Philly on the Fourth

Happy Independence Day! So what if it's almost August?  I'm getting used to posting about events three weeks after the fact- weddings, holidays, trips- so why not this, too?  Now that I'm unemployed, I'll have much more time to post, hopefully in a more timely manner.  But let's start by getting caught up.  For the Fourth of July weekend I ventured to the city of brotherly love with several of my New York friends, most of whom had never set foot inside the city.  Let's get something straight- I love Philly.  Even with all of it's sketchdom and complete and utter disarray in so many ways.  The restaurants, the cheesesteaks, the history, the boat houses, the memories, the everything.  I embrace it all.  Even the homeless people on every corner.  And the fact that in any given two block radius you are more than likely able to step from the richest neighborhoods to the poorest.   So, you can imagine my joy at sharing this wonderful city with my wonderful friends. 

We packed a lot into 3 days.  A lot a lot.  We ate cheesesteaks, drank Mad4Mex margaritas, visited the Constitution Center, saw fireworks (in the rain), listened to John Legend prior to said fireworks (also in the rain), ate at the Tastes of Philly festival (yep, in the rain), ate at the All-You-Can-Eat Ice Cream Festival (in the post-rain), sat for several hours and watched the Philly natives, most of whom are obese, leaving said food festivals, saw the Phillies lose to the Mets, walked down South Street, ate Rita's Water Ice, visited my dear friends Preethi and Dan, saw a lot of architecture courtesy of Rob's insistence that we be better educated on great buildings, laughed, saw more obese people, took turns singing lullabies before we went to sleep (all 5 of us in one room- really cozy), and learned a little bit more about one another as we traveled together.  Success.

 

We tried both Pat's AND Geno's.  Yes, it's true.

The Button at Penn.

No, this is not the Amazon Rainforest.  This is a bush in which Hayley lost Rob's frisbee.  This is also their dramatic exit from said bush after it was found.

Please meet my friend Rob, the pimp.

Three of my favorite guys at the Phillies game.

Unemployment: Day One

I called my dad yesterday morning before hopping on a plane to San Francisco and he scoffed when I cheerily told him that I have now joined the ranks of the unemployed.  And by ranks, I mean half of my friends.  This has NOTHING to do with the fact that we are twenty-somethings who have never done anything longer than 9 months and who are in the front lines of the ADHD Gen Y-ers, ever itching for a new phone/ipod/laptop/vacation/sitcom/bar/car/graduatedegree/job to hold our amusement.  That is not a relevant point in this conversation.  But as it goes, I happen to not be exaggerating in this particular instance (yes, I will admit, I occasionally, once in a blue moon, exaggerate for effect.  It’s part of my job description.  Yes, being a blogger is the closest thing I have to a job right now, so JUST DROP IT, OK??).  I literally had to stop and count how many of my friends are unemployed, not currently working for various reasons, or changing jobs, heck, altogether changing industries.  From one of my college roommates who is picking up her life from Miami to go to grad school in Austin to a friend who finished TFA and is going into ministry back in his home state of Ohio, to another TFA alum who is spending his summer doing a Lehman Brothers internship (Well, at least until the bank folds) in attempt to figure out his life, or my friend who was laid off out of the blue from her swank advertising job and has decided to start her own Non-Profit.  And that is the short list.  

So while my father thinks I am an anomaly, in fact I am much less unique than he would ever like to let himself believe.  Because then he would have to stop his disdainful scoffing every time I speak to him.  All for different reasons and all in different industries and circumstances, but alas, we are banded together by our unemployed status.  And as Type A New Yorkers, we’re all secretly freaking out.  Well, actually, I’m not freaking out at all, but I guess it seemed like the right thing to write.  Maybe I’m in denial.  Or maybe I'm just in California, a state so mellow it puts Jack Johnson to shame.  But I am so excited for this next year that I cannot even contain my grin.  It’s falling off my face onto my lap half the time, and I just want to share some of my joy with all of my friends who are chugging along from 9-7 and say, “Hey, come on over, it's much more fun on this side of the fence." 

I must say, however, that I had a wonderful job for two years, and no words quite encompass my gratitude for all that I learned, both professionally and personally at Easton Associates.  More importantly, I left with friends, with family that will be with me for the rest of my life.  This was all brought together on my last day when they threw me  a party.  Which was odd, considering I have planned nearly every single social event since the day I started.  So to be on the receiving end and have absolutely no input was just disorienting.  But altogether wonderful.  For the baker, they baked.  For the blogger, they blogged.  Each person in my company wrote a "blog entry" about what it would be without me at EA, what they will miss, what they cherished.  And let me just tell you, the waterworks were going full speed ahead as I read through all the heart-felt and often hilarious memos.  Truly the best possible ending to the chapter as a healthcare consultant.   

I anticipate many adventures in the coming year.  First up: San Francisco. Ready, set, go.

What Is It About San Fran?

What is it about San Francisco that makes people's eyes glaze over in a sea of pure blissful love when you mention it? Not even Chicagoans love their city as much as SFers love theirs.  I cannot think of a single example in which I have talked to someone about San Francisco and their response is anything short of exuberant enthusiasm.  NO, this is not an exaggeration.

Well I am about to find out what all the buzz is about.  In my first two weeks of unemployment I am embarking on a little voyage to the other size of the country.  Just simply to BE.  I have no specific plans other than a wedding in Santa Rosa (my third of four summer weddings) and general dates to see various friends.  And to see The Dark Knight in IMAX.  And because this city/area is so wonderful, a lot of my wonderful friends from various places and times in my life have made it their home. 

My fabulous friend Nathan’s last words to me when I called to talk to him about visiting were, “Well hun, you’re going to leave here with a great ass. There are a lot of hills.”  Maybe that’s why people love it so much.  Because I just can’t figure out specifically what it is, aside from the fact that I know almost nothing about SF other than that people love it.  You know what it reminds me of- Mac laptops.  Talk to any urban well-educated white person (because we all own one, right?) about their Mac and they will gush and spew with love for their beautiful baby Mac.  They may have even named their laptop.  Yes, named their laptop, as if it’s an animate object with which they have a personal relationship.  But have you ever noticed that the actual content of their praise is well, often lacking in content.  I discovered this when I was placed on the spot to explain SPECIFICALLY why I like my Mac by the IT guy at work.  And I was all, "It's just... BETTER" as if that constituted actual content.  

Now, I was eventually able to articulate some more precise points, but for the most part it's just this general aura of awesome.  No other explanation should be necessary as to why I love my Mac.  It just EMBODIES wonderful.  And maybe that's the way it is with San Francisco.  People love it so much that just the general overriding feeling is one of warm fuzzies.  Sunny days and clear blue skies.  So, as I investigate more I will be sure to share my findings and come back with a definitive (and specific) account of why (or, heaven forbid, why not) this City by the Bay is so wonderful.  To be continued...

Danger! Napper Zone

Daytime naps are dangerous.  Don't get me wrong, they're also glorious, and I am a big fan of naps.  My college track record proves this.  Because it's kind of like saying, "My day is so free and open that I can just sleep while it's light out.  I have nothing so pressing that I need to do rather than sleep.  Don't you wish you could be that cool (lazy?)."  Kind of awesome.  I would say that one of the only "good" things that came out of my 7 months of mono was a lot of high-quality completely-excusable naps.  Because I was ALWAYS TIRED.  

But more often than not what you intend to be a 40 minute cat-nap turns into a 1.5+ marathon-nap.  And then you wake up mid-REM cycle and your body is all, "I'm sorry, I'm not ready to function right now, thank you and goodnight."  Only it's not night.  It's day.  Broad daylight.  But you're all confused and disoriented and you stumble around your bedroom like a drunkard as you try to wake up.  You know why? Because you're MORE tired than before your nap.  It's this bizarre scale where up to a certain point in the nap time you wake up refreshed and after some magic minute you fall off a steep cliff into the world of drowsy.  

Classic example of this: a few weeks ago after work I called my friend Wes to see if he was going to meet my for yoga and/or dinner afterward:

Wes: Hi Liz.

Me: Hey... are you ok? You sound a little weird.

Wes: Well... *yawn* I just woke up from a nap.  It was supposed to be 30 minutes.  But it turned into 90 minutes.  And I can't get out of bed now.  I'm really tired.  So I think yoga is out.

Me: Classic Wes, I love it.  You do know it's 6pm now and you'll never fall asleep tonight.

Wes: Oh no, I don't think I'll have any trouble falling back asleep, especially if I just stay in my bed the rest of the evening.  Which is really really tempting.  

Me: Well, good luck with that, have fun being a sloth while I go workout.

Wes: Yea... yea.  

Or have you ever taken a nap less than 3 hours after you got up that day?  Don't you even shake your head no, you liar.  You know, you get up at 11am on a Saturday, write a few emails, have some breakfast, maybe even go for a run, and then you get to about 2pm and it's that mid-afternoon slump when a nap just feels so RIGHT.  But then you think about how you only got up 3 hours ago and it gives you hesitation.  Does this take lazy to a new level?  No, you reason, it's perfectly acceptable.  If I just say so enough, it will make it so.

It's like the sleepiness overpowers your faculties of reason and logic.  In this state you convince yourself that it's ok just to lay your head back down, particularly if you haven't made your bed yet that day, it's just asking to be revisited.  All the rest of your commitments will just take care of themselves.  And you are there, immobile.  And in the moment it FEELS SO RIGHT.  In fact, all this talk of napping makes me want to go take one.  It's Sunday, 90+ degrees and humid, and it's not like I have a to-do list 3 Post-Its long.  No worries, I'll be unemployed in 3 days.  Plenty of time to catch up.  Right?

To Be or Not To Be Direct

I know this may come as a shocker to you, faithful reader, but I tend to be a pretty direct person.  Ok, a very direct person.  I don’t understand what the point is of being indirect, being passive aggressive (though someone who was mad at me once called me, and I quote, ‘single handedly the most passive aggressive person I’ve ever met in my entire life’ which was rather confusing to me… I would understand aggressive-aggressive, but passive is not a word that I would even remotely consider myself to be.  But then again, maybe I’m blind to the truth.  And I digress.), or not stating your opinion, if it is done in a constructive manner.  9 times out of 10 being direct is a better solution than not speaking up or doing so in a roundabout way.  My friends are all laughing and shaking their heads right now, because they know how completely Spanglicious this sentiment is.

Of course the key to this is “done in a constructive manner.”  Speaking up after five martinis to your best friend about how her boyfriend is a total loser and she deserves better may not be the best way to make your point resonate.  Telling a friend over email he treats women like dog poo and he has a pattern of sucking at life, maybe also not so constructive.  But I find there are in fact many not-overly-confrontational ways to say these exact same things and have it be productive for all parties. 

Now, I have had to learn when it is and (more importantly) when it is not ok to speak freely and directly.  And what is and isn’t constructive.  The above examples may or may not be permutations of actual events in my own life.  Because some people do not respond well to directness, even if it is 100% the truth.  The truth, as it were, is not always the easiest thing to hear.  And I am not always the best at recognizing when I haven’t yet earned the right to be direct and call someone out or when it is the not the right person/time/place/situation. I am working on this, thank you very much.  But on the whole I find that being direct and communicating your thoughts/feelings/frustrations is far more productive than not.  Especially for we women.  Who let things pile one on top of the other until we explode in a heap of hormonal lava. 

And particularly as I am about to leave my fine city for other lands, I am taking to heart this trend of honesty.  Because really, what do I have to lose?  Quite on the contrary, I have found that I have gained a lot in the process.  First of all, I have learned more productive ways of communicating and processing my thoughts and feelings.  Secondly, I have actually become closer with a few of my friends because I have gone out on a limb to say something that they might not want to hear but ultimately need to hear.  And quite frankly, it has been reciprocated more than a few times, and I have been shown a few new tough things about myself that need some work. 

Life is too short to beat around the bush.  It’s also too short to not be intentional in your relationships.  Far too many people are satisfied with surface level friendships where you don’t take a chance to dig deeper.  You just play it safe.  Because safe is easy.  And comfortable.  But I can tell you with complete honesty that my closest and most trusted friends are those with whom I can be fully honest and direct and they can be so with me.  They are the ones who push me where it hurts because sometimes it takes a little bit of pain to get over the hurdle towards healing.  They are the ones I know without a shadow of a doubt love me, and because of this love I take what they say seriously. 

I don’t really have a point for this post.  I say this as if any of my posts have a 'point.'  I have just been thinking a lot about communication, friendship, and honesty lately.  And given that I process much better in written form, I thought I would share.  So that is enough.  Direct enough for you?  

Summer Weddings: Sarah and Steve

If I had to describe this wedding in 5 words: Social Event of the Year. It was really that spectacular, one of those no-holds-barred kind of weddings where the attention to detail was such that this was their night in every way shape and form. It didn't even matter that it was in Cincinnati, it was just that nice. Not that I have anything against Cincinnati...

This was probably the largest wedding I've been to, with a 300+ person reception and a loooovely sit-down dinner. We're talkin ceviche and champagne. We're talkin string quartet at the ceremony and live band at the reception. We're talkin flower arrangements that make Botanical Gardens jealous. And I even heard they had PENGUINS for the guests to pet at the rehearsal dinner. Gangsta. All for our two lovely friends Sarah and Steve, whose story is as dripping with sappy ooey gooey lovey doveyness (ok I'm done) as a Hallmark store before Valentine's Day.

Aside from the fact that Sarah and Steve (whose initials are both SM and I can only hope someday to marry someone who at least has my same last initial, because I really like my initials- EMS. Is that selfish of me?) are a wonderful couple in so many ways, they both happen to have been in my college Christian fellowship. Which means that all of their friends are all of my of my friends. Which means that of the 37 people there from Penn, I knew oh, let's say 34. It was truly a joy to see so many old friends and catch up. And just be there together celebrating the union of two dear friends. Ohhhh what fun.

I think one of my favorite memories of the night was when my friend Cassi screamed "COUNTRY!!!" in between songs at the reception. Gotta love my Texas friends. And the band members looked at one another... and someone screamed "Garth Brooks!" And the band members looked at one another... and started playing "I Got Friends in Low Places." As if this weren't enough, some of my friends had the brilliant idea to start doing the electric slide. To country. And it just SEEMED SO RIGHT. Once it caught on with the 30+ Penn kids, there was no stoppin the train of coolness. Pretty soon everyone (and I mean everyone) was doing the electric slide to Garth Brooks.

And one of my favorite parts about the electric slide is people who can't do the electric slide. It's like they're not American or something. Because the electric slide is an essential part of cheesy American party culture. Right up there with YMCA and the Twist. But oh man, get a few (or a dozen) drinks in some people, and they are more than happy to try out this newfangled dance. And it is invariably hilarious. Sorry to all you people out there who can't/don't/won't do the electric slide. No wait, no I'm not. I'm thankful for the humor you provide in my life. Is that terrible?

But alas, the great night and relaxing weekend had to end at some point (though hopefully it will never end for them!). Of course, only after a full-spread brunch at Sarah's house on Sunday afternoon. Let me tell you, they had it all figured it out. Down to the SarahSteve cookies. Mmm mmm good. To my dear friends: I wish you the best. Thanks for one helluva weekend.

Chillin in Cincinnatti (well, not so much 'chill' since it was 80 degrees)

You may kiss the bride (and check out the lovely bridesmaid's dresses)

Reception at the Underground Railroad Freedom Center

Loooove the centerpieces

Linds and Salster

My favorite couple of all time (Sorry SM squared), Tom and Jacqueline

This was some tasty cake

With the beaming bride Sarah

You'd almost think we were happy or something

Awww

Almost Unemployed!

One week from today I end my career as a healthcare consultant. Ho.Ly.Crap. In case you were wondering to what I was referring in my last post about this whole "my last two weeks" at work thing... well, I will tell you. It's funny that the single greatest "event" in my life in the past, say, 7 months, has not made it onto my blog yet. Probably because as much as I have been on board with this great plan for many months, it becomes actual true reality when you put it out there for THE WHOLE WORLD. And by that I mean the several hundred people who read my blog.

So here goes.

I am leaving the wonderful Big Apple to venture into new lands. Some would call said lands Wasington state and Romania. And now I have probably really confused people. You're going to Washington AND Romania? Yes. As it goes, I am heading to Romania in early January to assist my friends Dave and Erin who are starting an international student ministry based out of a medical school in Iasi, a city of 350,000 people in the northeast part of the country (20 miles from the Moldova border- weekend trip!). This med school draws students from all over the world, particularly the Middle East and North Africa, and the classes are (mostly) in English. Dave and Erin (and their two lovely children) moved to Romania in April and have started meeting students and assessing interest/need, holding weekly Bible studies, getting acquainted with the city, etc. What they have come to realize is that there is most definitely a need for an English speaking church for Christians. Among other things, this is one of their big goals. So, I am going for 6-8 months to help them in whatever way I can.

Prior to this little venture I will be in Washington State for a four month program run by the organization under which I will go to Romania (Great Commandments Ministries). This will essentially be a fourth month "spiritual sabbatical" with 10-12 other students around my age living on an apple orchard in the bumblevilles of Washington. We will spend our days in classes on various (spiritual/Biblical) topics, prayer, solitude, service, team building, and generally learning more about our faith, ourselves, and our God. The final month (of the four) will be a service trip abroad (locale TBD) together.

My current plan it to apply Early Decision to Columbia for both an MBA and an MPH (public health) for the fall of 2009. If they accept me, I'll come back from Romania for that, and if not... well, then the field is wide open for Plan B. Stay in Romania longer? Come back to the states and get a job? Something else entirely? I'm game.

As it goes, Iasi happens to be a pretty sweet city. First of all, 60K of the 350K people in the city are students. Which is awesome. The city is home to the opera, botanic gardens, philharmonic, national theater, and a whole host of other great cultural entities. Iasi is also home to a (the?) Public Health Institute of Romania. Which means great potential for volunteering or otherwise getting involved with public health of some type while there.

I am unbelievably excited. The process to get to the decision took many months, and it's entirely too long to write in detail. In short- I received a "support letter" (Christianese for "I'm going abroad to be a missionary and need money from you to help me live") from Dave and Erin last fall and from that moment on could not put to rest the desire to go help them. Thinking it was perhaps a passing unhappiness/discontent with other things in my life, I ignored it. Because it seemed SO crazy. Go to a country I could barely locate on a map let alone speak the language, with two people who I only know through older friends from college, to do student ministry (something I had never considered, ever)?? And leave my great job, church, apartment, friends, and city? Um, no. But the urge stayed. And sat. And wouldn't go away. We're talking months.

Now, until this point when I heard people talk about experiences where one day they woke up and simply felt they HAD to go do X (ministry abroad, total career change, move somewhere, etc), and they felt "called" to do so with no other explanation than it coming from God, I basically kind of dismissed it as at best exaggeration and at worst a misreading of the situation. Let me say with complete transparency and honesty that I can now state without a shadow of a doubt that it is exactly what happened to me. Be it a "calling" or whatever name you want to put on it, I am unwavering in my conviction that this is nothing short of God reaching into my life and into my heart and placing this desire into the very core of my being. I could go on about the (literally) dozens of big and small things that have affirmed and confirmed this belief in the past 3 months, but perhaps in another entry. But every step and inch of the way, the path has been laid out before my feet, not of my own doing, and the kind and nature of "coincidences" that would all have had to simultaneously come together defy even the most skeptical person's odds. It has been awesome to see God at work, tangibly. And I feel truly in awe of a God that we all too often put inside neat little boxes. And incredibly humbled, since I know without question I could never have done this all on my own. But in the interest of ending an already long entry, I will leave you with a picture of my future home- Iasi.

Ready or not world, here I come.

Gospelfest. With a Capital G.

Last week my friend Pamela mentioned to me that I have been delinquent in my duties as a blogger by not writing about Gospelfest. And how that should clearly be number one on my priority list of "things to write about." Because she was there. And wants to be mentioned on my blog with a burning desire deep in her soul. Just kidding. But as you can clearly see, I have not posted in 8 days. Because apparently my company thought it would be a funny joke to double staff me in my final two weeks. Ha. Ha. Ha.

I have many a topic to write about, but this is the most ancient event, so I will start here. So way back many moons ago I found out about the McDonald's Gospelfest happening in Newark, New Jersey. Intrigued, I looked into this little event and decided way back in some winter month that it seemed like an excellent June Saturday afternoon activity. Which was all well and good at the time, except then in the intervening 6 months (I kid you not) 7 other concerts that I wanted to go to all were on that day. And much as I was excited to try something new and different, I kind of just wanted to see the free Vampire Weekend concert in Central Park. Or REM at Jone's Beach. Or go with my choir to the Mikado. But alas, these are our choices and we deal with their repercussions.

No but for real, I was so completely curious about this gospel festival for many a reason: 1) I had never been to a gospel concert, let alone a festival 2) I was pretty sure that Pamela, Jake, and I would be the only white people there, and this gave me a sense of "authenticity" about delving into another culture. Or something like that. It sounds less racist in my head than it is probably coming across right in this moment. But if it were say a PingPong tournament and I said I thought we would be the only white people, no one would be offended. Right? So ok, that's only two reasons, and I should probably have at least three if I'm going to say "many" a reason. But alas, it's 10:26pm and I'm sitting in a room whose temperature is approximately that of the surface of the sun, and I JUST WANT TO GET THIS POST FINISHED.

Right, so off we went to Newark. Now, my wonderful friend David lives in Newark and has been teaching (corrupting?) the youth of America for two years. Since we all feel sorry for him that he lives in the armpit of America, we occasionally humor him by going out to Newark, pretending it has something (anything?) to offer that one of our five boroughs does not. I know, I know, we're good friends, you don't have to remind me. But all this to say, I have been to Newark before. Even at night. *gasp* And in fact I have never even felt as unsafe as the entirety of the four years I lived in West Philly. Go figure. This time, however, it was broad daylight, and we were venturing to the monstrous Prudential Center (yay corporate sponsorship!) for our little event.

Now, my understanding (read: assumption with absolutely no investigation) of this festival was that it started at 3pm and would be a few hours, and we would have our fix of gospelness for a good long while. Oh but no. It was actually a FESTIVAL, like a real all-day-event with even a designate dinner-break written on the flyer/schedule. Yes, it started at 3pm, but it went until ELEVEN PM. Way more intense than anything for which I was prepared. As it turned out, the "main" events were at night (not that I knew ANY of the names of the headliners) and the 3 hours we had devoted to gospelific times were filled with a hodgepodge of mediums that all apparently fall under the umbrella of Gospel. Now, I suppose prior to that day my idea of said "umbrella" was like one that you buy from the hotdog man on the sidewalk for $3. Small and easily broken. Oh but no. The real umbrella of Gospel is apparently like a golf-umbrella- you know the kind that makes you curse at the individual holding it as you walk down the NYC sidewalks because it takes up an unfairly inordinate (some inordinates are fair) amount of space and YOU have to be the one to move, but dang it, that dude is staying dry and you're huddled under your sorryass $3 farce of an umbrella. This analogy is not quite right, so I will stop.

We're talking dance- allllll kinds of dance. Step teams (oh my gosh, if only I could step). Poetry. Rap. Female vocalists. Children's choirs. Spanish vocalists. Adult choirs. Male vocalists. And on and on and on. But let me just tell you, it was friggin awesome. Because 1) having never been to a gospel concert, I got a way better view of the range and breadth and height and depth of all things Gospel and 2) we were definitely the only white people there. So I just watched. And absorbed. And stared mouth-agape for the vast majority of my time there. Given that it was such a range, there were certainly some not-so-great groups. But oh wow, it was worth it for those 1 or 2 gems in each category that really just wowed the crowd. And you know what's really cool- the expressiveness of an all-black audience. After seeing that crowd, I realized we white people do NOT know how to show our appreciation for a performance. Because let me tell you, they were cheerin and hootin and on their feet givin praise. Now it may also have had something to do with their love of Jesus, but I can't say definitively. In any event, it was fun. And as it turns out, Vampire Weekend's free concert got rained out. So looks like I got the better end of the bargain. Holla.

One of the amazing interpretive dance troupes.

Children's choir.

This would be hands down the best outfit of the day. Yes, those are black and white striped sequins. And please note the hat. Hands down the best voice of the day, too.

Can I Have an Everlasting Gobstopper, Too?

Yesterday one of the managing directors brought in her adorable five year old son to work. Let's call him Josh. A dear little ball of energy and questions and enthusiasm. And so I of course was incapable of doing any work, given that I am so incredibly engaged by children. This is in no way evidence that I am still pretending to be a child as often as humanly possible. As I was leaving for the day with said managing director to have her personal trainer help with my obnoxiously persistent back injury, she asked me to distract him for a few minutes while she finished up a call with my favorite client *cough cough*. So I happily agreed.

Josh I played in the "hall" that conveniently is open air with the entire rest of the office. Better known as everyone else who is diligently working at 430pm. He gave me his Mickey Mouse ears to wear. Which I forgot I was wearing when a senior staff member walked over to ask me a question. Excellent. Josh was particularly engaged with his little toy plane. A Continental plane in fact. Flying it around every which way, making the sounds that planes make, not particularly quietly. Because he wanted to accurately replicate the noise levels of planes, apparently. Then Josh looked at me and said, "I wish I could fit in this plane and fly in it." To which I replied, "Well Josh, you should go talk to Willy Wonka, he can make you small so you can fit in there." At which point his eyes got REAL BIG at the mere thought of this mystery man who could help him fulfill his dream of flying the toy Continental plane. Maybe all the way to Build-A-Bear. The following conversation ensued:

J: Where is Willy Wonka?
Me: In his chocolate factory.
J: Where's the chocolate factory?
Me: Well, I'm not sure, because you only know where it is if you get invited to come.
J: Why?
Me: Ummm... I don't know... but you can eat lollipops there too!
J: I need to tell mommy about Willy Wonka. (starts running to mommy's office)
Me: Wait wait wait, no we don't need to tell mommy yet. Let's tell someone else. Like Kris.
J: Ok.
Me: Josh has something to tell you, Kris.
J: Liz just told me about Willy Wonka and that he can shrink me so I can fly in the plane. Do you know Willy Wonka?
Kris: Not personally but he's a very special man, he had a chocolate factory and he wanted to give it away. They even made two movies about him.

*Kris googles Willy Wonka and pulls up the Wikipedia article about him and shows Josh the following picture*
Kris: See, there's Willy Wonka!
J: Why are all those people so small on his arms?
Me: Because he SHRUNK them like he can do for YOU!
J: MOOOMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYY!!!!

At this point mommy had finished with her call, and she and my fabulous mentor Darren emerged from her office. I informed Darren of the preceding conversation and he just laughed. And I'm not even kidding you, Josh probably asked his mom about 25 times when they could go see Willy Wonka? When? Tonight? Tomorrow? Mommy, wheeeeeen???

It was so precious.

I feared that he would not let it die, that the entire ride home we would here nothing but entreaties to visit Mr. Wonka. And that I would be fired for my cruelty and trickery. But thankfully, the crazy day of Build-A-Bear and the Disney Store and in general being a rambunctious 5-year-old boy caught up with him and he zonked out within 10 minutes of being in the car. Excellent.

Let me tell you what, someday I'm going to have a 5 year old little boy and something similar will happen, except I will BE the mom and I won't find it quite so amusing that my little son has yet ANOTHER question to ask me. Repeatedly. Thanks to some non-parent who instilled some little seed of ridiculousness. But hopefully I will chuckle and think, "Ah Liz, it could be worse. You should be thankful your child wants to befriend Willy Wonka. And not Freddy Krueger."