I took Dempster west again today, one week after driving that direction with Danny in his car seat last week. It was the easiest way to go (towards the Costco in Niles, since I'm still boycotting the Glenview one), but I did make the drive with a bit of trepidation.

See, there's a fertility clinic on Dempster, halfway between the Barnum & Bagel restaurant (Jewish food with a circus theme!) and the kosher candy and nut place. I didn't make the connection last week, but I realized it today.

I tend to try to run my errands early, and get to the stores as they open. So it couldn't have been any later than 9:30 a.m. last Saturday when I drove Danny past the abortion protesters. I didn't know if that was a significant date in Roe v. Wade-type history, or if this was a regular occurrence out here in the suburban jungle. But there they were, these angry white folk, lined up in front of the split-level bungalows on Dempster holding up giant signs.

And it couldn't be enough to just write slogans. No, they had larger-than-life, full-color, shockingly graphic photo posters of (supposedly) aborted fetuses at various ages, from several weeks to several months. There was nowhere for me to turn off; all I could do was try to engage Danny so that he'd look at me and not see the bloody posters.

Words can't describe how sick and angry I was. I'm all about choice; you can choose to be against abortion or whatever. But why must some people shove these hateful, horrid, images down our throats? Here I was, halfway through my pregnancy, driving with my youngest child in the car, and instead of singing along to the radio with Danny, I was slaloming down Dempster with a burning rage. These people! With these ugly, awful, images! With their kids right beside them! Imagine the nightmares their kids must have, waking up in the middle of the night to get some water or use the toilet and finding Mommy or Daddy pasting dead baby posters to a two-by-four!

I wanted so badly to stop the car and scream at these people for subjecting my child and myself to these images, to that horror. But doing so would only force us both to see even more. And I certainly wouldn't change their minds, any more than those frightening images changed my own position.

Why am I so angry? These people weren't talking to me. I had the babies I could carry to term. The mere suggestion of terminating my own (surprise!) pregnancy sickened me, even though I wouldn't hesitate to allow other women that option. It's not my place to tell someone what to do. Do I think abortion should replace birth control? Hell, no. But what if you're raped? (I was. Would I want to raise that demon's spawn; be reminded every day of that violent DNA lying dormant in my own child?) What if your very life is at stake because your body can't sustain itself through a pregnancy?

Jewish law states, I am told, that if a doctor must choose between the life of an unborn child and that of it's mother, they must choose the mother. Better (I guess) to let the mother mourn, and hopefully try again in other circumstances, than to sacrifice the mother and bring a motherless baby into the world. This sounds so awful. But aren't the abortion protesters merely taking the opposing view?

I don't know what's right for other people. But I do know I don't want my children subjected to bloody imagery of dead babies before they understand where babies come from. This is the same reason I don't tell my kids that we're at a war (especially one I don't support), I don't talk yet about drugs or gangs or prostitution or terrorism. There will come a time for all of those talks; likely sooner than I'd like to approach them. But in the meantime, let my children (and me, vicariously) leave in peaceful, blissful ignorance of life's uglier aspects, okay?

P.S. The orange ones fuck you up real good.

With apologies to composer/author Mike Ruekberg (my high school crush, sigh) for any copyright infringement. I did write him and ask for the lyrics (which were not included in his album "Acrimony and Cheese," but got too caught up and just listened until I figured I got it. Here is the song I'm listening to so much my laptop is ready to hit me.

"Born to Fly," by Mike Ruekberg
(Available on "Acrimony And Cheese" (mp3 snippet avail at link -  highly recommend this album for its very listenable songs), as well as the soundtrack to "Dummy."

Ooooooh....
You're feeling kicked around and broken down
You've fallen down and can't get up
All those doubters and the shouters and the fakers trying to call your bluff
Don't be shaken and mistaken 'cause you're just a diamond in the rough

So baby, wipe those tears from your eyes
You know you'll find a way to get high
You haven't even tried....

Baby you were
Born to fly
You're never gonna get there crawling
You're putting up a wall to hide from everything
Born to fly
You're gonna have to start out running
If you wanna touch the sky you'd better find your wings

You feel avoided and exploited baby, overworked and underpaid
You're feeling stretched to the limit any minute now you just might break
Yeah, just be strong a little longer 'cause tomorrow's gonna be your day

The sun could melt away all your doubts
If you could only break through the clouds
Your future's starting now....

Remember you were
Born to fly
Time to show the world your colors
Break out of your cocoon and tell us how you feel
Born to fly
You spent enough of your time dreaming
Now open up your eyes and rise and make it real

(bridge)

Born to fly
You're never gonna get there crawling
You're putting up a wall to hide from everything
Born to fly
You're gonna have to start out running
If you wanna touch the sky you'd better find your, you better find your....
Born to fly
You spent enough of your time dreaming
Born to fly... [fade]

When I was a kid, I was going to be a singer. And an ice skater, a writer, a nurse, a doctor, and a film director. Oh, and a movie star. Thirty-five was an age away; literally an age I never thought about. When my mom was 35, her kids were 14 and 12, and she was working with my dad's film studio, creating her own career as an advertising photographer. She was glamorous and exciting, and wore designer clothes to fancy lunch meetings with clients. She and my dad went on vacation every year; and usually, we went, too.

By the time my dad was 35, he'd had his own film studio for over 10 years.

I'm 35 now. I've been a secretary, a temp, a reporter, an editor, an assistant film director, a financial analyst, an event planner, and director of client services for a software company. Now, I'm essentially a systems analyst... the dream career of Martin Prince. It's a boring job with little to no hope of advancement.

I have no career. It bothers me sometimes more than others. I don't think my kids will look at me someday and be proud of how glamorous and exciting their mom is. That's not really what it's about... it's just that I'm not excited by what I do.

Is anyone? Does anyone out there have a job they're excited about? What makes you feel good about your work?

["The One That Got Away," Mike Ruekberg]

P.S. I feel obliged to point out that my mom went back to school in her 40s, finished her Bachelor's, got her Master's, and became a practicing psychotherapist -- her "dream" career. Go figure.

No. No, you bloody well may not suggest them. Please leave us alone and resume reading "The Annotated Legends of the Runes of the Mystical Arthurian Knighthood of the Sacred Circle of the Shield of the Spell-Casting Princess Faeries of the Grail of Blackwynne Castle. Book II."

ROTFL. Thanks, Orange!

[Cubs vs Reds... Cubs are up, 7 to 2]

1. As nauseating as this is, feel free to vote in my baby name poll.

2. Big, giant bear hugs to Jennie, who called me this morning to leave a cheery message on my voicemail but actually got me (driving to work late after dropping Jake off at Smart Kids Camp).

3. Speaking of Jake, I don't think it could get any fucking hotter at that damned school. They're holding SKC at a local elementary school, since the building they usually use at Northwestern is under construction. However, Local Elementary School (LES) has no A/C. And we're having one of the hottest, most humid summers in about 10 years here. Thankfully, the heat doesn't seem to bother Jacob (unlike me and Danny, who can only tolerate very short bursts of this weather). Jacob, however, will play with all his might until he drops from exhaustion and dehydration -- or has a massive toddler-type tantrum.

I think the SKC is great for him in a lot of ways, and it's certainly keeping him from being bored for a few weeks, which is crucial. But the heat! My G-d, the heat! My mom picks him up most afternoons, and she says it's awful in the gym where they have the kids playing after school. We're paying extra, mind you, so he can have his bagged lunch there and have free play for two more hours. I'm paying for my kid to run around like a maniac in an indoor sauna. I'm a horrible parent.

4. My patience is infinitesmal. I feel like a really bad mom. But Jacob just talks and talks and talks until you want to stuff feral cats in your ears just to block out the noise. And Danny, while my adorable muffin-faced boy, is in a pretty whiny, clingy stage. I adore the baby snuggles, and want to get them in before Baby #3 usurps Danny's rightful throne, but I'd also pay good money (that I don't have) to get a decent damned night's sleep.

5. Speaking of which, can the weird dreams stop now? I assume the hormones making me depressed during the day can also be blamed for the bizarre nightmares all night long. By now I've dreamed of the baby dying, my own impending death, unwanted sex, wanted sex (for which I'm sure not in the mood when I'm awake), pain, suffering, being lost, trying to escape, trying to run away from someone, etc. Seriously. Enough already.

6. The A/C isn't doing so well here at work, either. They supposedly got it up and running by 9 am, but the Pit of Despair is still a good 15 degrees warmer than the rest of the floor. I'm really looking forward to plopping on my bed in front of the air conditioner tonight!

Hope you're all cool and happy where you are....

["Born To Fly," Mike Ruekberg]

This should help combat the threat of terrorism in the wake of today's attack on London, don't ya think?

Via TMcG.

["Here Comes Your Man," The Pixies]

Astrologer Sues NASA Over Comet Probe
By Associated Press
Published July 5, 2005, 8:58 AM CDT

MOSCOW -- NASA's mission that sent a space probe smashing into a comet raised more than cosmic dust -- it also brought a lawsuit from a Russian astrologer.

Marina Bai has sued the U.S. space agency, claiming the Deep Impact probe that punched a crater into the comet Tempel 1 late Sunday "ruins the natural balance of forces in the universe," the newspaper Izvestia reported Tuesday. A Moscow court has postponed hearings on the case until late July, the paper said.

Scientists say the crash did not significantly alter the comet's orbit around the sun and said the experiment does not pose any danger to Earth.

The probe's comet crash sent up a cloud of debris that scientists hope to examine to learn how the solar system was formed.

Bai is seeking damages totaling $300 million -- the approximate equivalent of the mission's cost -- for her "moral sufferings," Izvestia said, citing her lawyer Alexander Molokhov. She earlier told the paper that the experiment would "deform her horoscope."

NASA representatives in Russia could not be reached for comment on the case.

["Pure," The Lightning Seeds]

We did it; we bundled up the kids and shlepped all of three blocks to the
fireworks. We got there just after 9 and got a spot right near the fence
opening so we could make a fairly quick exit.

As expected, Jake was totally spastic about it. He harrassed us the whole
way through the Cubs game about leaving until DH threatened to not go at all if he brought it up AGAIN! A few "trial" boomers went up, and Danny promptly curled into my lap with his eyes squeezed tight and his hands
clamped firmly over his ears. We felt awful, but it really wasn't that loud,
and we thought maybe he'd adjust.

DH even went to a vendor and bought those glow stick/necklace things (3 for $5, so he bought three and gave one to another little kid), but Danny didn't even want to see his and asked me to hold it for him. If I took my arms off him, he panicked. But he didn't cry at all.

Anyway, three of us thought the fireworks were great. We hadn't brought a radio because we didn't know if we'd be able to just hear the music (not really). Jakey was spellbound and, naturally, attempted to narrate the entire experience. Danny never lifted his head.

When it was finally over, I moved to help Danny stand up, and he started
SHAKING and wouldn't get up! I felt so bad. DH had to pluck him off my
lap and put him in the jogging stroller. Halfway home, he finally opened his
eyes, and said emphatically "No more noise!" Then he showed some interest in his glow stick and was totally fine once we were home.

Phew. I was figuring we'd need to start the therapy fund right away... probably not a bad idea in general.

Both boys fell asleep almost immediately, clutching their glow sticks. Aww!
Jacob wants to know if we can do it all again today.

["Don't Let's Start," They Might Be Giants]