In case you missed it, May is Skin Cancer Awareness Month. Now that summer is in full swing, it’s time to remember your sunscreen.

This morning I’ll be at the dermatologist, again, as I am every three months. I’ll probably end up getting at least one biopsy, one numbing shot before they carve another hunk out of me. Because I’ve had skin cancer — basal cell carcinoma — diagnosed and removed twice in the past year. Don’t worry, it’s the “good” kind, but it’s still scary as hell and leaves an ugly two inch gash to remember it by.****

I thought I’d share again my post from last year, when I first found out I had the “C” word. I’ve yet to write about the second time I found out (I was naked and about to pee) but that’s a story for another day…

June 2011

I did not get the phone call to cancel my follow up appointment at my doctors office yesterday. Which meant that the biopsy did not come back good. I was not in the clear.

It meant the dreaded “C” word.

But to what degree?

I had two spots biopsied. To ugly little patches of discolored skin, not quite freckles, not quite moles, just something else…but what? Would they be basal cell carcinomas, not likely to spread or cause to much damage? Or would that frightening black thing on my ankle, which to some may have just looked like stray sharpie marker slash, be the notoriously feared melanoma?

I have three friends who lost parents, lost a vast chunk of their childhoods, to melanoma.

Two glasses of wine and an Advil PM could not lull me into a blissful unconsciousness. The darkness of my bedroom formed a backdrop for the scenes playing across the screen of my tightly squeezed eyes. Some were dark, grainy, and frayed at the edges like and aged Super 8 film while others played like HD IMAX blockbuster, clear, bright, and real enough to trigger faint traces of sense memories. A technicolor slideshow…

Have you ever wondered what you life looks like when it flashes before you eyes?

Why had I spent so many years baking in the sun, unsuccessfully attempting to darken my pale, freckly skin? Because you can’t be pale in Florida. Because I wanted to fit in. Because I wanted to be pretty. Everyone hears about skin cancer, but who really gets it?

I didn’t know much about skin cancer. Would they just have to cut it out deeper, leaving a playing card sized pit on my calf? Would I need radiation or chemo? My hair was finally starting to grow out. I’d look terrible in a scarf. I’d have to buy a wig. Why have I bothered sweating at the gym when I will just become a fragile skeleton from the nausea and sickness involved?

What will I tell my son? He’s only seven. He still cries when he thinks about a cat we lost two years ago. I’m terrible at keeping a game face and hiding my emotions. How can I possibly be strong enough for him?

This can’t be happening. He needs a mother. He needs ME. It’s a good thing I have that life insurance policy—but it was short term. When does it expire? Will I expire first?

I should have dropped what I was doing yesterday when he asked me to play a game with him. The laundry could have waited. I should have challenged him to a cannonball contest in the pool last weekend, but I hadn’t, I wanted my hair to stay dry. I am a terrible mother.

I should look for one of those recordable Hallmark books so he can have my voice reading him a story when I am gone, so he won’t forget me, won’t forget the sound of my voice lulling him to sleep each night. I should have taught him how to roller skate, showed him how to properly make a fort in the backyard, taken him on a camp-out. We might never get to learn to surf together. But I had promised him…

An hour past my appointment time I still sat in the doctor’s office waiting room. My stomach had liquified. Distracting myself with a book was out of the question. I couldn’t even focus on a glossy fashion magazine. Hubby sat next to me, calmly reading a classic.

“What’s wrong,” he asked?

Everything’s wrong, I thought.

My foot bounced, my bowels knotted, I picked at a snag in my fingernail. I just shook my head and mumbled, “nothing…nothing at all.”

Ten more minutes of waiting once I was escorted to the sterile blue and white room. Posters advertising Botox and eyelash growth serums decorated the walls. Beautiful, smiling women sitting on the decks of sailboats and at fancy restaurants stared down at me, their lives complete now they had fewer wrinkles. I felt as if they were mocking me. Don’t these people know there matters of life and death going on in this room? I imagined I was only worried about the crow’s feet creeping around my thinly lashed eyes.

The nurse returned with the folder and silently sat down across from me.

That’s not good, hold it together girl…

“How are you’re wounds healing?” she asked…kindly, compassionately, as if she were talking to a timid child.

“Fine. Great.” Why do you care when you have to cut off my skin all around my wounds anyway?

“We got your biopsy results back,” she started…

No shit. That’s why I’m here. Come on already…

“The good news is, the one on your ankle is nothing. It’s just a mole.”

My exhale echoed between the glossy white walls. That was the spot which sent me running to the dermatologist’s office last month when I spotted it’s dark, motley, irregular shape. Okay, but…

“The one on your shoulder did come back as a Basal Cell Carcinoma. You have cancer.”

Everything was still. Absolutely still.

“But that’s the good type,” she smiled.

I didn’t know there WAS a GOOD type of cancer.

But apparently, if you are going to have a cancer, this is your best choice. It’s very common. No chemo or radiation. I just have to come back in next month to get a hunk of my shoulder carved out. I guess I should wear all my strapless sundresses now.

I’m still shaking when I walk out of the doctor’s office. I’m still shaking now.

But it will be alright. Nothing is going to stop me from watching Kiddo finally win a soccer game, graduate from college, become a father himself.

I will still get to read to him each night in bed when all big kid pretenses are brushed aside and he is my gentle little boy again, innocent and bursting with a day full hugs and kisses. We can just switch positions for a while so he can snuggle up and rest his head on my unscarred shoulder.

We can still learn to surf together. I just might have to be wearing a tacky long-sleeved sun shirt.

The sun is now my enemy. But life will go on as I learn to embrace my scars, inside and out.

***Yeah! Just returned from the dermatologist and I’m clear for another three months!

Wild Locations: Trifecta and Write On Edge Prompts

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I haven’t linked up with any writing prompts lately, but this week’s suggestions worked perfectly with my WIP. While I had an infinite amount of passages relating to location and wild, finding one only 250 words long was a killer. I settled for this one. The following excerpt is from The Last Resort. Be kind.

We started down a rockier path. Our pace slowed, our hands traced along the mossy ravine wall for balance. The air cooled and grew saturated with water, the pregnant molecules bursting upon impact with my sweaty skin. The patter of rain falling, heavy and fast, echoed through the valley.

“Sounds like we’re going to get wet,” I said.

“I fully plan on it,” Rye answered.

The roar of water grew louder, as if the clouds had ripped open, allowing all the rain to pour out in one great deluge. Forget wet; we were going to get drenched. I stopped to zip my camera inside a plastic bag.

“If I were you, I’d keep the camera out.” Rye grinned like a pirate, his eyes wild and daring. “Come on. The picnic area is just around that bend.”

My legs brushed against damp, drooping fronds. Scarlet blossoms stood erect with perfect drops of water dangling from their petal’s supple tongues. The rainforest’s dense canopy opened up, allowing the sun to stream down and illuminate the foliage, turning the leaves near fluorescent shades of green. The air smelled alive and slightly electric, as if charged ions still lingered after a wicked thunderstorm.

We turned the corner. A cascade of white water crashed down a mossy cliff into a resplendent blue lagoon. The water shimmered in the sunlight, a pool of undulating aquamarine gemstones, with waves gently lapping along the rocky banks.

Rye’s warm hands grasped my bare shoulders. “I told you it would be worth the wait.”

Trifecta’s one-word prompt. This week, they gave us:

WILD (adj)

1 a : living in a state of nature and not ordinarily tame or domesticated

b (1) : growing or produced without human aid or care

(2) : related to or resembling a corresponding cultivated or domesticated organism

2 a : not inhabited or cultivated

b : not amenable to human habitation or cultivation

3: a (1): not subject to restraint or regulation : uncontrolled; also : unruly

(2) : emotionally overcome ; also : passionately eager or enthusiastic

The Write on Edge prompt for this week is to use setting to deepen the development of your story. You can use it to give insight into a character or a conflict or simply to evoke an emotional mood from your reader. 250 words or less.

A paycheck can’t buy time

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I’m ready to be finished with this whole “out of the home working” gig. I have no idea how mothers do this every day, forever. I don’t know if it’s because it’s an evening/night job, or because it eats my time while I’m still expected to do everything else, or because I miss my family, or maybe it’s just the lack of sleep…

Each weekday is a whirlwind as I cram in all of my normal activities (getting everyone ready for school/work, gym, write, edit, blog, laundry, clean, errands, groceries, bus stop, homework, spend a tiny bit of time with family, eat) before I run out the door by 5:15, fight rush hour traffic, stare at a computer until my eyes glaze over and I give up all hope for the educational system in this country, drive home, and finally collapse into bed. And even though I’m exhausted, I usually need the help of melatonin to actually fall sleep because I’m so jacked up on all the iced coffee and candy I’ve practically mainlined to stay awake.

And while I do love the satisfaction of actually earning money again and seeing my name on a paycheck (as little as it may be) I am relieved it is only a temporary position.

I miss my boys.

While this schedule works better for juggling writing and family management responsibilities, I’m missing the best time of day, the important times of day, with my husband and son.

I’m missing wine-thirty, the couple time Hubby and I spend together in the kitchen each evening. While I cook dinner, he makes the next days lunches. We talk about our hectic/productive/good/bad days, catch up with each other, and yes, enjoy a glass of wine. It’s our quiet time, a chance for us to push aside our busy days and reconnect. It’s our therapy, and I can feel how both of us have more stress buzzing like an electric current through our nerves without this daily release.

I’m missing family dinners. Yes, we normally eat dinner together every night at home. When the weather is lovely (as it has been lately) we dine on our porch, our own little alfresco restaurant. The pool sounds like a tranquil fountain, some Jack Johnson, Coldplay, or John Mayer trickles out of the ipod, and we talk. It’s the time of day when Kiddo may finally volunteer some random information about his day, (because you know when I ask how his day went earlier, all I got was a “fine”), when he allows an “Oh, and I’m in the county art show,” or “And when I was sent to the vice principal’s office today…” Time we need to connect.

so little

so big

I’m missing Kiddo’s bedtime. Getting him down hasn’t been an issue for many years, so bedtime isn’t dreaded around here. We snuggle up and read for a half-hour or so. It used to be all me reading to him, but now he reads to me. Sometimes we trade off, depending on the difficulty of the book. Lately, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets just sits forgotten on his nightstand. Last night I picked one of our old favorites, Stellaluna. The waves of nostalgia fluttered over me soft as baby bat wings as he curled up beside me. I tried to read it all to him, though I still know most of the words by heart, but he insisted on reading half of it to me.

my shoe vs. 8-yr-old’s shoe

So big, so fast. Hot pricks of tears sting my eyes when I realize how little time like this I have left. He’ll be nine in the fall. Nine. Boys don’t want to snuggle with their moms much older than that, do they? Yesterday I passed along a pair of my water shoes to him. I haven’t been able to find any in his size. They were a men’s size small and big big on him, but not by much, a finger width, a pinky toe length.

I hate missing one night with him, one second that he still wants to spend with me. I see the sand in our hourglass funneling down at a breathtaking speed.

And, of course I miss quite time with my Hubby after Kiddo is in bed. Being the quiet old farts that we are, we just read (and good God, I miss reading), while the TV mostly provides some subtle background noise. But we are together, beside each other, there for each other. Connected.

I’ll admit, I’ve been taking my Hubby for granted, giving what little time and attention I have to Kiddo. I shouldn’t, I know, but I’m greedy for any moments I can get with my son. I watch him drawing closer to his own independent world, a world without me, and I’m afraid of missing any special moment I can get. I know my Hubby will always be there for me, right? I’ve got another 50 years with him, but my son…damn, it makes me weepy just thinking about it, and I’m not a weepy kind of girl…

And then there’s the guilt factor. Kiddo hugs me a dozen times before I leave, chases me out to the car with kisses, asks why I have to leave them and go off to a silly old job anyway. Stay home with us, he pleads, his eyes all puppy dog, his lower lip out pouting, begging. Please don’t leave me. Just yank on those heart strings a little more, Kiddo. I can’t tell him the only reason I took this job is because of him. Well, his very expensive mouth, that is. Days before this position opened up we were informed that he’d need round two of braces and oral surgery this summer, another round NOT covered by our dental insurance. {sigh} I’m being proactive, taking care of my family, right? I will not lay that guilt at his rapidly growing feet. Instead, each day I must placate him with more of the many white lies we parents must tell.

Less than three weeks left. I can do it. We can do it.

Echelon Chardonnay & Pinot Grigio: A Relaxing Review

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photo by EchelonVineyards.com

Above is the perfect example of what I’ve WANTED to do lately…relax in my garden with a delightful bottle of wine, watch the butterflies dance on the breeze, the squirrels play tag, and my family play in the pool. Add in some food, friends, and a good book and I’d be in nirvana. (Some Nirvana playing in the background would work too…nah, not mellow enough…let’s change that to some Jack Johnson & DMB.)

But with my temporary work schedule (more about that on another post) that’s just a wistful daydream.

I can’t even enjoy a glass of wine during the week — Quelle horreur! The promising pop of a cork sliding from a bottle, the gentle glug of wine lapping against a crystal glass, the complex aroma swirling through the heavy air, that first sip of nectar…

Can you tell I’m in withdrawal?

Luckily, the wonderful people at Echelon Vineyards were kind enough to send me samples of their Pinot Grigio, Chardonnay, and Red Blend wines. And a handy-dandy corkscrew, much to my Hubby’s infinite delight. Heaven in a box.

First up was the 2010 Pinot Grigio. This crisp, almost fruity wine was absolutely perfect after a long, hot Florida Saturday.

The citrus tones complimented the hints of almost… sweetness…an ideal wine for some alfresco poolside dining. (How I wished I had the time to pop on a pool float with a book and a cool glass of the wine!) I paired it with one of my favorite dinners of chicken in wine sauce with risotto, and the Hubby and I enjoyed a lovely evening in our own little backyard oasis. Cool, refreshing, and delicious.

After a pedicure, lunch, and shopping with my mom on Mother’s Day, I came home to find my Hubby cleaning the house and prepping dinner. {ahhh…}

He handed me my book and a glass of the Echelon Collection Chardonnay — bliss! This Napa Valley Chardonnay seemed to gently roll out of the glass, richer and more lush than the Pinot Grigio, yet still lovely on a summer evening. It’s flavor hinted of vanilla and made me crave an apple pie. The wine was not overly oaky or buttery, as some Chardonnays tend to be. Lovely, mellow, and balanced.

It paired perfectly with my Mother’s Day dinner of grilled balsamic chicken topped with prosciutto. If only there had been enough left to pair with dessert…

Both wines are excellent values for their price point of about $10 and would be a welcome addition to any get-together with friends or quiet evening in.

I do have to add, I loved this little bit of marketing prose by the Echelon Vineyards team:

We think you’re entitled to some recognition too. We believe wine is a simple reward and makes every day a celebration. Whether you’ve completed a 5K run, successfully put the kids to bed for the night, survived a challenging work day, or finished making a killer roast chicken, pour yourself a glass of Echelon and celebrate life’s small blessings!

I couldn’t agree more. Cheers!

*This product was sent to me for review purposes. I did not receive any monetary compensation. The opinions expressed are my own. I cannot guarantee a positive review for any product or services, but I can promise a review written with honesty and integrity.

Win Confessions of a Scary Mommy for Mother’s Day!

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Unless you live under a cyber rock (or you have yet to endure the pleasure of childbirth, adoption, or raising a child in any way), you know that Jill Smokler (a.k.a. Scary Mommy) wrote a book — a snort-coffee-out-your-nose funny book Confessions of a Scary Mommy.

Jill buzzed through MY town last weekend (okay, she took some time out from schmoozing at the Social Media Moms Conference and blitzing through Disney) and held a book signing at my local Barnes and Noble. Of course, I was there.

And I must tell you, she was as witty, candid, and utterly delightful in person as she is on her blog and in her book…and much thinner. (No, I’m not saying that to kiss ass, but because she writes about her body image issues, but she could totally qualify as MILF material. Just saying.)

Yes, that’s the copy YOU can win right there in my hand.

Jill read from her book (the chapter on family vacations — how apropos), dished the dirt on a few topics she can’t write about online, and discussed the ever-changing worlds of blogging and publishing. It was enlightening and depressing and through-provoking all at the same time. And laced with some trademark language that would make a sailor blush, as well.

I met few bloggers I knew online, and it’s always a wonderful experience to have a moment to talk with someone who “gets” you (because you know all those non-bloggers just think we’re weird).

I had to buy a book while I was there, support blog-to-book writers and all that jazz, but since I already owned a signed advance review copy, I decided to buy a copy for you. Someone out there can win a signed copy of Confessions of a Scary Mommy just in time for Mother’s Day. How’s that for a rocking present?

So…do you want to win?

My fabulous book review is over at Bookshelf Bombshells today.

To enter, you MUST head over there first AND:

Choose one or more of the entry methods: Must leave a separate commentfor each thing that you do!
Mandatory entry:
* Leave a comment (including your email address) on the Bombshells website telling us why you or someone you love is a Scary Mommy.
Optional Entries:
*Follow @BookShelfBmshlson twitter and leave your twitter name on your comment.
*Follow Bookshelf Bombshells on Facebook and leave a comment that you are a follower.

On this site:
You can get some additional entries by:
* Liking me on Facebook and/or
*Twitter and leaving separate comments here also.
And if you tweet about the contest, maybe we’ll give you another entry, too.

The giveaway will close on Friday, May 11th at 9pm ET. Winner will be chosen from the comments at random by Random.org and will be contacted via email.

(click here to visit BookshelfBombshells.com)

Too Busy to Blog so instead I’ll have a Giveaway

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No posts in a week, I know, I’m a bad, bad blogger. But with the radio silence everyone seems to be experiencing, I’m not going to feel TOO guilty — I’ve been busy. Really.

Let’s see… First, I FINALLY broke down and bought a smart phone. I’ve had a cell phone for…16 years, and this is only my fourth phone. Yes, I know I have a problem. Since my crappy contract was finally up (I will NEVER sign up for a 2-year contract ever again) I spent a few days hunting online and around town for a new plan and a smarter phone. When it finally arrived in the mail I felt like an 80-year-old at a gaming conference — I had no idea how to make the freaking thing work, nor the power held within that little device. So I’ve been spending far too much time teaching myself about the world of android and apps and actually having my SM on hand at all times. I couldn’t tweet on the go before (oh the horror!). And…I’ve never sent a text. (Scoop your chin up from your keyboard now, please.) I have A LOT to learn…like Instagram and bar code scanning and Angry Birds…

I bought new dining room chairs. Considering I bought some of the old chairs when I settled into my COLLEGE apartment (and I’m not telling you how long ago that was) it was time. I happened upon some wrought iron chairs at Costco, and they were interesting and a great deal, so I surprised my husband with an afternoon of manual labor working as a delivery man. Then it took days to decide if I liked them. Turns out, I do like the eclectic mix (according to all the design mags and Pinterest, it’s in).

{Look! Instagram & new chairs combo!}

Last Sunday we had a family date night at The Lion King. Yes, I know I’m once again about a decade behind, but Broadway is a bit far from the Sunshine State. It. Was. Amazing. If the traveling show ever comes through your area — GO. Take your kids (if they are mature enough to sit through a movie without jumping around and talking, they should be fine). Kiddo may have complained about having to “get dressed up,” but he loved, loved, loved the show. So did we.

My microwave died. Yes, this is a big deal. Since I’m working (leaving the house 5:15 and not getting home until 10:45ish) dinners have been on the fly. That means microwave. So now that means pain-in-the-butt trying to heat a can of soup on the stove. And MORE shopping. All our appliances are going to die within the next year or so, so I’ve been wrangling over staying with white (all my cabinets are white and it’s a small kitchen) or switching to stainless steel. What do you think?

There have been a few other things as well — writing query letters (more painful than labor), school carnivals, soccer games, and working way past my bed time…I know, I’ll quit my bitching…

Oh, yeah, and on Sunday I FINALLY met Jill Smokler (a.k.a. Scary Mommy). That is deserving a post onto itself, so look for it Monday, along with my FIRST GIVEAWAY. Check back next week to see how you can win a signed copy of Confessions of a Scary Mommy.

Whew. I’m done now.

Do you have any android apps to recommend? Opinions on white vs. stainless steel appliances?

I’m A Working Girl Now

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Once again, my adaptation and juggling skills are being put to the test. For the first time in eight years, I am officially a working girl. (Because, as you all know, I spent those last eight years on the couch watching talk shows and eating Oreo truffles. Blogger, SAHM, and {unpublished} novelist don’t really count as “real” jobs, right?)

I’m forbidden to reveal anything about my job, pure torture for a blogger. I’ve signed a strict confidentiality agreement; if I tell you, I’d have to kill you…or just get fired. It may or may not have something to do with poles, pistols, or the Pythagorean theorem.

Honestly, I’m just thrilled to be able to spend a few hours with other adults wearing something besides yoga pants. If I planned it our properly, I’d wager a hefty sum (in other words, more than I’m making) that I could wear a different outfit each day. And I’m talking no repeats on tops, bottoms, or dresses. The clothes horse in me is biting at the bit to finally dust off some of my thrift store fashion finds.

I CAN tell you it’s an evening job. Considering my shift lasts a solid hour past my usual 9:30ish bedtime, I’d almost consider it a night job. It’s a stretch for our family; we normally eat dinner together every night, and I’m always the one who cooks (I like cooking). Now I’m eating dinner at five, alone. I’m missing reading and snuggling time with my kiddo, the most cherished parts of my day. No evenings spent reading beside my hubby. And no wine during the week. Unbelievable, I know. I’m considering setting up a caffeine I.V. drip instead. Not nearly as much fun, but necessary.

Since I’m writing about jobs, I thought I’d link up with the lovely Nicole @Moments That Define for Listable Life.

5 Jobs I’ve had

1. Pirate Yes, I was the fresh-eyed, all-American girl in the polyester pirate costume standing outside Pirates of the Caribbean at Disney World. Never. Again. Enough said. (Or to read why I Hung Mickey Mouse click here)

2. Ear Piercer Back in high school, I wielded the ear piercing gun at our mega-Claire’s Boutique. Back then, earrings were “in” for guys, so I had a wonderful time making tough football players cry. Priceless. But the babies — oh, the babies — they’d be fine, just a little squirmy, as I did my best to draw even target dots on their tiny ears. They’d smile as I lined the gun up, then POP…they’d pause for a second, then stare at me as if I was evil incarnate just before they screwed their face up and howled. That second hole was always tough. I hated the babies, but I loved the boys.

Photo courtesy of ABC News

3. Bridal Boutique Manager I could tell you it was a magical job, filled with touching moments of teary-eyed and blissfully grateful brides-to-be embracing me after we found “the dress.” It would be a boldfaced lie. I don’t need to watch Bridezillas. I’ve lived it. On the bright side, I did get to try on all the sample gowns after hours. That was fun.

4. Japanese Hair product tester I can’t reveal much, except that my DNA is on file in some Japanese laboratory. This makes me more than a bit nervous. At least I’ve never come across any weird pictures of my bad hair days on the internet. Yet.

5. Bra Fitter Technically, I was the Men’s Collections and Ladies Lingerie department manager at a major department store, but I measured women for bras as often as my sales girls did. I’ve seen as many boobs as Hugh Heffner, except most were most certainly not Playboy worthy. I learned far too much about what happens when well-endowed women age (considering I was in my mid-20s and still small and perky, it was quite an eye-opener). Guys’ eyes always lit up when I mentioned that aspect of my job — until I described how cleavage can hang well-past a waistline.

Have you had any unique jobs?

When School Shootings Hit Too Close To Home

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Today was supposed to be a day like any crazy/normal day: too much to do in far too little time, a new schedule, a new job, and I longed to sneak in some quality time without too much stress or drama. Our early morning flowed smoothly, and Kiddo and I held hands as we walked down our sleepy street.

Once the school bus pulled away, once we saw all those little hands wave good-bye at us through the tinted windows, a few us exchanged our usual morning chatter. Except today was a little different.

I’m so glad I saw people here at the bus stop. I wasn’t sure any of the kids were going to school today.

But it wasn’t a teacher work day? Spring break had long passed. Why wouldn’t they be going to school?

Well, the shooting…some kid threatened to do a Columbine at the school…

I was suddenly wide awake.

That mom saw something on Facebook last night, just another news thread or rumor flying through cyberspace faster than a speeding bullet. I hadn’t seen anything yet. I’d been focusing on fixing breakfast and packing lunchboxes, tying shoes and sneaking in some snuggle time.

I hurried home, more curious than concerned. There was nothing on our local newspaper website. Ditto on a quick skim of the television news sites. My TV screen just replayed footage of the space shuttle flying piggy-back on its final journey and local traffic snafus. What shooting?

I finally found a snippet, a short one minute video, on some third-rate news site.

Last fall, a student at our high school threatened to walk into the lunchroom and start randomly shooting. A fellow student told his parents about the threats, the parents called the cops, and the potential shooter was arrested. He said he’d been bullied as a freshman. He’d been inspired by Columbine. The attack was planned for three days before the Columbine anniversary. Today.

“4/17/12 is gonna be a day to remember dat day will bring joy to me and saddness to otherz”

The 18-year-old was charged with attempted felony murder as well as written threats to kill or do bodily harm; he was booked at the county jail months before his diabolical plan could come true. Perhaps that’s why I just glossed over the story — I didn’t hear about it until after he’d been arrested, after he’d been taken out of the picture, and the police swore our children would be safe and protected.

He was subsequently expelled.

However, this morning’s harried research unveiled that prosecutors decided not to charge him with a crime. They decided he never took steps to actually commit murder and they found no weapons or ammunition in his home. They also said that since his threats were not directed at anyone in particular, they did not rise to the level of a written threat. His neighbor swore he was just an average boy-next-door, just another normal kid living in our quaint little suburbia.

That boy-next-door was arrested again in March for trespassing. He just walked into one of his old classrooms and took a seat. Such a simple act, yet the ease at which he could do it sends shivers down my spine.

He’s free now, today, the day of his proposed massacre.

I’m scared. No, whether rational or not, I’m terrified.

You see, my son’s elementary school is just across the street.

These things aren’t supposed to happen around here. We bought our home a decade ago partially due to the prime school district, a vital consideration long before we ever started trying for a child. The highly rated high school looks like a small community college campus, with sprawling brick buildings sheltered below mature oak trees. It’s nestled between a little white church and a shuttered sub shop. Even with the recession, most of the cars in the student parking lot are far more luxurious than my own. It was supposed to be a good, safe school.

And today, my baby, my only child, will go about his day on his relatively open elementary school campus within spitting distance of this threat. I’m tempted to go and eat lunch with him, so I can sit with my eyes glued to the cafeteria door, the unmanned door, that squeaky old metal door anyone could walk right through. Anyone. I mapped out the exits in my mind — would it be better to dash for the restrooms or try and hide in the kitchen, cowering behind industrial cabinets, a la Jurassic Park? Would I shout to save all the children, put myself in harms way to shepherd them to safety, or would I just snatch my own child and scurry away? I’m not a hero; I’m just a mother desperately in love with her son. I don’t want these thoughts, they don’t belong in my protected little world, but I don’t know how to smother them.

After I hit the gym this morning, I just couldn’t stop myself: I cruised by the schools. Both campuses looked quiet and serene on this sunny morning. Though another article I read said local police would be providing extra security today, I saw no hint of anything amiss. The high school parking lot wasn’t full; how many parents kept their kids home today? Stopped at the light between the two schools, I fought the urge to march into the front office and whisk my baby home to safety. How could I leave him there just yards from the scene of a potential massacre? How easy would it be for the devil to march across the narrow street?

How much can we really protect our children?

Not five minutes ago I stepped out of the shower and heard sirens in the distance. It’s lunchtime. Panic welled within; I swallowed it back, bitter as bile. On the TV, smiling news anchors discussed gym memberships and doggie day cares. Nothing devastating could be going on two miles away, just feet from my baby, right?

No one warns you about this kind of thing before you become a parent. The unthinkable. The unimaginable. When I finally see my baby dash off the bus this afternoon, relief will wash over me like a cool shower on a sweltering August day. I’ll be counting the hours.

KerryAnnMorgan.com

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