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“Speak The Truth” was the theme of the Human Rights Campaign “HRC” gala dinner in Los Angeles.  It was a star-studded evening and I had a chance to chat it up with some of the fabulous celebs that walked the red carpet before the big event.

Michael Manning- Real World DC

B- How was coming out on National TV on Real Word DC?

Michael- “Think of the hardest thing you’ve ever done and have a million eyes on you while you’re doing it.”

B- Any advice you’d give LGBT youth?

Don’t let other people tell you how to live.  You’re born a certain way…just be who you are, show the world that we’re your doctors, your lawyers, we teach in your schools, we drive your busses, we’re just as boring as anyone else so give us the same rights.

Jillian Michael’s from The Biggest Loser

This is a cause that I’m very much behind.  I think it’s extremely important that we support this.  I actually don’t even know what to tell you; it doesn’t even make sense that we’re even here right now, but I’ll do whatever it takes to be supportive.

B- Is this your first HRC event?

Jillian- Yes it is and I’m here to support Suze Orman and KT, her lover; they’ve been tremendous friends and mentors of mine.  I’m very excited.

Kathy Griffin’s mom-

We need marriages to last – I think everyone should get married.

Louis Van Amstel- Dancing With The Stars

Meredith Baxter

Suze Orman and Portia Di Rossi dashed past to the gala right before dinner began.  The room was full of beautiful people laughing and toasting.  Suze Orman opened the evening  by saying,

I find it strange that we need a campaign for all the people in this room, including me.

The crowd cheered.

Over the clinking of dishes and bubbling champagne there were many moving speakers throughout the evening.   Joe Solmonese, the President of the Human Rights Campaign, gave an eloquent speech about how far we’ve come and where we are going.

We are the aggressors and they are the victims, that’s why the Perry trial couldn’t be televised…we are winning…changing laws is what makes life better.

US Senator Barbara Boxer received a standing ovation when she stepped onto the stage.  She spoke in support of the crowd before her with a determination to repeal “don’t ask don’t tell”.

“It is a privilege and honor to work with the HRC.  It is a powerful force and they ask just one thing from their country –to be treated equally.”

She went on to explain that we need to focus on the victories. “After more than 10 years of debate, the Matthew Shepard bill got signed into law.” She talked about ENDA- Employment Non-Discrimination Act.
“I’m going to pick up the baton and do everything I can until ENDA is signed into law.”  Barbara ended her speech  with,

marriage equality is a civil right, plain and simple.  If you make a commitment to honor and love, that’s marriage isn’t it?  I stand for marriage equality strong in my heart- from me to you.

Chelsea Montgomery-Duban, age 16, gave a speech full of laughter and tears.  She has been attending the HRC events with her two dads since she was 9 years old.

“My parents didn’t feel the need to run off and get married right away, but it was important to me. You see, they are both listed on my birth certificate, they are both my parents, but they were strangers in the eyes of the law…my family should have every basic right that is given freely to other couples in the country.  No one has the right to tell them who they love.  My generation isn’t going to sick back quietly and allow people that we love to suffer discrimination.  While I can’t vote yet and I am just getting used to driving, my drive for equality is unstoppable.  This is why I love HRC.”

Kathy Griffin rocked the house with screams and hollers.

“Hello gays and people that support them!”

As expected, she cracked some funny jokes, pitched her “My Life on the D List” show, and boasted about her dress for the gay men in the audience, but after the laughter she brought the house to tears when she began talking about the “don’t ask don’t tell” policy.  She read letters from a gay man in the military and his partner of 10 years regarding their feelings on the matter.  Their words were heart wrenching and a reminder of how truly unfair it is that gays and lesbians are serving a country that they believe in, yet that very country doesn’t believe in them.

Betty Degeneres (Ellen’s mom) introduced Portia de Rossi for the Visibility Award.  Portia explained that she felt awkward receiving an award from the HRC when they do so much and thanked them for their work on her behalf.

“I was an extremely closeted actress for the first few years of my career…I wouldn’t even drive down Santa Monica Blvd because I was afraid people would see me through the window and wonder what I was doing in the gay part of town.  Back then I thought it was no one’s business that I was gay…but over time I came to realize how selfish that is and how important it is to be visible. Because acting, while it’s a fine profession, isn’t really an important thing to do with your life compared to what you can do to advance acceptance and equality in society.  Despite the fact that TV executives tell me that being gay is no longer an issue, it will remain an issue as long as actors continue to hide their sexuality…there are only a handful of actors…brave enough to come out…”

She went on to explain how Proposition 8 changed everything for her;  she found herself having discussions with “so-called ‘liberal people’” about marriage:  “I developed a knack for turning any question into a discussion about gay marriage.  For example, ‘what are you wearing?’ I would say ‘a wedding ring’…talking really is the key ingredient to changing people’s opinions into real lasting change.”

It was a beautiful evening full of truth and a celebration of being one’s self.  So to those of you hiding in the shadows, come out, come out, wherever you are.  Cheers.

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All good things come to an end, and so we departed Telluride yesterday for home.  We made the most of our short trip and finished with a whoosh.

We began our final day with a snowmobiling tour with Telluride Snowmobiling Adventures, thanks to a few hours’ timeout arranged by the Peaks Resort with a local nanny service.  Our super cute and friendly guide, Sam Haury, suited us up with warm boots and goggles, and we hopped on our machines and sped off in the freshly fallen snow high into the mountains.  Sam stopped along the way to give us an educational tour of the historic spots, such as the Alta Ghost Town where miners and their families once lived.  We also learned that Telluride was the first in the world to have electric street lights (a week before Paris) thanks to the world’s first hydro-electric power plant built in 1904 to power the Smuggler-Union Mine.  By the end of our two-hour tour, we not only truly appreciated the beauty and history of Telluride, we were expert snowmobilers, flying over whoop-de-dos and winding our way around curves through snow-covered forests with ease.  It was a blast.  As Kira put it, “I couldn’t stop smiling.”

Midday, at last, I got to enjoy Telluride Gay Ski Week to its fullest by hitting the slopes.  Kira was sidelined by her back injury from our first day, so I went solo.  Being a single I found out wasn’t so bad at all.  I sailed right into the chair lift singles line and got paired for the ride with many interesting people, from tourists to locals, and even a four-year old.

I started off slow on the green-circle “easiest way down” slopes.  That’s when I met my four-year old chair-lift companion, who a ski instructor asked if I could “look after” as he scooted onto the take-off platform with me.  He was so tiny that even sitting as far back as he could he was on the edge of the seat, dangling his little legs and skis.  I noticed that he had on a special training vest with a loop stitched into the back whereby the ski instructor could get a grip on him.  Being a nervous mom, I grabbed onto the loop and held him until we reached the other side.  The he took off the chair lift like a pro.

My own runs down the slopes were the best ever in my lifetime skiing career. The snow was perfect.  No ice, groomed, packed powder, and I had the trails almost to myself.  Once I got my ski legs back, I headed for more technical terrain, and the entire day I fell only once, which I swore never to do again, as I was so out of shape that it took me at least five minutes to get myself back up.  Ugh!  Overall though, it was absolutely the best skiing I had ever experienced.

Our last night we had a fabulous dinner at Allred’s, the town’s premier fine dining establishment.  The restaurant has the best views in town, perched at 10,000 above sea level, at the midway point of the gondola between Mountain Village and the town of Telluride.  A first sign of the excellent service to come, the restaurant had a highchair awaiting us and had already cleared the steak knives from the setting for Stephen when we arrived.  Shortly after we were seated, the server brought out an ample portion of good ‘ol Mac n Cheese for our picky little eater, who, to our surprise, finished the entire plate.  We started off with an Alaskan crab salad (Allred’s is the only place serving the delicacy this time of year) with artichoke hearts and served on smoked salmon.  For our main course, Kira had a perfectly cooked filet, and I had a delicious (and certified sustainably harvested) Chilean Bass.  To accompany our entrees, we also had several scrumptious tasting plates of mussels, gourmet grilled cheeses, creamy parmesan spinach and spiced French fries.  Very satisfying!

After dinner we headed home.  After some warm milk, Stephen was out like a light.  Kira and I watched some Olympic ice dancing and then passed out ourselves.  A great end to a wondrous day.

We packed up and met our Telluride Express shuttle at 10:15 am, and after a long winding drive down the mountain we arrived at the tiny Montrose airport with plenty of time and not much to do.  Luckily we brought along sandwiches, so we ate at the one and only cafe at the airport, just outside the one and only gate waiting area, and boarded soon after.  The flight was uneventful, and Stephen was amazingly well-behaved for a two-year old, and thankfully, there was no vomiting this time.  But also no sleeping.  Play Doh and snacks helped wile away the hours until we finally arrived back at LAX, where our new nanny Sam picked us up.  Sam hopped in the back seat and tried to text her friends on the ride home, but Kira and I couldn’t stop telling her about how terrific our trip was.  Stephen interjected too, and tattle-tailed on Kira, “Mama slipped on the ice and dropped me.”  Stephen added that he wanted to see Grandma so he could also tell her that Mama slipped on the ice and dropped him.

It was nice to be home, unpack, get the laundry started and sleep in our own beds, but when I looked out the window, I wished I saw snow.  It was too short a trip to visit such an incredible place.  But as the locals kept saying, “You can always come back, and the summer season is even better!”

[photo credit: Flickr Greyskullduggery]

I’ve started doing yoga, just tonight, and I love it.

I’ve never exercised… not really. I don’t remember the last time that I went to a gym. My body is sore from lifting up my child and I wonder why. I’m out of shape!

Growing up broke, I think I felt a responsibility to go home after school, or work at my mother’s consignment shop to help out. Signing up for sports just hadn’t occurred to me and I told everyone that I wasn’t athletic or coordinated so that I was never considered for a team. Money for uniforms and sign up fees didn’t exist. I can also be a little dramatic, so getting hurt seemed like the end of the world.

Now that I have pushed a human out of my vagina, sans drugs, I feel as though I can take on the world and nothing can stop me… except for my achy back, throbbing shoulder, and sore knees. Time for a change!

I signed up for hot yoga and borrowed my sister’s mat so that it looked like I belonged there. Men and women poured in behind me as I was in the front of the room – as close to the instructor as possible as I had anticipated having many questions.

She explained a few moves and we jumped right in. I was good at it! I looked like a real yoga person – headband and all! But then, I started sweating. I looked at the girl next to me and she looked a bit dewy, but I wouldn’t say “sweaty”. Drops were plummeting to the floor and being absorbed by my orange bath towel (note to self – must purchase cool yoga towel). My nursing tank (yes, I wore a nursing tank because I don’t own a sports bra) was turning a different color because sweat was running down my cleavage and collecting at my built in bra. Again, I looked around. Nobody else seemed to have this serious of a problem…

I focused on my downward facing dog pose and took a few deep breaths. It felt so good.

I can’t wait for next week. Just me, my breathing, feeling my body… and also 15 really sweaty strangers looking up at my little rump in the air.

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[photo credit: Flickr member: myyogaonline]

BIG DEAL!

I find it crazy that the 2010 Census claims that they allow same-sex couples and that their families will be a part of the data collected as the 2010 Census forms reach American households this week. However, a large number of single LGBT members who live alone cannot identify their sexual orientation.

LGBT people are basically invisible in the survey that is supposed to reflect the diversity of America’s population – and that’s a big problem. The data collected impacts issues critical to every American – like our health care, our economic stability, and even our safety. And when LGBT people aren’t counted, then we also don’t count when it comes to services, resources … you name it.

The current “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy, which Obama wants repealed, makes it hard to accurately collect data on gays and lesbians who serve in the military. However, the hope is that the 2010 Census will show that more than 60,000 gays are serving their country, BUT will they lose their jobs for telling the truth on a survey that’s required by law?

For gay-rights supporters that say this is a positive move,  I say bullshit!  This is like saying that the new policy of allowing women to not wear panty hose is a positive move in their rights at work.  I find it so interesting and once again find myself getting angry.  Where’s “ACT-UP” when you need them in 2010?

I guess the question needs to be asked:  “What is the purpose of the Census?”

If it’s to collect accurate information about who comprises the population of this country, then more questions need to be asked.

I find this interesting…

The census should also bring to light a lot of misconceptions about the GLBT community, including issues such as gay poverty. One study showed that 20 percent of children with LGBT parents were living in poverty, while their straight counterparts were at 10 percent.

Let’s get one thing right.  It’s still not equal.  So sadly, I checked the box “Unmarried Partner”.  Hmm…I wonder what I would have checked if I resided in California, where I am still legally married?

The setting for my dreams is always outer space now. I float, free-falling in the vast darkness, surfing uneasily on undulating gusts of wind. Sometimes I am dressed in a space suit, but a dorky, homemade  space suit – the kind we used to make at summer camp during “Astronaut Week”: A helmet made from half a Clorox jug covered in aluminum foil, a mask of swimming goggles and a tissue paper-covered Slinky for an air hose.

Note to self: it’s your dream. Why must you scrimp, always going with the schmatte bargain wardrobe in it? Spend a little on the damn spacesuit; you’re worth it. Get Edith Head to design something fabulous. But nothing tucked in. I am an “apple” shape and – dream, shmeam, subconscious, shmubconscious -Mama don’t do tuck in.

I haven’t had an Earthly dream all week. I close my eyes at night and slowly hover above the ground, surfing away from my spaceship, drifting into the nothingness. I am lost, untethered, in both my waking and sleeping lives.  This morning, I stood in front of my bedroom window and wrote please help me in the frost. The “p” in “help” started to melt and ran down the glass to the sill in little frost tear drops.

I have been cut off from Facebook.

On Monday morning I received a notice that due to being phished, FB has disabled me. If you think that term, disabled, sounds a tad violent, let me just tell you that it pretty much describes the situation perfectly. I feel as violated, as pulled apart and subsequently, as marginalized as if Facebook thugs had come directly to my home in the middle of night, yanked me out of bed, wiped the Regenerist Night Repair serum right off my face, broke my bite guard in half, poked holes in my Breathe Right strip and left the toilet seat up. And then, oh cruel coda, came back to force me to tuck my pajama top into my pajama bottoms.

Where is Victim’s Assistance when you need it? God, I should have voted for the Republican Sheriff and Attorney General when I had the chance. What good are the bleeding heart, soft on crime Democratic  candidates to me now? I want revenge.

I got no Facebook wall to write on. No Facebook fan page. No daily Facebook salon with my girls. (Do you even remember me???) I got no Facebook Pathwords game at which – with a score of 1620; 1620! – I was number 2 of all my friends. No Facebook Scrabble at which I regularly get my ass kicked by my LA cousins and various online friends. Has someone started a “bring dr. strangemom back to Facebook” Facebook fan page? Did anyone even join????  How will I know what is going on in the world without my friends’ status updates? Is Barbara taking her dog for a walk today? Did Susan get my private message about Gary? Is Erika having salmon for dinner??? I will never know. I mean, you can’t count on Newsweek to report the essential shit.

If my blog had a soundtrack, right now it would be playing, “Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love To Town”. I don’t know why.

It is so fucking weird, being cut off from Facebook until they determine if I can be invited back. I imagine that before I am released of my persona non grata status I will have to take some sort of Karen Silkwood cyber shower, you know, scrub me down to my private password, put all my belongings in a plastic gray bucket, take off my shoes and my earrings and pass through the scam detector. With my luck, Facebook probably has one of the new “I-can-see-you-naked” machines which will surely set off alarms as they notice that full frontal me, nekked, bears absolutely no resemblance to the from-the-neck-up photos of my profile pictures, taken, oh, a million years ago. That’ll put the nail on my coffin.

For now, I am stuck here; waiting, as it were, in the hallway outside the Facebook Principal’s office, not knowing if this is a suspension or an expulsion. And I didn’t even do anything wrong, although my son suspects I missed a few early signs that I was being phished. It’s all so unfair. The last time I was in this situation was high school, when I was a part of a group that took over the Administration Building in order to end the war in Viet Nam. (Are you snickering at our hubris? Really? Well, did the war end or not? I’m just asking.) We were one scary, badass militant gang back there at Ulysses S. Grant High School. Stormed the Administration building, yes we did. Locked the motherfucker administrators out. I joined arms with Nina and Katherine and Davia and Rina and Allan and we sang “We Shall Not Be Moved”. Or maybe we sang “Sweet Baby James” because, let’s face it, that is a totally better song. We sang and chanted “get your asses out of classes” and we roared our terrible roars and gnashed our terrible teeth and we laughed our scary badass laughter when we got the word they were calling the pigs on us. Well, actually, we opened the doors and quickly filed outta there when we got the word they were calling the police, but that’s not the point.

The point is, I am bereft without Facebook.

And never mind the upside, which is that I suddenly have found, like, a gajillion more hours in the day to get shit done. In the time it used to take me to come up a pithy status such as, “Ann is…..going to get shit done today”, I can actually clean out the droppings of petrified lettuce and cabbage from the refrigerator crisper, wash all of Molly’s forty thousand dog beds which are scattered throughout our two thousand square foot house, add my name to the MoveOn.org and Humane Society petitions filling up my email Inbox, schedule a mammogram, cancel a colonoscopy,  and run out to get a bowl of Pho from that hidden joint in Southeast. Not that I did any of those things. I’ve mostly just been sitting here at the computer, robotically typing in my old username and password over and over again, and despairing at the “you have been disabled” notice I get every time. It’s like pushing the “replay” button on those old answering machines just to keep hearing, “you have no new messages”.

Thank God it’s Girl Scout cookie delivery week; otherwise, there’d be absolutely no reason to go on living.

If you are on Facebook, tell the others I have a new post out. Speak of me kindly.

I’ll be out by the spaceship, catching the waves. Cowabunga dudes.

Sophia is learning about her family.  We have been reading a series of amazing books by Todd Par that are themed around all kinds of families.  The other day we were out at Starbucks and Sophia put her arms around Susan and said “I love you so much Mom” then she came over, hugged me and said “I love you so much mama” and then she looked up at the people around us waiting for the coffees and said “My family”.

She hasn’t learned to censor her words for fear of disapproval; she loves with pure abandon from a place that knows no judgment.  Sophia has since introduced us as her family a couple more times to strangers.  She is so full of love that people can do nothing but celebrate along with her.  It is an amazing thing to see.

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Wee Leprachaun

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Make this St. Patrick’s Day fun for the whole family with fun crafts and recipes.

Materials

• Toilet paper tube
• Green craft foam
• Acrylic paints: green, skin-tone, pink, and brown
• Black permanent marker
• Tacky glue
• 4 brown pipe cleaners
• Decorative button

Instructions

1. For this crafty little decoration, first trace around the end of a toilet paper tube onto a piece of green craft foam.
2. Draw a 2 1/2-inch circle around the first circle, then cut them both out to create a hat top and brim and set them aside.
3. Next, using acrylic paints, paint the paper tube green. Add a skin-tone face and hands, plus rosy cheeks, as well as a band of brown paint around the back for hair.
4. Once the paint has dried, use a permanent marker to draw on facial and clothing details, then use tacky glue to stick on 3 coiled brown pipe cleaners: 2 in the back for hair and 1 around the face for a beard. For feet, fold another pipe cleaner in half, then tightly coil and pinch the ends, as shown.
5. Place the folded pipe cleaner inside the tube and glue the feet to the edge. Glue on the hat top and brim and a 5 1/2- by 1/2-inch strip of craft foam for arms.
6. Finally, glue a decorative button to the hat brim.

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Make a Green Stamp

Spread the luck o’ the Irish this St. Patrick’s Day with a homemade shamrock stamp. Use it to decorate paper place mats, coasters, tablecloths, or anything else your little leprechauns wish to dress in green.

Materials

• Heart-shaped cookie cutter (2 1/2 inches wide and long)
• Potato, cut in half
• Paring knife
• Green acrylic paint
• Paintbrush

Instructions

1. Press a heart-shaped cookie cutter (ours was 2 1/2 inches wide and long) into the cut face of a potato half.
2. With the cutter still in place, use a paring knife to cut the potato from around the heart (a parent’s job).
3. Remove the cutter, then dip the heart into green acrylic paint and press it onto the paper. Repeat to make two more leaves, then use a paintbrush to add a swish for the stem.

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Recipes

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Clover Cupcakes

It doesn’t take the luck of the Irish to make these St. Patty’s Day treats look so sweet — just a clever baking technique.

Ingredients

• Cupcake batter
• Cupcake tins and liners
• Aluminum foil
• White frosting
• Green food coloring
• Toothpick
• Green licorice (we used Twizzlers Rainbow Twists sold in a pack with other colors)

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Instructions

1. Place paper liners in 32 standard muffin cups, then fill each halfway with the batter.
2. For each cupcake, roll three balls of foil (ours were 2/3 inch in diameter) and insert them evenly around the perimeter between the liner and the tin, as shown.
3. Bake the cupcakes for a few minutes less than the package suggests (because there’s less batter per cup than usual), or until a toothpick comes out clean.
4. Allow the cupcakes to cool, then remove them from the tin.
5. Cover each with green frosting (our ratio was 1 teaspoon of green food coloring to one 16-ounce can of white frosting).
6. Use a toothpick to draw leaf veins, and insert a 2-inch-long piece of green licorice for a stem.

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Pot Of Gold

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Surprise your favorite little people today with these wee emerald pots filled with sweet, edible gold.

Ingredients

• 3-ounce box of lemon-flavor gelatin
• 6 limes
• Sugar
• 1 teaspoon of whipped cream

Instructions

1. Line an 8-inch square baking dish with plastic wrap, leaving several inches of overhang on each side (this will make removing the gelatin easier). Combine a 3-ounce box of lemon-flavor gelatin and 1 cup of boiling water in a medium bowl, stirring until the gelatin is dissolved. Stir in 1 cup of cold water, then pour the mixture into the baking dish. Cover the dish with plastic wrap and chill the gelatin for 4 hours or until firm, then slice the gelatin into 1/2-inch cubes.
2. Cut off the top quarter of each of 6 limes, then, without cutting into the fruit, slice a thin layer of peel from the bottom of each one to help them stand upright. With a small knife, cut around the inside of each lime’s rind to loosen the pulp, then spoon it out to make a shell.
3. Place a pinch of sugar and 1 teaspoon of whipped cream in the bottom of each shell, then fill each lime pot with gelatin gold. Makes 6.

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Crafts and Recipes brought to you by Disney Family Fun

This article I’m about to share with you is true, it’s because of reckless comments like this that I continue to push for family values for all human beings.  This is not only offensive, but extremely harmful to gay families, dare I say worldwide.  Here’s the deal, gay people are very proactive with Latinos in supporting their culture, making them feel welcome compared to their heterosexual counterparts, we understand what it’s like to be a minority.  However, in California, Proposition 8 was supported by a majority of Latinos.  This in part is because of their heritage, religion and upbringing.  We need to educate people, and this “Paquita” (“ita” usually means little, in this case they are completely incorrect – yes, my first jab).

I want every person in Latino communities around the globe to read this and make sure they understand what hatred is being spewed by this woman.

The good side of this…if there is one…

It’s people like her that keep me fired up and fighting for equal rights…or should I say keep me f*cking mad, fuel my fire and make sure that complacency is not an option in my life!

Here’s the article:

We’re used to Paquita la del Barrio hating on men but now the singer is also expressing her homophobia.

‘I rather see a kid die,’ said Paquita to Escandalo TV when asked if she wouldn’t like a gay couple adopting a poor kid off the streets, The singer, who’s made her fame by singing about heartbreak and comparing men to rats, didn’t stop there.

Her homophobic comments continue with the nonsensical ‘my respects to them, I love them very much but’… wait…. she loves gays or should we say ‘them’? If this is her idea of love no wonder Paquita has lots of songs about being dumped. Sure, we can’t expect much from her after all, she don’t seem very progressive and everyone is entitled to their opinion, but since this is our forum we’re going to highly disagree and recommend Paquita gets with the times before she turns into a rata de dos patas herself. Yes Paqui, te perdimos el respeto and kiss your gay fans goodbye!

I am having an affair.
A love affair.
With my house.
We are about to move – to a better school district, a sweeter kindergarten, and it’s a good thing. The right decision. But I cannot focus on that now.

I am in love.

I stare longingly at my fruit trees: grapefruit, orange, lemon. Hundreds of full and giant grapefruit hang overhead, the biggest deep within branches taller than the house, fruit that can never- should never?- be reached. The persimmon tree stands stark and naked now against the spring sky, for not until November will its deep orange, heart-shaped fruit appear. I won’t be here to see it, and will miss delivering boxes of the spicy stuff to Leo’s preschool, or to my friend Julie, who loves them. I have a recipe for persimmon cookies, but never got around to testing it. The crepe myrtle tree is not only my outdoor shelving unit – bird feeders, hummingbird nectar, and potted geraniums hang from her branches – but also the squirrels’ escape route, should our dog decide to give them a chase. She has no off-season, as pretty now -absent of foliage, all twisted, white, “petrified” wood -as in the summer, adorned in pink blossoms.  In the fall, a twinkling noise can be heard, like tiny copper coins. Tink tink tinkly tink. It is the sound of the crepe myrtle’s leaves, falling like rain on the patio, and it lasts for two days.

Inside, the affair continues. I take inventory of what we are leaving: the antique crystal doorknobs. Good morning, doorknobs. I will miss you. Our bedroom, warm light pouring in from the French door. Of all the rooms in which I’ve lain, this one rested me –me and my boys –best. I no longer curse the kitchen cabinets, which hang so low and close to the counters as to give me no cooking space at all.  Today I peer with gratitude into their cavernous insides, holding my ever-growing collection of holiday dishes and wonder where will I store those pieces now? Leo’s bathtub, toys scattered within. He fell in it once, reaching for the bubbles. Just toppled in, head heavier than legs, scaring me half to death. Now he’s a big boy and simply climbs in and out on his own. The stairs.  Stairs that no longer require the baby gate that was once the most important item on Peter’s To Do list. Turned out the baby gate was needed as much by our dog, who, not used to indoor stairs in the beginning, would throw himself off of the fourth-from-the-bottom step, slide dangerously fast on the wood floors below, and bodyslam into the front door. He eventually figured it out.

We’ve celebrated in this house: Thanksgiving feasts, Christmas Eve cocktail parties, a “dark purple dinosaur party” on Leo’s 3rd birthday, easter egg hunts. One Christmas, both sets of families stayed here -four grandparents, two aunts, one uncle, and us -all together under the same roof.  I doubt it will ever happen again, not because we drove each other crazy (we didn’t!), but because the new house just isn’t as big.

Peter gently points out that I’ve been through this before, that I had a love affair with the house prior to this one. At that time, I cried about leaving West Hollywood.  I cried over the lineoleum floors in this kitchen (those I will not miss). I cried about the new backyard that needed so much –so much –work.

But we did the work, didn’t we? We planted tomatoes, and peas, and basil, and gerberas. We tilled the soil, put up a fence, assembled and stained a picnic table. We drew a bath, threw a party, framed a painting, scrubbed the floors, hung a growth chart, laid a rug, baked some cupcakes.

I put my heart into this house.

And, like my crystal stemware, it’s time to pack it up, and take it with me.

On Friday afternoon, my son shouted at me because I wouldn’t buy him any more books at the school book sale.

“But, I gave you a budget,” I said.  “We talked about it.”

“You didn’t give me a big enough budget,” he returned.  “It was a stupid budget.”

Ouch.  I took a breath and then I gave THE SPEECH – the one about how some kids don’t get to buy any books, the speech that crescendos with the fact that “some kids don’t even have houses.”

The speech was met with stony silence.  Sure there was a moment when he looked up at me with what almost looked like compassion, but that quickly turned to need.  Whiny need.

“But I only got three books.  Three books is hardly any.”

Three books is three books and sometimes three isn’t enough.  Mostly, it seems, when you’re seven and a half, three isn’t enough.  Twenty isn’t enough.  Fifty isn’t enough.  And this makes me crazy.  It sometimes makes me want to give all the books and toys away.

Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote movingly about being given a real doll for Christmas.  Before she got the doll, she played with a corncob wrapped in a rag.  Yes, a dried corncob.  This corncob was enough and when she traded up for a soft doll with an embroidered smile, this new doll was enough, too.  When we read this section, I looked up from the page to gauge the reaction of my son.  Would he be happy with a corncob?

“But we have stores,” he said.  “I’m saving for an X-Box.”

We do have stores.  We have book sales and catalogs and online shopping and all of these things are as alluring to my kids as I think they would have been to Laura Ingalls Wilder if she’d only known about them.

Kids are born wanting more.  It’s nature’s way of making sure they survive.  Sure, an X-Box probably didn’t figure prominently in the original conception of survival of the fittest, but we can only adapt so fast.  Kids want it all because if they were alone on the prairie or the tundra or the veldt, they’d need it to get by.

My BIG SPEECH didn’t make much of an impression.  Instead, I asked my son to sleep on it.

“If you wake up wanting this book as much as you want it right now, we’ll see what we can do,” I said.

And the next morning he was on to something else.

Tanya Ward Goodman also writes at http://youdearestyou.blogspot.com and http://twgoodman.blogspot.com Most recently, her work has been published in the anthology “A Cup of Comfort for a Better World.”