Oh, life. I know now that lack the necessary ability to shield myself from the things that are the most painful that we all must experience in this life. I lack the necessary spirituality is perhaps a better way of putting it. Because of this, I have a rather pragmatic, but nonetheless torturous view of the big subjects, like death and love and happiness.

My daughter woke up in the morning after a particularly traumatic nightmare and I heard her voice down the hall as it stammered to get out those few words right upon waking, those panicky words that will pull your consciousness back to the real world where we wake up in the morning. The morning is always the best part of any day, in my opinion, because it is a new beginning.

“Mom,” she said with a shaky voice that I remember hearing a lot when she was a toddler but not so much these days, now that she’s a tween and all. “I had a dream that you died!” “Oh,” I managed in my own sleep fog. “Well, I’m alive and well and trying to sleep.” But she was really crying to the point where it made it difficult for her to breathe. “Come on and sleep in here with me,” I told her. And she laid down next to me, all five feet seven inches of her.

We both laid there thinking about the ramifications of my death on her life. Not a pretty picture. I’d always known this. Single parents are in a continual panic about what would happen if. When you provide everything for a child you know that you would do some serious damage to their lives if you died, and yet we all know how unpredictably terrifying life can be. We all know that we can die suddenly, without warning, and for no “reason” other than the fact that we were in the wrong place at the wrong time, or we did something careless we shouldn’t have done (drive without a seatbelt).

So I thought it would make her feel better if she knew that there were others who could care for her should I die. I have two sisters and a best friend who could raise her, all three would be good options. And she has her father out there in Italy, the one she has seen a couple of summers but who is kind and responsible.

Look, I didn’t want to go there. But you can’t have everything, right?

No. No, you can’t.

We learn that one the hard way.

The bad dream set her up for a day of melancholy and silence. We were invited to a pool party that she had been looking forward to — and suddenly, she backed out of it. She insisted that we don’t go. The girls wouldn’t include her in their “group,” she figured. So much sadness and fear all at once.

I didn’t push her to go because she is only 12. That is the beginning of what is a really difficult period in any girl’s life. It is not that surprising that she has her first “movie star crush” right now either. All things combine to churn in our psyches, and eventually they shape who we are as adults.

Looking back on it, we could have gone to the pool party if I’d had the bright idea of bringing of a friend of hers along. Of course I didn’t think about that until it was too late. So much of the time, it feels like I figure things out way too late.

I am relieved to be at last ending my participation with a certain elementary school, Wonderland, in Hollywood. It is, in some ways, a great school. In other ways, not so much. In order to see its greatness, one has to step back and marvel at the big picture. What does it have to offer? A music program headed up by a magnificent, devoted, patient orchestra teacher. A physical education coach who is always there, present and engaged with the students. A full time art teacher who brings humor and innovation to the job. The parents are so involved with this school they practically run the thing. The teachers are also inspired and devoted, many of them. No one is perfect in this life and thus, some of the teachers aren’t quite the gods they’re made out to be but again, big picture time, it doesn’t really matter that much. The disconnect between the neighborhood school and the “gifted magnet” continues to pose a problem particiularly since it isn’t anything anyone can lay on the kids. It just is. It’s a class issue, a culture issue, a social issue and a parent issue. Unfortunately, it taints an otherwise great school.

Nonetheless, I have to say, I’m so glad it isn’t my problem anymore. My daughter is thankfully moving on to Middle School and I couldn’t be more excited for her future. A friend told me recently at a tea party (a really nice one) that it’s important to just look ahead at the possibilities. No one wants to hit their peak in 5th grade, or 4th grade or 3rd grade or even kindergarten. Christ, what does one have to look forward to if all of the best moments are behind you?

All too often we parents expect our kids to already be a success. Success is something that comes, or not, after preparation and hard work. My daughter still has a lot to learn. Emma has watched the other kids collect their accolades – best art piece, best speech, best project, etc. Emma has yet to be the “best” at anything.¬†¬† She doesn’t need to be the “best” yet. She’s only 11. I hope that she doesn’t think she has to be. I always tell her this.

And I’m over it. Gladly, happily, excitedly over it. I am looking forward to being very UN-involved in middle school. Someday the adventures at this school are going to make a great book. Until then, though, goodbye, good luck, have a great life. Here comes the harder part.

Driving up Laurel Pass and onto Mulholland, a hawk sat on a telephone wire overlooking Fryman canyon. I stopped to take a picture. I used my telephoto lens but it wasn’t really powerful enough to capture this hawk at close range. Nonetheless, I messed around in Photoshop to see what I could salvage.