it was his fault….” everytime the teacher calls ME out for something WE’ve screwed up. It usually is Dick’s fault; he’s notoriously bad about bringing in the kids’ backpacks or notes from the teacher.

Then again, maybe we are both screw-ups? I mean, I think we assumed (wrongly) that Miss Melissa, being a parent of 3 kids herself, would understand what it’s like to juggle family, work, marriage, etc. and give us a little latitude. After all, he’s 4; it’s PRE-Kindergarten – and I’d like to point out – they’re not curing cancer, here.

For the record, I’m the one doing all the homework, anyway. Adam’s assignments always come with instructions like, “Draw a rocket ship and then have mommy or daddy write a three-page story about what you would do on a trip to Mars”. Hardly a fair distribution of workload if you ask me.

So, what’s the big deal if we forget to turn in the occasional homework assignment? Who really cares? Well, Miss Melissa cares – deeply. I haven’t figured out yet if she cares because it’s the one, tiny little scrap of power she has in this world – shaming delinquent parents – or if she cares deeply for our son and fears for his future living amongst such hopeless flakes. One thing is certain, if Pre-K is the educational equivalent of training wheels for children AND their parents, Dick and I keep falling off the bike and skinning our knees.

Good news for all you shameless jewelry whores out there: no more waiting around for your husband or partner to buy you that dazzling diamond ring you want (and deserve, damnit!).  No more scrimping to save money to buy yourself one of those popular right hand diamond rings, either.  Those right hand rings are lovely – for mass-marketed jewelry, that is – but they lack imagination or panache, especially when compared to the alternative I stumbled upon recently…

LifeGem is a company that produces manufactured diamonds made from carbon extracted from your deceased loved one’s (or pet’s) cremains.  How’s that for ingenuity!  Not to worry – you don’t have to wait until your cheap bastard husband croaks to get that precious carbon sample you need for your new rock!  LifeGem can also work their geophysical magic with something as simple as a lock of hair or a few baby teeth shed during early childhood.  

Can you imagine the look on your husband’s face when you show off 3 carats, of colorless, flawless diamond fabulousness, as you reveal that it was made from his forgotten childhood collection of  yellowed bicuspids shed in the 2nd grade?  Come on – what else says true love more than wearing around a dazzling piece of your soul mate & life partner?  Those bicuspids never looked SO good!

And, unlike your actual mate, a diamond will last forever and it will always look good, and, more importantly, it always make YOU look even better!  Once you get over the initial ick factor of jewelry made from your loved one,  a memorial diamond really is a great way to honor your love – to make it truly eternal - right? 

Well, at least that’s what I thought until I read this customer testimonial from LifeGem’s website: 

“…Thank you so very much…it (the LifeGem diamond) is absolutely stunning. I opened the box, and there it was..the exact color of my mother’s eyes!”

Ew.  Okay, so that pretty much ruined it for me.  Let’s just say that this whole concept now falls squarely into my personal discomfort zone, along with bizarre customs like wakes and private viewings.  Creepy!

So, on second thought, maybe a manufactured, mass-marketed diamond isn’t so bad after all?  Maybe something that lasts forever is special enough on its own -  paid for in bits by your husband, rather than MADE FROM bits of your husband.  A diamond is almost certainly forever, but a lifetime of love and friendship wouldn’t be nearly as precious without an expiration date.

In case you were wondering about the lack of new material lately, I can assure you – I’m not dead yet.  I’ve just been really, really busy planning Dick’s birthday surprise. 

Birthdays are getting harder every year.  Not only are we getting older, but the stuff we really want to get and to give is getting much more expensive.  With Dick, for instance, gone are the days of buying him some new $50 software or the latest $100 gadget.  As far as tech toys are concerned, he’s priced himself out of the $200 spending cap I have on birthdays.   That leaves a card & some birthday cake as his usual gift.  Last year, I gave him a piece of the Berlin Wall I won for $25 on eBay – a gift that I suspect may been “accidentally” left behind during our frantic relo to Florida this spring.  Aside from that, I think last year’s gifts may have consisted of a firm handshake and joke about his graying temples.  For Dick, the birthday situation is made worse by the fact that Tabitha’s birthday is exactly 7 days after his.   For the past 3 years he’s pretty much gotten the kind of after-thought gift that screams, “I don’t have time for this!” and, maybe a slice of birthday cake if he’d been really, really good. 

But this year, I vowed it would be different.  This year, he’d actually get a birthday present that might make him feel acknowledged, appreciated, and maybe even slightly less old.  I know that this is exactly the kind of gift I want for my birthday.  In fact, I’m pinning my hopes on jewelry – the kind that’s large enough to be considered vulgar and showy to all the women out there who are jealous of my youth, natural beauty and stunning good fortune… 

So, after much consideration, I decided to splurge a little for the only two things that he and most men never get enough of, and actually want for their birthdays - sleep and sex.  Let’s face it, as working parents we don’t get either of those things as often as we need or want, and when we do, sometimes the quality is, well, a bit lacking.

(DISCLAIMER: World, let it be known that my “quality” remark is strictly referencing sleep and NOT sex as regards my husband.  He is a sexual dynamo  – a stallion, a powerhouse – and I have absolutely nothing to complain about.) 

It took me well over 4 years, WAY more than $200, and a ton of lies, bribes & manipulation to get away from the life-sucking death-grip of our own offspring for just slightly over a day, but we managed it.  And, for the record, it was totally worth it.  We stayed at a lovely beach resort where we ate in restaurants largely devoid of children – without paper place mats or free crayons at the hostess station.  We slept in past 10 a.m. on expensive white sheets with a cashmere blankie, and we had sex in broad daylight without once saying, “Sorry, but can we wrap this up, soon? I’ve only got 10 minutes before nap time is up and I need to go to the bathroom”.   Yes, our time away was luxurious – it was special and it was wonderful. 

Sadly, today, the day after Dick’s birthday was the toughest for him – like a reality whiplash. Not only was he facing the world a year older, but he was doing so at home - with two children, a job, a mortgage, a wife, a demanding career and, on top of that his first really relaxing zen-like retreat in 4 years was over.  Bummer.  Yep, it sucked to be Dick today. 

I, however, have another 4 + months before I have to face down the spectre of the big three-seven.  In the meantime, I’m flying high still enjoying the burst of energy I obtained from this weekend’s much needed downtime.  When I think about it, essentially, I got to enjoy Dick’s birthday way more than he did and without that pesky aging thing killing my buzz.  In fact, I liked this brand of “giving” so much, I think I’ll give him something really great again next year – maybe a Caribbean cruise, a spa visit or a new Marc Jacobs handbag!  Yeah, maybe birthdays aren’t so bad after all…