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I recently discovered that all my old sites and blogs are saved at archive.org. I've been going through them, reading a history of my life for the past eight years.

There are things I forgot I wrote, things I don't want to remember, things that sent me into that place where your eyes glaze over and you get lost in thought and time.

There are words and pictures and memories and a practically minute by minute blogging of September 11, 2001 and the days that followed. There is a time line of my childrens' adolescence and reading all this is like watching them grow up all over again.

I closed off the archives on all these sites for a reason; there are things I just didn't want out there anymore. But there are things I wrote that I think are worth saving, worth reading again and worth sharing again.

This is one of them, and one of my own favorite essays.

The picture is of my friend's son Corey, and DJ on the right. I think they were six here. They are 15 now.

I wrote this particular piece on July 12, 2001.

I didn't set out to become an expert on anything but my own children. But that's what happens. By accident, by fate, by the meandering path that is parenthood, we become experts at things we thought we had no business knowing. They are not always things we want to be well-versed in. But they are things we are forced to know and research and become familiar with to the point of it becoming a part of your vocabulary, your being, your life.

I myself became an expert at a few things. I learned how to negotiate the maze that is special education. I learned how to deflect criticism and pointless accusations and needless test results. I learned how to yell, how to beg, how to stand up for everything you believe to be true and how to disprove everything you know is not. I learned the correct vernacular, the phrases and coined terms, the euphemisms that the people who think they know your child better than you use to make you think that they are so much wiser than you. I learned how to rant and rave with dignity still intact and I learned that there is no better teacher and no better healer for your child than yourself. I learned that support groups and meetings and therapist, while they all have wonderful intentions, are not replacements for real knowledge and action. I became an expert, so much so that other parents in the same predicament would call me late at night and ask for advice. And honestly, I was only passing on advice that was handed down to me by other parents who unwittingly became experts in the same field.

I became an expert at ear infections. How to tell when your child has one, even if he isn't running a fever, how to predict when one was coming, how to stave off a night of ear splitting crying, how to keep your child comfortable and relatively happy even though the inside of his ears were swollen and red and filled with fluid. I learned that Tylenol just doesn't work for some kids and antibiotics may prove useless. I learned that your child banging his head on the wall night after night was a sign of pain and that when a chatty child suddenly stops talking it's a very bad sign. I learned how to calm a child by strapping him into his carseat at 3 am and driving around the neighborhood singing Tom Chapin songs. I learned how to get a child to sleep sitting up, in a stroller, while you push said stroller around your kitchen table endlessly. I learned that doctors don't always know what's best and don't always know what's right and when your child's doctor makes you feel incompetent and stupid, that it is time to find a new one. I learned that ear infections may really be the underlying symptom to something else and I learned, in a very hard fashion, how to stop yourself from fainting when your 18 month old son is getting a spinal tap, and that if you do not stop crying and carrying on, the kind nurse will take you from the room and make you sit somewhere far away where you can't hear your son screaming in agony and fright. I learned about allergies and milk allergies in particular and I learned that sometimes the best teacher you have is the library and a pediatrician who doesn't think you are stupid or incompetent.

I became an expert at things that weren't so heartbreaking. I learned how to use a broom handle to teach a kid to ride a two-wheeler. I learned the number for poison control by heart. I was an expert on which Burger King had ball pits and which McDonalds had the outdoor playgrounds and I was the one who taught the other mothers why you never ever let your child go in one of those pretty colorful play tunnels that only a child can fit in when you are planning on leaving the Chuck E. Cheese in about ten minutes. I was an expert at the songs on Barney and the names of all the Power Rangers and I could imitate Darkwing Duck like nobody else. I knew the name of every train on Thomas the Tank Engine. I learned how to get down on a floor and play like a kid. I learned every Raffi

This wrap around skirt was passed on to me quite a few years ago and the print is definitely rather 70s inspired. I believe it was actually handmade as well, but I'm not sure by whom. I made the sleeveless top myself out of material that was also given to me. It's a favorite color of mine and I love the yoked neckline. The shawl/poncho is another secondhand piece (and also "boho"), but I must have removed the tag - I have no idea where it's from. So, my outfit has no great brand names today. ;)

The jewelry I made myself a few years back and the wedge shoes have long been favorites (any shoe that makes me nearly 6 feet tall is awesome :).