Am I Doing Okay?

Pimp My Pool

2011-06-11T18:46:00.008-05:00

We live in on an island in the East Bay, near San Francisco, and are fortunate enough to have a pool in our backyard. The biggest struggle, once you get past the freezing cold water, is figuring out how to use the space when the the pool extends practically to the property line. The Indian Summers do allow for a long 6 month seasonal opportunity when to share the space with our friends and family. Despite my efforts, we currently lack proper seating areas, proper toy storage and a solar heating solution that's working well enough for anyone over the age of 18 to attempt to swim. Help! We really need a water rescue here.

Hide

2010-09-09T17:37:00.002-05:00

You know what brings me a bit of pleasure? When I click over to another blog and it hasn't been updated in long time. Ah-ha! I think, I'm not the only one.

I've been working. That went somewhat poorly.

I've been having friends over. I like the ones that want to sit outside and bring chicken.

The girls went back to school and I'm on the board of the PTA. Madam Secretary. I've also volunteered to chair the MathBlasters fundraiser. Raise your hand if you just spewed coffee out of your nose?

Tomorrow the girls audition for another local childrens' theater production. My mouth, my wallet and my sense of well-being all just collectively tensed up. I can't wait to take a clandestine photo of the board president and all the unbelievably bitchy things she does. During the Ramona production she "bipped" my youngest atop her precious head and I was able to hold my tongue. She also used the phrase "it's not rocket science, ladies" as I assembled the cast photos onto the bulletin board. Oh, Ms. President- i'mma gonna get on your good side. And refill my prescriptions.

Erik returned from burning man with all of my possessions: my bike, my vintage cooler, my hula hoop...what else did he take? Erik is fond of saying two phrases when it comes to spending money:

1) Buy the best and you'll never be disappointed.

2) It would be a bargain at twice the price.

Burning man however, cost more than 3 times what he had estimated. He's glad he went, but he's not ready to commit to next year. But he was going to turn 40...someday.

What I Wore

2010-08-31T21:08:00.003-05:00

I just ran to catch the 7:00 pm bus. I think running through the streets of San Francisco in my work attire with my laptop flapping about and raggedy old Kate Spade bag swinging side to side is really one of my better looks. What with the ill fitting bra and the awkward gait, it's got to be captured and uploaded as my profile picture to Facebook immediately.

Today I am rocking a new pair of corduroy pants. I was pleasantly surprised when I put them on for the first time in the safety of my own home. They're kind of that greenish/pea soup color. I was having a conversation with my husband, Erik, actually I was trying to crouch a complaint in an Hannah Montana analogy.

Me: You know how Miley will hear something she doesn't understand and thenspout out a long string of nonsense followed by a Say What?!??

To which he immediately replied: Girl-in-the-blinding-bright-yellow-pants-say-what?!??

I love that he knew what I was talking about even though most of the time I loathe everything on the Disney Channel. Loved it so much, I forgot to drive home my point about how I was irritated that he hadn't gone out of his way to make my life easier. Erik left for Burning Man today.

So I was feeling rather dapper in yeller pants. Then at work another freelancer who claimed he remembered me from back in the day. The day being the sometime in the late 1990's, he went on further to recall an image of me "wearing overalls."

Ugh.

Things That Make Me Go Arrrgggghhhhh!!!

2010-08-12T12:03:00.002-05:00

There's usually a myriad of things that get under my skin on any given day. I work hard to let them slide. Let me type a few out for you so they can instantly transform into the trivial. Sometimes when I talk to my friends (magic days) I'll be rattling off a story of the latest and greatest injustice against me and just by listening to my own words I'm able to see the ridiculousness. Just a bit. Like a speck.

#1 -- My landlord is lackadaisical about cashing the rent check. Seems like no big deal, right? But this is NorCal akin to NYC. Our rent is a huge chunk of the budget. It would be so much easier if I could just slide a briefcase full of money under their door. Or even better, can't they just deposit the check. It makes me feel like they don't need the money. And I get such a charge seeing the checking balance so high mid-month. (Don't be all judgey that I'm a renter. They're predicting that the piece of land my house sits on will be underwater in the next 20-50 years, that is if the The BIG One doesn't hit first or the whole state slides into the ocean.)

#2 --Two of our neighbors have three vehicles for their homes with only two licensed drivers. This sounds petty, I know. Note: they're not like two trusty commuters and then some sick vintage muscle or newfangled electric. They're three cars in pretty much the same category. Few years old, hold about 4-5 peeps. Here's the rub, the people across the street (retirees) park two cars in front of their garage. A garage that is floor to ceiling full of stuff. The third car, they park in front of my house. They don't drive the car. Ever. They don't drive the car so much that there are weeds knee high growing under it. I look out my living room window I see their car and the weeds. Maybe I should just pull them? The weeds. Or call the city and get a neon sticker slapped up on that.

UPDATE: While I was working on this post the neighbor moved the car. For the first time EVER. To his driveway to wash it. I didn't even know it ran. I don't think he thought it did either, because he kept it running while he hosed it off. I paced about trying to think of who I could call to come an park in the vacant spot. (not a magic day/no friends) I considered moving my our one and only car to the spot, but was nervous about having to talk to him about the parking predicament. So I called my mom, she has balls enough for us all on keeping people off property. While I was dialing her number, the man moved the wet car back to the spot. Dripping with water, the weeds sprouted up a few more inches before my eyes.

Trouble in Paradise

2010-07-23T14:05:00.003-05:00

Erik, my husband, and I are having a problem.

It involves our pool. And summer. And friends. I want to invite people over at every opportunity and twice on tuesday and he - eh, not so much. I want to invite my mommy friends. The kids' friends. People from work. Neighbors. The guys I bought the lounge chairs from on craigslist. I've managed to squeeze in two soirees. The first Erik was charged with BBQ-ing oysters. A labor intensive and temperate gig. They were delicious. He was done. We also had people over on the 4th. I think he had fun. Maybe a whole summerful of fun.

I always heed his requests and dial back the invitations. Recently Erik expressed an interest in going out of town in August to attend a pre-season NFL game. (Raider Nation!) I rushed to secure his flight. Days later we realized there was a conflict with his plan. "Why were you in such a rush to buy the ticket?" he fussed. Truthfully - I'd already started planning the party I could throw and the people (and more people) I could invite if he was out of town.

Last night I stared wistfully at an epicurious menu. "Want to invite people over for a Mad Men themed dinner on Sunday?" I inquired. "Sure" he said, "if the people are just our family."

Don't quit the day job

2010-07-21T19:13:00.005-05:00

We're struggling with childcare. Ain't that always the way? I don't know how anyone does it actually. There's always some variable to the equation that makes me scratch my head.

The people who have parents that help out with the care. Huh, what? So completely foreign I look around for a translator.

Or how about the camps or after school programs that demand that you pick up your kids by 5:30pm? I love it when I arrive all sweaty, nervous and out of breath and the program facilitators give me the side-eye as we both watch the second hand swing to meet the twelve on the wall clock. These people seriously have no idea how I OJ Simpson my way out of the office, sprint to public transportation, jump in my car and pray for green lights to make it just in the nick of time.

The only ones who seem to have it under control or the ones that I really envy are those with a great relationship with their full time nanny and more money than they know what to do with. Currently, I've stitched together a series of day camps and a few weeks of back up childcare provided by Erik's office. (That's fancy talk for day care, but since my kids haven't ever really been to day care they actually thought it was kind of cool. Look -- that room has babies! And it was in the city, so every day they got to ride the bus or the ferry in and have lunch with Dad.)

This weeks camp ends at 4pm. Luckily, we have a friend who has been gracious enough to allow her babysitter to pick up and watch our kids until we can get home. On one hand it is a total godsend. On the other, it's got me thinking about a career change. Not really.

Creating One of THOSE Kids

2010-07-19T14:17:00.003-05:00

My consumption of Starbucks is not out of control. It's more of an occasional treat. Depending on our work schedules, there have been times when Erik and I would stop and pick up a latte regularly. But there have also been long stretches of time where we never go.

Once, I picked the girls up from school and Hazel gasped, "You had TWO lattes?" The evidence in the cup-holders. One was her father's and he had left about 1/4 in the cup. She drank what was left in his cup and was hooked. Having outgrown the gateway kid's hot chocolate, Hazel started asking if she could have a latte on the rare occasion we all went to Starbucks.

"Don't be one of THOSE kids," her father said for my ears as well as hers. I can see his point. The only thing more annoying than overhearing ahalf-calf, non-fat, carmel, mocha, Americano, extra hot, with an extra shot and whip cream order would be having it come out of the mouth of a nine-year-old.

So it turned into something she asks for only when she is with me. She's also started liking Mocha Chip ice cream. I'm pretty sure there a group of moms that could get in a twist about me allowing my kid to order a coffee derivative flavor of ice cream on the rare occasion we go to the local parlor. Let the record show, that my mother kept ONLY Rum Raisin in her freezer the entire time I was growing up. (This may or may not have been a weight loss tactic towards me, but I'm pretty sure the message she was sending was: this ice cream is mine. Gads, do they even make Rum Raisin anymore?) But I digress.

I would like to say, a few of the Starbucks employees have tried to persuade my kid back to the heated chocolate variety. They've even given me the judgy eye the first few time I was naive enough to make the recipient known on my order. Last week we went as a family, so two kid's hot chocolates it was. But with Dad, you're allowed to pick out a pastry!! Oh. The. Excitement. Guess what Hazel choose?

The coffee cake.

Her sister is a donut kind of gal, but she was drawn to the marbled cake. As we were enjoying our breakfast, I asked Hazel how she liked hers. "It's good," she said. And then she whispered to just me, "But it doesn't taste like coffee."

What's Your Excuse?

2010-06-08T19:27:00.003-05:00

Lula brought this paper home from school earlier this year. They were studying nutrition and the food pyramid.

Look at her answer for this question:

I found this funny. Or it could be that it's particularly telling about our house. Or it could be that I am easily amused. By the way, I bought eggs this morning.

Leak

2010-06-07T19:32:00.004-05:00

I'm upset about the ongoing oil spill. I'm uncomfortable making jokes about it. I want it to be stopped and then efforts concentrated on the clean up.

I remember when the Katrina disaster was unfolding, we happened to be driving from Kansas to Texas and encountered some of the displaced at gas station. They were obviously in shock and wanted nothing more than to be heard -- oh, and something to eat. Maybe a dry place to sleep. At the time, my mother was on one of her infamous tirades. Not because of the loss of human life or destruction caused by the natural disaster. Not because the slow response of the government and relief organizations, but because one sentence in Dear Abby article she happened to be reading, taken out of context, could be used if twisted jussssst right to support her side of some long forgotten argument. I'm sure it was all my fault.

I remember we left the gas station in a rush, she was in a huff and we didn't help the people one bit. The man wore overalls and was missing a tooth. He was also missing his home and all his worldly possessions. I didn't know it at the time. The pictures and the news hadn't reached the local news. No one knew what a terrible mess it all was. No one knew yet.

I would walk away from a brawl

2010-06-04T10:45:00.004-05:00

I'm running my third half marathon tomorrow morning. See what I did there? I said I was going to do something and BAM! Imma doin' it. I've got one of those ridiculous runners tans (white, white, white feet) and I'm kind of proud of it.

Last night I added a few new songs to my ~~walkman~~ shuffle. There's usually one or two songs that really help me get through a race. James Brown, I'm looking at you. Before my last race, I downloaded this little gem. It's pretty much my theme song. Erik MADE me get the clean version (Mamma's music is not for little ears.) Funny what I thought he was saying v. what was really said. NSFW.

PS: I love how he's got so much Maine pride. Pine Tree State - who-hoo!

No Birth Photographer

2010-06-03T12:19:00.003-05:00

Another way I've failed my children is that I did not have a professional photographer present to document their births. You should know, I didn't have any extended family members. Or a doula. In fact I barely had a doctor.

I did have a camera. That took film. Film that had to be developed. Developed at a store. A store that offered a discount on the second set of prints. Hi, year 2000.

Every once in a while, I'll stumble across those images captured in the moments after Hazel was born. I remember holding her in my arms for the first time. A nurse graciously offered to take a picture of us all. Erik, myself, newborn Hazel and poking out for prosperity my areola.

It really is a horrible picture. It seems to get worse with time. And as always, there's my boob front and center. Why didn't anyone cover me up? I think that nurse did it on purpose.

Everybody's Fine

2010-05-25T17:03:00.003-05:00

We moved!! I'd like to think or say that I haven't been writing because I laze by the pool all the day long, but alas -that's not the case. I'd like to say I haven't been writing because I've been so busy unpacking, organizing and decorating but that isn't really the case either. Haven't been writing because I have a new job - nope. Haven't been writing because planning a big trip - uh-uh. Haven't been writing because I've been cast as the lead in the Berkeley Rep's newest musical - no way. Wet nurse to an entire Mayan village - never. I'm like a pair of old acid wash jeans - No Excuses.

However, I did put the dog on a raft and push it towards the middle of the pool. That took all of about 45 seconds.

Rocky Road

2010-04-29T14:12:00.004-05:00

Last night I thought it would be fun to head over to Baskin-Robbin for their .31 cent cone night. Weeeeeeeee.

Only problem, the rest of the planet had the same idea. Spying the line around the block, I decided to take the girls to another ice cream parlor. I saw a man getting into his car, so I turned on my signal and planned to take his space.

He approaches my car and warns me that my headlights are off. It's technically dusk, but I appreciate the warning and flip them on. I tell the girls that they can go ahead and go inside to get in line. The guy still hasn't started his car, so I pick up my phone an scan my twitter feed. Pretty soon he approaches the car again:

He: Are those yours?

Me: (confused) Those children?

He: Yes!

Me: Yes, those are my children.

He: And you told them to go stand behind my car?

Me: No, I told them they could go inside the ice cream store.

He: Well you must be smoking the crack.

Me: (pause) You are a nice man.

Arghh! I hate to have issues with people. In the retelling you'd think the man was elderly. But I guess he just acts that way? Maybe he has incredibly poor eyesight? It irritates me that he called it "the" crack. It irritates me that he was driving a new Mini Cooper, because up until then I have favorable feelings towards the brand. It irritates me that it's still bothering me a day later. Arghh!!

Her Again

2010-04-26T13:11:00.004-05:00

Last night I had the opportunity to meet up with BOSSY again and many other people on her (No)Book Tour. As promised there were name tags, wine, a videographer and food. Surprisingly there was a baby, people from far way places and an odd statue/fountain of a woman holding a washing machine over her head.

The Worst Idea I've Ever Had

2010-04-16T13:20:00.005-05:00

I want to go to Greece for my 40th Birthday.

The way things are moving, it doesn't look like it's going to happen. So the other night I took a little look-see at Active.com to see what athletic events they have scheduled for December the 12th. There's a triathlon in Puerto Rico and there's the White Rock Marathon.

Of course I don't want to run a marathon, but more so, I don't really want to turn 40. Well I should say I really don't want to turn 40 feeling bad about my body, my career and the fact that I'm not in Greece. Committing to run this Marathon on my birthday would solve a few objectives:

I'd have to get in better shape if I trained and ran.

I'd have something to do on my birthday.

I have many friends and family in the Texas.

I'd always be able to say: I ran a marathon on my 40th birthday.

But all that seems kind of boring and common place and a bit like settling.

So I thought a plan where in I device a support team of friends and family to run the marathon relay style with me. Awwww - yeah! Off the top of my head here's few candidates for the relay team:

Stef

Brian

Erik

Markie

Hazel

Lemaitre

Gail

April

Then I thought, why not get a celebrity support team? Then I went to Kayak and looked up airfare to Athens.

Breaking A Leg & The Bank

2010-04-12T13:41:00.002-05:00

I encouraged the girls to try out for our local children's theatre Spring production. Even though they have NO acting experience and Lula barely makes the age cutoff, I was pretty sure they would be awarded the lead roles after their audition.

I happily accepted when they were cast as part of the "ensemble". (Happily accepted like the Toddlers & Tiaras moms do when their kids fail to make the final crowning.)

After the first rehearsal, I was given the lists of parent responsibilities. The parent responsibilities included:

Tuition *cough, cough, choke, gag, gasp, cough*

30 Volunteer Hours

Retaining a sponsor

Selling Tickets (to our friends and family v. just at a booth or window)

Here's the kicker - I have to work the snack bar as part of my volunteer hours and today I found out that in addition to taking the money and making change I'm supposed to provide HOMEMADE BAKE SALE ITEMS to sell as well. I have THREE snack bar shifts.

Cakeballs.

Potty Talk

2010-04-02T11:47:00.005-05:00

Yesterday, I threw up a post about Erik, his marathon and toilet paper. TOILET PAPER. Then in a moment of clarity, I realized – One doesn't get a Rachel Unchitel size payout by talking about bathroom business AND I wish someone would pay me to keep my mouth shut. So I took it down.

It's been hard keeping my head on straight this week. We still haven't heard about the house. I'm walking a fine line between remaining optimistic and not jinxing myself. While I was working on the Toilet Paper Post (not an April Fools joke, mind you) I came across a draft of a post I'd written a few years ago that also talked about the toilet. And I realized that I forgot to include the picture of the bathroom in the last post about the house we want. So here you go:

The Old Post

A few weeks ago, Erik told me he accidentally flushed a bottle of the girls floride down the toilet. The order of events went like this: business, flush, knock bottle into bowl, whooossshhhhhh!, bottle gone. He said it so matter of factly, that it would seem as if this was indeed an everyday occurance and quite normal. I think I was out of town. Something that assinine would never occur on my watch.

The bottle of floride is big. Bigger than travel toothpaste. Smaller than contact lense solution. Since this unfortunate knock off, we've been asking everyone to please use the toilet in our bedroom. Or to try to go elsewhere, seriously.

After several attempts of scheduling, the plumbers are finally here. I can hear them in the other room. They are big men. One is sitting on the edge of the tub and the other runs back and forth retriving tools from the truck. The one sitting, reminds me of people who use the motorized carts at Walmart in Kansas. He has a toothpick in his mouth.

(I can only assume I didn't publish because I couldn't figure out an ending. I do remember, we had to replace the toilet.)

The Bathroom

California Dreaming

2010-03-31T14:42:00.005-05:00

Wishing and hoping and thinking and praying Planning and dreaming...

You know when you really want something and it's all over

but the waiting?

That's where I am right this minute.

I ache with want.

This is a game changer. A once in a lifetime.

It has everything we need and want.

I'm scared that if we don't get this house, I'll spiral into a

deep depression.

Please, please, please.

Outside of that sliding glass door — shhhhhhhh —

is a pool!

Focus on the medal, yo!

2010-03-29T17:18:00.005-05:00

I ran that half marathon. It felt good! Beautiful weather, beautiful course. Lots of fun.

A few weeks ago, I did a 12K trail run on Angel Island. I thought I knew what I was getting myself into. Trail runs are intense. It's a race up a ~~mountain~~ steep hill via switchbacks on a trail. Like a narrow, dirt, hiking trail. Half marathons in the city of Oakland are like a party. A party where your goal is to make it to the end, look good and stay alive.

And let me tell you— I. Was. Meatloaf. Two out of three, ain't bad.

It's exciting to stand in a crowd of people and run when they blow the horn. You feel kinda rebellious running down the middle of the road. People are standing on the streets banging pots and pans together. Bands play. Traffic stops. Everyone claps.

Because it's Oakland, there are Raideretts at the start. Members of the Raider Nation set up camp under the 880. Oakland A's fans that commandeer a corner. You run through downtown and Chinatown. Under freeways, through warehouse districts, past housing projects. You high-five hipsters.

I thought I was fast. I made a BOLD prediction that I had shaved 10 minutes off my time. I thought I hardly EVER walked. I thought I had a bit of kick at the end. I thought I still had a few more miles in the tank. I enjoyed the after party. I used up the beer coupons.

Obviously, I'm alive. And I made it to the end. I had hard time with the looking good. At these races they place photographers on course and they upload the pictures for your purchasing power. I hate having my picture taken. Despite my effort and pretty smile, it didn't work. Let's blame the outfit.

My next half is scheduled for June. I might actually feel like training tomorrow.

Here's a link to the Facebook fan pictures.

Something is missing

2010-03-25T17:48:00.002-05:00

What could it be? Oh, yeah - new posts!

Sorry for the lack of updates this week. I'm in pre-marathon mode. Which means I stress out, fuss at my family and stay hydrated. I am only running the half but it my 2nd half. You know what that means. One half + one half = a whole. Am I right? Can I get one of those 26.2 stickers for my car already?

Double Trouble

2010-03-17T17:36:00.002-05:00

Let's say, you have two kids that are close in age. And you put those kids in the same activity (sport, art, etc). Are you obligated to do twice as much as a parent that just has one kid in the class or on the team? On one hand I think yes, but on the other I think no. I mean ~~I'm~~ er, you're just one person.

Discuss.

Hot N Cold

2010-03-11T12:18:00.005-06:00

One day last week, I had a Katy Perry kind of day.

'Cause you're hot then your cold.

You're yes then you're no.

You're in then you're out.

You're up then you're down.

The shadow of doubt around a potentially lucrative employment opportunity was cruelly cleared and I was left a voice mail saying that I was no longer in consideration for a job I thought that I had in the bag. It was shocking and somewhat hurtful. I hate rejection.

I write ads. It's not brain surgery, but the words and ideas do come off the top of my head. So by saying you don't like my work is in essence on some level saying you really don't like me. Ugh. I wish I picked a career that had the majority of the free world fawning over me. Although from President to postal worker - I don't really think such a gig exists.

As I wallowed in self pity, I received this email:

After reading your blog and [famous mommy blogger] for over a year... I want you to know I think that your blog is funnier and more interesting.

: )

Hope all is well with you. Keep up the good writing.

Oh, how those words made my day! I was on cloud nine as I set up our Girl Scout cookie booth outside of Starbucks on the main thoroughfare. Now I don't know about your coffee shop, but ours attracts locals and locos. About half way through the sale a roly poly old man approached the booth. He was wider than he was tall and the first thing you noticed about him was that only about every other one of his teeth were still in his mouth.

Now our Girl Scout council has mystery shoppers, so at first my mind was dueling between pedophile or paid informant. He asked a bunch of questions about tax deductions and pulled out his business card from which I learned he was an accountant for H&R Block. Out of nowhere, he instructs the girls that they should always ask "round" people to buy cookies because round people eat cookies. And then he points to me and says through his missing teeth, "You like cookies." Har, har, har.

Up then down. Another nose dive to my day. I felt like the reporter at the end of this clip.

Kids These Days

2010-03-10T14:08:00.004-06:00

Erik had himself a birthday on Oscar Sunday. We had a small soiree to celebrate. He's so lucky. One year, his birthday was on Fat Tuesday. In a few years, mine is scheduled to coincide with the end of the world. To mark the occasion and the entrance, we placed some gold and black balloons out front. You know, just to point people in the right direction. A non-verbal cue that the even if you don't see the address, you are indeed at the correct location. While we were still setting up and getting organized, Erik witnessed a group of girls drive up in yellow Mini Cooper. One of the girls hopped out of the car and began untying the balloons.

Erik: Excuse me. What are you doing? Those are our balloons.

Girl: What! I was going to give them to my friend.

Erik: Well, they're ours. It's my birthday.

Then she turned on her heal, threw her hand out and mockingly told her friends It's his birthday. Then she jumped back into the car and drove off.

I couldn't believe the audacity of it all. I might pick up a penny I find on the ground. Or help myself to a please take one. But just walk up and take something that everyone knows isn't lost, free or naturally replenished.

About the time they awarded Best Foreign Language film, I looked outside and the balloons were gone. I'm not sure if it was the same thieves or another group of gangsters, I'd like to think that it was some other hooligans birthday too.

I used to have more toes

2010-03-04T13:24:00.005-06:00

Oh, I've gone and done it! I've shot myself in the foot. Me, of judgy motherhood fame. Me, who proclaims she only allows her kids one extra curricular activity a week. Me, who squinted her eyes and looked down her nose at all the other over scheduled kids. Against the wishes of my husband and my better judgement, I've signed my kids up for every conceivable activity in our community – twice over.

I came to this realization yesterday and am in an all out panic about it ever since. Add to this, our *cough* marathon training schedules, work and camping trips I had to secure months in advance. I am so mad, but yet, I have no one else to blame. Right now, my days and nights and weekends are filled up with carpooling the kids from one activity to another. The worst part is that I know that I did this. I'm trying to get it all on the calendar. I'm pulling in favors from friends and neighbors. "Can Hazel walk over to your house after poetry enrichment?" (Gawd, I'm rolling my eyes at myself as I type. Just so you know, the after school enrichment classes are a fundraiser for the school in addition to adding arts to the curriculum that the State of California is slated to slaughter. Which reminds me, I need to go march and protest at the Civic Center tonight after the Girls Scout meeting and the play rehearsal.)

Arrrrggghhhhh!

Don't get me wrong, I like to be busy. Just not double booked for the next 8 weekends and every day in between. Sure, I can take deep breaths. Yes, I know that the world will not end if Lula misses a softball game. (Remind me to tell you about the pitching clinic.)

Right about now, I think it's me that needs to hit upside the head.

Farm Charm

2010-03-03T15:11:00.004-06:00

I talked to my Grandma Dee today. Remember, it is ALWAYS something with her. We talked about my cousin who is expecting and her sister, my cousin who is getting married, how she took the Council On Aging van to her Doctor's appointment and she told me for the second time that her church is having their annual dinner on Sunday. It's St. Patrick's and "they always have corned beef and cabbage. And pie! They make the best pie. " We talked briefly about my uncle who got divorced a few years ago after his wife left him for the hired man. I call her Lucille, but I don't think my Grandma gets my joke. Another uncle had some medical tests and a biopsy yesterday. She doesn't know when he'll get the results. The doctor told him to rest after the procedure but a cow was "calfing" (having a baby) and they had to go pull it. She'll never forget, it was last year or the year before that, my uncle was pulling a calf and it's head was out. It's tongue was out too. The tongue is always out, she says.

And then she just blurts out a series of words that were disturbing and forever imprinted in my brain. I'm going to spare you the same fate. Just imagine if Quentin Tarantino and Rob Zombie made a movie that took place on a farm in central Kansas. Yeah.

So while my mind is reeling from the image of the story that now she and I will never forget she closes our conversations with "let's talk of nice things next time. Just happy stuff." She was referring to bringing up the divorce not the cow.

Duggar-esque

2010-02-24T17:30:00.006-06:00

Yesterday, I learned (via Facebook) that my cousin is pregnant with her 5th!! child. This news has me all out of sorts. I haven't seen my cousin since she had her first child. I made a trip over to my Aunt's house to see her second child. Then there's the third and fourth that exist because my grandmother says so. Granted, my cousin's mother is one of 17 kids so it is probably in her DNA to have a big family. My mom can't get past the fact that she has that much sex. (I know. At least 5 times, right?) I have this nagging emotion that I can't quite put my finger on. Am I jealous?

After I had Lula, people would start to inquire about a third and I'd answer, "Mamma wants to go to Greece." Well, here I am 8 years later. No more kids and no trip to Greece. Not a day goes by that I don't say to myself - parenting is HARD! There is a challenge at every turn. Yesterdays challenge was more like a roller coaster built by untrained engineers, run by blind operators in the rain that had a malfunction. But it's also so much fun. Does my cousin get to have 3 more times the fun?

Every night since the day Hazel was born when I lay my little head on my pillow, I think what a great day. Because seriously, WHAT A GREAT DAY. But then usually during the middle of the night I'm gripped with fear about how I'm going to pay for college, if my kids get enough: culture, religion, diversity, non-media downtime. What about the fact that they can't go to the middle school we're zoned for - so now we have to move again, what if they have social problems and the biggest kicker -what if they hate me when they grow up? I have to think my cousin isn't gripped with the same fears in the middle of the night. So I guess, that's why I'm jealous.

I'm not laughing

2010-02-22T16:16:00.009-06:00

Does your dentist or your child's dentist use nitrous or laughing gas?

Growing up, mine never did. In fact my first run in with nitrous happened in the mid-nineties at a Phish show at SPAC and came in a balloon. My second happened in Labor and Delivery during precipitate labor.

So at Lula's dental appointment...One cavity. Her first. Sad face. No Nano....the desk lady was going over the treatment plan for her one (minor) filling. The plan included going ahead and pre-billing insurance for two fillings just in case and using nitrous which costs $65 and is not covered by insurance in addition to the standard numbing shot.

I'm not barbaric, I feel adequate pain medication is necessary. I might be a bit cheap, but what exactly is the profit margin on this pain relief for EVERY child walking through that door? Our dentists in New York and Dallas did not readily use nitrous for every procedure. Aren't we supposed to discourage drug use in children? Whose pain are we managing here? Part of me wonders if it doesn't make the most basic treatments easier for the dentists. I've poked around a bit on the internet. This is what Wikipedia says about Nitrous:

it is frequently used to relieve pain associated with childbirth, trauma, oral surgery, and heart attacks.

I think it's a bit excessive to break out the gas for a surface cavity. I hate it when I grow suspicious of a care giver. Please tell me what you think.

Putting My Money Where Her Mouth Is

2010-02-19T11:36:00.008-06:00

I try all the tricks to get my girls to take good care of their teeth. I buy fruity flavored pastes, have a timer on the sink, pony up for the brushes that vibrate and play music. And last year, in a moment of stupidity, I even promised monetary rewards for a cavity free check up.

Lula is a kind of kid that starts 8 out of 10 sentences with, "Can I have.....?" To her credit her requests are often creative. Just last night she asked for a jackalope and a dragon. (I said yes to both.) This year, Lula got exactly what she requested for Christmas, a remote control boat. But before the propeller had even hit the water, she was coveting her sister's new iPod Nano. With no forethought, the words "Lula if you don't have any cavities the next time you go to the dentist, I'll buy you a Nano" flew out of my mouth.

At the time, I didn't really think it through. I actually thought there was NO WAY I'd be buying a new Nano. But last week when Hazel had zero cavities, I started to panic. Her appointment is at 3pm today. She's smart enough to know that the Apple store is open until 9pm.

Return of the Baby Bottle Top

2010-02-18T12:41:00.003-06:00

On the way to gymnastics, Hazel and I found ourselves behind a bus with the infamous nesting doll/baby bottle top ad. "Look, there's that ad." I said. "It still has the baby bottle top." Hazel immediately interjected. I handed her my phone and asked her to take a picture. Actually, I asked her to take lots of pictures. "Get closer," she instructed. "I want to make sure you can see the baby bottle top."

This reminded me of when Hazel was a toddler and I'd have to firmly tell her it was time to try to go to the bathroom. She was the kind of kid that was too busy to go. She's stand there with her legs crossed and her eyes watering holding markers, blocks or some other toy and insist she didn't have to use the bathroom. I'd have to use my serious voice to demand that she at least try. After a succesful attempt, she'd point at the toilet bowl and exclaim, "See! See! It's just WATER."

We had a good laugh as the bus stopped at a light and Hazel was able to get a close up. She continued to insist that the smallest doll is a top to a baby bottle and I continued to retort that it's obviously a prophylactic. I'll concede that the image does look like a bit like a baby bottle top. With the messaging mentioning both birth control and HIV testing even I'm getting confused.

Gold or Pee - Take your pick

2010-02-17T12:41:00.004-06:00

I have yet another million dollar idea. Idea seems a bit strong, because it's borrowed interest, but none the less we can all agree - it's a goody.

Last weekend, we were given the Jelly Belly Bean Boozled game. In a nutshell, you spin a wheel that lands on color and then you eat a jelly bean. The part where it gets tricky is that for each color there's a delicious traditional flavor or a disgusting horrible flavor. You have no idea what you're going to get.

Is it Licorice...or Skunk Spray? Is it Juicy Pear....or Booger?

While the girls took a gamble, I thought what if all of my trigger foods were presented this way? What if you were presented a box of Godiva chocolate and there was a chance that one of the truffles, just might taste like poo? What if cheese (I'm thinking fried mozzarella stick) was actually soap? Diet Coke could taste of motor oil. I've been able to make about anything I can think of absolutely inedible in my mind. What's more, I haven't had one single jelly bean out of the box.

She Didn't Learn This From Me

2010-02-16T11:35:00.005-06:00

One of the ladies in our house is operating under a "panties optional" policy. (Hint: It's not me.) This morning, the particular person in question was sitting on the kitchen floor pulling on a pair of leggings as her very first layer.

Me: How 'bout some underwear?

She: Mehhh! Who needs 'em.

It reminded me of a time probably about three or four years ago when the kid in question announced from her car seat en route to the birthday party, "I forgots me pantaloons." No problem, I thought. We'll just stop at a Target, Kmart, Kohls, Wal-Mart and pick up a pack. Of course, we miraculously seemed to be in the only ten mile square, big box store free zone in the world. I even tried a fancy baby boutique, that had a $20 pair of ruffle butt diaper covers that I actually considered forcing my almost 5 year old to squeeze in to. So, if you're reading this Laney's mom, we came to your tea party commando. Sorry.

Back to this morning, I pushed on with the request for undergarments.

Me: C'mon. Go put on your undies. Panties are a girl's best friend.

She: No they're not, mom. A girl's best friend are diamonds!

That's Ms. Half Marathon to you

2010-02-09T00:04:00.002-06:00

Oh, look who survived her first half marathon?! I would have told you about it sooner, but walking across the living room to grab the laptop is nearly impossible. I kid. Sort of. The worst part of the 13.1 miles? When I realized there was no way to cancel the babysitter I'd scheduled and was forced to go out to watch the Superbowl afterwards. Hell with beer.

Off by an "M"

2010-02-03T12:02:00.006-06:00

We're driving and Hazel takes notice of the ad on the back of the bus in front of us. The ad features matryoshka dolls, Russian nesting dolls. The dolls go from biggest to smallest and end with a rolled up condom. The headline says something about how sexual health includes more than birth control and to be sure to get tested for HIV.

"I don't understand why the littlest doll is a baby bottle top." Hazel says.

I explain that it's not a baby bottle top, it's a condom. To which she replies:

"Oh no. That's the top to a baby bottle."

No, I tell her. And we go back and forth all the while she insists that it is a baby bottle top.

I try another route. An attempt to relay a story where I was once at a young age confused about a condom. I had been to see the cinematic masterpiece Howard The Duck. In one scene, Lea Thompson rifles through Howard's wallet finding a condom tucked in a compartment. My aunt asked me if I had any questions about what was in the wallet. To which I replied:

"You mean the guitar pick?"

Hazel was unfazed by my sharing and insisted that the image in question was still a baby bottle top. So I switched gears.

"Do you know what a condom is?" I asked her point blank.

She scrunched up her face and thought about it for a second before she replied, "I'm pretty sure it's like an apartment, but the people own the units instead of just renting them."

A condo looks nothing like a condom.

Whipped eggs and such

2010-01-24T22:53:00.007-06:00

Y'all loved talking about food and what Erik eats so much the last time, I thought I'd share this little bit more.

Oh, first - let me tell you that Erik and I ran a 15K this morning. I promise my post about my commitment to run three half marathons is coming, right now I want to talk about foooooooood! Yay - sustenance. (I sound like a crazy person. A crazy person who wakes on a Sunday to run 9 miles.)

A few months ago, as I was walking the aisles of the grocery store and Thanksgiving was approaching so I did what anyone would do, I bought some mayonnaise. Some low-fat mayonnaise, because turkey sandwiches were on the menu and I wanted to have supplies on hand.

I planned on eating many a turkey sandwich, personally I like them with cranberry, cheese and sprouts. So thanksgiving has come and gone and we've cooked at least two turkeys, but here's the thing – that mayonnaise it still in my pantry and a turkey sandwich now comes with mustard and not mayo. That bottle of mayonnaise I bought four months ago - it expires in May. Tomorrow, I'm bringing it to a bin for a food bank donation.

Everybody's doing it

2010-01-20T18:48:00.002-06:00

I've just hung up the phone after a heated conversation with my mom. It all started when she asked about what I thought about the Josh & Fergie scandal. I honestly told her, I didn't have a strong opinion. Rumor has it Josh hooked up with a stripper. His bigger mistake, in my opinion, was blabbing about it on the movie set and then someone who overheard tipped off the gossip mags. As for the convo with my mother, not caring was apparently the wrong answer. All of the sudden, my mother is adjusting her mitre and has a holier than thou stance on infidelity.

"You have to admire Elin. How she's filing for divorce and walking away from Tiger Woods." my mother continued growing agitated. That's not what I've read, but it could happen. The reports are that Elin has consulted a divorce attorney but she has not publicly filed and supposedly Tiger is locked up in a Mississippi sexhab.

The conversation with my mom continued with me throwing out names like David Letterman, Bill Clinton like we were old friends or neighbors and my mother proclaiming to have all the facts and none of the compassion that comes with having made ones own mistakes. She seemed so smug, shouting at me with her back firmly against her own metaphorical closet door oblivious to her own skeletons.

Suddenly, she wanted to turn it into a WWYD? "What if Erik was having an affair!" she asked. I was flustered and frustrated and didn't even want to think about it. (Can't we talk about what we are having for dinner?) Instead I ended the conversation by saying, "One thing I know, I wouldn't tell you." Oh, snap.

Then this morning, John Edwards decides to officially come clean and fess up to fathering a child with a co-worker while his wife was dying of cancer and he was running for president.

At the same time, the mystery of the NYC billboards looks like it's another cheating man and a woman scorned.

Ugh! Can't everyone just keep it in their pants?

I have a dream

2010-01-17T22:05:00.003-06:00

There's always SO MUCH pressure to come back with a humdinger of a post after you haven't thrown anything up in awhile. One should have a viable excuse. Or some exciting news. Or something. I've got squat. Yeah, I've been working. Oh, and I'm training for not one - not two - but THREE half marathons. I know it's so ridiculous it deserves it's own post. (forthcoming)

So yeah, I "ran" 8 miles this morning. And I say "ran" because when I am unable to breath or my iPod goes apeshit and throws the $%#*&@#$*!!!!!! Annie soundtrack into the mix I have to grab the handrails and throw my legs to the side and get to pressing buttons and try to retrieve that Ke$ha song. (Sister of mercy, I can't run to soundtracks.) I call it the run/walk/stand approach and I'm going to patent that. So don't steal it. Then I see Erik four treadmills over running, waving his arms and mouthing the words "What. Are. You. Doing? Run!!"

Okay, so in California you're not allowed to text and drive. So I've taught my kids to text. Tell your dad we're on our way home. I say, as I toss the phone to the backseat. Tell your dad we need milk and eggs. Tell your dad - you get the idea.

And they know (because they have eyes) how to use abbreviations for words. At school this week, they were going over the calendar in Lula's class. One day was marked with the letters:

MLKING DAY

"Milking day?! What's milking day?" my seven year old asked.

Don't get all judgmental. I'm willing to admit that my kid is in a much more diverse class than yours. Seriously the days of the blond-off are long gone. It's just that the way it was written on the calendar, it looked more like a grocery list than a national holiday. And her teacher agreed, because she took out the dry-erase marker and added the proper punctuation:

M. L. King Day

In Case Of An Emergency

2010-01-06T21:47:00.004-06:00

We finally took the girls skiing! It was amazing. We had a great time. We forwent the costly lessons and spent the first day on the bunny hill together. We'd watched a few instructional videos before hand, so they could make french fries and pizza slices with the best of them.

On the second day, I'd stocked up on a few supplies from our hotel vending machine, including a package of M&Ms. I solemnly tucked them deep into an inside pocket of Hazel's winter coat.

"Here" I said, "If you get separated and lost in the woods, you'll have something to eat until the snow patrol comes to rescue you."

Wide-eyed, she shook her head in agreement, "Good idea, Mama."

I could never do this with Lula. She'd inhale her treat before we even left the parking lot. Towards the end of the day, I convinced Hazel to divvy up her loot and we all got a little chocolate. I wonder if she even realizes how far out of harms way she actually was.

Year End Round Up

2010-01-02T22:13:00.005-06:00

The day after Christmas, we were at a birthday party for one of the girls friends. "How was your Christmas?" one of the moms innocently asked. It was if someone suddenly pull-started a lawnmower - my mouth opened and I couldn't or wouldn't stop until the whole nine yards was down. "Shut up!" the voice in my head said. But "Oh, and then....." came out of my mouth.

I remember last year, Christmas 2008, when another friend had exclaimed that spending the holidays with his ex-wife and their two kids and his new boyfriend had been one of the best holidays ever. I tried to wrap my head around the whole idea and was inwardly envious of the sentiment. Last year I was on the mend with a broken arm. The economic meltdown was heating up. We were in debt. Things looked bleak and they weren't slated to get any better anytime soon.

But as I reflect over the past twelve months I have to happily report it didn't get any worse. In fact, it got a whole lot better. Sure the fish died. Yeah, we're still in debt. I still wish everyone would pick up after themselves more - myself included. I think the marriage could use a bit of work in the communication department. Or maybe not. (I've been joking over the past few days that instead of having a midlife crises Erik is going to have a midlife "get it all together".) If it ain't broke - walk a mile in a pair of ten-year-marriage shoes - they aren't exactly comfortable or, come to think of it, fashionable on a daily basis.

The past two weeks have been wrought with nonstop fun and togetherness. There was the amazing trip to Disney for Hazel's birthday. Followed by a Christmas prep week where Erik took one for the team by taking on a freelance project. Christmas eve we went to the gym. Then last minute shopping. Then a church service. Then out to a fancy dinner. On Christmas Day we reserved a Mini Cooper Convertible from ZipCar and tooled around SF like tourists. We hit Tahoe for three days taking the girls skiing for the first time. I carved and shredded my way down the hill without breaking a bone and winning many a X-Game gold medal in my mind. We planned our own New Years Eve Party with balloons, decorations and toddler sized lobsters from Chinatown. Erik played golf and went to the last Raiders game of the season. I squeezed in the solo trip to the movie theatre just before the time ran out of our holiday.

(Here is where I learn to hush, lest I start to sound a bit too braggy and insert camera phone image to prove point)

Hey Walt, More the Kool-Aid please

2009-12-21T23:01:00.005-06:00

Our latest trip to the happiest place on earth has done nothing but increase my desire for (almost) all things Disney. We buzzed down last Wednesday to spend Hazel's 9th birthday. Secretly, I'm thankful that no one takes us up on our offer to tag along, because I go early, go hard and stay late. I'm like a sorority girl on a mission. I'm not leaving with out the mouse. To put it mildly, this trip I got lucky. Not only did we get picked to be Guest Performers in Tiana's Showboat Jubilee but we also managed to secure VIP seating for the opening night of California Adventure's electrical parade. For every minute since we left, I've had to bite my tongue to not start yapping about planning our next trip. My retirement plan now includes the possibility of becoming a Fairy Godmother cast member.

Here's the girls at the entrance. They're impressed, because this tree looking strikingly similar to the one in our living room.

We always ride Space Mountain first. Notice how no one else is in our car? That's because I open the park. Here we are at 7:03 am.

People are always leaving backpacks lying around, if you get lucky you might find one with a wallet full of cash -cause those little umbrellas will run you close to $20 each.

Here's the afore mentioned Tiana's Showboat Jubilee when we were mere spectators.

And here are the girls as the stars of the show. Hold all autographs please.

Hazel asked me if I thought she wore a wig.

Somebody is still trying to get out of the carpool lane. Should have worn high heels.

I tried to force the girls THREE times to ride the Maliboomer. The first time we left the line because someone had to go potty. After that, not once but TWICE the ride malfunctioned and required a restart. I took it as a sign that we shouldn't be shot 180 feet into the air.

Aunt Tracie drove 50 miles, which in LA can take you over three hours, to meet us for dinner, It's A Small World, Big Thunder Railroad, fireworks and the accompanying impromptu holiday snowstorm.

We ended the adventure by trying to capture an image worthy of BedJump.com. I've got great kids, I need a better camera.

What To My Wondering Eyes

2009-12-14T23:52:00.011-06:00

I'm a sucker for someone else's gift guide or product reviews. So thank you if you assembled one. I'm sure I checked it out and probably made a purchase. Here's a sneak peak at some of the things that are going to be under my tree.

For your parents:

Whirley Pop. We love this popcorn popper. I picked up mine at a garage sale. Then I used the company's lifetime warranty to replace the top after our extreme use. How awesome is that? I got a new top and only had pay the shipping. (Hush if you think this is bad form. I resulted in more sales. The goal of product manufactures the world over.) Popcorn has become our snack of choice and there is a difference using this pan v. the same one you boil pasta in. This year, both of Erik's parents will be getting their pop on. Hopefully, they'll enjoy it as much as we do. Oh, and I got Erik some fancy popcorn spice toppings for stocking stuffers from Sur La Table. I passed on the dill pickle flavor.

For your daughter, niece, friend- anyone celebrating a significant milestone.

No. 9 Necklace. Hazel Bean is turning 9 in a few days. I spied something similar at the Alameda boutique Modern Mouse, but they only had a 7. After being inspired to buy her a necklace commemorating her last year as a single digit, I found this one on Etsy and I love it. I hope she does too.

For people who are hard to buy for:

Your favorite photo printed on canvas. Look for this in Lonah's ultra modern and grey pallet stocking. We love this picture of the girls. It hangs as a photograph in our kitchen. After commenting on it at Thanksgiving, I decided to up the ante and get it printed on canvas for my mom. We're having the man with the Coke photoshopped out of hers. I think I'm going to love it so much I'll wish I'd bought 2. Take one of your favorite photos and have it printed on canvas. I guarantee it will be a real crowd pleaser.

For yankees and stylish sisters-in-law.

Erik's little sister lives in Vermont. She incredibly beautiful and fashionable and smart and kind. I really think she'll like this handmade cowl. I considered a hat, but I thought this was really unique and cool. I have reputation for hitting it out of the park with gifts for her, so lets hope I don't strike out. Britta, do you read my blog?

For fancy lady friends:

Another purchase that I was pointed to via Dooce's gift guides. These are Poetic Shoe Clips in Red. Or, they're cute little things that clip into shoes to take your outfit up a notch. Yesterday, Hazel was making fun of me because I occasionally point out the ease of assembly of some crafty items when we shop. She thinks my middle name should be "I Could Make That." The real humor, is the fact that yes I could, but I rarely do. Before I pushed purchase on this one, I thought there were probably little hair accessories that could double as shoe clips at a fraction of the cost and the words "I Could Make That" floated through my head. These are another present for Lonah. Kinda going out on a limb, but she was just saying she likes to add color to her wardrobe.

For little Monkeys:

Ugli Dolls and Paul Frank our very popular in our house. But we've reached a point where the collections have grown to a sizable mass and there's the chance of duplication. Lula has a single Sock Monkey stuffed animal that has become her go-to toy as of late. I was looking for something to help expand her collection by 50% and bam! found this cute little guy. That's right friends, I can fill in a search box like nobody's business. My cynical side, gives it a few weeks to fall into the lost or broken category. But seriously cu-ute!

For everyone who has an iPhone and people you might still be to be married to this time next year and me:

I quickly ordered multiples of this little gadget. One for me. One for Erik. One for ? Of course now I wish I'd scooped up a few more of the iPhone Backup Battery Pack. I can't tell you how many times I could have used an little extra charge on my phone this past year. It doesn't happen every day, but when you're traveling or out until the wee hours a little boost is a lifesaver. It's only a fifteen dollars and what I would have given to have access to maps, or my email or ~~a good attorney~~ my husband. Let's just cancel the appearance on Dr. Phil call a this what it is, The Marriage Saver.

Well there you have it? I could add a few more mundane items - but I need to work. What do you think? What are you excited to give this year?

I'll have what he's having

2009-12-13T02:23:00.004-06:00

I told you about how my husband (nearly) won The Biggest Loser competition at his office, remember? I was thinking about what he eats.

1) Apples. Morning, noon and night. (Breaburn, Jonagold, Granny Smith, Fuji). We move through apples. I've got the cores to prove it. I read somewhere - if you're not hungry enough to eat an apple, you're really not hungry. I believe this. I don't often follow it, but you have to admit it makes sense.

2) Yoplait Yogurt. The stuff with lots of flavors and very little calories. I put these in the girls' lunches and half the time they return uneaten. Almost every morning, I clean a few empty containers off the coffee table.

3) Fake meat. He started our with veggie burgers. To mix it up –we'd try a new brand. Wheeeee. Nowadays, we're partial to the Fantastic Foods brand of box mixes. We've got a stockpile of their Chili. It's a soy product and it's great. Quick. Healthy and yum.

Good grief. I'm boring.

Par for the course

2009-12-05T23:04:00.003-06:00

As you can imagine, I've been following the Tiger Woods car accident with peaked interest. Erik plays quite a bit of golf, so I've had the pleasure of watching many a championship golf tournament where Mr. Woods did quite well over the years.

The other night, when the story was still in it's infancy, I attended a Christmas party. I made conversation with Erik's co-workers and I kept telling my Tiger joke to anyone who would listen.

My Tiger Woods Joke © by Vanessa

Me: Did you hear about Tiger Woods?

You: You mean the car accident?

You: Yeah, he had sex with a cocktail waitress?

You: You mean his affair?

Me: No, today he shot 7 under par.

Bawawawawawawahahahahahaaha!

I seriously thought this was hilarious.

The story continued to unfold, and it got a little more serious and a lot less funny. Then the universe decided to send my husband on a business trip all next week. He's not taking his golf clubs or Ambian® and it's not Vegas. He's taking his snowboard and his Tylenol PM. Maybe he'll come home with a trophy and one of those really big checks.

Coming Soon To a Dateline Investigates or Lifetime Original Movie

2009-11-16T16:52:00.003-06:00

I'm a voracious reader. Here are three stories I devoured over the weekend that keep popping up in my mind:

The nerdy guy in High School isn't what he used to be.

A father and his autistic son go for a swim. A two day, narrowly survivable swim.

There's so much anxiety surrounding High School reunions. This guy found out the hard way that some things never change. Or save dressing up like a Marine for Halloween.

Throwing In The Towel

2009-11-14T13:21:00.004-06:00

I'm off the NaPoBloMo train. It was a combo of The Swine Flu (which was really a 24 hour stomach bug) and my long leashed husband's wild night on the town. I wasn't really blown away with any of my posts and found myself often just throwing something up and promising to give it more thought on the morrow. *sigh*

I am enjoying Evany's and Twisted Susan's daily posts. Do you have any recommends for some new and awesome blogs I should be reading?

Looking forward, I'm tickled pink about our upcoming trip to Disneyland for Hazel's birthday. I made reservations to stay on property at the fancy Grand Californian Hotel and at the Blue Bayou restaurant which is inside the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. (This is similar to French Laundry on my own personal Mighty Life List.) Crazy excited.

This Little Piggy

2009-11-12T21:34:00.003-06:00

Yeah, I know it's almost smack dab in the middle of NaPoBloMo so of course Hazel and I may or may not have The Swine Flu. I know that everyone under the sun is calling any kind of sickness The Swine Flu. This morning I was calling it food poisoning and blaming Taco Bell, but see what twelve hours can do? Turn a stomach bug into The Swine Flu. I still went and volunteered at school today because at the time (and still) I didn't have a fever and I'm scared to death of messing with the established schedule for the Art Docent program I've volunteered for with another mom. Today's topic was artists painting birds. Last month I moved the date all around trying to accommodate my work schedule. I think I irritated all parties: the other mom, the teacher, the student teacher and even the people at work. So today, sickness be damned we're drawing birds! Wonder how they'll all feel about me if I've exposed them to The Swine Flu.

Nice To Meet You

2009-11-11T22:51:00.004-06:00

A while back, the girls and I were invited to a party. It was described as a party for Big and Little girls. We got dolled up and walked over to the house. The host was a mom of one of the girls' school friends. I was quite excited and expected to see many of the mothers I knew from school. However, when we arrived I nervously scanned the faces for someone familiar and came up short. I was introduced to the women gathered around the table, but the names came at me quickly - and in the melting pot in which we now live, I don't get the standard name fare that I'm accustomed to having grown up in Texas.

"You know Lumpia, don't you?" I was asked.

Having just been introduced to a bunch of women, I didn't want to seem rude or ignorant. Drawing all the cues I could from the situation I made eye contact with the woman across from me and mustered up an enthusiastic explanation.

"Oh, yes!" I replied, "We met at school."

The table erupted in laughter. Lumpia is not person. It's a Filipino spring roll.

The story is poignant to me today, because it seems like for all my efforts, I still come up short on so many fronts. Take blogging: I'm still trying to format Monday's post so that it's legible. Or Tuesday's post where I left the 'h' of the http:// on the link. (Now fixed.) I guess there are just some people who are destined to walk through life with toilet paper stuck to their shoes. The least I can do, is to keep trying with a smile on my face and some spring roll stuck between my teeth.

I've lost control

2009-11-10T23:45:00.003-06:00

It happened slowly, over time. At first, I hardly noticed and then after a few weeks it became achingly obvious. After receiving the emails, I'd vow to get back on track. But before long I wasn't even opening the envelopes. Oh, Netflix where did we go wrong?

Here's a list of the 100 Best Films of the Decade via Kottke.

My queue better watch out.

Loose Lips

2009-11-08T23:21:00.006-06:00

"I tell Lindsey all my stories." Lula said.

My head starts reeling. Imagining all the tales that our seven year old reports to the staff of her after school program. The good. The bad. The ugly.

"She thought it was hilarious." Snapped me back to a hopeful reality, but I still feel a bit uneasy.

Here's the story:

The girls are engaging Erik in a rousing game of who do you like better? Failing to get an answer, they continue to plead, "C'mon, Daddy. Tell us, who's your favorite?"

Erik looks thoughtfully at them both. "Neither" he snaps, "I hate you both."

Halloween 2009

2009-11-07T22:26:00.007-06:00

The week before Halloween the girls attended their school carnival.

As a pirate and

And a bunch of grapes.

Then we went to the Small Dog Park Halloween Parade

ChaCha was The Money You Could Be Saving With Geico.

On Halloween the girls were robots (again)

Erik and I, recreated this cannibal pumpkin. Here's the picture we took of a picture from a book where we ~~stole~~ got the idea. Ours won the carving contest, but we forgot to take a picture of the actual gourd.

I had toyed with being The Morton's Salt Girl for years. Here I am with my friend Sunny who dressed up as Cher.

Substitute Teacher FAIL

2009-11-06T19:57:00.003-06:00

As I reported for duty for my second day of substitute teaching, I was greeted by some rather unsettling news from the principal.

"I need to talk to you about one of the instruments that was DESTOYED during band class under your watch." he said.

Ain't that just one for the memory books. My glorious teaching career is already off the tracks before day two.

He actually used the word DESTROYED. Not damaged. Or cracked. Or broken. DESTROYED.

I'm really hoping it's a harmonica. Or a triangle.

For Magpie & Others

2009-11-05T23:31:00.003-06:00

You want to see the shirt/outfit -- I know you do.

We're just home from an amazing night out in the city. The modeling gig the girls had for a local illustrator had a gallery opening this evening. Then we met up with Erik, stopped by the Paul Frank store and went out to eat at the Squat and Gobble. I've got to wrangle the girls to bed and get everyone, including myself, to school by 8:00 am.

Tomorrow I'm back at the middle school to sub for the algebra teacher. Here's the shirt, in leu of a black cardigan I've covered myself with a cute kid.

Out of the will - again

2009-11-04T21:22:00.002-06:00

My mom loves presents. Loves, loves, loves presents. Many a holiday, birthday and court ordered visitation has been ruined over empty handedness. So if I am wise and want anything resembling peace, I know that I had better come bearing gifts. I've also learned, I should show and exagerated and repeated gratitude for anything that happens to come my way.

So when I was unpacking the girls' suitcases Monday, I came accross the gift for me that my mom had already mentioned at least five times. "I got you a present!" she repeatedly trilled. I opened the bag and immediatly called to thank her. I mentioned it again, before we hung up the phone.

When she brought it up on Tuesday, I tried my best to gush. But truth be told, it was difficult to muster much excitement.

Tonight, she began inquiring about the gift again. "Have you tried on your OUTFIT?!!?" she asked. I was feeling a bit under the weather, short of patience, tired of the rediculousness of it all.

"Mom, it's a shirt." I said. "It's obvously something you bought for yourself. It's bedazzled. It's a Medium. It's sleeveless. It's not my style. It looks like something one of the Real Housewives of Atlanta would wear."

She was almost speechless, but managed to snarl, "You need to change your style!"

One, Two, Three, Four - One, Two, Ready, Play

2009-11-03T23:51:00.002-06:00

You'll never guess what I did today. I can hardly believe it myself.

I was a substitute teacher. And not just any substitute teacher. I was a substitute BAND teacher.

Earlier in the year, when advertising freelance was slow, I started going through the process to get certified to be a sub in our school district. I took and passed the CBEST - California Basic Education Skills Test. I got fingerprinted. I had a TB test. I paid fees. I ordered my college transcripts. At times, it seemed a bit daunting, espcially when I heard that the demand was at an all time low.

When my phone rang today, I would have never imagined that I spend the day counting to a few hundred middle school students trying to coax them through the first few notes of Jingle Bells. The thing about a few hundred middle school kids with instruments is that they ALL MAKE A LOT OF NOISE. A LOT! And I'm not even going to mention the percussion section. I swear the percussion section swells when there's a sub. Suddenly, everyone plays the drums. And they'll play the drums with anything they can find.

Home Again, Home Again

2009-11-02T22:10:00.003-06:00

So we all survived the girls flying solo. They arrived home safe and sound 35 minutes ahead of schedule earlier this afternoon. Southwest charges a $25 unaccompanied minor fee each way, for each child. I'm not really sure what that extra fee gets you? Apparently, a gate agent that walks your kid up and down the ramp. Or maybe the pass through security that allows you to accompany your child to the gate. There was paperwork. I scanned the small print and found out that if the designated adult isn't at the destination to pick up your child, the airline will fly them back to the departure city. I liked the sounds of that. Thought it beat the alternative of - we will call CPS and you will end up on the 5 o'clock news with your picture smattered in trashy magazines right next to Jon Gosselin.

And you know, Southwest isn't messing around. Did you hear about the two year old they kicked off the plane last week?

Let's Do This Thing

2009-11-01T20:25:00.002-06:00

Two years ago, I participated.

I'm feeling up for the challenge. Wondering if I should try and tackle putting into words the things that have been heavy on my mind, crank out a few chapters on a book idea I've been toying with or bore you to tears with random observations?

Ironically, It's Payday

2009-10-30T10:15:00.005-05:00

Yesterday, I was excercising on of my very special talents, salary negotiations. Mind you, not for myself, for myself I would describe the process as anxiety filled and a bit bumbley. However for others, my advisement on such subject has helped ~~many~~ a few people seccure the pay they had hoped for v. the pay they were offered. Here's the basic rules:

1) Always try to get them to throw out a number first. They'll usually give you a range, of which the higher number is where you start your negotiations.

2) Have a number you want in your head - then add 20% or if you are a woman 30%.

3) If your forced to say the number first, always say a number HIGHER than what would make you happy. It's their job to offer you less, so go big and you'll settle at a figure that you'll be pleased with.

The exchange with my friend took place via Instant Message and as most all things reguarding money, we tried to tiptoe around the actual amount in question. At one point, sensing maybe I was off in my suggested salary price and trying to cover up what might have been a misstep I said:

Me: What do I know? I just freelance and mom.

He: What does momming pay?

Me: It pays in eyerolls and the occasional hugs.

The girls are out of town, so later today I'm going to try to gather up all those eyerolls and hugs and take them to the bank for a big deposit.

I remember when the girls were tiny babies and they moved from 3 naps a day to 2. And then 2 naps a day to 1. I would say to anyone who would listen, and even those who didn't --

Me: They've increased my hours but not my pay.

I felt so cheated.

I really think juggling kids and work is impossibly hard. I see how it could be easier for those that salaries permit them to have a fulltime Nanny - even and especially after children grow beyond babies and become kids with busy schedules and commitments of their own. Or those with family that can step in to pick up children when something unexpected happens like say, an 18 Wheeler Overturns or a cable snaps and closes The Bay Bridge. I often think that the hardest part of my day is when I leave work and rush like a madwoman to catch what ever public transportation gets me to the girls before the pick up deadline of 6pm. I feel envious eyes watching me leave work - usually a full 15 minutes after the time I've allowed myself to make the mile+ walk to the bus or boat. These eyes are replaced with dubious glares at the wall clock from the staff that run our amazing after school program. It's so difficult to know that your doing the best you can and trying to get it all done and the still yet, everywhere there are doubters.

Committed

2009-10-26T22:11:00.005-05:00

On my huge list of to-do items that I keep postponing was the task of renewing my blog domain name. Realizing that it expires tomorrow, I hastely called up my good friends (with questionable taste in advertising but excellent customer service) at Go Daddy.com.

The voice on the other end of the line asked me for my ID number. A series of digits I have stored somewhere right next to all the other things I can never find. So he asked the next question, "What is your domain name?"

"Am I doing okay." I replied.

"Uh?" he paused audibly confused. "I didn't ask. Um, I need to know, what is your DOMAIN name?" he inquired again.

"Am I doing okay." I replied again. Stifling laughter and thinking this was the best gag of my day.

And a few questions and a series of different digits later, Am I Doing Okay.com is renewed for five more years. That's 2014.

All this and I'm good with math.

News

2009-10-25T21:16:00.003-05:00

So my desire that blogging lead to something bigger and better has somewhat come to fruition. Over the next few months, I'll be working on an exciting project that will allow me to get paid for all my social media experience. Hurrah! Unfortunately, I won't be going to Austin for Halloween like I had originally planned. I'm sad to not get the chance to see my bloggy friends and celebrate the birth of babies and see my mom. I'll miss my girls like crazy as I put them on a plane to fly solo for the first time. My biggest fear is after flying alone they'll never want to go on a trip with me again.

A Very Good Question

2009-10-20T00:15:00.004-05:00

A few weeks ago the girls and I were forced to repeatedly use a Port-O-Potty. That's music festivals, for you. So as we struggled to escape the clutches of being a bit to close to everyone else's excrement, I doled out some hand wipes.

"Here, wipe your hands!" I instructed. "They kill 99.9% of all germs."

And then Hazel asked, "Mommy, what's the .01% of germs it doesn't kill?"

Confusion On The Street Corner

2009-10-15T00:42:00.004-05:00

I'm on the phone with my mom this morning when I hear her suddenly say:

My Mom: No! No, no, no, no, no. No!!!

I wasn't quite sure if she replying to whatever I had said or just spouting out answers. Luckily she went on to explain:

My Mom: This man just came up to my car window and asked me for a cigarette.

My mother doesn't smoke. As I'm mulling over the idea of this exchange in my head, she offers up an alternative:

My Mom: Maybe he wanted the marijuana.

My mom always (always, always, always) refers to weed as the marijuana. I find the idea of either scenario absolutely ludicrous. I begin questioning her about her location.

My Mom: I'm on the corner by the CVS. He looked drunk. He just came up to the car window and stuck his fingers up to his mouth in a "v".

That's when it all started to make sense.

Me: Mom, was he sticking out his tongue?

The State Of The Marriage

2009-10-13T12:06:00.002-05:00

Last week, I stood in the expansive personal hygiene aisle of a big box store. Staring back at me were thousands of toothbrushes in every shape, model, make and manufacturer. Some spun. Some vibrated. Some offered to scrape my tongue. In every color imaginable, it was a rainbow of choices. But I wasn't there for me. Oh, no. Erik had casually mentioned that he needed a new toothbrush and I was on a wifely mission to make it happen. Flanked with our children, I gazed at all the packaging. It really all came down to the size and firmness of the bristles. Full or compact. And soft or firm. I made my selection, confident that Erik's and his teeth would be clean and happy.

That night, he noticed the new orange brush sitting on the edge of the sink. He picked up the toothbrush and examined the writing.

"Compact? Firm?" he questioned. "We've known each other for over 16 years."

I bought the exact opposite of the kind of toothbrush my husband prefers. And it wasn't the first time. I also make this error with toilet paper. Let the divorce decree show, I slowly tortured him by erroneously purchasing incorrect health and beauty products.

I felt bad about this mistake. How hard is it to remember simple details? Apparently, for me - impossible. Maybe I need one of those scraps of paper in my wallet but instead of sizes it has crib notes that say: Soft. Full. Northern.

Saturday night after a fun family trip to another big box store, my husband asked me what I was unpacking from one of the bags. I turned around with a new & improved box of odor & dirt eliminator for carpet & room. (Package design bonus points for positioning three ampersands on the same package panel.) From across the kitchen he held up a matching box. We had both added the same product to the cart.

"What fragrance?" I inquired. Remembering that I had mulled over the options in the aisle finally selecting one that conjured up images of an April shower.

"Spring Rain" he replied.

Yes! I celebrated to myself. At least we're still on the same page with smell goods.

Where'd the maid go?

2009-10-06T20:05:00.005-05:00

I struggle with housework. I like to think that the me living in an alternate universe, lives in a very orderly, clean flat. (Apparently the me in another universe lives in London and she has found a signature hairstyle.) The real me, has all the abominations of an American hausfrau - clutter, chaos and three kids who don't pick up after themselves. (I included my husband in that count.)

I'm very good at coming up with a system. I just struggle with sticking to said system. A few years ago, everyone was responsible for a "room". One room. Every day, you cleaned your room. Erik had the kitchen. Lula had the bathroom. Hazel did the bedroom she and Lula shared. And I was in charge of the Livingdiningmasterbedroom. This prompted my mother-in-law to say, "You must be alot of fun to live with." And I really don't think she was kidding.

A few weeks ago, I tried the write-rooms-on-tiny-scraps-of-paper-and-pull-one-out-of-the-jar routine. I added one blank "free choice" slip. And one "computer" slip. Then I set the timer for 10 minutes. Lula pulled the "computer" slip on the first try and got to spend ten minutes playing games on disney.com. At that single moment in time, we both felt like I was the smartest mom in the universe. This game went along swimmingly for over 40 minutes, drawing different slips in ten minute increments. Just when every room was starting to show signs of cleanliness, we ran out of steam. Still it felt somewhat like success.

After barking orders like a drill sergeant one day. "Pick up those shoes! Pick up that backpack! Is that where your toothbrush belongs?" Lula explained that it was much more effective to write down exactly what needed to be done v. rattling off a list that was hard to keep straight. "Brilliant!" I trilled. (Using my alternate English accent.) Behold the Sunday list:

I'm particularly fond of #5, Talk Nicely. It doesn't do the laundry, but it makes the picking it up off the floor a lot less stinky.

A Perfect 10

2009-10-02T12:43:00.004-05:00

Once I heard a woman describe her son and his girlfriend as a "10". After the initial Bo Derek image cleared my brain, she went on to explain that her son was shaped like a "1" and his girlfriend was shaped like a "0". Son = long and lean. Girlfriend = rotund. Thus, when they walked into the house together, she thought they looked like a moving number 10.

This year my husband participated in not one, but TWO Biggest Loser competitions at his office. The first was mostly girls and informal but he had great success losing close to 30 pounds. The second was testosterone filled and fueled with a $2K prize pot. Again, he managed to shed many pounds and placed second in the largest percentage of body fat lost category. The Miss Congeniality of weight loss competitions.

Erik has radically changed his lifestyle and eating habits. I mean, this is guy who used to order a Budweiser with a whiskey back, hours before the porterhouse. He's moved from a bigger Don Draper to somewhat of a Lance Armstrong without the spandex and while keeping his testicles intact. The chicken wing lover survived on veggie burgers and egg whites and popcorn. Last weekend he finished a 5K and then came back around to cheer me on lagging many minutes behind.

So yeah, I'm very concerned we might be looking like a "10". I've always had a fear of being in a Jack Sprat kind of relationship. I'm going to set my sights on us becoming an "11". In the meantime behold his before and after.

You can read about the GSP Hey Fat Ass competition here. His final posting is here. If you have the time, would you leave a comment on his post. I think it would be funny if got a bunch of comments from people he doesn't know.

Now excuse me while I go find a treadmill and some tofu.

Sorry About The Thunderstorms Austin

2009-10-01T12:28:00.005-05:00

Half the people who know me, have no idea how cool I am. (So cool, that I had retype the word cool 3x to get it right.) Right now, I'm licking my thumb and placing it near my rear and making a sizzle sound effect. I'm that cool.

I used to brag that I had the dubious honor of attending the Austin City Limits Music Festival every year. Every. Single. Year. Don't try and top me, because that first year - there were like three people there (okay 300) and I was related to half of them.

Then it got all popular. And crowded. And the lines, good grief the lines. And the heat. And the dust. And suddenly my ticket didn't have those special little letters: VIP on it. And my kids got too big to stick in stroller or wagon and push to the front of the stage. And they kept begging to play in the sand at the volley ball courts. Do you know how impossible it is to throw your panties on the stage from the volley ball courts - aka Austin Kiddie Limits? I tried once and they ended entwined around Clifford The Big Red Dog's head. Head's up - back stage with Clifford, not as crazy as you might think. He's all straight edge, organic kibble, pro-cat nap. Booooorrrrring.

So after Amy Winehouse cancelled in '07, I kind of lost interest. (Not true) I bought tickets for this year last October. But I felt a huge pang of disappointment when they announced the headliners and they turned out to be the exact same headliners playing the Outside Lands Festival right here in Golden Gate Park. I like to think every music festival is some special cosmic gathering reminiscent of the original Woodstock v. pre-arranged corporate scheduling sponsored money making event. Then I found out the amazing Hardly, Strictly, Bluegrass Festival was scheduled for the exact same weekend. Here's the thing about HSB - it is FREE!!! FREE!!! FREE!!!!

All my people will be there: Lyle, John Prine, REK, Emmylou, Old 97's, Steve Earle, Drive-by Truckers, Old Crow Medicine Show on and on. And even MC Hammer.

Before you go poking fun and asking some silly "would I like some country with my western?" jokes, let's remember two things. One, I'm from Texas. I'm more Texas than most of the people who will actually be at ACL this weekend. (Ironically, most of the out-of-towners will be from California.) Two, it's supposed to rain ALL WEEKEND LONG in the 512. So, I will think of you, while I'm drinking store bought beer in an ACL '02 koozie that I am allowed to bring into the park to my free concert surrounded by redwood trees and in return, I hope that the umbrella you hold over your head during Pearl Jam doesn't get struck by lightening or wielded wildly and ends up poking someone in the eyeball. Deal?

This does not mean that I will be disappointed if you buy me a T-shirt.

Forgetting Something

2009-09-28T15:24:00.004-05:00

A few Saturdays ago we were getting ready to go to a party. Lula was very particular about her party dress. And her party shoes. She spent extra time on her hair. Glossed her lips. Even packed a small purse. She hippity-hopped through the living room while I gathered up keys and bags. I had that Miss Clavel feeling that something wasn't right.

"Lula, are you wearing underwear?" I asked.

She took a flying leap down the hall and answered, "Almost."

License and Registration

2009-09-24T11:30:00.004-05:00

Erik and I went together to exchange our Texas drivers licenses for California. Ten business days later, only mine arrived in the mail. After weeks of waiting and one failed phone attempt resulting in being on hold for over two hours, we went back down to the DMV.

When it was finally our turn, the woman worker was able to determine that Erik's license had been returned to the Post Office. Diligently making sure that Erik was indeed the man he claimed to be the woman asked where Erik had held other driver's licenses:

Vermont

New York

California

Texas

And, she inquired, where have you gotten tickets?

Vermont

New York

California

Texas

He quickly rattled in a reply.

Where else? She asked.

I could tell he was slightly taken aback.

Ummmm. He said. South Dakota. (see Badlands)

Kansas. I interjected. (see Christmas 2004)

Where else? She pushed.

We've driven cross country multiple times. I explained. (see map)

The lady rolled her eyes in that explanation.

Memories of State Troopers in the rearview came flooding back.

Pretty much anywhere on the Eastern Seaboard. I recalled. Then I started with Maine and moved down to Florida. Hitting correct answers at almost every state line.

He's flying a bit straighter these days. I added. Trying to reassure her. (Who knows what information she was privy to on that computer screen.) And now, he takes the bus.

Cloudy With a Chance of Cool Whip

2009-09-20T23:05:00.002-05:00

How was your weekend?

Mine was messy. Friday night, I resisted the urge to purge the checking account and drag the girls to Oracle Arena in the hopes of attending the Miley Cyrus concert. Unbelievably this milestone (Mileystone) wasn't even on my radar. It was the two fifth grade girls dressed in denim short pants, wife beaters, black vests and skinny ties swinging around the playground pole Friday morning that tipped me off to the event. Fifth graders know. While I thought that pulling off the show would assure me a spot in the hip mom annuals, I couldn't justify the price tag - especially when my girls were more interested in going to see Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs. Three tickets to the movies, please.

Saturday, after the annual California Coastal Clean Up, we cruised into the city for Maggie Mason's life list food fight. What kind of a mother takes her kids to the heart of San Francisco to throw whipped topping on total strangers? Me! Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me!!!

(Hazel is in the long green tee. Lula is in red. I'm wearing a light blue tee and blabber on about a spatula towards the end.)

This post veered off course, soared off a cliff, crashed and then felt sorry for itself

2009-09-18T11:54:00.006-05:00

Let me start by saying, on occasion, I have been complimented on my mothering. Once ~~in awhile~~ I heard the words "You are a good mother."

And while I accept the compliment on the outside, I mull it over in my head on the inside. I wonder if people say this to me because there isn't anything ELSE to say. It's not like I hear:

I can't believe you finished the marathon in under 4 hours.

Saw your new novel made the best seller list.

Your doting husband is on such a short leash, what's your secret?

I had no idea you spoke: Italian, French, Japanese and Swahili.

Tofu, seriously? It tastes just like filet mignon!

Not that I won't take the "Good Mother" badge. I love to hear that. I just worry that it might be camouflage speak for "You could be doing so much more with your life" or "With out children, you'd be positively boring."

Kicked To The Curb

2009-09-15T01:25:00.003-05:00

Hazel went on a sleepover last Saturday night. For us, sleepovers started early, in Kindergarten. She was ready, I wasn't. Since then there have been many more. There has never been a tearful call in the middle of the night. A plea for a pick up. A beg for a opt out. Quite the opposite.

Sunday morning I was greeted with a voicemail message instructing me to pick her up later rather than sooner. My kids have never clung to outside the school door. They have no problem leaving me. They talk of plans to spend entire summers at their grandmothers. They can't wait to grow up and live with their friends in a pet spa/art gallery/restaurant. I try and tell myself that this is a sign of good parenting. That they feel secure enough to go out into the world with confidence. But sometimes it feels like they're trying to get rid of me. And it all seems to happening way too fast.

Never Thought I'd Join: Team Kate

2009-09-10T12:03:00.006-05:00

Good grief! Did you catch Jon Gosselin on ABC Primetime his interview Wednesday night? I could hardly watch. Tool alert! Tool alert! Saved forever for prosperity. Dug your own grave. Your kids will be taunted with this interview for the rest of their lives.

I wouldn't say I am fan of either one of these two reality TV stars. Although, I have been a bit obsessed with the melt down of their marriage. Here's the big things that get on my nerves:

1) Why in the WORLD were 20 somethings given fertility assistance resulting in two sets of multiples? I thought fertility treatments were a last resort effort reserved for people who had tried for years to get pregnant and had no success. Seems like their doctor is to blame for the pre-boarding on the crazy train.

2) Who the HELL gets a Winnie The Pooh tattoo on their ankle? Ahem, Kate. I can see why you ended up with Jonny Boy. Seriously, Winnie The Pooh. I'm trying to imagine walking into a parlor with your A. A. Milne book.

3) The matchy-matchy wardrobe business. Not really sure why this annoys me so much. I guess if you have a child army a uniform has its advantages. I'm probably just jealous. My head tends to spin every time I walk into a Gymboree. Seriously, Kate probably uses Gymbucks™ for wiping or scrap paper.

The thing that really bothered me about the televised interview this week was Jon's little baby fit explanation that he hadn't been "out" for over 8 years. Poor guy, he'd had to parent v. hitting the happy hour. He had to take care of his children v. being present at the birth of beer pong.

I'm sure this scratches a personal nerve for me because my father has used a similar defense. My dad likes to say "I spent the best years of my life raising you." Now taken at face value, one might thing he meant that parenting me was the highlight of his life. Except that it was followed by some Jon-ish stammers of not being able to go out with his friends, not being able to travel to St. Tropez with his methfaced girlfriend and being a single parent really cut into his Jon Hardy budget. Wait, it was the 70's so I guess the girlfriend was on pills and he wore Munsingwear™. *sigh* But either way, he wants sympathy for parenting during his 20's. So if my dad is any indication, Jon's will still be complaining about missing out on keg stands and body shots long beyond the time all eight of his kids have hung up their own beer goggles. (TLC had Aiden's specially made with his prescription.)

What bothers you about the Gosselin's?

Flipping Out

2009-09-10T11:59:00.002-05:00

Hello. Sorry I've been slow to post. No huge reason. Things are up. Things are down. Lots going on.

Make your own animation

Be Careful What You Wish For

2009-08-19T14:11:00.005-05:00

More than the stars aligned last week during the Perseids meteor shower. In our family, you're liable to find yourself in the middle of nowhere gazing up at a star-full sky on any given astrological occurrence. This one, which was predicted to be easy-to-see, coincided with an unexpected off day for Erik. So we did what most no one would do in such a situation -we went out for sushi and fueled by saki, loaded up the kids, car, dog and headed east for a Yosemite adventure.

"I hope we see a bear" I thought to myself as we neared the National Park.

We blew through the entrance gates before the rangers and were the first family to arrive at Bridal Veil falls. After a quick hike, breakfast and tour though the visitors center we decided to find a place where the girls could splash around in the Merced River.

The spot we found, was adjacent to the main road. As the girls scrambled over the rocks, I went back to the car to retrieve the dog. It was really beautiful. Breathtakingly amazing. We swam. We sunned. We even coaxed the dog into a brief dip in the frigid waters. Later we were sitting on our blanket when Lula suddenly exclaimed, "Bear!"

Do you see it? I've never seen a bear in the wild before and my biggest thought was that they look remarkably like the ones you stuff at the Build-A-Bear factory. I swear, I wanted to just run up and throw my arms around it and bury my nose in its softness.

Except common sense told me, that bears like to eat little dogs, children and an occasional grown woman. Common sense did not tell me however, that bears might also like a little doggie kibble and one should not leave the dogs bowl next to the car half-full of Chihuahua Chow.

A major foible on my part. Our car was marked with sandy prints from the black bear -all four doors and even the back hatch. I'm thankful it didn't try to get into the car or that the dog was in the car. Or a thousand other things that could have gone wrong. After realizing it was my fault for leaving food out, I felt like the word's biggest naturalist fail. John Muir would not be proud.

Drama At Drama Camp

2009-08-18T12:50:00.003-05:00

One of the girls' summer camps I was really looking forward to was Drama camp. It was officially titled Song and Dance Camp and put on by the Alameda Children's Musical Theatre.

Two years ago, the girls spent a week at the Dallas Children's Theatre camp and Lula came home singing Broadway Baby and making jazz hands and really thought I ~~might call an agent~~ had gotten my monies worth. My hope for this year was that the girls would come out of camp with a whole slew of songs that they'd be able to perform for me and at the very least one they could audition with for ~~Hollywood agents~~ local productions.

So when I dropped them off for the first day of camp, I was a tad taken aback by the fact that the camp location was a multi-purpose room of a unfamiliar church vs. the reconverted department store turned sprawling theatrical space. There were also a smattering of kids v. the blond child army that attended the similar camp in Texas. And the only adult in site was the woman who waited to take my check v. the hoards of big-haired board members I had been greeted with at our original experience.

It was a shaky first step, but we all forged ahead. I became less impressed when I picked them up on the first day. And after drop-off on the second day, I decided to contact the camp director.

My main issue was that the camp appeared to being run by two teenage boys. I know this, because after asking about the "counselors" Hazel told me that she knew how old they were, that the boys told them they were 19 and 16.

After leaving two voice mail messages and not getting a return call. I quickly typed out this email:

Hi -

I've been attempting to contact CAMP DIRECTOR by phone today. I was given her cell by one of the boys running the Song and Dance camp. I have concerns about the camp.

I'm going to type out some of my thoughts and would like an adult in charge to call me to discuss.

The camp is not meeting my expectations.

From what I have observed it is disorganized babysitting by two teenage boys.

I had thought there would be theater professionals in attendance.

I had thought it would be more of a learning experience for my kids.

I'm uncomfortable with the fact that there is not an adult leading the camp.

I'm uncomfortable with the activities, supervision, facility and out door time at Jackson Park.

My cell phone is: XXX.XXX.XXXX and my home number is: XXX.XXX.XXXX.

Please call me.

Thank you,

Vanessa

Here is the email I received in response:

Dear Vanessa,

I am sorry to hear this. Unfortunately, I am unavailable until the end of this week, with limited e.mail access. I have forwarded your e.mail to two of our board members.

We have had NINETEEN and SIXTEEN as counselors before and have never had a complaint, (as a matter of fact, just the opposite!) NINETEEN is an adult. He is 20 years old and is a student at FANCY University. He is majoring in theatre. He has had extensive theatrical experience, in fact, his father, (who is the classic English teacher at LOCAL High School), just recently directed my daughter in an ACMT production of "A Christmas Carol", so he comes from a "theatre" family.

SIXTEEN is a teenager.....17 years old, but he has also had extensive theatrical experiences, and has performed "professionally", (he is not equity), with Berkeley Rep., the Altarena and Virago Theatre Company. He just did the choreography for our three-week summer camp play, "Thoroughly Modern Millie", and the dancing was wonderful, the parents were very happy.

Regardless, these counselors have not been working out for you. I just wanted to give you some of their background to possibly allay some of your concerns. I will be available next week and will call you then.

Thank you,
CAMP DIRECTOR

Call me crazy, but I don't think two teenage boys are qualified to run a paid camp unsupervised. (I'm not really sure what to make of the age discrepancies, but I didn't want it to turn into a fight over what the boys told the kids their ages were and what the Camp Director thinks their ages are.)I don't think a 20 and 17 year old are old enough to run a camp either. If I was hiring a babysitter in my home, maybe. But as a customer, I don't think they are qualified to lead. And even the most trained theatre professional in my opinion, still needs a specific skill set to care for a group of children all day long. I've had over 8 years of this "training" and would hardly call myself a professional. Although, I have finally grasp that if you're going to put up your hand in protest, you'd better be prepared to pull your kids from the camp. Which we did. I still have yet to receive a phone call.

Jersey Boy

2009-08-06T22:52:00.006-05:00

On occasion, the girls and I have been known to kill some time at our local Borders bookstore. The girls are in it for the amazing hot chocolates from the Seattle's Best. (Seriously an excellent cup of cocoa that comes with every kind of chocolate - milk, white and dark for the equally outstanding price of under $2.)

So today, we found ourselves in the children's section, which is located right next to the humor section. I've been working my way through Artie Lange's comedy memoir Too Fat To Fish since before Christmas.

Back in the day, I had the pleasure of knowing Artie when he was a comic in New York and would often hang out in the office of another comic/copywriter at a large advertising agency in New York City. This was before MADtv and Howard Stern.

I'm sure having known him years is ago is the only thing that drew me to the memoir, because the cover art alone is enough to turn most people off.

It's the kind of book that is best taken in small doses. If the language doesn't do you in, then the too true tales of drug, alcohol and other excess are sure to make you wish you were reading something more worthy of your time. But like listening to Howard, it's often that most disturbing bits that make it hard to turn away.

Today, I was rapt with the tales of the first season taping MADtv. As a side story detailing a forced intervention and subsequent second stint in rehab Artie retold a tale about a bit part he played (and that was later cut) from the hit film Jerry McGuire. He described what it was like working with Tom Cruise and Kelly Preston. He said that the whole crew would wait while Tom jumped rope to the point where he felt ready to perform the scene. When he was ready Tom would tell the director Cameron Crowe to yell "action" and Tom would toss his rope to his handler and begin his lines. Tom apparently reworks much of his scenes and deviates from the script and eventually ended up yelling at Artie who only had a brief cameo. The story continued with Artie's retelling of how he'd pass time between takes by throwing a baseball with one of the PA's. Apparently a small boy ran up to them and Artie rolled the ball to the 4 year old. At which point, Kelly Preston appeared and accused the two of trying to hurt her son. The PA revealed that the entire crew had to sign a contract not talk or interact with either Tom or Kelly during filming. The boy was Jett Travolta.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this story exactly, just that it was fascinating to be caught in the time conundrum between someone I knew in the past and celebrities I kind of feel like I know and the strange death of a child that occurred after the book was published. The story ended with Artie mercilessly making fun of the child's name. I can only imagine what he'd have to say about the moniker Suri.

Waterworks

2009-08-04T20:52:00.003-05:00

Lula is crying out on the patio.

"I want to be with Anyaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!" she cries.

Anya is an only child who was in Lula's class last year. They're friends. According to Lula, Anya has got it good.

Lula has a succulent. Anya has an entire garden.

Lula has a CD player/radio. Anya has a karaoke machine.

Lula usually gets something for dessert. But Anya?! Anya gets chocolate ice cream with sprinkles and whipped cream in a parfait cup with a cherry on top and served with a gold plated spoon - every! single! night! (Save for the occasions where her parents take her to the town ice cream parlor, which according to Lula, is at least three times a week.)

I know that Lula is playing me. She creates these little "cry wolf" dramas to get out of doing the most basic of things: like making her bed, tying her shoes or even putting on her underwear -after being asked a minimum of forty-five times. She knows she can divert the attention away from the task at hand and if she keeps at it long enough, she'll hit upon something that will catch me off guard.

Like the time she proclaimed in all seriousness, "It's just not fair! Over half of my class has swam with dolphins."

Really? I thought. And then I laughed.

Meanwhile, she's shoeless, face down on an unmade bed crying about how she had to sit on the bench during recess three years ago on her birthday. Anya never has to sit on the bench.

How We Roll

2009-07-29T22:55:00.003-05:00

The girls have a friend over. We've got a full on play date in effect. What started out as an innocent board game has morphed into pretend play using the fake money from the game.

The scene: Three rich friends are riding in their respective limos talking to each other on their cell phones. They exit their cars and are walking towards the red carpet for their fashion show when Lula announces....

LULA: Guys! Guys! I sold our limos.

HAZEL: What?

TORIA: Are you kidding?

LULA: No. I've replaced them with fancy bikes that have built-in hot tubs. And flat screens.

Hazel and Toria look nonplussed.

LULA: Annnnd...A fried chicken bar!

A Slap In The Facebook: Part 3

2009-07-29T22:40:00.003-05:00

This one is more of the upside-the-head variety slap v. the straight across the face leaving a red hot hand print on your right cheek kind. I'm sure there is an obvious answer. Something akin to walk away from the internet, perhaps?

Here we go:

I was clicking around the blogosphere and landed on Yvonne's post about her own personal FB dilemma.

Reading her personal problem prompted me to bring up my latest FB conundrum. This is what I wrote:

Y - could you advise me on my FB dilemma? A few months ago I was looking at the friends of my old college friends and found my HS boyfriend. We dated all through HS, I followed him to college and we broke up almost as soon as I arrived on campus. I don't want to be friends FB or otherwise with him. Recently - okay fine, damnit, TODAY I was looking through the list of his friends and found this girl we were both friends with in HS. Her family was very kind to me and I'd like to thank her as an adult and let her know that I still, to this day, remember and appreciate her and her parents kindness. But, I don't really want to be her FB friend. I don't want her to comment on picture and then be able to flip through his album. Or for him to see pictures of me and my family. I just want to say thank you to her (our mutual friend)and then go our separate ways again. Help.

Or. I could just forget about it?

How Not To Get Murdered or Molested

2009-07-29T00:36:00.004-05:00

You know how they have those news stories where someone's perfect wife has gone missing. A few days later there's large search. Followed by a community candle-lit vigil. Then the families tearful pleas. Later on, suspects are named. Finally a body is found. And after an exhaustive search, who done it? It's always the husband. Or more likely than not -the husband. (I just tried to look up some fancy statistic to support my theory, instead I found that spousal murders are on a twenty-year decline. Yay marrieds!)

So, the nutshell, don't get married if you want to decrease your chance of getting murdered.

Easier to enact, is my plan to prevent child molestation. Historically most children are molested by a family member or close family friend. So to reduce our chances, I don't leave my kids with just anyone. Specifically, I don't leave them in the solo care of male family or with friends who have an odd man about. It seems strange to look inward for suspects, but those are the facts. (Of course, I leave them with on occasion with Erik and I can think of a few other exceptions. But not many.)

Sometimes I have to remind myself of my own rules. Tomorrow one child has an invitation for a playdate at a house where a eighteen year old cousin has just transplanted. I'm either going to cancel or rearrange so the play takes place at my house. I can do that, I have to keep telling myself. I can because I'm the mother.

Hawaii Postponed

2009-07-21T11:58:00.004-05:00

A few months ago I watched the documentary A Family Undertaking. You know the growing trend for home births? Well, it's kind of like that, except about death. Netflix describes the film as:

Before the Civil War, preparing the dead for burial and funeral rites generally fell to friends and family members of the deceased. The 20th century saw the rise of the professional undertaker, a trend that changed American attitudes toward death and distanced grievers from their loved ones. This eye-opening film uncovers a growing movement advocating a return to a more traditional, personal approach to honoring the dead.

Afterwards, I decided to reiterate my last wishes to my husband. Basically, that I wanted to be cremated. Have my ashes scattered some place beautiful. No autopsy. And if he could, to please walk me to the door of the cremation furnace.

It was kind of a heavy conversation. I took great care choosing my words and occasionally had to pause to let my thoughts form in my head before I was able to get them out of my mouth. But as my requests came to a conclusion, Erik was quickly able to sum up the whole of my desires.

"I got it" he said, "I'll take you to a volcano and push you in."

Crunch

2009-07-17T22:51:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I picked up my bike with the girls and we rode to the Town Center where they have live music on Thursday nights. Then we rode by the beach as the sun was setting and took the way we travel home from school and it was good. Very, very good.

So tonight, we helmeted up and headed down to Park Street. We stopped at a store I've always admired and cruised over to lock up at the new bike racks the city just installed next to the movie theatre. A jazz band was playing outside the restaurant across the street, some teamsters were protesting the fact that the theatre doesn't hire union workers and I glanced up just in time to witness a mini-van roll over the front tire of Lula's bike.

Panic.

Tears.

Wailing and scratching of paint.

The hardest part of the ordeal was trying to remove the bike from under the car. In all of the commotion I didn't think to demand that the woman pay to fix her bike. I was too busy being thankful that the worst part was a bent wheel. I carried the sad cycle two blocks to the shop and it should be as good as gold on Sunday.

I hate it when things like this happen. Mostly because I'm not really sure WHAT happened. Did Lula give the woman the appearance that she was stopping? Did the woman not see Lula? I was right there, why don't I know how it all went down? I'm just glad we were all able to walk away.

Wish I May

2009-07-15T23:45:00.004-05:00

Last week, I crossed one off my ridiculous parental guilt list and took the girls to Disneyland. We had the best time ever. I bow down before Walt and I can't wait to go again. Before you think the trip was all full of magic fairy dust and helpful forest animals, let me add that we battled flight and family problems. But the key to a successful trip to the happiest place on earth is ~~cold hard cash~~ perseverance. My sister, myself and the girls were at the gates when they opened. We hit Space Mountain first and proceeded to walk on to most of our must rides before there were lines. Around noon we met up with Disney aficionado / bona fide Rock Star and my Dad. Guess which one was a bit of a downer? By the look on his face, you would have thought we'd dragged Dad to an all day dental visit. At one point after touring through the often overlooked secret passages through Sleeping Beauty's Castle, we all gathered around Snow White's wishing well. I passed out pennies to everyone, the girls clutched them tightly in their little hands, they closed their eyes as everyone drew in their breath to make their respective wishes in silence my dad loudly muttered: I wish...I wish that we make it home safely.

Huh? What?!!! I've been beside myself with dismay from the moment the words left his mouth. Hello! The first rule of wishing - you don't say your wish out loud. Hello! The Secret?!! You've just invited trouble to our door. I tried to talk to my dad about it (among other things) and he claimed it was the same as saying 'have a safe trip' or 'drive safely'. I completely disagree, but I attempted to forge ahead with a smile on my face.

All in all, we ended up having a wonderful time and we did make it home safely. Although with an additional day in LA and a unexpected rental car. My dad went his way and I choose to spend the night with my sister and drive home after a full night's sleep during the light of day.

Last night we were discussing our trip and I asked Hazel what she had wished for she smiled and said "I can't tell, then it won't come true."

There's No Place Like Home

2009-07-07T23:37:00.005-05:00

I really enjoyed this article about living in San Francisco I was alerted to via Kottke.org.

I'm working on a post about my restless spirit and how I'm not one of those people who could ever, nor was I- born, raised, lived and died all in the same place. I get itchy and ironically, the minute we moved back to the Bay Area (a place I'd been pining for from the moment we left) I felt my affection start to rise for the East Coast, specifically NYC. Go figure.

So the article has a set of rules that can be applied to almost any city. I'm all for taking advantage of what's in your own backyard. Let's see how I'm doing:

1. Live in San Francisco.

Well, we're not in SF proper. I wish we were. The school situation is a bit tricky in SF, it's not as simple as moving into a neighborhood with a good school and being guaranteed that your kids can go to that school. There was a more than likely chance that the girls would have to attend different schools in the city or be bussed across town. This fact made me uncomfortable. We choose Alameda for the schools and the beach. If it's any consolation, we can SEE San Francisco from essentially our front yard.

2. Jump in the water.

We've been out to Pt. Reyes, Kirby Cove, Angel Island and Crown Memorial Beach is out our front door. A few people have asked me if I let the girls "swim in the Bay". I discussed this with their pediatrician and am happy to report that her only concern was swimmers itch - the same affliction swimmers are susceptible to in the pristine waters of Lake Champlain. We need some improvement on hitting the Sierras and getting our mountain on.

3. Eat the food.

More sushi. More berries. Practically vegans. I'd say we've got this one covered.

4. Get a bike

I'm still trying to recover from losing my beloved Felt Cruiser. Seriously, that bike was so good looking it turned heads. Last week I tried to buy a hot pink burning man special. Yesterday, I went to look at a two cruisers from craigslist. And today, I forked over my debit card for this beauty.

Isn't it gorgeous? Looks like candy.

5. Make real friends

I'm working on this. We've done pretty good, but there's room for improvement. On the 4th, I attended two separate parties where I knew more than the hosts at both and I met a bunch of new friends.

6. Be real yourself

I love the description of "San Francisco is the kind of place where nobody will tell you when you have a bad idea". I think this may apply to every other place in the world. It's hard to squelch enthusiasm. I'm happy to report, I still have it in spades.

Tell me -how are you doing in your hometown?

Guess What Time It is?

2009-07-06T18:17:00.004-05:00

It's that time of the year when my family leaves me and heads to Vermont and I panic. And you didn't even notice. See how good I am? That's right, they've been gone for over a week and you have not had to hear a whimper or whine or nary a whisper about it. People will often say, "oh you'll get a break" which I guess I do, but I don't really feel like I need one. This year instead of packing and selling our worldly belongings, I have practically reorganized and rearranged the whole house. (I still have our two biggest pieces of living room furniture to relocate, I just haven't figured out who I'm going to prey on to assist.)

My biggest accomplishment has been the restructuring of the girls' room. For most of this year (and their lives) they've shared a bed. A few weeks ago, Hazel decided she'd had enough and began sleeping on the floor. For a few days, I thought it was a phase she would grow tired of, but after a week I began to worry that this would be added to my already growing list of sins tucked inside a thick folder down at CPS.

There was discussion of possible new furniture. Round two of bunk beds? Maybe a loft bed. Maybe my family would come home and find me frail and weak and buried under lists of IKEA instructions. Instead, I found a similar white wood twin that would work with their existing suite and then proceeded to push and pull the beds, desk and armoire around until I figured out a suitable configuration. I'm anxious to see how it works for them, but for the better part of the last week I've been taking it for a test drive. (Translation: I've been sleeping in my kids' room while they are all out of town.) Is that weird?

The new bed.

The room.

The Namaste Sign.

I love that Namaste sign. If you come over, avert your eyes to the places where it's had to be glued back together because it wasn't secured properly, fell and broke. Just focus on the sparkly purpleness and the special light in me, that sees the special light in you.

A Turn For The Worse

2009-07-02T00:53:00.006-05:00

Yesterday, I met my cousin in Santa Cruz. We decided to ride the Giant Dipper. The eighty-five year old wooden roller coaster on the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk.

I really didn't know what I was getting myself into, I had a bit of trepidation, but glancing at the historical posters detailing the ride, I thought 'no big whoop'. The speed was listed at a mild fifty-five miles per hour. I could handle this. It was eighty-five years old -for crying out loud.

From the first jerk I knew I had bitten off more than I could chew. Instantly you're whipped into a pitch black, dark tunnel. Instead of the usual slow, anxiety building climb that scares you silly but reassures you that it's all down hill from here; we were whisked into complete darkness twisted about, turned, churned and finally spit out to the sun.

Without even realizing it, I'd grabbed on to the seat in front of me, locked my elbows and was pushing with every muscle in my body attempting to press myself further into my chair. The coaster jerked and kicked, my eyes were shut tight and my mind reeled with the unexpectedness of it all.

Even though the ride appeared unassuming from the outside (by comparison to something like...oh, say- The Pacific Ocean), this was by far, the scariest roller coaster I had ever been on. And it seemed to go on forever. I remember noticing the people getting off before us. No one was white with fright. Puking from pure terror. A pooled up puddle of shrieking hysterics. All reactions I was mulling over as my life flashed before my eyes. What the hell was happening? And why wasn't it over yet? I gripped the seat in front of me tighter and pushed my arms out as hard as I could.

When the ride finally came to an end, they stopped the car 10 yards in front of the holding barn of others waiting to meet the same fate. I thought this was a ploy to allow people time to recover. Even with the pause I was completely speechless. Slowly, I unclenched my hands and turned to talk to my cousin. That's when it hit me -excruciating pain. Like a bolt of lightening shooting down the right side of my neck into shoulder and upper back. It's the kind of pain that makes you reconsider thinking nothing is worse than contractions. I was instantly stiff. One of those poor saps, that has to turn their whole body in order to see what's going on right beside them. And the salt in my wound, was that I did all of this in front of my twenty-two year old cousin.

How could I be so stupid, I thought. I knew that the locked arms and forceful bracing had played a part in the injury. 'Going with the flow' and 'enjoying the ride' never entered my mind. I was faced with the unexpected and instinctively my intention was to hold on as tight as I could, open my eyes for a brief bit every once in awhile and just make it to the end. And where did that get me?

In a world of pain.

I slowly walked to my car. Concerned about how I was going change lanes during the long freeway drive home with what was sure to be a bona-fide case of whiplash. I thought about my tight fisted reaction, the way I'd resisted ever movement of the amusement and wondered if the whole experience was a metaphor for how I live my life.

I Laughed And Then We Cleaned

2009-06-30T22:59:00.004-05:00

Sometimes I get all flustered when I read other people professing love for their husbands. Apparently there are quite a few 'best man in the whole world' running around out there. What draws me to Erik is that we have fun together. He makes me laugh. Case in point, after working a few days of extra long hours and not being home for much of the girls waking hours, he walked into their room accessed their game playing looked around for a bit and uttered:

"Did you girls get a gerbil?"

A Slap In The Facebook: Part 2

2009-06-29T11:52:00.004-05:00

Long story short: My fourteen year-old cousin has been peppering her Facebook status updates with the 'f'word. And as fourteen year-olds do, she changes her status quite frequently. It's bothered me and I was thinking how I would approach her. I'm sure it's impossible for kids (and adults) to understand the reach and permanency of the internet. So I wanted to offer a kind word of caution.

My concern was two fold. Not only that a future employer, college admissions counselor or the like might take offense to her flowery language, but also what is going to happen to a small town girl that easily uses such an adjective when hormones, boredom and rebellion escalate over the next few years.

So while I was having some phone conversation with her father, I casually mentioned what I had read. He had no idea and was surprised. We discussed and decided that I would send her an email and he would talk to her about it as well. Less than an hour later I sat down with my laptop to compose a quick message and guess what happened?

She deleted me as her friend.

She also deleted every other adult family member from her profile.

Problem solved, at least in the mind of a fourteen year old.

'F'me.

I said the wrong thing

2009-06-26T20:41:00.004-05:00

I said something inappropriate, I confessed.

I know, said my husband. You blogged about it.

No. I did not. You must have been reading my iChats, I surmised.

Guess who was right?

A few weeks ago, I kind of snarkely let something sarcastic slip off my tongue. I totally blame the fact that I was nose deep in Bitter is the New Black by Jen Lancaster. That and the economic down turn has been particularly cruel to California. But none the less, I should have kept my trap shut. Lesson learned.

Today, I finally mustered the courage to tell my father that his addiction to internet dating is totally out of control. He didn't take it so well. Again, I wish I'd kept my trap shut.

Who's Bad?

2009-06-26T01:37:00.004-05:00

So, that sucks. That Michael Jackson died. Shocking really.

Now back to me.

I haven't been posting a lot because I've been wrought with anxiety over my father's visit. My dad arrived on Tuesday for a~~n indefinite and uncomfortable~~ stay. MJ's passing got me to thinking about Michael and his songs. In honor of one of my favorite I present:

The Incomplete List Of My Father's Complaints
(Muttered over the course of time. Only about half were mentioned today.)

Bad waitress.
Bad food.
Bad service.
Bad foot.
Bad elbow.
Bad eye.
Bad teeth.
Bad knee.
Bad ankle.
Bad hair.
Bad back.
Bad dates.
Bad wives.
Bad weather.
Bad sign.
Bad storm.
Bad wind.
Bad childhood.
Bad attitude.
Bad jokes.
Bad ideas.
Bad cars.
Bad bikes.
Bad vacations.
Bad boats.
Bad timing.
More bad wives.
Bad sisters.
One very bad father.
Bad taste.
Bad glasses.
Bad medicine.
Bad music.
Bad connection.
Bad gas prices.

I'm so Pamela Anderson and I don't Even Know It

2009-06-22T20:16:00.004-05:00

I used to say that I could NEVER be a vegetarian. This was because my family farms. My great-great-great grandfather plowed fertile Kansas soil, raised hogs and cattle and now the land has been passed down to my uncle. So therefore, it would be a slap in the face to my ansetory to deny myself some grass fed USDA filet mignon. Am I right?

If you remember, a few years ago my aunt left my uncle and her four children for the hired man. There was much drama. A threat of abuse. A restraining order. A few appearances in the local paper and much gossip around the beauty salon. Their separation left everyone scratching their heads and drinking their beers and in general, trying forget it ever happened. A pesky thing to do when you have four kids.

Long story short, my loyalty to meat has also splintered. I think it was one part Skinny Bitch, one part California, a little too much time on the PETA website and a dash of curiosity.

And a few months into it, I'm here to report that we're all surviving! We eat a lot of veggie burgers. We make pizza with whole wheat crust and soy cheese. This morning, I asked Lula if she liked facon and she enthusiastically replied "yeah, but I like real bacon better." I used to think that it would be too expensive to go veg, but I really haven't noticed an increase at the grocery store. Honest.

Now, just as I start to get all smug, and think OMG, we're really vegans. I'll remember something like the turkey meatloaf or the turkey meatballs. We eat fish. (And apparently turkey.) Then there's the occasional glass of milk. But there is so much more fruit and vegetables in our diet. I never thought I'd actually attempt to make a mashed potato like substance out of whipped cauliflower. I also never thought I'd listen to Kid Rock on the treadmill, but I do that too. I don't mean to offend anyone, I know the definition of a true vegan. I'm just saying, it's steps in the right direction. Tattooed, road-hard, big smiling steps.

The Loudest Kids At The Library

2009-06-17T20:11:00.001-05:00

It's day three of summer vacation and I feel like a failure.

I took the girls to the pediatrician and while we were waiting, a suggestion was made to play Duck, Duck, Goose. Not a good waiting room game, I said. So how about a rousing Rock, Paper, Scissors? With FULL VOLUME? How about we rock back and forth in our chair while it bangs against the wall and shakes the foundation of the building. At least twenty times. How about I Spy with a What now? What do I look for now? Huh?? WHAT? Whatttttttt????? How about we end up on the floor, with half our body under the chair? How about LET'S TALK WHILE THE NURSE IS TALKING? WHILE THE PARENT IS TALKING? WHILE THE –YOU MEAN YOU WENT TO SEVEN YEARS OF MEDICAL SCHOOL? I. CAN'T. HEAR. YOU. Because I'm talking and I'm not going to stop. Can we go to the yogurt shop? Can I get some Mentos®? How about gum? Can we do that sewing project? Can you take us swimming? You promised you'd......

Twit, Tweet, Twat: A Twitter Tutorial.

2009-06-16T13:30:00.004-05:00

Last month I got a text from my Beaufriend that read: I still can't believe how much you were on the forefront of Twitter!!! It's TOTALLY the hottest thing around right now!

This morning I received an email from another friend that said: I need a Twitter lesson!

So instead of just a reply here's an explanation in a reply all format.

Follow: It's more fun/useful/worthwhile when there's more to read. I found people to follow by clicking around. If you hover your mouse on the little image boxes their name comes up, if you click on them you go to a new page with a whole new group of people to check out as potential followers. I'd say the people I follow fall into categories of advertising professionals, social media gurus and mommy bloggers. There's also a nice mix of brands and things I'm passionate about like The New York Times, Whole Foods and the Austin City Limits Festival.

Follow Back: Check out the people who are following you and follow them. A few weeks ago, there was a bit of Twitter Fun that started by Lindsey at Suburban Turmoil. I was playing along and having a grand time. Later I read this blog post about the event. There's no mention of @amidoingokay's tweets. It took me a few minutes to unfold my wadded up undies, but then it hit me - Lindsey doesn't follow me, so she had NO IDEA I was playing along.Yes, there is a fair amount of spam already on Twitter even in it's infancy and apparently their are slews of subgroups like life coaches, religious zealots and the like. Steer clear. There's no need to follow everyone, just don't miss out.

90% of my Twitter time is via my phone: When I have a few minutes, I check my email, my facebook and twitter on my phone. Rarely do I sign on to Twitter from my laptop. I use Twitterific and I like the functionality that lets me see what people are saying 'nearby' and also what the #(hashtags) or trending topics are. These are the most popular, most mentioned subjects people are tweeting about.

It is what it is: and it's all under 140 characters. Try not to make more of it than it is, it's just typing out loud to a select audience. Sort of. I like people who link to interesting news stories, viral videos and the like. Often I star these stories so that I can go back and read them later (often with good intentions on the road to hell). I like hearing about how famous writers are telling tales via twitter. I like the idea of the gourmet food carts that tweet their locations. Or Shaq is handing out tickets via twitter. Demi and Ashton get on my nerves a bit. I don't follow Diddy. Or John Meyer. I recently started following Joel McHale from The Soup. Advertising is still trying to figure out how to use twitter and I think twitter is still trying to figure out how to make a profit. I struggle with not tweeting every single thing my kids do, because I seriously don't want to offend everyone with their greatness. And I'm a professional. And we all know how advertising embraces those women with children types.

Instant Gratification: when I felt a great bump in the night, I immediately went to twitter for confirmation on an earthquake. I find out about plane crashes, reality show finals, NBA championships even Dooce's new baby all on Twitter. It's the first stop on my information superhighway (do people still say that?) then I go to blogs, books, newspapers for more.

Please follow me on Twitter @amidoingokay and if you have any questions leave them in the comments.

The Amazing Lula

2009-06-12T18:17:00.003-05:00

In April we attended Stef's daughter's birthday in Austin. Right in the middle of the entertainment portion of the celebration, the clown/magician held the audience to rapt attention as he performed a particularly crowd pleasing trick. Just as he was about to wow us all with the big reveal, my kid piped up with an ear splitting "HEY!!!!! I HAVE THAT EXACT SAME COLORING BOOK!!!!!"

It was equal parts amusing and embarrassing for both me and the clown.

After the party as we were leaving, Stef's mom said something to the effect that she wished that "her grandkids had one-tenth the outgoing-ness of mine."

Later, Erik and I laughed that if you flip that phrase it could be taken to mean that our kids are about nine-tenths too outgoing.

I'm not sure if I mentioned that Lula performed in the school talent show this year. She was the only first grader to do so. Here is part of a post I never published just before the big day:

Lula announced that she wanted to audition for the school talent show about three months ago. There was much talk, planning and a rotation of friends vying for assistant positions. The audition was followed by a series of "call-backs" which I later learned was more about not being prepared vs. being one step closer to getting the role. Wednesday, I snuck into the dress rehearsal and nervously watched as every trick was in some way a fail.

Lately I've had to bite my tongue and sit on my hands when it comes to the girls' different endeavors. It took everything I had to resist the urge to edit Hazel's animal report on lions. But having 12 hours to fix Lula's magic act is a far cry from knocking off the cheerleading or ice skating competition. So I switched it into stage mom mode. A few home rehearsals an the all important set list that outlined her act, whipped her into shape. She ACED the show

Inappropriate Touch

2009-06-10T17:24:00.004-05:00

Have you ever watched your child walk up to a similarly dressed adult and they grab onto this stranger in a way that only a under three feet tall person can? A small arm slides into an inner thigh and wraps itself around one leg.

There's that moment of awkward realization where the adult and the child look at each other and discover that neither is who the other expected. I miss those moments.

My kids have reached a height where I no longer have to move my body to reach them. I can kiss the tops of their heads when we hug. In parenting years, I am mere moments away from looking them straight in the eye.

When my kids used to do that, I stare at the other mother and try to figure out what it was that had drawn my child to them. I'd try to find myself in the other woman. I'd be so happy if the woman was in my eyes pretty. Or skinny. Or fashionably dressed. I realize now, of course, that it was more than likely the unmistakable draw of the wildly popular and characteristically forgiving black stretch yoga pant.

A Scarf Only A Mother Could Love

2009-06-05T10:37:00.005-05:00

Have you checked out the site Awkward Family Photos? It's a relatively new internet phenomenon and I predict they'll have a book deal right about the time I hit publish on this post. (Although, today I'm not as enamored with the posts as most days, so scroll down because it gets better.)

My first thought upon seeing my first child for the first time was, "Thank goodness, she didn't get my hair." See, Hazel was born with a fairly substantial amount of head covering that was reddish-blond and visible. My second child, not so lucky. Lula was bald and she had a recessed chin that made her look as the off-color joke goes, like a Chinese phonebook. The poor child looked like an old man.

I wasn't about to torture the little soul with those baby headbands and bald baby hair bows. Oh no, instead most of her early pictures of capture the kiddo in a variety of hats or scarves. One particular hat had a bunch of fuzzy fringe that made my Mother-In-Law inquire, "Why is Lula wearing a wig?"

Looking back, my attempts to style her round head seem positively ridiculous.

What was I thinking? Even her little clenched fist is balled up in a fit of exasperation.

In My Neck Of The Woods

2009-06-03T16:00:00.004-05:00

So my morning started with a bang. Quite literally. The loudest and only clap of thunder I've ever heard since we moved back to the Bay Area. In a twist of fate, someone else was experiencing the same weather situation. I related to Dad Gone Mad's post which started like this:

You’re unlikely to find too many California residents who feel really good about living here right now. The jobs are gone, the traffic sucks, gay marriage is illegal, the governor’s a bout to disembowel education and social services…not pretty.

It's funny how you can have an "large, unstable air-mass" hanging over your head andnot even know it. Yesterday, was a simply fine day. And ka-blammmy!!!??!!%*#@! today is a shit storm. I might as well have woken up with my trailer thrown to the next county. I had no idea I was supposed to duck and cover.

I'm often looking for signs from God or the Universe to know if I'm doing the right things with my life. I envy people who seem to have direction on speed dial and just KNOW that this is where they're supposed to be and that is what they're supposed to do. I'm wondering if that lingering thunderclap translates into a warning that should be heeded.

Oral Sex Is The New Swine Flu

2009-06-02T15:32:00.005-05:00

A few weeks ago, we were hanging out with another family with two daughters. The other dad brought up a news story that proclaimed that blow jobs were the new good night kiss. And then the adults, lifted there hands to their foreheads, turned pale white and nearly fainted. I piped in with a "whoa, whoa - do I think that girls are giving BJ's on the front porch while their dad's peek through the peep hole? No. But if you think high school boys aren't getting a blow job, you're nuts." And then they all said I was wise and sage and should consider running for PTA president.

But, seriously. I hate it when there's a something that the media latches on to and it is designed to scare the crap out of parents. Because I had given absolutely NO THOUGHT to my daughters and oral sex until that moment. And now my brain is scarred. Permanently. Apparently, there's a book and a documentary by a Canadian author who doesn't even have an Wikipedia page. I poked around long enough to find that she started a few teen focused magazines in Canada. (Canadians are so horny, so of course they wouldn't just settle for a kiss on the porch.) Now that I know there's a book, I'm going to have to at the very least flip through it.

This reminds me of something my cousin Brandon's wife said to me once while she was holding her newborn son: If you're the mother of a boy you have to worry about one penis. If you're a mother of a girl, you have to worry about all the penises.

The most frightening part of this story (so far at least) is the bit at the end of the clip where it says that you have to establish open communication at a very young age and be constantly engaged with your children at all times. I hate it when I have to inspect my parenting under a microscope.

*This post is being interupted by a call from the school nurse.* (And additional anxiety, I've been passing along the link to my blog for some writing jobs. I think posts like this aren't going to endear me to future employers.)

June Gloom

2009-06-01T14:55:00.005-05:00

What's the cardinal rule for a child of divorce?

You don't talk to your mom about your dad and you don't talk about your dad about your mom.

My husband admonishes me for this often. But I want to know, who ARE you supposed to talk to?

Sure I discuss with my husband. But his parents have/had an amicable divorce. He thinks that his mom wishes she hadn't divorced his dad. Which I think provides him with a fluffy rosy colored safety net to encase all of his childhood angst.

I guess that I could talk to my closest friends. But I like my friends. And I want to keep them.

One particularly telling incident happened when one of my parents decided to freak out in front of one of girlfriends and her newborn baby. Afterward she uttered these words: I had no idea. All these years, I just thought you were making those stories up.

So maybe friends aren't the ones to unload the heavy burden of my parents and their unconventional choices.

I'm really struggling. Finding myself so stuck with this problem. The only solution I can see is intercontinental employment. *sigh*

A Slap In The Facebook

2009-05-29T00:20:00.005-05:00

Last week I was complaining that no one ever asks to be my friend on Facebook. I'm always sending out and sending out the requests. Just now, I asked my husband how many friends he has. Then I nearly fell off the couch when he told me he's zeroing in on 500.

Not one person from my childhood or college years has sought me out. No old boyfriends. No flirtatious crushes of days of yore. No one from Student Council camp. Hell, I'm pretty sure almost every single one of my Facebook friends is someone I searched for and found.

So imagine my surprise when my former Stepmother recently commented on one of my cousin's photos.

History: My father, who had custody and was my primary caregiver, married Carol when I was five. We lived together for over ten years until the time that she told my father that either "she goes or I go". I ended up skipping a year of high school and living with my grandparents. Carol and my Dad divorced shortly thereafter and I drove myself to college.

I always think that I've dealt with all off this and it doesn't bother me anymore. However, as time goes by and my own children grow, I seem to get kind of murky my dealings and it brings up all kinds of issues and questions.

So, instead of making a therapy appointment, I did the next ~~best~~ cheapest thing. I clicked on the link that let me view all the people that my exStep is friends with. There were a few people her age. Most of my (half)sister's close friends. Suprisingly, she's friends with her first husbands child from his second marriage. But the real kicker, she's friends with my aunt. My father's sister. I had no idea my aunt was on Facebook. And guess what? She's never once requested to be my friend.

Blood may be thicker than water, but it's not friendlier on Facebook.

One time, at band camp

2009-05-20T14:21:00.003-05:00

Brace yourself we're headed down memory lane.

Okay, so it wasn't band camp. It was student council camp. The summer before my sophomore year of High School. We were broken into small groups for some sort of team building or self discovery or problem solving exercise. Everyone in the circle was supposed to name something they would "invent".

I remember the pretty blonds echoing each other with the desire to "invent" a children's hospital that would "cure" all childhood diseases. One after another, they built on their idea until the hospital not only cured and prevented each and every illness, but also promised an idyllic future full of rainbows, happiness and happily-ever-afters.

When it was my turn. I said that I'd "invent" a time machine.

This was met with great confusion and objection. "No fair!" The chorus of pretty blonds exclaimed. "Your invention has to be real! A time machine isn't real!" Unlike, say - a magic hospital that heals.

Afterward, I remember this quiet, bookish guy came up to me and said he liked what I had suggested. I keep thinking about that guy. Right now, he's probably polishing his Nobel Peace Prize. Or, I'm forgetting that his name tag read William Gates.

Friends

2009-05-19T16:54:00.005-05:00

Me: I walk out of the offices of a personal injury attorney. I'm a human ping pong ball being bounced between the city, the property owner and my insurance company. The game ends when I give up.

She: Sits on a patio in the Texas sun when arguably the HOTTEST young male actor slides into table next to her. And to think she wished she didn't get out of bed today.

She: Alone in a conference room she grabs a few minutes of privacy to pump. Next she'll walk a room full of executives through a brilliant advertising campaign while her baby smiles three states away.

She: Walks on the beach staring out at the Atlantic Ocean. Thinking big thoughts with a heart full of love and sand between her toes. Surrounded by family, looking fabulous with an open ear and easy shoulder.

I miss my friends. Scattered over the country. I'm thankful that there is so much technology to keep us in touch. A hundred years ago, I'd still be waiting for the pony express to tell me they'd succumbed to dysentery. Life is good.