Thursday, December 28, 2006

Singing

The other day, David was singing something as he got himself a glass of water.  He doesn't sing much, but when he does you can usually make out the tune.  (Juliana, of course, sings day and night like any good little chirpy fairy girl.  Unfortunately, it's in a nonstop tuneless drone.  Not only can't she carry a tune, but her singing speed is permanently set at dirge.   I'll find her in the recliner with the lyric booklet from the Cheetah Girls CD singing the songs a capella.   Turns out the only time the Cheetah Girls sound good to me is when they are drowning out my daughter's singing.  But she loves to sing and I encourage her to do so.  I sing with her--loudly and at an exaggerated pace in an attempt to get her to find some rhythm.  Any rhythm.)

So, the other day when David was singing, Juliana says to him, "David, you have a nice singing voice.  You would make a good singer, like maybe.....in the circus."  I looked at her for a moment as it slowly dawned on me that she had pulled off a nearly perfect insult of her big brother.  It was said in such kind, complimentary tones.  There was the perfect pause before she said, "in the circus".  It was the kind of insult that takes a moment to sink in.  Hmmm a circus?  People do perform there.  Is she saying he has a performance quality voice?  Wait just a cotton-pickin' minute there!  The circus???

It was beautiful.  And I don't know why, but it just gets funnier and funnier the more I think about it.  "In the circus" has become our family's version of "yo mama".  "Yes, I do think that shirt looks good on you....in the circus."

Sunday, December 24, 2006

She Can't Take It Any More!

On Friday night, my mother and I went to Shabbat services at the synagogue.  It's not often that I get to go to the grown up service and I always enjoy it when I do.  Our usual gig is the Family Service, which is an abbreviated service followed by a potluck dinner that occurs once a month.   Every now and then, though, a holiday falls such that we all end up at a regular Shabbat service.  For example, last week the first night of Chanukah fell on a Friday.  Our synagogue celebrated it with a dinner followed by a service.  The week preceding had been a busy one, full of class parties and special events.  By the time Friday rolled around, we were all pretty whipped.  The dinner part was lovely--lots to eat and plenty of friends for the kids to play with.  The service didn't start until 7:30.  We found seats and Juliana began to occupy herself in the usual way: drawing pictures.  Our syngagogue actually shares space in a church, so Juliana spends her time drawing pictures on the prayer request cards.  Here's a typical one of her drawings: 


Soon, however, she was getting tired and antsy.  She passed me a note:


I was under the mistaken impression that there would not be dessert, and told her so.  This did not make her happy.  She scowled and passed me this note:


I whispered to her that the service would be done soon.  (A bald-faced lie, that.)  Now she was practically lying down in her chair and giving me the dirtiest looks possible.  I worked hard on absorbing myself in the service, namely with praying for patience.  Ritu decided he would help matters by passing me note.  Apparently he thought we were at a piano bar, so he put in his request:


Very funny, that one.  <insert eye rolling here>

Juliana wasn't going down without a fight.  She passed me another note:

You can see she was too tired to make an entire sad face.   Again, I encouraged her to hang in there and that we'd be done soon.  She wasn't falling for it.  A few minutes later, I got this:


At this, I actually burst out laughing.  Right in the middle of a solemn part, of course.  Eventually she climbed onto my lap where she stayed for the duration of the service.  I held her and wondered if attending the service was enough to cancel out the murderous thoughts I had when she misbehaved at the synagogue.  Probably not.  

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

30 Rock

Lookie what Deana taught me to do!

Are y'all watching 30 Rock?  I'll admit, initially I was more excited about the premiere of Studio 60, but now I'm mostly watching that out of  (waning)  loyalty to Aaron Sorkin.  But 30 Rock makes me laugh every week.  This scene, in particular, had me rolling. 

 

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

Cranky....So Cranky

I realized a few weeks back that I'd missed my Blogiversary!  Yes, one whole year of blogging.  Hell, in that time I've  probably written enough posts to fill six whole months of blogging!  I'd apologize but I'm way too cranky to care about your feelings.  I'm stuck in a big rut of hormonally infused apathy.  I have so much to do (see: kitchen floor, mop; office, vacuum; laundry, til I die) and I'm sitting here instead.  Not only am I cranky, I'm cranky AND crampy.  And I keep going from too cold to sweaty.  And I reheated some cold coffee and ended up burning my tongue.  Also, if they don't stop finding nothing but dead, lost people (New state motto: Oregon: You Won't Find It Here!) I am going to lose the will to drag myself out of bed.  Oh, and I just saw that Mt. St. Helens is sending up steam.  Awesome.  Should we be heeding the message of the earth?  Forgive my misinterpretation.  Instead of heeding, I'm feeding, as in cramming cookies in my gaping maw 'round the clock. 

All right, I'm getting off my ass to vacuum now.  There seem to be a lot of cookie crumbs everywhere.

Monday, December 11, 2006

The Kim Family

The story of the Kim family made the national news, but it dominated things here in Oregon.  It was a story that resonated with many people for many reasons, but I think the reason it was so compelling was that we could all put ourselves in that place.  Right now there are three climbers missing on Mount Hood and while I feel for them and their families, there is an inherent risk in mountain climbing.  My psyche and I can distance ourselves from that event by acknowledging that we would never endanger ourselves that way.  But driving home from a trip through the mountains of Oregon?  Hell, we were on the same part of I-5 (albeit headed in a different direction) on the same day that the Kim family got lost. 
 
We spent Thanksgiving with my family in Lake Tahoe.  We'd broken the drive there into two days by leaving after school on Tuesday and spending the night in Weed(dude!) , California.  The next morning we drove the last few hours to Lake Tahoe.  We took a shortcut on a  small two lane road that made for a glorious drive at high elevations.  This shortcut allowed us to bypass taking I-5 all the way to Sacramento.  Between the holiday traffic and the fact that a stretch of I-5 was down to one lane due to construction, we were hot to avoid that whole area.  Our trip there was uneventful and we easily shaved off an hour of driving time.
 
When it came time to leave, we planned to make the trip all in one day.  We knew bad weather was approaching and Ritu spent a lot of time checking traffic and weather forecasts and studying the available routes.  We were already looking at 12 hours of driving and we toyed with the idea of going back the way we'd come, using that same mountain shortcut.  There seemed to be a chance that we could get up and over the Sierras before the storm hit.  After wavering on the issue for a bit, we ultimately decided to play it safe, drive to Sacramento and pick up I-5 there.  It meant an additional 70 miles of driving, not to mention delays due to construction.   Our trip back was slow going.  We hit snow in northern California and had to chain up to get back into Oregon.  All in all, we spent 14 hours in the car that day, but we made it home safely.
 
How easily things could've turned.  The Kim family didn't do anything that I could point to and say "Well, I never would've done that."  That inability to detach myself from their choices made the story even more unsettling.  When the news came that they were missing it had already been nearly a week.  My trip home from Tahoe had mostly faded into the background.  For some reason, I felt guilty that I had resumed my regular life while they were still out there, lost. 
 
I found myself watching the news and checking websites obsessively.  I didn't see how they could've survived for 9 days.  Not with a baby.  When Kati and the girls were found, it seemed like a miracle and there was hope again.  They knew where to look now; they would find James.  I read news stories and checked again and again.  I found myself with a prayer/mantra:  "Find him.  Just find  him."   It was sometimes silent, sometimes whispered, sometimes yelled at the computer screen in frustration. 
 
I think the worst part was wondering if James Kim died thinking he had failed in his task.  If he was tormented with the thought that he had left his wife and babies to die.  Sure, the experts tell you to stay put if you get lost.  They tell you not to leave whatever shelter you have.  But if you've stayed put for over a week?  If you are watching your children slowly starve?  What then? 
 
In this day and age, we delude ourselves that we can conquer our surroundings.  We have cell phones, GPS, and all sorts of technology to keep us connected.  I think back to the pioneers who lost their lives on the Oregon Trail.  My God, we can travel in a matter of hours what used to take them weeks.  We can gather the information we need and be prepared.  But when that technological crutch is gone, we are no different than those who came before us.  For all of our advances, we end up at a disadvantage.  We ride in comfort in our climate controlled vehicles making the best of this temporary inconvenience we call travel.  We fail to appreciate that there are still parts of this country in which a wrong turn can lead to death.  Unlike the pioneers, we don't travel with months of supplies.  We don't know how to navigate through the wilderness.  We arrogantly believe that we are masters of our environment and it takes a tragic event like this to remember our humble place on this earth. 
 
I don't know what the lesson to be learned from this is.  Or even if there is one.  Maybe the rest of us will venture out better prepared because of this.  Maybe we'll heed the warnings a little more closely.    If nothing else, we'll appreciate just a bit more the health and safety of our loved ones and comforts and security that we too easily take for granted. 

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

I've Yet To See This In A Parenting Book

Across the street from us lives an absolutely lovely older couple.  They are the nicest neighbors you could ask for.  When we first moved in, they helped explain the three-can trash system to us and mentored us on how to care for our rose bushes.  They get a real kick out of our kids and always make a point to chat with them when we're all outside.   

On Veteran's Day, I suggested to David and Juliana that they make cards for our neighbor as he is a WW II veteran.  We talked about what the holiday meant and how important it was to say thank you to people who had fought in wars.  I pointed out to David that since he had fought in WW II, it was especially meaningful to us, as Jews. 

Juliana, of course, ran to the table to start her card.  Juliana does not need to be told to make cards.  She will make you three cards a day just to tell you she loves you.  Juliana makes the enitre Hallmark industry look like a bunch of impassive slackers.  Juliana goes through so much paper that I can't believe there's a tree left standing in Oregon.  Juliana will cover the aforementioned paper with hearts, rainbows, winged fairies, more hearts, ballerinas, a few more hearts, and unicorns.  

David, on the other hand, is a man of few words--and even fewer pictures.  He will put out the least amount of effort possible for art-related school projects.  I can't say what he would draw for fun because if he doesn't have to draw something, he won't.  But he gamely went to the table with a piece of paper.  At this point, I went upstairs to put away laundry.  Juliana soon brought me her card which was decorated with all sorts of red white and blue hearts.  She had written "Thank You" and "Happy Veteran's Day".  Plus a few more hearts for good measure.

A few minutes later, David came upstairs beaming with pride.  He handed me his card.  The cover had some random red white and blue markings.  The inside was where he had concentrated his best effort.  My child who hates to draw had produced a tour de force.  On the left side of the page was a stick figure labeled with our neighbor's name.  This figure was holding a gun which had bullets flying out of it.  On the right side was a pile of stick figures in various stages of distress.  They were labeled "Notzees" and some were lying prone, while others listed to the side.  One was standing upright.  He was labeled "Hitler".  He had a talking bubble over him that said "Curse you!"  Crayon dashes, representing bullets from our hero's gun, covered Hitler and his Notzees. 

I looked at David who was obviously pleased with his work.  I gave the parental equivalent of not making eye contact with a crazy person by saying, "Wow, I can see you really worked hard on this."  Then I quickly excused myself to the bathroom where Ritu was taking a shower.  I was completely at a loss.  I didn't want to crush David's little spirit by negating his foray into art, but there was no way in hell we could give that to our kindly old neighbor.  I don't know much about his war experiences, but I do know he spent time as a POW.  Ritu and I held a quick conference about what to do.  I took a deep breath and went back out.  Juliana gave me the perfect entry by asking, "Did you see David's card?  Didn't you think it was funny?"  That gave me a chance to say that yes, I had thought it was funny, but that I wasn't so sure our neighbor would think so.  I explained to David that I didn't know what he'd done in the war and maybe David's drawings would bring back some sad or scary memories.  Ok, I was pretty sure our neighbor had never actually shot Hitler, but still. 

David listened seriously and seemed to understand.  I knew that if I asked him to start fresh with a new card, he would bail on the whole project, so I suggested he keep the same cover and glue it to a new page or make a new picture to glue over his drawing.  He decided to make some more red white and blue designs and glued them over his cartoon.  Later, Ritu took the kids across the street to deliver the cards.  Our neighbor was napping, but came by later when my mom was here babysitting to thank the children.  He was extremely touched by the fact that we had taken the time to make the cards and acknowledge him that day.   He didn't say anything about David's authentic battlefield re-creation, so I'm guessing the glue held. 

 

Thursday, November 9, 2006

Loving and Hating


Loving:

Having friends who will trim up the ragged edges of my hair in the elementary school library.  (Yes, that's how bad it still is.  People approach me with scissors.)


Call Me When You're Sober  by Evanescence.  That girl can wail.  (I downloaded it on Itunes this week and it's logged more playtime than any other song on my list except Hips Don't Lie by Shakira which single-handedly pulled me out a funk this summer.  It's absolutely seamless on repeat play.)

Friday Night Lights on NBC which gets my vote for best new series this year.  Well-written, well-acted.  I know it's about football.  Get past that and start watching. 

Mrs. Mays Almond Crunch
  Get thee to a Costco.  Don't bother looking at the fat content.  Just tell yourself that nuts are healthy and full of protein.  Then sit down with a bag and watch Friday Night Lights.

That I felt this earthquake Sunday night.  It was a little one, but I felt it--as did Juliana up in her bed.  I made sure to fill out one of these forms which is the height of dorkitude. 

Hating:
The fact that my desk chair randomly and slowly sinks to its lowest level leaving me typing with my chin resting on the keyboard.

How the people who bought my old house decided to refinish the floors and had a truck in the driveway that made so much goddamned noise that my entire house vibrated.  It went on all day until 8:40 PM.  Who the hell is still refinishing floors at that hour?  Let me tell you something, I lived in that house for four years.  There's not that much in the way of wood floors.  I'm guessing theywere going for the crispy crust of wood floors since that much sanding couldn't have left anything substantial. 

The fact that Ritu was out of town for three days during which time  I developed a sore throat and a headache, the children turned into demons, and it rained non-stop. Then,  when he came home to save me, it turned out HE was sick with some stomach bug.  Where is the fairness in that?  How high do you think he ranked on my sympathy meter?  I woke up feeling much better this morning, but I'm guessing that was simply out of necessity.  (When I was sick, my thermometer refused to acknowledge that I had a fever.  And everyone knows that you can't receive Official Sickness Sympathy until you have a fever.  (For the record, Ritu claimed that he was most likely feverish last night, but zero proof = zero sympathy.)  I get extraordinarily high maintenance when I get feverish, because as soon as my brain overheats, I immediately start to cry.  Any little thing will set me off into paroxysms of sobbing.  Most people around me know enough to stick a thermometer in my mouth when that happens.)

Ok, 5 loving and 3 hating.   I must be losing my edge. 


Saturday, October 28, 2006

My Hair. Oy. My Hair.

My hair and  I have had a long journey together.  It's always been stick straight, yet unruly.  For many years I fought against it.  From junior high all the way into college, I permed the living bejesus out of it with varying results (mostly all unattractive.)  After college, I decided it was time to make peace with my hair.  It was going to be straight, dammit, and it was time to work with it, not against it.  I grew out the last perm and cut it short.  I kept it that way for quite some time.  But still, I wasn't satisfied.  I played around with a number of lengths, from boyishly short to down at my shoulders and I would occasionally add layers in an attempt to give it some volume and style.  But here's the thing.  There's no point in adding layers unless you plan to "do" your hair.  You know, things like putting in "product", then blow drying it with a round brush.  I hate blow drying.  It's boring and it makes me sweaty.  What's the point in showering, shampooing, then intentionally adding in a sweat-producing grooming element?  So, instead, I shampoo then let it air dry.  At some point, while it's still damp, I brush through it.  Voila!  It's done!

When Juliana was a baby, I decided to grow out my bangs.  I was 33 and I'd had bangs my entire life.  But here's the thing.  I'd also had a cowlick in the front of my hair my entire life.  This cowlick was a part of my bangs.  All those years, my bangs were nice and smooth except for that spot just off center where they split from the cowlick.  I don't know why I tolerated that cowlick for so long other than I'm a slow learner, I don't handle change well, and it was the closest thing to natural curl that I had.  (I may be the only person who ever considered plastering my worst bed-head with hair spray because at least it had some volume and wave.)  Baby Juliana had an unruly mop of hair at this point and I vowed she would learn from my mistakes.  She and I grew out our bangs together.  She with fountain-like ponytails and bows on the top of her head and me secretly wondering if I could pull off that look.  After a long painful process, my bangs blended into the rest of my hair and I couldn't have been happier. 

I had finally found the perfect style:  straight, all one length, and bang-less.  I suppose you could call it a bob, but when I think of a bob, I think all swingy and turned under.  That, of course, would require use of the sweat blaster.  My hair has a fine texture, but it's healthy (no heat damage!) and when it's the right length, it's smooth and shiny.  Note that I said "when it's the right length".  But here's the thing.  I am notoriously bad at scheduling hair cuts.  I know that I should just schedule the next one when I'm leaving the salon, but who can plan that far ahead?  Grownups, that's who.  Apparently, I'm not quite there yet.  Since I don't schedule that way, it comes down to me having to call for an appointment.  Quite the stumbling block, that.  Wow, do I ever hate making phone calls.  But that's a whole separate blog entry there....

When my hair gets too long, the weight of it makes it look lank and limp.  If it's long enough to touch my shoulders, the friction makes it fly-away and full of static.  Multiple times a day, I end up catching it under my purse strap, swearing, and yanking it free.  When my hair gets too long, I get cranky all over.   

One of the hardest things about moving as frequently as we have is finding and building a relationship with a hairdresser.  I finally found one after living here for about a year, but then she got a boyfriend and a life and stopped cutting hair.  I languished for awhile and finally decided I just couldn't bring myself to pay upwards of $40 for a haircut.  Who the hell pays that much for a haircut?  Grownups, that's who.  But my hair is perfectly straight and all you have to do is cut it in a straight line.  It takes about ten minutes for a complete haircut.  So, I started getting my hair cut at the same place I take the kids.  While I'm too big to sit in the Barbie Jeep, I still enjoy going there and I can choose a lollipop when I'm done.  And it only costs $18.50.  We have a really nice young woman, Kendal,  who now cuts our entire family's hair.  I fell in love with her when she was able to consistently give David a great haircut.  (Poor David.  He has multiple cowlicks and two crowns.  Thetwo crowns grow in opposite directions, like fingerprint whorls.  Where the whorls meet, the hair collides in a battlefield-like patch.) 

Fast forward to today.  I'd finally gotten it together a few days ago and called for an appointment.  Kendal had time to cut all four of us this afternoon.  Just before 9:00 AM, the phone rang.  It was the salon saying that Kendal was sick and did we want to reschedule or have somebody else cover for her?  These were desperate hair times, so we stuck with our appointments and agreed to the substitute.  When we got there, I informed the sub--let's call her Crappy--that Kendal kept a notecard on how to cut David's hair.  She found it and did David first.  I was pleased to see that his hair looked quite nice.  Juliana was next.  She wants to grow hers long after a year of having it short, so all she needed was a trim.  Again, it turned out cute, especially with the addition of spray on silver sparkles.  Ritu went third.  Over time, he's had less and less to cut, but still it requires some technique and, while it was quite short, it looked nice.  Finally it was my turn.  I sat in the chair and told her I wanted to take it from shoulder length to about chin length, but just that same blunt cut.  She started to cut and it seemed awfully short.  I figured she was cutting the underneath a little shorter, like they sometimes do for a little bit of volume.  She kept cutting.  At this point, I debated saying something, but it's not like she could click on "undo" so I rolled with it.  She worked on it for the requisite ten minutes, then started to take off my cape.  I stopped her to point out that THE LEFT SIDE WAS CLEARLY LONGER THAN THE RIGHT.    Should that really be MY job?  Shouldn't a stylist be the one to notice that?  Had we somehow traveled back to 1984 and asymmetrical cuts?  Here's a little hint as to how obviously uneven it was:  even Ritu noticed.  She hacked at the left side for a bit.  I could see Ritu again making a face that indicated it wasn't right.  I glared him into silence and pulled him aside to hiss in his ear that there was no way I was letting Crappy McHewer play even the table legs with my hair.  So, there you have it.  I'm left with a jaw-length uneven bob.  My face is long and narrow to begin with, so basically I look like the Little Dutch Boy's horse.  I'm not sure what else to do besides hide at home for the next six weeks.  Maybe there's some special shampoo that I can use just on the left side to make it spring up and look even with the right?   I know there's a lesson here somewhere, I just don't know what it is.  Please, y'all.  Say a prayer for me and my hair.  And send hats. 

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

A New Disability

I gave David's hair the sniff test after his shower because he's shampooing-challenged.  When I questioned him as to whether he'd actually washed his hair, he told me he'd used "about a pound of shampoo".  When I said I couldn't smell it, he scoffed at me. "You must be deaf smell-wise!"

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Happy Little Trees

The other morning while Juliana was on the potty, she made the following pronouncement:  "Mommy, If I become a painting artist when I grow up, the first picture I'm going to paint will be a man and a horse.  You know why?  Because I like horses and I can see the picture in my imagination."

She plans to be some sort of an artist.  But sometimes she wants to be a teacher.  Once she asked me whether she should be an artist or a teacher and I suggested she be an art teacher.  It was like the heavens opened and God smiled down upon her.  "Mommy, that's IT!  That's what I'll be!"  It's nice to still have all the answers for awhile longer.

She's growing up so fast.  She can pour from a brand new half gallon of milk without spilling a drop.  (But then she'll turn around and knock over her cup.)  She still loves to be my "best helper" even though our chances are more limited with her in school all day.  One Saturday I was hoping to run to the grocery store alone between soccer games.  (Yes, I know I should be able to get all these things done while they're in school, but it's simply not happening.  I swear, I'm getting less done these days than when they were babies.  I'm not sure what the problem is exactly.)   I told her she would stay with Daddy while I shopped and she was outraged.  "But I'm your best helper!  Do I need to call Gaga (that's what they call my mom) and tell her that her daughter won't let her best helper come with her to the store?"  Needless to say, she won that argument. 

Her new favorite thing is to play "Cooking With Janet" while I make dinner.  The premise being that she and I host a cooking show.  She puts on her TV voice and narrates everything we do to straight to the audience.  "Hi, and welcome to Cooking With Janet.  Tonight Janet is making a delicious dinner.  It's called spaghetti and salad.  I'm going to help her.  I'll be cutting the carrots for the salad.  You don't want them to be too big or too small.  Right, Janet?"  She provides all sorts of helpful tips and techniques.  "If you have a person in your family who doesn't eat salad, you could just give them some apple.  Like our brother David.  He doesn't eat ANY vegetables.  Just apples."  We've never watched many cooking shows, but she is spot on with her hostess persona, even down to punctuating statments with a fake laugh. 

Let's see.  A painting artist/TV show host.  My God, I've given birth to the next Bob Ross!

Monday, October 16, 2006

Birthday Blog

http://janet40.wordpress.com/

The birthday blog is up!  You people....you've made me laugh and cry all morning, dammit.  Thank you ALL for being my friends and for making this birthday so special. 

If you didn't get a chance to send something in and would like to, let me know.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

O Canada

Ritu and I are leaving town today for a long weekend.  We're heading north to Vancouver and Victoria.  We haven't been away without kids since our tenth anniversary five years ago.  We came home two days before September 11th.  If another attack happens after this trip, I will take the damn hint already and protect my country by staying home forever. 

With nothing to read here, you can all be toiling away on the posts for my birthday blog.  (Oh...you thought that was a surprise?  I am WAY too much of a control freak to have surprises.)  Remember!  Anything less than 3 single spaced pages of glowing tribute means you were never my friend!

 

 

Saturday, September 30, 2006

Billy Ray!!!!!

A few weeks ago, I took the kids to their first concert.  Actually, it was their second concert as we'd taken them to see They Might Be Giants when they were 3 and 5.  That was a short, but fun show.  (And if you have kids and don't have TMBG's No CD, you are missing something great.)  But this concert was their first big production.  We're talking downtown in the arena.  A real stage show, big video monitors, and 8,300 other screaming fans.  We went to see Hannah Montana and the Cheetah Girls.  If you have kids who watch Disney Channel or listen to Radio Disney, you know who they are.  If you don't, they are what Disney does best:  Find appealing teenagers who can sing, give them a TV showcase, and have them record songs.  Next,  pimp them out all over the country with concert tours and of course, all the ensuing merchandise.  Finally, collect your giant bags of money and call it a day.  Now that I look back on it, I feel a little manipulated.  I mean, really, do a 9 and 6 year old need to go to a stadium concert?  And of course, they can't go by themselves, so I had to buy a ticket, too.  But they're both so into Hannah Montana and the Cheetah Girls that when I heard about the concert, it was actually MY idea to get the tickets.  And I wasn't alone.  Two of my other friends with kids got tickets for their families as well.  There ended up being nine of us: three moms and six kids.  That was about the way the entire crowd broke down.  For every 3 or 4 kids, there was a mom who had brought them.  The funniest part was seeing some of the moms who were all glammed up.  What the hell?  I guess I have more of a life than I thought. 
 
Hilary Duff had toured through here a few years back and I'd talked to someone who'd taken her kids to it.  She said it was so loud that her daughter was actually crying.  We made sure to come prepared with ear plugs, just in case.  David is my kid who is supersensitive to noise.  He spent many years sitting in movie theaters with his hands clamped over his ears, waiting for the audio to start.  He was fine once it got going, but that first onslaught of sound always unsettled him.  I have fond memories of him sticking his face in his popcorn like a feedbag  because he refused to remove his hands from his ears.  David is the reason I haven't seen a fireworks shows since 1991.  True to form, he asked for his ear plugs before we even entered the auditorium. 
 
It took a lot longer to get in than we'd expected, then we had a hell of a time finding our seats.  The lights were down, an opening act was already playing, we were stumbling around looking for our section and the kids were freaking out that they were missing the whole thing.   Somehow we managed to find our seats which were mid-way up the lower level at the far end of the stadium.  We were high enough that we could see over the floor seats and had a straight on view at the stage. 
 
Hannah Montana came on first.  The concept behind the TV show is that a teenage girl named Miley Stewart has a secret identity as a pop star named Hannah Montana.  Miley has long dark hair, but she wears a blonde wig as Hannah, so nobody knows they're the same person.  (It's like the glasses completely disguising Clark Kent, ok?  Work with me, people.)  The role of Miley/Hannah is played by 14-year-old Miley Cyrus, who is the daughter of Billy Ray Cyrus.  On the TV show, Billy Ray plays Miley's dad.  Got that?  Sure, the concept is a little hokey, but Miley Cyrus is absolutely adorable and completely engaging.  I actually enjoy watching the show with the kids. Miley has quite the set of pipes and her songs are as infectious as pop songs can be.  Furthermore--and I never thought I would EVER say this--Billy Ray Cyrus is looking mighty fine these days.  In fact, my friend Amy and I amused ourselves by yelling BILLY RAY during quiet moments of the concert.  (An aside: the other day I found the Achy Breaky Heart video online and showed it to the kids so they could see what Billy Ray used to look like.  I only played it once but hours later as Juliana was getting ready for bed, I heard her upstairs singing it.  Further proof that the song exerts some sort of stealth mind control.  There is nothing so susceptible to being stuck in your head as Achy Breaky Heart.  And don't think I can't hear you all cursing my name already.)
 
So, Hannah Montana came out on stage and she couldn't not have been cuter. She was dressed in a silvery dress over knee length black leggings and tall black boots with sequins around the top.  And of course, she had the long blonde Hannah wig on.  She smiled and sang and danced and would occasionally wave at fans in the first few rows.  Every time she would wave,  Amy's daughter, who just turned 7, would spend the next 10 seconds deliriously and delightedly  waving back at her. 
 
The only thing that concerned me was that they had her out there as Hannah Montana.  Now, on the tickets it said:
 Miley Cyrus as
Hannah Montana
I don't understand why they couldn't just let Miley Cyrus be Miley Cyrus.  I mean, if you watch the show, you know she's Miley pretending to be Hannah.  Why trot her out as Hannah all the time?  Couldn't she at least have taken off the wig at some point?  Would the kids have loved her less if she had?  I think not.  That whole part weirded me out just a bit. 
 
Too soon she was done, and there was a lengthy intermission as they readied the stage for the Cheetah Girls.  The Cheetah Girls started out as a book about four girls who have a singing group and get discovered. A few years back, Disney Channel made the book into a TV movie.  This summer they premeired the second Cheetah Girls movie, hence the timing of this tour.   The four girls are three nobodies plus Raven-Symone who, depending on how old you are, you'll remember either as little Olivia from the Cosby Show or as the lead actress from That's So Raven.  Raven is enormously popular with the Disney set and she starred in both of the Cheetah Girls movies.  When the Cheetah Girls tour, however, Raven isn't with them.  Now, maybe she's too good for them or too busy having a real career, but the problem I have is that the other three NEVER MENTION HER.  I mean, come on.  If we all have to pretend that Hannah Montana is a real person, why can't the Cheetah Girls throw us a bone and say something like "We're so sorry that our friend Raven can't be here today!"  Nope, we got nothing.  It's like Raven was dead to them.  So right off, I was resentful.  Look here bitches, you rode Raven's coat tails to get to where you are now.  Where is the love?  But the more I watched the Cheetah Girls perform, the more I understood why Raven wanted no part of them.  Holy God, as charming as Miley Cyrus was, that's how skanky these chicks were.  Two of the three wore so many hair extensions, I couldn't believe they could actually hold up their heads.  And the costumes, sweet Jesus, the costumes.  Now, it was a Disney show, so there was nothing too risque, but it was more than obvious that their costume designer had been forced to listen to one too many screaming 11 year old and he was going to make those wenches pay.  Each costume was less flattering than the next.  The word that kept coming to my mind was "heinous".  At one point, the frizzy blonde skanky Cheetah Girl was wearing this dowdy, ill-fitting khaki ensemble that must've been an homage to the Crocodile Hunter.  There couldn't possibly be any other explanation.  Oh, the pain.  And their set went on forEVER.  After a few songs, Juliana announced she had a tummy ache and spent the rest of the show curled up on my lap.  <sigh>  I wasn't too surprised because this is often how she deals with sensory overload.  She didn't want ear plugs and she didn't want to leave, but she needed to be on my body.  After we'd been there nearly 2 hours (the show started at 4 PM) Juliana's friend Shannon leaned over to me and said "Is it 8:00 now?  Because it feels like it's probably 8:00 by now."  From your lips to God's ears, sister.  They would not stop singing.  And somewhere along the way, they decided that melodies were optional.  Just a waste of time.  You know, sort of like attractive costumes.  David and his friend Andrew who had been on their feet and attentive during Hannah Montana, were now engrossed in Andrew's gameboy.  Andrew's 12 year old sister was playing Tetris on her mother's cell phone.  Excuse me, Cheetah Girls, but if you've lost the 12 year old girl segment of your audience perhaps it's time to SHUT THE FUCK UP. 
 
Ok, how about a few pictures?  I took them with my phone, so forgive the graininess.
 
Here's David, who really hates to have his picture taken.  Note the ear plugs firmly in place. 
 
Juliana--think she was a little excited?
 
Juliana and Shannon, happy with popcorn.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

A Conversation With My Friend Jimmy That Almost Made Me Wreck My Car

Me:  I'm calling you because I'm trying to figure out the best route to get from ballet to soccer practice.  Would you come back towards town or would you go out around the lake?

Him:  Geez, I'm not sure.  You could probably take the back way and you'd end up over by Spaghetti Already.

Me: What?  That is NOT what that place is called.

Him: Sure it is.  Spaghetti Already.

Me: No, I know the place you mean, but it's totally not called that.

Him: Yes, it is.

Me:  No....it's something like that though.  It's like Curry In A
Hurry, only something to do with pasta.

Him: What is it then?  Noodle Caboodle?

Me:  NO!  Stop it, I'm going to crash the car.

Him: It's Spaghetti Already.  Here, I'll look it up in the phone book.

Me: Wait!  I've got it!  It's Speedy Linguine.

(Later, I emailed him to verify whether he'd envisioned it as Spaghetti Already or Spaghetti All Ready.  His response--with the duh definitely implied--was Spaghetti Alreadi.)

Monday, September 25, 2006

The Start of School

Hi!  Remember me?  I'll spare all the excuses and get right into it:  My baby is now in first grade.  This means she is in school all day from 9:10 to 3:25.  I know I was supposed to dance my way down the halls when school started, but that was a big no-go.  Instead I spent most of the first day fighting off tears.  I only gave into them when I was driving.  Be glad you don't drive the same roads I do.  I ended up exhausted and with a crying headache that I couldn't shake for hours.  That first day as I looked around and saw mothers with toddlers out on errands, I wanted to pull them aside and say, "I know it can be hard right now, but cherish this time...it's gone so soon."  Good God, I needed to smack myself.   I swear, I'm not usually this sappy, but damn I miss that girl when she's gone.  She's my best helper and my mostliest companion (5 points to the first person to identify that reference).  Sure, she drives me nuts sometimes--have I mentioned the ubiquitous perkiness (the other day she came downstairs with a handful of paper hearts on which she'd written love notes, then skipped and scattered them around all the while chanting: Here comes the Love Lady!) and the incessant talking?  But how I miss having her to go places with.  She makes me brave.  With her by my side, I could walk into stores that would otherwise intimidate me.  And she was always up for lunch out, which worked out well since I am all about not making meals. 

I experienced these feelings to a lesser degree when David started first grade.   I fought tears that day, too, and I remember having to run an errand that took me maybe 10 miles from the school.  I felt panicky at being that far away.  It somehow felt disloyal.  It seemed like he was gone so long each day and it made me feel so obsolete.  But, of course, I still had Juliana with me. 

I've yet to have any days lying on the couch with a box of bon bons.  In fact, I've been busier than ever thanks to my stepped up volunteering with the school and our synagogue.  I'm both more committed and free-er than I've been in nine years.  I need to get a few regular, weekly commitments to anchor the rest of my days and get me into a routine.  Although school has been in session for three weeks, I'm still sort of feeling at looseends some days.

David is in fourth grade this year, and his is a blended class which means he has the same teacher for a second year.  That minimized the back to school stress significantly.  We waited anxiously for the first grade letter to arrive and the good news is that Juliana was placed in the classroom that I was hoping for.  It's taught by two teachers who job share and they seem to be a really good team and clued into the entire first grade experience....not just academics, but social development as well.  As an added bonus, Juliana is in the same class as her best friend Shannon.  So, really, except for feeling like my heart has been ripped out, I'm extremely pleased.

Indulge me for a quick bragging session.  David's teacher recommended that he be tested for the gifted program.  She informed Ritu of it on the first day of school.  I don't want to say that I doubted my kid was smart, but my first response was:  She knows you're David's dad, right?  Appparently he scored really high on both the math and reading sections of whatever testing they did last year.   I have to say that I was a bit surprised.  He always seems to be solidly in the middle of the pack and his school work challenges him, but maybe I've confused  the difficulties he has with the physical act of handwriting with meaning he was having trouble with the work.  But hey, it's like  the Academy Awards around here.  Whether or not he scores high enough on the gifted entry test, it's a yooooge honor just to be nominated.  It's a great ego boost for my little guy who has had a series of nagging things to deal with (nine months of occupational therapy for fine motor issues, a year of speech therapy).  Oh, and not to mention a mother who always thought he was dumb.

And while we're at it, Juliana's teacher pulled me aside to tell me how impressed she was with her writing.  They've been doing "personal narratives" and she'll sit down and whip through page after page of writing.  She's always been like that.  Hell, she wrote a four page story one afternoon while she was in Kindergarten.  With David writing was (and is) like pulling teeth, so to have a child who writes for fun just blows my mind.


OK, here's hoping that getting this posted will break the logjam in my blogging. 




Sunday, September 10, 2006

In Lieu of Actual Blogging

I've got tons and tons I'd like to blog about, but the first week of school and all the other related activities have knocked me on my ass.  It doesn't help that Ritu's been out of town since Wednesday.  Instead of blogging, I've discovered how easy it is to waste time over at YouTube.  This evening I've spent time trying to figure out how to add YouTube links to my blog.  But I don't just want the links; I want those cool things where you see the little screen and just click on play.  If anybody knows how (or if) this can be done with an AOL blog, please let me know.

So, instead, I'll do boring old links. 

If you watch The Office (and so far I've only seen the American version) then you know it's a comedy, and a very funny one at that.  But the Jim and Pam characters are what anchors the rest of the show and their relationship is one of  the best on television.  Here's a link to the NBC promo for the new season, highlighting them.  I can't even tell you how this makes me grin.  While perusing YouTube I found that there are a zillion videos people have made, all of Jim and Pam moments.  I won't admit to how many I've watched today.

Next, while we're all about pop culture, Battlestar Galactica starts up next month!  The second season ended back in February with a major mindfuck.  October seemed forever away, but now it's finally just around the corner.  Here's the promo for season three.     And this seems like as good a time as any for a Jamie Bamber picture. 


My God, how I love television.

Lastly, I found a video of something I saw on television ELEVEN years ago.  It was a Patti Labelle special and she sang some duets with Cyndi Lauper.  I remember sitting in my grandmother's den watching it and being completely blown away.  I only ever saw it once, but it stuck with me.  It took me about 3 seconds of searching to find it this afternoon. Here ya go.  They sang Time After Time which is one of my all time favorite songs, and one that can move me to tears.  This version isincredible. 


Now I need to go pack school lunches.  But, maybe I'll check out just a few more Pam and Jim videos first.....

Monday, August 28, 2006

Whale Watching

When we planned our Alaskan excursions, we were limited by a number of factors.  For example, most of the fishing trips required you to be ten years old and David had just turned nine.  As you may have guessed, many of the activities involved communing with nature in the great Alaskan outdoors.  Unfortunately, Juliana hates to be cold.  Or hungry.  Or having to exert herself.  In Juneau, however, we found one fishing expedition that had no age limit.  There was no question of taking Juliana; the last thing anybody wanted was to be stuck on a small boat with her crying, seasick self.  It was understood that Ritu would go with David while I did something with her.  I immediately looked at the whale watch options.  The first time I ever went on a whale watch must have been nearly 20 years ago.  We were staying in Cape Cod and took a day trip to Provincetown.  Since then, I've  gone whale watching in Florida and Hawaii.   Alaska offered multiple whale watches in every single port.  When I came across one that used terms like "cruising in warm comfort" and "complimentary snacks and warm beverages" I knew we'd struck gold. 

The day we arrived in Juneau, we disembarked the cruise ship and went our separate ways.  Ritu's parents came along on the whale watch with us.  The day was cold, foggy overcast, and gray but the cabin of the boat was indeed warm and comfortable.   And there were chips!  And Milanos!  And hot chocolate!  Juliana was appeased.  The boat even provided a number of sets of binoculars for passenger use.  I, the seasoned whale watcher, had of course brought my own.  

I was concerned about the weather.  Visibility was somewhat limited and although the cruise promised a refund if no whales were spotted, I wanted to see whales, dammit.  The naturalist who guided the tour explained that the overcast day  made for good whale watching.  If you've ever gone whale watching before, you know that what you're looking for is almost no more than a glimpse:  the ridge of a black back curving out of the water, the misty spout of air coming from a blowhole, and occasionally, if you're lucky, the flip of a tail breaking the surface.  With the sky and sea both gun metal gray, the contrast of slick black whale against the soft background would actually heighten our ability to find them.


It wasn't long before we saw our first whales.  Juliana could see from where we were sitting.  She was mildly interested in the whales, but moreso in the snacks. 

With grandma and grandpa on board to keep Juliana happy (and stuffed with Milanos) I was free to venture up to the open deck.  Despite the cold, I was perfectly warm and dry in my new fleece and jacket.  I had my binoculars, but the whales were so close that I didn't need them.  The air was heavy with water, but not quite raining.  I didn't realize how wet the air was until I went to wipe my face and my hand slid across my cheek.  My face was entirely beaded with moisture and I'd never even felt it.

The boat approached a group (pod?) of maybe three humpbacks and we watched as their backs broke the surface again and again.  Every few minutes you would see their tails flip out of the water, signifying a deeper dive. 

Then came the fun of trying to see where they would re-appear.  This is my favorite part of whale watching.   The engines are quiet and everyone on the boat stands silently, scanning the water for that first hint of the surfacing whales.  It's like standing in a grand cathedral or a cavernous museum, overwhelmed by the solemnity and beauty.  When you see the whale spout--and the mist hangs silver in the air--it shouldn't be that much different than the air and sea, but it is.  You can't help but make a small noise of astonishment each time.  You point and say "there".  People softly ooh and ahh, as if watching fireworks.  We were close enough to hear the sounds of the whales spouting.  It made a loud whoosh, almost something like an elephant would make with its trunk.  I'd never been close enough to hear that before.  To hear a whale. 

After awhile, the whales moved on and so did our boat.  As we headed back towards land, our guide began to get excited.  It turned out that we had come across some whales who were bubble net fishing.  This is a kind of co-operative feeding in which a number of whales, sometimes up to a dozen, dive together and swim in a tight circle around a school of fish, all the while blowing out air to make a bubble barrier which visually confuses and contains the fish.  At the cue of the leader, they swim upward with their mouths wide open gulping down vast amounts of herring or krill.



My brother in law went on a whale watch during another shore day.  He came back unimpressed, asking why people even do that.  I tried my best to explain what it meant to me.  I am not a religious person, but the closest I get is through nature.  I think it has to do with stepping out from my everyday life and realizing that I am a part of something bigger.  To realize that we share the earth with these giant creatures.   To realize that there is an entire world hidden beneath the sea and the only time it touches our own is in these brief interludes of surfacing whales. 

Friday, August 25, 2006

Observations on Moving

1.  Verizon SUCKS.  I am not a big cell phone person.  I have one and I use it for two main purposes: driving assistance and child safety.  I like to have it when I drive because I invariably get lost which leads to panic and hyperventilation, neither of which are conducive to finding my way.  Also, I am the world's worst driver and it's quite possible that I will hit things and need assistance.  Secondly, I have my cell phone so that if my children are not with me, I can always be contacted for the inevitable emergency.  Thus far, we have had no emergencies and I attribute that to the fact that I am always within cell phone contact.  The day I leave my phone at home and drop my kids off at school is the day a meteor will wipe out my town.   (Believe me, it's exhausting to keep the earth safe.)  I don't give my cell phone number out, except to schools and a few close friends who may be caring for my children.  And really, let's face it, do you want me to be trying to drive and talk on my phone at the same time?  Not good.  Like, the Perfect Storm of bad ideas right there. 

But when we put the house on the market, it became necessary for me to circulate my cell phone number so that realtors could call and make appointments to show the house.  This meant that my phone became my lifeline.  Any time I was out, I had to call and check my home messages obsessively because occasionally a realtor would call that number, but not the cell.  Usually, they would call my cell directly and that's when I realized that I had the world's worst cell phone service.   My calls would drop or static out if I did unreasonable things such as stand indoors while using my phone.  Also, it turns out that my friend Jimmy's house, which became a second home base for my family this summer, is the swirling vortex of cell phone signal hell.  Not only would my phone not work inside the house, it wouldn't work outside either.  However, there was great entertainment value in watching me prance about onto various levels in the backyard trying to get a steady signal.    Oh, and one last example.  While on the cruise, Ritu's and my cell phones were nothing more than paperweights.  But there was our friend Kenny standing on the ship in the fucking middle of the Pacific Ocean downloading baseball scores with his Cingular phone.  Can you hear me NOW, Verizon assholes?

2.  House-arexia.  Before we put the house on the market, I went through and removed all kinds of personal items like family photos, trophies, and all the crap that covers the fridge.  I took things to Goodwill and rented a storage unit.  I had beautiful clear, clutter-free surfaces and just a minimum of decorative items.  My mother used words like "spartan" and "sterile" when she came to my house.  After awhile, I noticed that I wasn't satisfied.  Everywhere I looked, I saw things.  Things that needed to disappear.  Things that were distracting potential buyers.  My God, I'd left a set of candlesticks on the mantle.  What was I thinking?  No wonder nobody wanted to make an offer on my horrible pigsty of a house!  And I had to stop cooking a whole variety of things because they would make the house smell.  Like cauliflower, salmon, and bacon.  Stricken from the list, I tell you!  Not worth it!  My mother as much as told me I was insane.  "You have to live here", she'd say.  "People looking at the house know you are living here."  Foolish woman.  She obviously didn't get it.  I"d look for more things to hide.  Once the move came around, I was faced with a whole new problem.  I was so tired of keeping the house perfect, but I'd heard that trying to sell an empty house was the kiss of death.  I contemplated having us sleep on the floor at the new house so we could keep the old house perfectly staged with our furniture.  I was crazy.  Agitated all the time and not sleeping.  A joy to behold.  I've never had an eating disorder, but I started to understand how those kinds of thoughts can insidiously take over your mind. 

3.  Hummingbirds Can Be Pissy.  I suck at gardening.  I don't mind weeding because that's a nice satisfying task with visible results, but the ongoing nurturing of plants eludes me.  I have one indoor plant, a ficus tree, which we got as a housewarming present 15 years ago.  We've moved that sucker from New Orleans, to Pittsburgh, to North Carolina, and here to Oregon successfully.  One reason is that I've trained it to need water only every 6 weeks or so.  I'll get all enthusiastic at the beginning of each summer and put in a bunch of flowers, but that doesn't last long.  If the sprinkler system can't reach them, well, then it's back yard Survivor.  It makes me anxious to know those plants are depending on me.  I feel horrible guilt when I don't water them.  Um, but not enough to actually get out there and water them.  My mother encourages me to pull out the plants that I don't like and replace them with something else.  Pull out a living plant?  Why not just drown a kitten?  This summer, though, I bought three pots of flowers for my back patio, all part of staging the house, of course.  I kept them alive ALL SUMMER but the effort practically exhausted me.  All that watering.  Jesus, talk about needy. 

Could I digress more?  This is about hummingbirds.  While I ignore most of the great outdoors, I am thoroughly invested in my hummingbird feeder.  I cook up big batches of fresh nectar and make sure it is always full.  At the old house, I had an Emergency Back Up Sheltered Feeder Location for when the weather turned bad.  The feeder hung from a hook on this trellis-y thing in the back.  At the new house, however, there is no trellis.  Only a collection of fairly small trees.  I tried it in one of the small trees and was horrified to find it lying on the ground later that day.  Before I had much of the house unpacked, I made a trip to the Backyard Bird Store for a pole from which to hang the feeder.  I placed it in the back where I could see it from the kitchen window.  Let me point out that this new feeder location is maybe 20 feet from the old one.  It's a bright red feeder.  They could see it with their little hummingbird eyes from the old spot (which they were sadly buzzing  around).  They nest in a tree in the greenspace and the new feeder is DIRECTLY in the line of sight from there.  Well, those little buzzing bastards boycotted the feeder for an entire week.  I would see them--it wasn't like they'd migrated.  I don't know what they objected to but they made sure to punish me.  Ungrateful giant bugs.  After all I'd done for them.  I was this close to despair when today--TODAY--I saw one at the feeder.  Apparently all is forgiven. 

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Moving and Friends

Greetings from the new house!  I went the better part of a week without DSL so that really blew, but it gave me time to get things done around here.  Now I'm back, although I am a wee bit concerned that I can't access my blog through AOL.  Especially considering it's an AOL Journal.  Hmmm.  Maybe that's why it's free now?

But on to the move!  I simply cannot convey how happy I am in this house and how thoroughly convinced I am that this was the right move for us.  (Of course, that gorgeous SALE PENDING sticker on the sign next door helps quite a bit.)   I'm still discovering light switches and trying to operate the blinds (I managed to completely break one the other morning.  Yep, still got that magic touch.) but almost instantaneously this house felt right.  Despite all the moving around  we've done in 15 years of marriage, this is only the third house we've owned.  The first one, in North Carolina, was a lovely house on 3/4 of an acre of land.  We lived there for 4 years and painted exactly two rooms that whole time.   When it came time to sell, we put money into sprucing it up and it looked better than in all the years we'd lived there.   We vowed then that we would spend the time and money to make our next house our own.  And we did.  Every room but one got repainted.  We replaced countertops, put in new carpeting, updated light fixtures.  We even worked with a decorator to choose fabrics, paint, and window treatments (I love to say window treatments.  It's such a ridiculous term.) for our bedroom. The changes looked great and I was pleased that we'd made it a space we could enjoy, but it never felt like the perfect house to me.  Living in it was like wearing ill-fitting clothes.  There was always a certain level of dissatisfaction.  But this house.....this house is just right.  Even though we've downgraded in some ways (back to the old tile and grout countertops, no ceiling fans, wallpaper that needs to disappear), I have no complaints and I'm in no hurry to change anything.  I'm starting to think that maybe the impetus to do work on the old house was a lot about trying (unsuccessfully) to make it into the "right" house. 

When we moved here 4 years ago, I thought we had ruined our lives.  I was so unhappy for so long.  It took 18 months for me to stop thinking it was a complete mistake.  Those were long, lonely months when I felt disconnected and friendless.  Things started to change when David got to first grade and I enrolled Juliana in a co-operative preschool.  As a first grade parent, I met the people who turned into my core group of friends.  And at the preschool I connected with like-minded parents who shared my committment to children.  Fast forward three years and you would have to drag me from this community kicking and screaming.  Last Thursday we had a moving party.  We provided beer and pizza and our friends came and helped us move.  We paid two really scary guys I found on Craig's List to do the heavy work, but our friends finished the job.  They moved our three bookcases full of books and transferred the entire contents of my kitchen.  Some of the things in my kitchen were so dirty and nasty that I was embarrassed but they just carried them next door without a word of judgement.  It was overwhelming and exhilirating all at once.  This has been such a stressful summer and I couldn't have done it without my friends.   Friends who let me and the kids show up at the last second because we'd come home to a realtor's car in the driveway.  Friends who let us mooch meals all summer when we were displaced due to showings.  Friends who listened to me talk about real estate obsessively.  My GOD I bored even myself with all that conjecture, but I didn't seem able to stop prattling on. 

The summer seems to have slipped through my fingers, what with all the disruption and stress.  School starts in two weeks, but I had to be there this evening for a volunteer job.  I smiled as I walked through the halls.  I'm looking forward to being back there,  working as part of the community, amongst friends. 

Monday, August 14, 2006

Day 1 of Moving

I did about 5 hours of moving today.  What was I so excited about?  It was 85 degrees.  Did I mention that the new house is one house UP the street?   Since I was working on my own, I couldn't move anything too big or heavy.  Instead, I developed this entirely lame procedure: fill a box at my house, trudge uphill to the next house, unload it, then take the empty box back down the street and start again.  The neighbors must be getting a big kick out of watching me.  Hiya, folks!  Yep, I'm the one moving an entire household with a single box. 

David had a total meltdown tonight which turned out to be related to the move.  Apparently, our current house is "perfect" and he doesn't want a new one.  Much crying and misery ensued.  I don't think I'll be getting my Mother of the Year statue anytime soon since I'd pretty much discounted the effect leaving this house was going to have on the kids.  I know it will pass quickly and I'm glad we were able to talk about it tonight.  I just wish he didn't have to spend hours acting like a jerk as an opening act for the real issue.

I'm gonna call it a night.  I need a shower and I have a terrific craving for a cherry lime-ade from Sonic.  (Too bad there are no Sonics within a 200 mile radius.)  My box and I will get started again first thing tomorrow morning.

On Your Mark, Get Set....

I'm sitting here like I'm waiting for the starter's gun to sound.  The new house is being "professionally cleaned" as I type.  As soon as they are done, I can start moving things in.  So far we've moved the patio furniture into the new yard and the new garage is filled with the items from the storage unit.  I hate that this process doesn't move along in an orderly fashion.  Ever since we bought the house back in May, we had the close date set at Friday, August 11th.  It felt written in stone.   But, in yet another moving/birth parallel, the close date became more like a due date, nothing more than an educated guess.  Originally, the house was going to be cleaned last Thursday so it would be all ready when we took possession on Friday.  But then we decided to resurface the wood floors and the current owner let us get the jump on that before the close date.  That was supposed to take until Friday.  No point in having the house cleaned before that sawdusty process was complete so it got pushed back til Monday.  But the floors were done on Thursday, and the house has just been sitting there empty and dirty all weekend.  I considered going in and at least cleaning the bonus room myself, but Ritu made me promise to wait.  I'm not good at waiting.  When there are things to be done, I want to jump in and work until it's done.  I don't want loose ends.  I don't want setbacks and for the love of God, I don't want to reschedule once the plan is made.  I want to go, get it done, and be done with it.  Knowing there was a mountain of work to do, but being powerless to do it is what kept me awake those nights last week.  The untapped adrenaline made my brain spin like a revving engine.  I remember feeling this same sort of frustration while planning our wedding.  All the visits with florists, all the invitations to consider, all the contingencies.  I just wanted to make a decision and MOVE FORWARD.  I like a process with an established  beginning and endpoint.  My satisfaction comes from a job clearly defined and cleanly executed.  But this is all old ground, isn't it?
 
Last night, we invited some friends and neighbors over to test out the fire pit in the back yard.  We made a fire (and when I say "we" I mean my friend Karen who used to be a Campfire Girl) and roasted marshmallows on poky metal skewers.  The kids all had a blast and nobody lost an eye.  Even though we were only in the back yard, it was the first time that the house really felt like mine.  I haven't quite wrapped my brain around the fact that we are planning to live in this house basically forever.  I haven't had long-term roots in a single community since I graduated from high school 22 years ago.  This city, this neighborhood, and this house feel right to us.   I'm going to keep one of those skewers to remember this feeling.  And in four years, when I get the itch to move again, I'm going to jab myself with it until the urge passes.

Friday, August 11, 2006

Digging My Way Out

We accepted an offer on our house today!  Povided that nothing major pops up during the inspection (I think I would've noticed a big hole in my roof, don't you?  Note: Don't email me about stealth roof holes you've had personal experience with.) we have sold our house.  This happened today-- also the closing date on our new house--nothing like taking it right to the wire.  To say I am feeling good wouldn't begin to describe it.   My stress has been manifesting itself in a number of physical ways: two nights of insomnia, lower back pain, and my jaw feels like I must be clenching it all night long.  While not sleeping.  I almost blogged at about 2 AM the other night but then realized that would be tantamount to drunken blogging and wisely decided against it. 

Today the kids and I moved two loads of stuff from our storage unit to the garage of the new house.  We had the wood floors re-surfaced and the house is being professionally cleaned on Monday so we can start the real moving process at that point.  Don't expect too much from me this week, but I'll do my best to get caught up soon.

Monday, August 7, 2006

Lame Excuses

Just a quick note to say that I haven't forgotten about all this  I'm swamped with pre-move crap and I'm so wiped out at the end of each day that I'm too tired to write. Also, I seem to have a sore throat.  

We close on the new house on Friday and are going to move on Thursday the 17th.  Still no takers on this house and I must admit I'm more than a little tired of playing the Have Your House On The Market game.  Send all your best house-selling vibes my way and I hope to get caught up on here soon.

Friday, August 4, 2006

Where Did This Child Come From?

The other day Juliana figured out how to use a clip to hold her blanket (which she calls dee-dee) around her shoulders like a cape.  From there she became Queen Juliana.  When it came time to write out a birthday card for her friend, this is what she wrote:

"I give this gift, this pleasant gift, to you Queen Hallie.  From Queen Juliana.'

One morning this week she busied herself quietly in the living room.  I went to check on her and found she had made a sign reading "Welcome to Funderland".  She had tickets to hand out and three games set up in the living room: a bowling game using plastic cups, a toss the ball in the ring game, and a putting green with a golf club she'd fashioned from tinker toys.  She even had a container of "prizes" to hand out after each game.  (Mine looked surprisingly like a small tinker toy, but she informed me that it was a tootsie roll.)

I don't know whose child she is.  Any real child of mine would be hiding her brother's special possessions and taunting him til he cried.  What's up with this creating fun and happiness for others crap? 

Sunday, July 30, 2006

Cruise Review Part One

So!  I'm back from my cruise!  Didja miss me?  You know what I think the best part of a cruise is?  The anticipation!  All that daydreaming about lazily cruising past gorgeous scenery, sipping the drink of one's choice, relaxing with family and friends and waiting for the next delectable meal....doesn't that sound heavenly?  Yup, that's as good as it gets.  Right there.  In your mind.  The reality of a cruise is somewhat different.  I don't mean to bellyache or carp (oh, how I crack myself up!), so let's just say that I got the whole cruise thing out of my system.  There are many fun things about a cruise, but most of them don't really mesh with my personality.  For example, I don't like large crowds of people.  Or drinking until I pass out.  Or losing money in a smoky casino.  Oh, and then there's my phobia of deep water (Which I'm pretty sure started when I first saw this book cover.  And yes, the shark is scary, but what really freaked me out was how deep the water was.) 

We went on a Royal Caribbean cruise and the boat itself was fine.  Lots of things to do, lots to eat, helpful friendly staff, and even the stateroom wasn't oppressively small with all four of us in it.  And Alaska was certainly beautiful with many forested hills, waterfalls, and fog.  Lots and lots of the best Alaskan Fog.  Possibly there were other things to see besides forested hills.  Maybe some wildlife?  While we did see a handful of bald eagles mostly we saw....fog.  Low-lying fog, mountain-obscuring fog, unbelievably low-ceiling fog.  You know what they do when there's fog?  Blow the foghorn.  You know what my kids hate?  Loud noises.

For the most part, our land excursions were fun and were time and money well spent.  David caught a salmon, I went on a glorious whale watch (that will merit its own post), we rode a train from Skagway, Alaska up over a mountain pass and into Canada that was breathtaking (despite the fog), and had a chance to wander around Victoria, British Columbia. 

We only had 2 full days at sea during the week, but let me tell you something.  You hear all the time that a cruise ship is so big that you can't feel the motion.  It's so smooth, they say.  Like a gentle rocking motion if you feel it at all.   Those people are LYING BASTARDS.  The first night, we encountered seas technically classified as "rough".  This translated to the ship pretty much bouncing through the ocean at semi-regular heart-stopping intervals.  I spent most of the night clutching Ritu's arm and whisper-screaming "We're going to die", waiting for the distress alarm to inevitably sound, and mentally rehearsing the best way to pluck Juliana from her bunk, dress her in warm clothing and a life jacket, and stagger to our muster station.  (It didn't help that HBO practically had Titanic on a continuous loop reel this month.  Did I mention my deep water phobia?)  

By the grace of God, we made it through that night but awoke to the boat still a'rockin'.  Within ten minutes of awakening, Juliana started to cry because her stomach hurt and she she had "a bad taste in her mouth that she needed to spit out".  Thinking fast, I commanded her to Go To Daddy where she promptly threw up on his foot.  This was 14 hours into the cruise, people.

Seeing her throw up freaked out David.  I dosed everyone with Dramamine (Don't leave home without it!) and as the morning dragged on, they both perked up nicely.  The same could not be said for much of the rest of the ship.  Somewhere around lunchtime, we suddenly noticed that barf bags were now affixed in portable holders to railings on the stairs.  The rocking was slightly better in the center parts of the ship, so walking through the large Centrum area found every couch occupied by a figure curled in the fetal position, pale, with eyes squeezed shut. 

Just think.  Thousands of dollars spent for a ride from hell with no way out.  What could be better?  Ritu overheard one woman at the purser's desk demanding to be let off for good when we docked in Juneau.  Apparently international immigration laws don't allow you do that, even if you are an American citizen.  You can imagine how well that went over. 

Much more to say, but I'm way too tired.  Tomorrow I'll try for  a post that doesn't mention nausea or vomiting even once!

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Tidbits

On Friday we're leaving for a week-long Alaskan cruise to celebrate Ritu's parents' 40th anniversary.  It's been in the works for months and months and the excitement level is high.  True to form, Juliana got sick today.  So far the symptoms are: headache, fever, and of course, stomach ache.  Does this child EVER get sick without it affecting her stomach? (I thought about linking you to the previous posts about Pukiana, but I don't have all damn day.)  I asked her if she wanted me to put the bucket next to her bed tonight and she said yes.  <sigh>  When you read in the news about a cruise ship overrun by the Norwalk Virus, remember you heard it here first! 

*****

I'm updating some links on my sidebar.  The Comics Curmudgeon is a blog devoted to the daily newspaper comic strips.  It's spot-on in its observations and consistently funny.  It's also one of those blogs whose faithful commenters add to the entertainment value.  Secondly is a blog called The Sapient Sutler which I've been  reading  for the better part of a year.  It's one I stumbled across by hitting the "next blog" button at Blogspot and I was instantly hooked.  You never know if the author, Chance, will be sharing a funny story from his work, making lists of his favorite poetry and music, or reflecting on the state of his personal life, but you can count on it always being literate and absorbing.

*****

We gave up on the For Sale By Owner adventure and have now signed with a realtor.  It had been our plan all along to turn things over to a professional if we hadn't sold it by this point,  but it's been a painful process nonetheless.  It turns out that we have amazing powers of which we weren't aware!  Why, for instance, as soon as we put our house on the market, things like this and this started to appear.  I can't even begin to tell you how much I hate trying to sell this house and how much I hate being at the mercy of buyers and realtors.  I'll save you paragraphs of my wah-wahing, but my hatred for humanity grows with each passing day.  (Oh, I am going to be an absolute joy crammed on that cruise ship with thousands of my closest friends.)

*****

My dear, sweet David is going through one of those disequilibrium phases that makes me consider boarding schools and retroactive birth control.  He just turned nine and he's perfecting his pre-adolescent posturing.  Because we're so enmeshed in eye-rolling, sarcasm, and general attitude, it catches me off guard when I see glimpses of  little-boy in him.  The other night, he got out of bed to report with the utmost sincerity and earnestness that he'd read in Sports Illustrated For Kids that Ben Roethlisberger has a DOG.

*****

I've been seeing these flocks of little birds at my suet feeder recently.  I'm pretty sure they're called bushtits, but you couldn't pay me to google that. 

*****

David went to Ritu's softball game last weekend.  It's co-ed team that's been a neighborhood tradition for nearly 15 years.  After the game David gave me a wide-eyed play by play which included this exchange:

David:  Daddy got a hit and went to first base and then he went to second when the next lady got balled all the way to first base. 

Me (trying not to howl): That's called getting walked.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Happy Birthday!

Sunday was Ritu's birthday.  We celebrated by spending the weekend in Seattle connecting with old friends and taking the kids to see the Mariners play the Tigers.  Much fun was had by all.  But since we were traveling, there was no opportunity for birthday cake.  And if you ask me, birthdays don't count unless there is cake involved.  In a pinch, an ice cream cake counts, but generally it requires cake with that good artificially colored lardelicious frosting that they make at grocery stores. 

To remedy this, I took the kids to Winco on Monday to get groceries and a cake.  Winco has the cheapest groceries in town.  It's a completely low budget store.  Their idea of shelving is cutting open the big carton the boxes of cereal come in and slapping it on the shelf.  Also, you bag your own groceries which always seems like a fine plan until it actually comes time to bag your own groceries.  Winco is open 24 hours, so we're not talking the Trader Joe's crowd here, people.  One thing I've noticed about shopping there is my tendency to sink to the lowest common denominator.  Yes, just walking through the door turns me (and my children) into white trash. 

During the glorious summer (current weather conditions: 62 degrees and raining), I am able to spend scads of quality time with my darling offspring.  Seeing as they are 9 and 6 now, a trip to the grocery store is no longer a big deal.  So why is it that I came closer to beating them right there in the cereal aisle than I ever have before? Part of that is the WWTF (Winco White Trash Factor) and  I'll be the first to admit that I'm a little edgy lately, but would it kill them to agree on ANYthing?  I had to make one of them walk in front of the cart and one behind so that they couldn't bicker or touch each other.  They irritated me to the point that I refused to let them engage in our favorite grocery shopping ritual of opening egg cartons until we find a broken egg. 

Somehow, we made it  to the bakery beating-free.  We selected a pre-made 1/4 sheet chocolate cake and I asked the bakery lady if she could write Happy Birthday Daddy on it.   She readily agreed and called the kids over to her work station where she squirted out samples of frosting so they could choose colors.  I leaned wearily on my cart and enjoyed a few rare moments of peace as I watched my children working together in harmony.  I felt so grateful to this kind stranger for providing me with this brief interlude.  She let the kids stay there while she piped the message in blue and yellow (Michigan colors!).  When she finished she replaced the plastic dome and looked up at me with a big smile, clearly seeking my approval. 

Stay in school, kids!

Thursday, July 6, 2006

I Could Not Be Prouder! (And Possibly Psychotic)

My sister's book is doing incredibly well!  Right now it's the Number 2 seller on Amazon in their Computer  and Internet category and it's cracked the Top 200 in overall sales.  Also, it got a glowing review from the fellow at Searchenginewatch.com.  (God knows I am at that site CONSTANTLY.  Or I would be, if it weren't so hard to find.)   I think the success has a lot to do with the fact that I took the kids to Border's yesterday and we found Aunt Jennifer's book!  Right there on the shelf!  How cool is that?  There were two copies there so I made sure to pull one out reeeeeeeal far so that people walking down the aisle would see/get hit in the head with it.  Then I took the second copy and walked down to the end cap and placed it right on top of a small display of Search Engine Optimization for Dummies.  If you have a Border's near you, be a pal and go do the same.  Let's face it, nobody likes being called a Dummy. 

In other Cool Aunt News, Ritu's sister Sarah  who is in graduate school at the University of Wisconsin turned in her first grant proposal which received a favorable score and looks to be on the fast track to getting funded!  I'd tell you more about it, but she studies things way more obscure than Search Engine Optimization.  We're not entirely sure what she does, but we think it has to do with building Data's positronic brain

And last, but not least, on July 1st Ritu received his official promotion from Assistant Professor to Associate Professor!  This was a long and involved process that required months of preparation and even more monthsof waiting.  It's a huge step in the world of academia and speaks to his level of commitment and service. 

As an added bonus, it comes with a raise which is particularly handy seeing as our house hasn't yet sold (thank you for not asking).  I'm nowhere near the panic point yet, but it will be nice to have this part over and done with.  If it doesn't sell, we've been given various* suggestions:  1) rent it out  2) put in a habitrail tunnel between this house and the new one and use them both  3) have the neighborhood go in together to buy it to use alternately as  a) the neighborhood time-out house  b) the neighborhood party house or  c) the house solely designated for slumber parties. 

* You'll note I never said they were good suggestions.

Have you noticed how perky I am?  All those damn exclamation points?  It's all an act.  I have the kind of PMS that can only be cured by someone dying at my hands.  I almost found the perfect victim(s) yesterday while looking for a parking spot at the mall.  I turned into the parking lot and saw that immediately to my right, a car was attempting to back out of a handicapped space.  To my left was a car waiting for that space.  To continue on my way to find an open parking spot, I would've had to drive right between the two cars.  Seeing as one was actively backing up, I decided the smartest course would be to stop to give it room.  Well.  Apparently that sort of behavior is manifested only by the devil himself.  As I patiently waited for the nice handicapped person to back out, I happened to glance over at the car poised to pull in.  All three of the people in it were gesturing wildly at me to indicate that THEY WERE THERE FIRST.  One actually had the handicapped placard in his hand and was shaking it at me.  The hell?  I couldn't believe they were so hard-hearted as to assume my ACT OF PATIENCE AND KINDNESS  was an attempt to usurp their space.   Idiot bastards.  I began gesturing back as sarcastically as possible while explaining in simple words what I was doing.   Look at me!  I'm waiting here so this car can baaaaaaaaack up and then you can drive your car innnnnnnnto this precious, best-ever, must-not-be-taken-by-able-bodied-do-gooders spot.   I resisted the urge to circle around and mow them down as they exited their car.  (Where's your placard NOW?)