Fringe.

The other day, I thought about going back to my old life.

Me. Circa 2004. I think my title was Director of Something important.

I looked at a job site and thought about applying for a real job. Like one in an office. With start and stop times. And a regular pay check. And a real boss. And benefits and pensions and staff meetings. And a communal coffee pot. And a dress code requiring suits from Banana Republic, J.Crew and Ann Taylor. And bagels on Friday in the break room. Perhaps a communal monthly birthday cake. You know, all that stuff regular people do--all the stuff I did a long time ago.

Of course I immediately stopped submitting my resume for a job called "Director of Something," or "Coordinator of Something-Else," because, well, I bought a fringed shirt at Urban Outfitters. And you cannot wear that while coordinating something and directing something else. It is just impossible.

When I first started conceptualizing this blog entry, I thought I'd write something whimsical and funny about my new quirky lifestyle. My free-spirited, freelance writing, yoga teaching, book drafting, cooking, pickling, stay at home mom lifestyle-as if I am some sort of bohemian, anti-establishment younger version of Auntie Mame.

The truth is, I just like fringed shirts. And I am always late to everything. And well, Lily has therapy during the day and I am scared shitless of being separated from my children.

At work, today. Notice, no hosiery. And my boss is shorter than me.

Right before Lily was diagnosed with a brain tumor, she attended daycare four days a week. She started on August 15, 2006; Her last day was May 15, 2006. Nine months. 36 weeks. 144 days. All this time in daycare and something was brewing in her brain. I know I could not stop it. I know working for your family is part of being a parent. And I know it all worked out. But it is that time I missed, that haunts me--because what if, what if our outcome was different? What if that brain tumor did what it set out to do?

You can never get time back.

So, here I am. Lily is skilled at conference calls and can offer meaningful critiques on articles I read aloud (her favorite comment: it does not flow). Chloe teaches her collection of Minnie Mouse dolls yoga (downward mouse). And for better or for worse, I am home. Working. Sweating. Wearing fringe. Using my children as excuses for lateness.

Job title: MOMMY! (typically screamed at the top of someone's lungs while I am interviewing the Mayor)