This Is What Happened Today

Today I went to my son's 6th grade graduation and was surprised to get tears in my eyes during the final slide show. After all, I had been to my daughter's 3rd grade graduation/slide show earlier and remained unmoved throughout.

It's not what you think. I don't care about getting old, having a son old enough to graduate from 6th grade, miss him as a baby, or wonder how and why it has gone by so quickly. In fact, I enjoy aging, think Sam is more fun and interesting the older he gets, don't care for babies, and it actually seems like a long time ago that he was born.

But remember how awesome 6th grade is? How you "rule the school"? In the slide show kids were dancing funny, wearing cool clothes, laughing, and generally acting like the teenagers they are about to become. They have no idea what's ahead of them. Jr. high isn't all that bad, but there's certainly no playgrounds there. Those kids struck me as wonderfully naive. And every year from here on out they will get less and less and less naive. It's sad. But they're excited and it will be OK.

After my reverie we were out to the parking lot to load up and go home. Ben, my 6 year old, bumped the car next to us with his door. Yes, yes, I know this is horrible. The owner of the car was going nuts with anxiety and hand signals to me trying to convey what happened. Dude! I know what happened. It happens all the time, like every day--either to me or because of me.

So I go over to the lady's window to deal with the incident, as I'm sure she will always remember it. There was a little white mark which I wiped off with my finger and no dent. But I don't shirk responsibility so I said sorry and all that and asked her nicely (I mean, I'm a jerk--but I'm a two-faced jerk) what she wanted me to do because she just really seemed like she wanted me to do something, besides wiping it off with my sweat finger. And yet, there was no further repair work to be done. She was frustrated. I can't say I blame her. Kids are frustrating. She finally exclaimed, "Well just tell him to be more careful!"

So, is what I'm going to do is: First--Tell Ben to be more careful. Second--Sit back and enjoy how wonderful everything is going to be after I tell him to be more careful.

And I spent the rest of the day opening otter pops. So there you have it.

Take Another Little Piece of My Heart

You wouldn't think to look at him that this man and I are so alike. If I saw him somewhere--anywhere--we probably would not end up talking to each other. For one, he's old. Sorry old people. I know it's not fair and I know it will come back to bite me when I'm old AND I know that many people think I am old already BUT I don't care because they are young and while I might OCCASIONALLY underestimate an old person, it's much more likely to overestimate a young one.

Plus, this guy is wearing some kind of wacky pocket square. When you know who he is and that he's Irish, it's actually quite charming. But on the face of it, uhhhh-it's a turn off.

Turns out, he's an author named Frank Delaney. I read Ireland and now I'm reading Tipperary. I recommend these books but it's not like they are the most amazing books I've ever read. It's just that I feel so much in common with Frank. He points out a detail that I am at that second wondering about. The simple kindnesses he describes are the kindest things I can think of. It's a little uncanny. There are other books I like, but it's not the same. I've never met Frank Delaney and I have no idea what he's really like but if he could write this book, I love him.

I feel like that about other things, too. Sometimes someone might say something on a blog or recommend some music. And then I listen to the music and I think, if they love this music like I love this music than they have won a little loyal piece of my heart. It can even happen with church talks. And other things.

Before I get all sappy on you I should probably explain that usually the opposite of this happens. As in, if you think Aflac Insurance commercials are funny then I know I probably hate you. Or, if you post a link to Dr. Laura we might not have that much to talk about. Or, if you wear wacky pocket squares I'm sure our souls don't match.

And I Get to Take Codeine

Isn't it boring when people tell you about their migraines? I mean, it's right up there with fibromyalgia accounts and narratives about carbs. Nevertheless, I get freaky, debilitating migraines and I'm going to tell you about them now. I will try, however, to only tell you the interesting parts.

Picture me in third grade at a dress rehearsal for a fairy tale showcase wherein I played a bear, Jenna Martin played a fairy, and my beloved Brent Hamilton played the prince who doesn't have ANY scenes with the bear. My mom had made me a complete bear suit--ears, paws, and all--out of brown terry cloth. I carried a metal honey pot and was proud of my authenticity. The year before I had played "narrator" in a class presentation of The Wizard of Oz and at that age it's exciting because you think you might one day be an actor. Or a writer. Or a nurse. Or a spy--you just have to decide which. Anyway, my teeth went numb on stage. I felt hot and horrible and I threw up. One half of my body went numb. Then I got a headache. That's the first migraine I remember.

My migraines are preceded by an "aura" of weird symptoms like numb teeth and hands. I also get dysphasia, which is a trip but kind of fun for people who are with me because I speak nonsensically. Another thing that can happen is a blind spot. It's really sort of disturbing and is often accompanied by nausea. Once in high school I was sitting in seminary and felt a migraine coming on. I figured I could get my bag and coat and head out the door before it really got going but this time I went totally blind. It was a scene, man. I bumped into stuff and my gallant seminary teacher who I was, surprisingly, NOT in love with put his arm around me to help me out and--as I stumbled--caught me up in a magnificent swoop and "carried me out the door just like a bride," as the incident would later be described. Inevitably it was assumed by the sem-hedrin that I was on drugs and/or had an eating disorder and had fainted from anorexia. I just realized I do miss high school. People never think I'm on drugs or anorexic anymore.

I had a bit of a bad migraine spell after Maggie was born. My leg went numb and stayed numb. Ever the hypochondriac (I HAVE had pleurisy), I thought maybe I had multiple sclerosis. That's when I started seeing my middle-Eastern neurologist. He suggested I get a CAT scan to see if instead of migraines I'd been having a series of tiny little strokes. Isn't the prospect of that hideous? I'm not, so it's fine but here's the interesting part: After the CAT scan the technician (who does the whole thing but doesn't discuss the results) looked sympathetically at Christian and said, "Well, good luck with everything." I thought I was going to die. Those technicians, boy. They are in a great position to mess with people.

And the final interesting (I hope) and tragic bit about my migraines is that they can be triggered by both eating beef stick and drinking Nyquil. So if you have any kind of heart in you at all, throw a little sympathy my way for the deprivation of those two great pleasures in life. Perhaps when I am ready I will choose, as the Elephant Man chose to sleep lying down one last night on a pillow, to end it all in a beefy, salty, sneezing, achy, so you can rest stupor.

Also of note, I have one right now and I'm on drugs and you probably can't even tell. See? No big whoop. Although, it might actually be illegal to blog on narcotics. Keep on truckin'.

More Than a Status Update, Longer Than a Tweet--In Handy Paragraph Form

Life is so complicated (and SO wonderful!) with all my new technology. I always have to think, should I Tweet this? Or should I make it my new Facebook Status? Do I want to take the time to develop this into a whole blog? Or is this really best-suited to an e-mail (or a direct tweet or a wall comment) to a specific friend? Sometimes, when I feel subtle I like to "like" something on Facebook. It's as if I'm saying, "I'm understated and cool and busy with interesting things right now but hey, I'm thinking about you and I 'like' this."

What I prefer is just talking to people. No one has time for that, though. I guess you have to "know" someone in order to get to talk to them. It's not like "following." Or "adding someone." I'm so wordy. I wish I lived in an epistolary era. But I don't. It's bad enough that I have a litter of foster kittens. I can't also start writing people long archaic letters right now. I mean, just put me in a white dress and call me "Emily Dickinson."

Basically I Tweet about what I eat, I Facebook about when I sleep, and I blog about Tweeting and Facebooking. But sometimes I Tweet about sleep, too. Like the other night I Tweeted "2 tired 2 Tweet." Imagine me saying it in a baby voice! Adorable, no? (I'm really hoping to use Twitter to highlight other adorable things about myself in the future.) Whenever I receive Tweets or status updates or anything like that I take it as a special message just for me. It's more fun and flattering that way. Like with Mindy Kaling (Kelly from The Office). I watch her on The Office and then the next day she sends me a Tweet about it. Pretty cool. We're friends. We're imaginary friends. No harm done.

It occurs to me that all of this is kind of strange and desperate. But I like it. Growing up I always had one or two best friends. Then as a married person we had to find couple friends--not easy. Now Mindy Kaling is my friend. Fantastic! Truthfully, it really bothers me that she doesn't care about me as much as I care about her. But I can live with it.

Social networking is a really great way to stay in touch with people and I love that. Then again, it's so easy to stay in touch with people that you don't really earn your friendships. Does it mean anything? Is it thoughtful to wish someone a happy birthday because Facebook told you to? I mean, it's certainly not thoughtless. But it's also not the same as buying me a present and bringing it to my house. I'll take what I can get and I'll be happy about it, of course. I just need to work on creating boundaries between myself and my online friends. Do you know how many seats I was saving at the movie theater for all the Twitterers who "invited" me to see Star Trek with them? A lot, but no one showed.

My Name is Kacy Faulconer and I'm a Mutant Just Like You (I Used Telepathy to Tell You That)

I just saw X-Men Origins: Wolverine and I liked it. I'm not going to apologize for that in the same way that the over-laugher who sat next to me in the theater isn't going to apologize for every loud and incorrect prediction he made during the movie. "Terminator, " he assuredly bellowed during the preview for Pandorum. "Gambit," he confidently exclaimed during Deadpool's first big scene. Whatever, man. People like us don't have to say, "Oops. Not Terminator." or "Oops, not Gambit--There, that's Gambit, heh heh. My bad."

I certainly have no need to say, "I know it's getting bad reviews and also that I'm a grown woman and should maybe be a little more sophisticated but I'm not because, well, I just really like coolness and in my book slow-motion fight scenes equal coolness and--oh, yes--I'm not being ironic or sarcastic or post-modern. I actually just think Wolverine is a good movie."

See ya at Star Trek next week where my buddy will be heard to remark, "There! That's Picard!"
Skadoosh.