What would Judi do?

Words are funny things. You can't touch them. Some people can't see them; others can't hear them. But they're important. Once you say a word - it comes out of your mouth or off your hands - you can't take it back. I wish more people realized that. Some words are awesome. Everyone knows my three favorite phrases: 1. I love you (add either mommy or sweetie at the end of that, depending on who's saying it) 2. Cancelled, BILLABLE!! 3. You're right, Judi Those are all good words. They make me happy. Lots of other words make me happy as well. My co-worker who told me my hair smells good when she hugs me - those were good words. The client yesterday who told me she was grateful to have me there - again, good words. The comment "You're beautiful when you smile" made me do just that. However, the "I'm smarter than you" pre-teen crap I occasionally get from my kids isn't so good. Some other things I've heard lately ...

Life shouldn't be this tough. Love should come easily. Laughter should be part of every day. The good should always outweigh the bad. Tears should only come with laughter. So let it be written, so let it be done. So says Queen Judi.

Somewhere along the line I have lost my voice. Really, I still have a voice but I have an inability - a paralyzing fear sometimes - to use it. I feel like a wuss. I feel like I have no balls or, more accurately, no ovaries. After all, I never had balls (thankfully). It's kind of funny. My job often includes being the voice of someone. I can do that. Those words aren't mine. I have no responsibility for that. I have a lot to say, really. I want to tell some people in my life that they're very important to me. I can't. I want to tell others that I'm not happy with the relationship I have with them. I can't do that either. I just kind of go through my life not saying much of anything. It doesn't do me any good. I grew up feeling I didn't have a right to think certain things. I wasn't supposed to call boys. I wasn't supposed to go out - even to the grocery store - without lipstick. There were a bunch of rules I was supposed to foll...

Today is the first day of fall. It was all over the news. It's not something I want to hear when I first wake up. Really, it's not something I want to hear at all. Autumn has never been a favorite time of mine. It meant going back to school, which always caused anxiety. It means the end of long days, pretty flowers and staying up late (yeah, I know that last one doesn't make sense but go with it for a minute). Fall means all the leaves change colors (granted, that's pretty) and then they fall off and everything looks dead. Besides, we all know what's coming next. Snow. I hate being cold. People start wearing sad colors. Browns, oranges, yellows - they look pretty on leaves but not on clothes. I like bright purple, turquoise and pink - spring colors. Sweaters are good. They not only keep me warm but hide me. I like that. The worst part of fall - without exception - is the time change. Fall back. Blech. Spring ahead - that even sounds happy. The days...

I started writing this a few days ago but decided to change my mind. Then I changed it again. This is the last time. I started by writing a memory of my 9/11 day. I’ll leave that below. After thinking for a while, I realized what I really want my kids to know (assuming they read this one day) is how my life changed after 9/11. It changed permanently. I was scared after 9/11. Living near DC, I knew we were a target. Who was going to get us next? I had to carry ID with me all the time – no more sweet talking my way into a federal building on the days I forgot my driver’s license at home (which happened frequently at that time). No more driving around the NIH campus to show my mom all the cool places over there. Now there are very big fences surrounding their locked-down facilities. There are big fences everywhere now. Travel by air is a pain in the ass. We wear flip flops and sweats now because removing shoes for not just me but my two kids takes a little w...

Today was the first day of school. Traditionally it's a day of mixed emotion - the end of summer, the start of homework, seeing friends, an earlier bedtime. It's all part of the deal of learning. F or one of my kids, it's a high anxiety time. I don't want to be in fifth grade , she told me. I don't want to be a big kid. I want to stay small. Oh, I understand that feeling quite well. I often feel that way. I don't want responsibility, demands on my time, expectations of me. I want to feel free. I didn't have the heart to tell her that her life as she knows it will disappear. She knows it's happening. Many of her anxieties at 10 are the same I feel at 44. It amazes me how much I understand this kid - the one who isn't quite like me. But she's becoming more like me daily, which is a scary thing. M : I want to look good on the first day which means I must wear this outfit. Me: I want my kids to look good on the first ...

My given name is Judith Ann Rockhill. Yet, I’m called by many different names. Judi, by most folks. Judi Ann by my 8 th grade science teacher and grandmother, both deceased now so no one calls me this any more. Judith Ann by my former bosses in OCNJ and my mom but only when I’m in trouble. Mom, Mommy, Maman, MOTHER!, Ima by my children, depending on their mood. That interpreter by some of my clients. AnjaandMikaela’smom by the kids at the playground. Mom of the twins by the parents at the playground who can’t remember my name. Miss Judi by the kids in the mental hospital where I worked (and some of my kids’ friends). Bitch by my best friend from high school (and that’s totally fine). Rockhill by some of my friends. Hey or You by strangers. Ma’am by young people who want me to smack them. Miss by smart folks at the store. Mrs. Rockhill by people who don’t know what name to use (this is the correct one). Ms. Prien by the unknowing folks in my kids’ school....