Tomorrow morning, we are traveling to Virginia to celebrate Thanksgiving with Jim’s dad and step-mom, and, hopefully, my sister, too.

We started packing yesterday, and Eliza is, as per usual, beside herself. “We’re going to the AIRPORT an’ then we’re going to VirGINia!” she announces at 5, 15, and 25 past the hour. Also 6, 14, 22, 36, 48, 57, 58 and 59 past the hour. 

“Are we going to take a SMOKING airplane, Mommy?”

I nearly had to breathe into a paper bag when she said that, because holy crap kid, could you jinx us some more? But then I figured out she was referring to the contrails we can see in the sky when planes travel overhead. I am trying to tamp down expectations, because I don’t know what kind of yelling is going to happen when she discovers that you can neither see nor control the “smoke” from inside the plane. On the up side, she wants to window seat, so at least I don’t have sit there. What kind of person in their right mind wants visual confirmation of the fact that they are 30,000 feet in the air? 

I got the suitcases down from the attic, and can I just parenthetically mention that I think it is weird that she thinks the whole 30,000 feet up thing is cool but she froze up and freaked out about going back down the attic stairs?

She is all excited about “packing the SOUPCASES” and decided to do her own, a small pink travel bag with a butterfly on it. It now contains: 2 plastic bags, one striped t-shirt, a bag of mangled Halloween pretzels, some sunflower seeds, a My Pretty Pony, and a pair of Hello Kitty underpants. 

She carted it everywhere yesterday afternoon, until we went to a friend’s birthday party and she received a goodie bag. I totally failed Parenting 101: Parties, because at both birthday parties we have had for her, I completely forgot about goodie bags. My friends have their act together, though, and so Eliza got some fingerpuppets and a Smartie lollipop. In case you are still doubting the level of excitement, she decided to save the lollipop for the flight. Let me repeat that: She decided to save the lollipop for the flight.

She insisted on taking the goodie bag to bed with her last night and fell asleep muttering about fingerpuppets on airplanes and then this morning she was furious because it wasn’t time yet to go to Virginia. In case you are wondering, we usually don’t tell Eliza we are going to do something until about 24 hours before it happens. The anticipatory rage is too much to bear.

Among the elements of plane travel that has her most excited is baggage claim. When we picked my mom up at the airport last week Eliza was thrilled that she got to watch the conveyer belts at work, twisting and turning in their labyrinthine paths, carrying bags in and out of the little doors.

So it was that yesterday afternoon, I immediately knew what she meant when she said, “Hey! Mommy! I’m gonna put my soupcase on the MOVER-MAZE!”

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To conclude what will probably be my last post for the week, I leave you with this family portrait Eliza drew last night. I am on the left (”I’m drawin’ your SPIKY HAIR, Mommy!”), followed by Jim and then Eliza. In keeping with the spirit of the season, I would like to express my appreciation for the fact that she drew ears on all of us:

One of the things my mom and I talked about while she was here was identity — how the thing that you think is the most important thing about you shifts over the years.

Seventeen, even 10 years ago, either one of us would’ve put the whole husband/dad-died thing pretty high up in any getting-to-know-you conversation we had — it was what defined us in that moment. Not that it doesn’t anymore, but it’s become background noise in terms of who I am from day to day. It doesn’t guide my every word and deed the way it did when the wound was fresh.

Some of that identity shifting is about realizing that it’s time to let go of my preshus speshul snowflake status. My GPA in high school? What college I went to? Meh. And the fact that I had a dead parent was remarkable at 18 or 19, but at 36 and 18 years on to still be dragging that out as fact number one seems reductive of both my life and his.

I’ve defined myself by my music: In middle school I loved a-ha, in high school, I was The Duranie with a Splash of Goth. In college it was U2. I seem to having a torrid affair with Caleb Followill’s voice currently, but I assume that too will pass (my prediction is Tuesday at 12:01 a.m., when I download the new Killers album).

I doubt the idea of falling in love with a band ever will; but I will never again do what I did at the start of my college career, where I decided to introduce myself only to people wearing Depeche Mode gear on the principle that we shared a most important defining characteristic. In fact, the main Depechie was such a raving know-it-all bitch that it may have put the nail  in the coffin of that concept for me. Most of my friends don’t give a rat’s ass about music the way I do, and I get along with them just fine, thank you.

Some things I let go of sadly. I don’t know exactly what happened to myself as an artist. Not that I was some grand talent, but it brought me joy, and then it just got wiped out of my personality. I mean, I know it happened when my dad died, but why was that the thing that changed? Why not the music thing? Or the liberal politics? But it’s gone and while in high school my name was a synonym for Arty Chick, then doesn’t get trotted out except as amusing self-deprecating blog fodder nowadays.

Nowadays, it’s “mother” that I want you to know about first, the fact that I am the parent of this fantastic little creature who is driving me insane, usually with love. (Wife, cat person, karate expert, writer, amateur cook, girl who loves bands with boys with raspy voices, reader, doodler, runner, person who loves orange— that I will leave for you to suss out, the thing that matters next on the list on any given day.) As much as that is paramount right now — and for a good long while to come — something will eventually take its place. I am curious what it will be.

What about you? Would someone from your past recognize you from a one-sentence description of who you are now? Would one of your current friends recognize the person you used to be?

I’m pretty proud of myself for reigning in the &^%ing &%^ trash talk most of the *()%&^#$ing time with a little kid around most of the time.

I have successfully substituted “shoot” or “shootsipoo” for, you know, the other s-word, and my days of shrieking about matriarch-fornicating this or that are relatively few and far between lately.

There is always something that slips through, though, isn’t there, because the other night, I heard, “Jesus Crisis on a popsticle stick!”

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In other news, I have six stories to edit, so I decided to make myself a Killers’ new album ticker instead: 

Eliza laughed until she gave herself hiccups over this video on Cheezburger tonight:

I laughed almost as hard, although I’m not sure whether it’s the video or the kid that was funnier. 

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Eliza is snoring so loudly right now that when she started up about 10 minutes ago I actually startled and wondered who/what had gotten into the house.

I suspect her brain is full. Grandma Texas left this morning for warmer climes (Seriously! Today was a BAD DAY to lose heat in my poorly insulated office, made worse by the fact that the repairs being made to fix the heat rendered the department microwave and its sweet warming power inaccessible to us.) It was a very busy visit, and by last night Eliza was doing that crazy-@$$-flip-out-over-nothing nonsense where we found ourselves threatening to withhold the chocolate-covered pretzels she wanted for dessert unless she got her act together. I believe the words “Straighten and fly right!” were used at one point. Since she had clutched the tub of pretzels feverishly to her bosom the entire time we were in the store, this proved an effective bargaining tool, but maaaan. She didn’t even want to go to Yoga today, she just wanted to stay home, that’s how exhausted she was.

Here they are having one of their slumpovers:

Yes, Grandma Texas was a big hit once again. She brought the sequel to the ABC NYC book, which was an immediate and gigantic success. Eliza conned Grandma Texas into dropping serious cash on a passels of Christmas ornaments, and I believe that on most of the past 7 days, a greater-than-recommended amount of chocolate was consumed. Then there were the two days in the row the two of them spent at the children’s museum/carousel in our town while Jim and I went out of town to drink champagne in peace:

Jim and I were SO chopped liver. I suspect pictures are forthcoming from Grandma Texas.

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Let’s see, what else happened? Ah yes. Eliza had another of her brief food love affairs. This time, it was bananas. I like to call this picture “Our Lady of the Bananas”:

These things are fleeting — we ran out of bananas on Monday and my mom worried about getting more. I told her not to bother and indeed, by today, no banana-clamor whatsoever.

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Also today, it was back to the salt mines for my little child laborer. I am sick of running myself and my pocketbook ragged buying random lame gifts for Jim’s 30-some-odd relatives. I don’t have the budget or time to find each one the exact right thing. This year, I ordered a bunch of plain canvas totes, pillow cases, and potholders, and I am letting Eliza go to town on them. I painstakingly cut out a bunch of stencils for her tonight, but after potholder she decided she would rather freestyle, and created from abstract-expressionist, not so say minimalist, kitchen accessories: 

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This picture of Barney cracks me up. He looks like he is in time-out:

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Eliza gets a magazine that has a running series about a bunch of little kids and their adventures. In the most recent issue the two little brothers got a bunk bed. She is new to the concept and, as kids tend to be, fascinated. We learned just how much recently when we came into her room to find she’d climber onto her old changing table, which is now the stuffed-animal-and-slightly-worn-but-not-ready-for-the-wash-yet-clothes table. The best part is that my conscientious wingnut strapped herself in for safety:

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From Jim earlier today:

Eliza was playing with ice and I told her that it turns into water when it’s warm. And when it’s cold, water turns to ice.

She said, “Is that called irreversible change?”

I guess they’re teaching her about global warming.

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Today, I wore a dress over a pair of jeans to work. I think my kid has officially become my fashion role model.