Scarlet Letters

If there’s something about planning a wedding that has surprised me, it’s all the rules . I knew there was a “wedding industry” that pretty much thrived on satin and tulle. For the vast majority of us, there’s only one time you get to throw an all-out formal bash with caterers and flower arrangements. Unless you’re a professional party planner or work for one of those hoity-toity companies that does this kind of thing for the holiday party, a wedding is pretty much your only shot for black tie and rose petals. The thing is, I didn’t really plan my first wedding. I was all of twenty-two, desperately trying to finish my last semester of college and find a job before I graduated so my new husband and I would not starve. Times being what they were, I succeeded, but it was not without a herculean effort. I could not finish college, find a job, plan a cross-country move and do a wedding all in eight months. So I handed it over to my mom. I figured they were paying for it, so ...

ME: I've got coupons for Denny's, Logan's, Caffe Avanti and the Olive Garden. Oh, and Cold Stone Creamery. Yum. HIM: No. ME: Sorry? HIM: We can't go to Olive Garden. ME: You don't like Olive Garden? HIM: I like it fine. But every time I've taken a woman to Olive Garden we end up breaking up. ME: *laugh* You're cursed with Olive Garden? HIM: We are not going to Olive Garden. ME: Hon, I'm marrying you. See, ring and everything. HIM: I'm not taking the chance. ME: So wait, I'm condemned to a life without Olive Garden if I marry you? I can never darken the door of Olive Garden again? This was not disclosed when you proposed. HIM: You can go to Olive Garden all you want. I can go to Olive Garden all I want. We just can't go together. ME: What about a large group that all wants to go to Olive Garden? HIM: ... We can do that. ME: What about with the kids, as if we could afford that? HIM: That's okay. But not by ourselves, like a ...

Today I got into a fight on the internet. Despite my fiance's amused grins, I swear I don't look for these things, because I don't enjoy them. I like debate, but I don't like name-calling and meanness. So generally I try to ignore stupidity on the interwebs, because it's one of the few truly unlimited resources in this world. Today an acquaintance of mine posted the "bootstrap" quote from Martin Luther King Jr.: "It is a cruel jest to say to a bootless man that he must lift himself up by his own bootstraps." There was more to it, but that's the important part. Of course, a troll appeared, and to paraphrase, he indicated that these days the poor are "wearing $500 sneakers and need to pull their pants up." Well, that's the kind of stupidity that I will ordinarily pass by. Arguing with bigots online is like trying to empty the Atlantic with a shot glass. But someone else picked up the gauntlet and the joust began, which I r...

Q: Wait, what? You ran off to Florida and got married? A: Hell no. I have too many relatives with pointy weapons for that. No, we got engaged. Jimmy knelt down in front of Cinderella Castle, said something schmoopy and had the ring on my finger before I had the chance to say yes. He said he was hedging his bets. Q: You didn't get married? What's with the hats? Veil, top hat… ears. A: The hats were a present from my dad and stepmom. Not to be confused with the real thing. Cute, aren't they? Q: So that's not a wedding band? A: No, it's a promise ring. We're going to buy a wedding set next year after we save up some money. Jimmy may be crazy enough to marry me, but he's not crazy enough to buy a wedding set before finding out what I was gonna say. Q: You did say yes, right? A: Please note the changed relationship status on Facebook. I said yes. If I'd said no, my stepmother would have shoved me into the moat. Jimmy did say he considered superg...

Witness the story of Shannon Cooper, who was arrested at her daughter's high school graduation for cheering. Apparently the school had requested no one cheer until the end in order to expedite things, but Ms. Cooper yelled, "Yay, my baby made it!" when her daughter crossed the stage. Ms. Cooper was then escorted from the auditorium by police. Um, and then she was handcuffed and placed under arrest, driven to the police station and charged with disorderly conduct. There she was detained for several hours until she was allowed to post a $225 bond and go home, where the graduation celebrations had to be postponed. I have many thoughts on this. Sure, we've all been at events where obnoxious parents annoyed us. I once had to change seats at my son's orchestra concert two times because of parents who would not control their rambunctious toddler (who could not possibly be enjoying the concert anyway; try a babysitter) and a trio of snotty teenagers making fun of th...

I'm waiting on a prescription for a non-prescription medication. Does that make any sense to you? Because it boggles me. Last year my doctor recommended an over-the-counter medication for acid stomach. It's not outlandishly expensive, but at $22 for a six-week supply, I planned ahead. I included my budget for this medication in my flexible spending account enrollment. Lo and behold, after enrollment for insurance programs ended at my employer and it was too late to change my elections, the government ruled that FSAs could no longer be used to buy this particular medication. Thanks, guys. That extra $190 a year really must help you out. I discovered this when I tried to buy the medication and was told my FSA card could not be used. I was flummoxed, and contacted my FSA administrator. They confirmed what the pharmacy had told me, but said there was a regulation that would allow me to buy the medication with my FSA money if my doctor wrote a prescription for it. "Bu...

PHONE: *ring* J: Hello? ME: You might be the most frustrating man I've ever known, and that's saying something. J: What'd I do?? ME: Remember last week when a giant pile of laundry went through the wash and it got stuffed into baskets instead of being hung up so all the shirts and pants have to be re-dried? J: That was the kid. ME: And then we re-dried all the shirts and pants. So imagine my joy to venture into the basement and find all the laundry stuffed back into baskets. J: That darn kid! ME: THE KID IS IN MEMPHIS. J: ... oh. ME: There are these newfangled devices called hangers, and they magically lift your clothes off the floor into closets and then your clothes aren't wrinkled anymore and I don't have to dry a shirt three times to wear it. Is there something about having a penis that makes you and the spawn oblivious to wrinkled clothes? J: I wouldn't say that , exactly... ME: Hangers! J: I love you. He did do the dishes, though. Ain't...

Today marks the first full day of the delinquent's summer. To my utter shock, he did not qualify for the school district's summer school - I can only assume because of budget cuts, not because of his brilliant schoolwork. Therefore, I have designed Mom's Summer School. First comes the workbook: I found Summer Bridge to be the most useful and least onerous. That didn't save me from the theatrical eyerolls - nobody else's mom makes them do schoolwork in the summer, yanno. Too bad, so sad. The workbook is excellent; three or four lessons a day, including math, reading, English, science, etc. Each day he does a few lessons. Fortunately for me there is an answer key, since I had no way of knowing if his answers were correct. I could never homeschool; my math SUCKS. Then comes the other stuff. A daily journal entry. Book reports due each week, alternating with essays - he can write an essay about any subject that interests him, as long as it's a full page. We will...

My folks are heading out of town for their anniversary. Me: So what's so exciting about Indiana? Dad: French Lick. Me: ... See how I'm not saying anything? Dad: I know, it's the perfect straight line. Me: Saying nothing at all, just sitting here. Stepmom: *mumbles in background* Me: What did she say? Dad: She said French Lick for our romantic anniversary getaway. Stepmom: *evil giggles* Me: Great, I need therapy now. Tell her I'm sending her the bill. Dad: *laughs*

The woods have fallen silent with the death of Jean Craighead George. George wrote more than 100 books, but the one that comes to my mind is My Side of the Mountain. It tells the story of a boy who runs away from "a life of quiet desperation," as the linked obituary calls it, and lives on the land. He hollows out a tree for his home, trains a falcon to help him hunt, and seeks to live as Thoreau did. George excelled at this kind of character, one that has a deep respect and affinity with nature. Sometime in elementary school, I won an essay contest with a short treatise about conservation. I cannot for the life of me remember what I wrote, but I know I won a beautiful sketchbook that they called a coloring book, and a copy of My Side of the Mountain.  It was an important book for me. I read it several times. It planted the seeds for my fondness for backpacking. There is a certain self-sufficiency and freedom that comes with walking into the woods with everything you ne...

A few weeks ago, before the fit hit the shan with the car, we found a giant L-shaped wooden desk on Craigslist and bought it for the Tower.* It's a freaking behemoth of a desk - seriously, even in parts, we had to take two doors off their hinges just to get it up the high, narrow stairs into the Tower. Did I mention it was made of solid wood? The owners helpfully took it apart for us and gave us the six or seven large pieces, umpteen drawers... and a bag full of hardware. No instructions. Therefore we have been procrastinating for weeks. I helpfully delegated the task to Jimmy and the Spawn when I had to work a Sunday shift this weekend. I ain't no dummy. ME: Thanks for the work you did on the desk. I imagine it took a while for you two to put it together. JIMMY: Heh. Heh heh heh. Yeah. ME:It's shiiiiiny. And now that you know how it goes together, you'll know how to take it apart when it comes time to move again! JIMMY: ... No. ME: What, we're never movin...

At least, we're pretty sure we can blame it on our ghost. Sure, it was kind of cute when she was hiding my shoes. Almost funny the way an earring missing since before we moved magically appeared on the kitchen floor in time for me to step on it. Jimmy's busted tire was no big deal. Less cute was the massive sewer backup which required our poor landlords to excavate and replace the sewer line. But now my Toyota has a bad transmission. The initial quote is $1600. Yes, we're hunting around for a better deal and alternatives that might lower the price, but regardless, we have some serious cash to raise. We're liquidating our vacation savings, my 401(k) and selling off whatever furniture and electronics we can. We're holding a tag sale in a few weeks. Jimmy is talking about getting a second job, which I hope won't be necessary. What can I do? I have exactly one marketable skill. So I'm offering a free short story as-yet unseen by the public to a...

I am sitting on the couch in my half-unpacked living room, finally finished with work for the day. The cool March sunlight falls through the windows and makes warm patterns on the wood floor beside me. Schubert plays in the air and a light breeze wafts from the kitchen, where a window is open to dispel the smell of this morning's bacon. The boys are outside, as they should be. Jimmy has the day off work, and the boy has been off all week for Spring Break. They went out earlier to buy supplies and get their Easter haircuts - they both look so handsome. They brought me back Reese's peanut butter cups and a Diet Coke, because they love me. Now they've gone to the park about a block away with fishing poles, where they will attempt to catch the poor hapless fish that survive in that pond and they will speak as men do. Or something. Tonight we had planned to go to the Science Center for the Star Trek exhibit, since "Tribbles" author David Gerrold will be there. Mone...

Hello fiends! As anyone who reads my Facebook knows, I moved recently. In fact, I've bored you all to tears with the details of my move, which allowed me and my partner to combine households in a lovely house with enough space for us and our kids. Best of all, at least as far as I was concerned: the attic was big enough for me to have my own office and library, for the first time since my son was born. That means when I work from home several times a week, I have a place to work besides the kitchen table. It means a dedicated space for writing my brilliant novels. It means room enough for all my books, half of which live in boxes or are double-stacked on groaning Wal-mart shelves. And it means space for a streamlined mail-order operation for the Literary Underworld, which has had to operate out of the corner of my dining nook until now. We'll be faster, more efficient and able to expand our operation with its own space. A catch: no furniture. No desk, no b...

Dear USPS: This is the most complicated move of my life, and it's not half done, and you are not making it easier. Look, I get that you want us to do our change of address online now. Sure, those little forms were a pain. I had no problem doing it online. Then you tell me that because everyone in my home has a different last name, we have to submit three different requests. One for me, one for my partner, and one for my son. All right, now that's just silly. It's that hard to design a form that allows for members of one family to have different names? This is 2012. I challenge you to find three out of five homes where someone isn't using a different name. Fine, I'm used to this kind of nonsense. I'll go through this three times. But now you want my credit card. And you're going to charge it a dollar. For "fraud prevention." I've got an idea where the fraud is. Because it's gonna cost me three bucks: one for each of us. What is thi...

Lent is upon us, at least for those of us in the variations of the Christian faith that observe the season of preparation for Easter. Many choose to interpret Lent as a season of scourging, of punishing yourself, carrying the woe of humanity's murder of the Christ, etc. Not me. And not too many Episcopalians anymore, ashes on the forehead notwithstanding. Lent is a season of reflection, a forty-day period of meditation and self-improvement. If you give something up for Lent, there should be a reason beyond "I'm giving up something for Lent." Otherwise it is a hollow exercise, a public self-flagellation that serves no real purpose. In the traditional Ash Wednesday readings, Jesus tells us not to engage public displays of religion, that it is only the hypocrites who give alms before an audience and expect the applause for their sacrifice. For that reason alone, Ash Wednesday always made me a little uncomfortable - it's a physical sign of our faith, literally s...

While working on dueling laptops.... Facebook chat. ME: Get off Facebook! HIM: You too. ME: I was just checking on you. WRITE! HIM: in a minute ME: *taps fingers* HIM: *taps back* HIM: How do you spell laborious? ME: D-i-c-t-i-o-n-a-r-y. HIM: *sticks out tongue* HIM: *glances over his shoulder* ME: *ducks behind refrigerator door, milk jug in hand* HIM: Hon! ME: *jedi handwave* You saw nothing. HIM: Don't drink from the milk jug! ME: I did nothing. HIM: *sigh* I'm going to die of calcium deficiency. I can never drink the milk again. ME: You can too! You kiss me, so you shouldn't mind drinking the milk even if I might have occasionally - HIM: Occasionally! ME: If you can kiss me, you can drink the milk. HIM: You only drink from the milk jug if you're the only one living in the house! ME: It only counts if you see me doing it.

Generally, there's no deeper pit of hell than Wal-mart. The awful fluorescent lighting, the cart that undoubtedly has one bad wheel, the inability to find what you're looking for ever since they changed things, the sure knowledge that you have sold your soul to Sam Walton because there's simply no way to meet the monthly budget without him. Not while the boy drinks three gallons of milk a week. That said, when I see people laughing at "People of Wal-mart" or the current meme of "Wal-mart Bingo," I start to wonder what we find so amusing. Sure enough, the photos of "People of Wal-mart" are pretty awful. They're generally photos catching unattractive people unawares - oh my, this lady's buttcrack is showing? That guy's wearing shorts with a long-sleeved shirt! That woman is too fat for her outfit! This guy's got a really long beard! The Wal-mart Bingo is so much worse. Among the mocked are "someone with an eyepatch,"...

Setting: The Daily Show is on. Boy flops onto the couch. ME: It's bedtime. BOY: Just a few minutes? I love Daily Show. ME: Hmmm. Look, you're still here and not in bed. BOY: I'm not here. ME: I see you. You are here. BOY: *handwave* These are not the droids you're looking for. ME: *bwahahaha* You get to stay up a few minutes more just for the geek points.

I had the good fortune to meet Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson yesterday at a ribbon-cutting for the new observatory in Edwardsville. In addition to the story I wrote for the News-Democrat, I had him cornered at the top of the stairwell next to the telescope, so I asked him a few more questions. Here is the long version of our interview, for those who are interested in such wonderfully nerdy things as planetary biota, the physics of interstellar space travel and the devolution of Pluto. In case you're wondering, Dr. Tyson is just as emphatic, enthusiastic and personable in real life as he is jousting with Jon Stewart over the planethood - or not - of Pluto. It's easy to see how he has become the Elvis of astrophysicists. I was tempted to tell him that on this year's book tour, the button we sold out of most quickly and literally could not keep in stock was the one that read, "Pluto is still a planet, I don't care what you say." Q: What do you think about the...