Monday, December 24, 2007

A Christmas Miracle!

This is the post I never thought I'd write.  But today, a mere five months after I started, Ritu and I finished taking down the wallpaper in the office.  Not only that, we got the excess glue washed off of the walls and the room emptied out.  Now we just need to spackle, prime, and paint.  (Oh, and have the carpet ripped out and wood floors installed.  And assemble the desk we bought at Ikea six weeks ago which has been in boxes in my living room ever since.)  But this is progress, people, and I have pictures to prove it!












Sunday, December 23, 2007

More Proud Moments

Do you remember when I managed to do this with the kitchen sink?  Today I did it again, but in a monumental twist that I couldn't possibly have managed had I tried to choreograph it, David happened to be walking behind me at the precise moment I accidentally activated the sprayer.  Although the inside of my sleeve captured the brunt of the water, he still managed to get a face full.  He was amazingly good natured about the whole thing, but I'm sure it will factor into his nursing home decision one day.

In other news, yesterday my mother tried to put on her cat as a sock.  And I quote:

Today, I was sitting on my bed, watching TV while getting dressed.  I put on one black sock, and seeing the other sort of behind me on the bed, I grabbed it to put it on.  Only it wasn't my sock;  it was poor Lucy, who jumped off one side of the bed while I jumped off the other.  I don't know which of us was more startled.  <sigh>

I'm starting to think that neither of us should be living unsupervised.


Thursday, December 20, 2007

This Must Be A Sign Of The Apocalypse

I actually laughed at Ziggy yesterday.


Thursday, December 13, 2007

"Along With Some Cool Girls From My High School"

Since I have nothing to say, you might as well go read this hilarious entry from Alice over at Finslippy.

And while you're cruising around, check out this youtube video that Amy posted at The Foil Hat.  Brilliant!

Thursday, December 6, 2007

Dooce And Chuck Have Nothing On Me And Emma





I crack myself up.








Viola Pictures

I've been meaning to post this for awhile.  Here you see David, proudly wearing his replacement nameband which a lady from an independent toy store about 50 miles away ever-so-kindly mailed to me. 



My old friend Sarah (you know her as the commenter SarahThinksJanet) just sent me a link to an ebay auction for more of the David namebands.  I politely thanked her and told her I'd gotten a new one, then quickly realized the value in having a spare and hit the buy it now button.  Thanks, Sarah!

I took that picture the night of David's first viola "concert".  He has taken to this viola like nothing I've ever seen before.  I never have to bug him about practicing and four days a week he gets out of bed without complaint an hour early to go to his before school lesson.  Last month we had people over for dinner and he actually offered to play his viola for them.  I think back to all the times my mother begged me and my sister to just play a little something for our relatives on our flute and clarinet, respectively, and it blows my mind that he is so motivated with this viola.  Not only that, in his music class in school they are doing a unit with recorders and he is teaching himself to play songs.   I am blown away by the amount of initiative he's showing and the overwhelming pride and satisfaction he takes from it. 

He  even let me take a bunch of pictures and if you know David, you know how unusual that is:







Monday, December 3, 2007

Livin La Vida Locavore

When I get done with this topic, I'm sure you'll all be begging me for the excitement of guinea pig reports, but here goes.  I'm working on becoming a locavore  (said my friend: What?  A local whore?).  After reading Omnivore's Dilemma and getting halfway through Animal, Vegetable, Miracle  I am convinced that choosing locally grown and made products can make a difference.  Now, Ritu and I aren't entirely new to this.  For three summers we have bought into an organic produce CSA (Community Supported Agriculture).  Each Saturday from May to October we pick up a bin of organic fruits and vegetables from our farmer's market.  My mindset thus far was to see what we liked out of the bin and make use of it as I could.   Often, though, things would go bad before I had a chance to use them.  I always saw those vegetables as supplementary to my regular grocery shopping, but this next year I am going to try and make them the centerpiece.

 I was especially taken with the point Barbara Kingsolver made about how just because we CAN get every kind of produce all year round doesn't mean we SHOULD.  When you consider the preservatives added and fuel used to get my fresh asparagus from New Zealand in the middle of winter, it suddenly becomes a lot less appealing.  Actually, the first locavore choice I made was a choice of omission.  I was at Costco the other day and they had bags of those sweet mini peppers that, it turns out, come from Mexico.  I picked them up, studied the package, and put them back.  (Don't tell Emma.  Those are her absolute favorite.) 

I am fortunate to live in the Pacific Northwest where this movement has taken a firm root and we have a nice long growing season and a number of local companies like Bob's Red Mill, Tillamook Cheese, Alpenrose Dairy, and most importantly, Dagoba Chocolate.  I started to do some research and read some web sites, but let's face it, I am a lazy, spoiled American with disposable income and I just wanted to be told what to buy.  Voila!  Turns out New Seasons Market has a program called Home Grown.  On all the shelves and displays you can look for a tag that lets you know if a product comes from Washington, Oregon, or Northern California.  (Granted, it's a far cry from growing all my own food, but it's a step in the right direction.)

I don't usually shop at New Seasons because I thought it was pretentious and overpriced and I had a run in with a wine steward there recently which reinforced all of that.  But I headed out there yesterday afternoon in a driving wind and rainstorm  to browse and read labels and see what I could find. 

On my list, I needed ingredients for soup.  The first night of Chanukah this year falls on a Tuesday.  On Tuesdays we try to follow the tradition of Ritu's family and eat vegetarian.  We decided to have soup and potato latkes.  So, vegetarian soup and, because my mom was coming to dinner, nothing cream based.  Oh, and nothing too vegetably because the kids wouldn't go near it.  That left a lot of potato and corn chowders which just weren't going to fly with a big plate of latkes.  I finally found the perfect choice.  What else would a good Hinjew family eat for Chanukah?  Miso soup, of course! 

At New Seasons I found the tofu and miso paste with no problems, but I got hung up looking for doshi.  I circled the store about three times because I absolutely hate asking for help (yes, I am well aware that I have issues).  Finally, I approached a nice young cheerful looking fellow.  I confessed that I didn't even know what doshi was but that I needed it for miso soup.  He was stumped as well, but went to his encyclopedia of food and looked it up.  He found me something labeled as Dulse which he felt would be the closest thing.  I thanked him and added it to my cart and headed for the check out.  I left the store and was ditching my cart outside the doors when I noticed a flurry of activity behind me.  It was my little New Seasons best friend who had come out into the ran to look for me because he had found another product he thought would work even better.  I have to say that my cynical heart was thawed the tiniest bit by all of this.  I will definitely be going back there to do more shopping. 

Now I'm off to make a white chocolate cream pie for tomorrow's dessert to make up for the fact that the miso soup will probably suck.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

A Few More Travel Observations

You'll be glad to know that I maintained my lengthy streak of hitting my head on the "overhead"  (embedded in head?) compartment on the flight home.  This time, instead of standing up directly under it, I somehow managed to whack the side of my head against it.

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On the flight home, Juliana finished her book.  I watched to see if she would need some help from me to choose her next activity, but she closed up the book, announced "Ok, now I'm going to do my thinking",  propped her chin on her fist, and stared off into middle distance for a nice long while.

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Who are these people who order tomato juice on airplanes?  Do you know anyone who drinks tomato juice in real life?  Why, on planes, does it suddenly become the drink of choice?  I have such an irrational hatred for these people that even I am baffled by it. 

There's only one way to drink tomato juice.  First off, it has to be V-8.  Secondly, it needs to be poured from its original container into a glass jar.  Then it has to sit in the refrigerator until thoroughly chilled.  Then you have to spend all day at the beach.  Then
you can enjoy a nice big glass.  I'm not being unreasonable here; it's just that there is a process that needs to be followed.  Oh, and did I mention that the refrigerator needs to reside in my grandparents' apartment in Florida?  And that it needs to be somewhere around 1978?  Is that so hard to do?
 
I've tried drinking V-8 other times and other ways and it doesn't work.  When I was pregnant with David and all vegetables disgusted me, I thought V-8 was the answer.  Nope, couldn't even gag down one glass of that viscous nastiness.  And don't tell me that what I need to do is drink a Bloody Mary.  Christ, how can you drink anything with "Bloody" right in the name?  Not to mention TOMATO JUICE.  I feel a little queasy even staying on this subject for so long.

Look, if you're thirsty on a plane, drink something cold and quenching.  Like a soda.  Like normal people do.  Tomato juice is just going to make you thirstier.  Plus, it's made from squished up TOMATOES.  Why the hell would you drink that?  And for God's sake, when it inevitably spills on your lap, you are going to look like a crime scene exhibit.  Also, I secretly pray for turbulence when I see people drinking tomato juice on a plane.  Wouldn't it be better for you to have a nice glass of orange juice?  Look what you get in return: A healthy dose of vitamin C and the added bonus of helping me in my quest to become a better person.




Sunday, November 25, 2007

Canada Wet

The good news is that I didn't trip and/or  fall in any airports on our way home yesterday.  No, I decided to go with my second favorite air travel activity which is liquid related.  Just as walking with Juliana carries a certain risk, so does sitting next to her on a plane.  Unless you observe constant vigilance, there is going to be some mopping up in your future.  Before the drink cart even came around, we'd determined that she had a faulty tray table.  It wouldn't return to it's upright and locked position without a huge amount of force (something the woman sitting in front of Juliana was thrilled to discover) so I told Juliana that we would share mine.  I was secretly pleased by this turn of events because it allowed me to micromanage her drink with minimal fuss.  She chose Ginger Ale which sounded so good that I decided to have some as well.  Also, that way we could share one can between us which limited the amount of time we engaged in the drinking portion of the flight.  I poured us each some ginger ale and let me tell you, it was as crisp and refreshing as could be.  I kept her drink level fairly low but she didn't question me.  I felt good enough about the process to go back to my New Yorker.  What I had overlooked was the fact that my tray table had its own fault.  Unbeknownst to me, it was more of a ramp than a platform and my drink (which was fuller and thus heavier) slowly slid down the surface and tipped over into my lap.  You can imagine how graceful I was as I tried to scoop ice out of body crevices all the while being strapped to my seat and wedged in by the tray table.  I got up and went to the bathroom to try and dry off.  I went back to my seat and reported that it looked like I had peed my pants.  Juliana cracked up.  I mock-glared at her and pointed out that I didn't think it was too funny.  She responded with, "But Mommy, bathroom things just always seem funny.  Haven't you ever noticed that?"

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Thanksgiving This And That

Look at me blogging at you from Detroit!  We're here visiting my in-laws and the trip was nice and uneventful.  Well, except for in the Detroit airport when I stepped onto the moving walkway and turned to say something to Ritu at the same time.  Much teetering and windmilling of arms ensued, but I managed to stay on my feet.  Let's face it, I should just be banned from airports.

**********

David seems to be inventing his own slang.  This morning he looked at the clock and exclaimed, "Oh my Snappalachian State, it's 6 AM!"  What is he, somebody's gay hillbilly grandpa?

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We've been reading All of A Kind Family which features a Jewish family living on the East Side of New York City in the early 1900s.  I read them when I was a girl and the kids have enjoyed them.  Juliana, in particular, is delighted by any mention of Judaism in books or movies, so this has simply captivated her.  The all-of-a-kind part refers to the fact that there are five sisters in the book....Ella, Henny, Sarah, Charlotte, and Gertie.  The kids can remember that Henny is a nickname (I really wanted to use the word "soubriquet" there.  Pretentious, much?) for Henrietta, but they keep having a mental block about what Gertie is short for.  David asked me, "What is it again?  Gertaline?"

**********

Yesterday my friend and I were at Border's choosing things to sell at our synagogue's Chanukah fair.  Border's lets us buy things at a discount, sell them for list price and keep the profit.  We go through the entire store and select a collection of books and gift items with a Jewish slant.  This includes Jewish cookbooks, fiction by Jewish authors, kids stuff and pretty much anything that we think might appeal to our members.  As we go through the store, Border's employees offer to help us, but they are often stumped at the entire concept of Jewishness.  Here is an actual exchange I had with a Border's employee when she saw I had this book:


Border's Employee:  Is that a humor book?

Me:  Yes.

Border's Employee:  Oh.  Because I didn't think that George and Laura were Jewish.

Me (speaking slowly):  Yeah, see, that's what makes it funny.

Monday, November 12, 2007

Hot Pockets

I know I promised pictures of the kids from Halloween, but hey, I also promised to be a reliable blogger.  So far I am 0/2.  Let's just move on, shall we?

One of the things that has most impressed David about being in 5th grade is that his classroom is in possession of a real live microwave.  And not only do they have a microwave, they are allowed to use it at lunchtime.  This, apparently, ranks right up there with a Nintendo Wii as the coolest thing ever.

Now, David is my child who eats next to nothing.  For years, every day for lunch I packed him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  Maybe once every six weeks I could throw in a bagel and cream cheese without upsetting the delicate balance.  (Once I tried giving him a cheese sandwich and when I asked him how he liked it, I was told, "Mom, don't you EVER do that again!")  This summer David discovered the heavenly goodness that is Nutella.  Sure, it's tantamount to giving him a chocolate sandwich, but it has some protein and fiber and, most importantly, it's not peanut butter and jelly. 

This fall, David began talking about Hot Pockets.  In return, I ignored him.  The Hot Pockets talk continued.  Did I not understand how cool it was to be able to take a Hot Pocket to school and wait your turn for the microwave?  It's so rare that he wants to introduce any new food, that I finally relented.  And bless his little heart, he knows his culinary limits and he told me he'd best try the first one at home to see if he even liked it.  He asked for the Four Cheese kind since he was sure any of the other ones would be too spicy.  The day I brought them home, he tried one and deemed it delicious.  On the one hand, I was happy he had tried something new.  On the other hand, a Hot Pocket?  Are you kidding me?

I let my kids choose hot lunch at school once a week.  Juliana will at least get a salad or carrots along with her entree, but David eats nothing in the way of fruits and vegetables except apples and the occasional grape (under duress).  According to him, all the apples at school are "rotten".  (Also, according to him, this one kid knew a kid who dropped his hot dog and it was so rubbery that it bounced back up and hit him in the eye.  If you could see how sincerely he tells this story, you would die from cuteness.) 

I debated with David for awhile over whether or not a Hot Pocket would count as his hot lunch for the week.  As much as he wanted the Hot Pocket, he wasn't quite willing to give up the pizza or nachos in return.  Finally I had a rare stroke of Parenting Genius.  I told him that if he wanted to have a Hot Pocket and a school hot lunch each week, he would need to introduce a new fruit or vegetable into his repertoire.  He immediately got up from where he was sitting, marched to the refrigerator, took out a baby carrot and put it in his mouth.  I watched in stunned amazement.  I could not have been more surprised had he opened fire with a shotgun.  He chewed twice, gagged, and spit the carrot back out.  So much for that breakthrough.


Eventually he agreed to eat bananas.  He also said yes to oranges.  The other night at dinner when I put apple slices, an orange wedge, and a few circles of banana on his plate was one of the most satisfying moments of motherhood.  And all thanks to Hot Pockets.

And here, for your enjoyment is Jim Gaffigan's routine all about Hot Pockets. 






Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Guinea Pigs Are Cuter Than Kids

Happy Halloween!!  No pictures of the kids in their costumes yet, but here's one of Spots frolicking in the pumpkins.


(By the way, has there ever been a more gloriously unnecessary feature than Snapfish's Red Eye Before/After button?  Nothing funnier than clicking it and watching your loved one's eyes intermittently glow red.  It's more like a Before/After the Exorcism button.)

It's been just about a year since we became guinea pig owners (I KNOW.  I can't believe we've kept them alive this long either.) and we debated long and hard on how to best celebrate. We finally came up with the perfect solution.   Usually, the bedding in their cage is a mixture of aspen and paper litter.  We toss handfuls of Timothy hay in there every day as it is key for their little digestive process.  In general, the cage looks like this. 

To mark this special occasion, we decided to fill their entire cage with Timothy hay.   It would sort of be like you filling your entire bedroom waist deep in peanut M&Ms.

 Here's Spots in the hay. 



Such a camera whore, that one.  We'll have to add that to her list of nicknames.  (Which include: Spotty, Potty, Spotster, Spaz, Spazzy, Spottykins, Spotarama, Pottykins, Spotty Pig, and The Pig Who Does The Spot Trot.)

They loved the hay.  They climbed all around, then burrowed into it.  Eventually they even made a little tunnel.  Here's Spots, cleverly camouflaged.


Is that cute or what?  Here's her little Spotster Bum sticking out of the hay.


And check out  how good Emma (aka Emmers, Emma-coo, Emma-cootiepie, Emmykins, Hem-Hem, Fatty-coo, Fatty Pig, Fatty Fat Fat, Tiny Bison, Sweet-Tooth Pig, Chubby Pig, Chocolate Bar) looks!  Not tilty at all!












Monday, October 29, 2007

This Should've Been A Much Cuter Post

Thursday night we went to our school's Halloween Carnival.  Juliana won a round of the Cake Walk which meant that she got to choose from a selection of store-bought cakes.  (For health reasons we aren't allowed to bring in homemade baked goods to the school.)  She chose for her prize a small 4-inch cake frosted in the brightest of green and decorated to look like Frankenstein.  She was so proud that she cradled that cake in her arms all around the carnival for the next hour.  I didn't have my camera with me that night, so I made sure to take pictures of her eating it the next day.  Her friend Shannon had spent the night so we all dug in for a mid-morning snack.  (You can see David pouting in the background as he hadn't finished cleaning the guinea pig cage.)



As she'd been so cute carrying it around the night before, I tried to re-create that missed photo opportunity by having her hold it with the uncut side facing out.  Cleverly, I neglected to ensure that the dome was attached tightly to the cake plate.





But no worries here!  We just turned the upside down dome into a bowl and ate it like that!






Much face-scrubbing and tooth-brushing followed.

For lunch that day, we'd been invited to a birthday party at a Chuck E. Cheese type place.  Juliana ate three slices of pizza, drank two glasses of root beer and had a piece of birthday cake.  After lunch she told me that she felt cold, but quickly decided to go on a little ride called The Frog Jumper.  After that she just wanted to sit on my lap for awhile.  She perked up and ventured into the play structure, but soon came flying out asking me to take her to the bathroom.  She went up the stairs like a shot and by the time I followed her into the bathroom, she was already in a stall.  I called in to see how she was doing and she burst into sobs saying, "I think I have diarrhea and it's.....it's.....it's.....GREEN!"

In retrospect, I learned that perhaps filling my child full of crap then letting her ride anything with "Jumper" in the name isn't the best idea.  (And yes, I am QUITE aware that it all could've come out the other end and been a lot worse.)

Even more importantly I learned that despite spending a number of hours in her digestive tract, that green frosting didn't lose even the slightest bit of intensity.  God knows you can't get that same sort of craftsmanship from something home-made.

Friday, October 26, 2007

Speaking of Rain

If you listen to any sort of mainstream radio, you've probably heard the Rihanna song Umbrella.  I don't mind Rihanna (they play a lot of her songs on Radio Disney--which reminds me--nobody Named That Tune on my birthday post!) but Umbrella was always just a big whatever to me. Here's a link to it.




 Then one of our local radio stations started playing an acoustic version of it by Marie Digby that showed up on her Myspace page and then Youtube.  (Yes, I know it was a little controversial because people thought she was an unknown and she turned out to be an unknown with a recording contract.) Here's a link to her video.  I can't even tell you how much I love this version of the song.



Sunday, October 21, 2007

A Vote For Basketball

Last week, every meteorologist in the state put the fear of God into us by forecasting a horrendous wind and rain storm for Thursday.  All day long people talked about nothing but the impending storm.  We took in our patio umbrella and I made sure to have batteries for the flashlights.   The forecasters kept pushing back the start time of the storm.  Juliana's coach (aka Ritu) canceled soccer practice in anticipation of nasty conditions.  What we finally ended up getting was a big fat lot of nothing.  It rained, sure, and it was a bit breezy, but really there was nothing to write home about.  I mention this because our forecasters have reached a new level of misinformation this fall and I've pretty much given up on believing the weather.   (For the record, the newspaper on Saturday forecasted "Spotty Showers".)

 Saturday morning my alarm went off at 6:30 and I woke to the sound of torrential rainfall.  David had an early game and Ritu was working all weekend so Juliana and I were on soccer duty.   We loaded into the van around 7:45.  I found myself pulling my glasses out of my purse.  Those would be the glasses I use for night driving.  The rain was still falling hard and the temperature read 44 degrees.  Puddles of water covered the highway and traffic moved slowly.  The game was at a field we hadn't traveled to before and I busied myself with finding the way.  I warned David that Juliana and I might stay in the van and watch from there, but it turned out the parking lot was down the hill from the actual field, so that idea had to be discarded.

The team warms up for 45 minutes before the game starts.  The rain was coming down even harder, so I sent David up the hill to the field armed with his backpack and an umbrella.  Juliana and I stayed in the van for 20 minutes or so, but the rain started to ease and I needed a bathroom, so we set out to walk around a bit.  Juliana enjoyed watching the rainwater course down the sidewalk like a river.  She pranced around with her umbrella and informed me that Winnie the Pooh can turn an umbrella upside down and sail in it like a boat. 

Now, we are no strangers to rain.  Soccer games are not canceled for anything other than lightning.  David has been playing since he was 4 years old.  I've been standing out in the rain since he was four years old.  There is a Rain Hierarchy for parent spectators.  Basic Rain means you wear your jacket that has a hood.  People around here don't bother much with umbrellas because there is no sense in tying up one hand with umbrella-holding 8 months out of the year.  A decent rain jacket with a hood is a must.  On days with Heavy Rain, you wear your jacket with a hood and you don't bother setting up your foldable chair.  Sitting in that sort of rain will just make you wetter than standing in it.  On days with Nasty Rain, you add in the umbrella because the wind is going to  blow the rain in your face despite your hood.  This seemed to qualify as Nasty Rain so I didn't bother with my chair and Juliana and I were both armed with umbrellas.  The one saving grace of this game was that the soccer field was made of artificial turf.  If nothing else, it wouldn't be muddy.  The game started.  The rain continued.  The wind picked up.  Our spectators huddled together and cheered on the boys.  A few of the moms came around looking to see who had towels or blankets in their cars to help with keeping the boys on the bench dry.  I had one of each that I happily donated to the cause.  Beneath our team's portable canopy, the boys sat close together with a blanket over their laps and another one draped across their shoulders.

Juliana was still having fun at this point.  She abandoned her umbrella and turned her face to the sky.  We marveled at one of the boys whose usual mop of curls was completely straight from the saturation.  We laughed at a lost squirrel who, clearly confused, ran across the turf field in the middle of the game.  As the rain started to dampen my spirits (HA, see what I did there?), I mused out loud about the positive attributes of basketball.  Namely the fact that it's played indoors.  Andnever one to suffer silently, I whined "Why did we move to Oregon?"  Another mom try to soothe things by pointing out how beautiful it is here.  I remarked that her cup was always half full.  Mine was half full, too.  Of RAINWATER.

Midway through the first half, the wind and rain picked up again.  My umbrella blew inside out and a nice dad from the other team helped me to fix it.  Juliana was getting cold and crabby and I hugged her to keep her warm.  She started asking to go to the van, but the parking lot was too far from the field for me to leave her there alone.  I guess I could've gone with her, but I wanted to watch the game.  Plus, it didn't seem right that David should be out there while I lounged in the heated van.  At halftime, she and I went to the van for a break and she requested the chair to sit in.  I had an extra sweatshirt in the van, so I set her up in the chair, under a tree, with the sweatshirt like a blanket and her umbrella over her.

The rain continued to come down in buckets.  My pants were soaked from the knee down and, in a handy physics lesson,  they flattened against my legs creating a perfect gutter system for delivering water into my shoes.  The canopy protecting the players kept threatening to blow over.  With each gust of wind, water that had collected on the canopy top drained off in gushes.  I noticed that David was standing awfully close to the kid he was guarding.  I'm not sure if it was to block the wind or steal some of his body heat.  With about five minutes left, the other team broke the scoreless tie with a goal. The soccer was starting to look awfully ineffective as the boys got colder and stiffer.  Our coach had the moms who were helping under the canopy start packing up all the boys' backpacks and she sent another parent to tell us to start warming up our cars.  I took Juliana down to the van to at least be out of the wind and rain while I headed back up to retrieve David, his backpack, my blanket, towel, and umbrella.  The boys came off the field  shivering and with teeth chattering.  A few of them, bless their hearts, were crying. 

I hustled David down the hill and into the van.  I covered him and Juliana with the blanket.  I cranked the heat up to high and got the hell out of there.  By this time Juliana was sobbing because she was so cold and wet.  It was 10:30 when we got home and I saw that there was a message on my voice mail.  I prayed that it was a phone call telling me Juliana's game was canceled.  Instead it was my mom saying, "If those children are out playing soccer in this weather, I am going to call Protective Services."  I sent Juliana up to put on dry clothes and helped peel David out of his uniform and shin guards.  He was still shivering and starting to get teary eyed.  I had him get in the shower and told him he could stay there as long as he wanted.  He started the water but kept standing there adjusting it saying it felt too hot even when he had it turned to cold.  I realized he was checking it with his frozen hands.  I helped him turn the heat back up and told him to check it with a different part of his body. 

Juliana and I got into dry clothes and climbed into my bed.  I returned my mom's phone call and called Ritu at work to let him know there was a good chance we'd be blowing off Juliana's game.  Seeing as he's the coach, he sounded dubious that I would be setting this poor example for the rest of the team.  I kept explaining how it had been at David's game but he'd been inside at work and couldn't appreciate the misery of it. 

By this time 30 minutes had gone by and David was still in the shower.  He finally came out and I knew he was feeling better when he remarked "I think your teeth chatter when you're cold because your body is trying to make a spark come out of your mouth to set you on fire and warm you up."

Now it was after 11:00..  Juliana had to be at her game at noon.  I called my friend who was coaching in Ritu's absence and told him we wouldn't be there.  The weather was clearing up at this point, but no way was I dragging everybody back out.  Ritu called back around noon and sounded a little disappointed that we weren't at the game.  I had zero guilt over it, but I really wanted him to understand how bad it had been.  We finished our conversation, then I immediately called him back.  "Maybe this will help you understand", I said.  "On the way home from the game, David told me that if it was like this for his game tomorrow, he would rather go to Sunday School."

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Except For The Fact It Was My Birthday. My Stupid Birthday.

First of all....Name that tune!

So.  Tuesday was my birthday.  I love love LOVE my birthday.  My friend Elizabeth describes it perfectly when she says birthdays always feel like special, sparkly days.  I think everyone should love my birthday as much as I do.  To that end, I  helpfully use my birthday in my email address for Maximum Rememberability.  Starting in July I frequently announce,  "It's almost my birthday!"  People smile at me as the warm summer breeze wafts over us.  "Really? When?" "October 16th."  The smiles tend to turn to blank stares. 

Usually Ritu will keep his schedule pretty light on my birthday so that we can go out to lunch or dinner or something but the federal government decided to schedule a large-scale disaster drill here ON MY BIRTHDAY.  The nerve.  So he was gone by 6:30 AM.  As it was a Tuesday, I got David up early to catch the bus that takes him to his viola class.  (I asked him if there was anything special he wanted to say to me and he responded with, "You're old?"  I can't imagine where the child gets that snark.)  Juliana woke up early and came down before David had even left.  She sang Happy Birthday numerous times and presented me with a collection of her old bracelets and a tube of purple lipstick.  So far so good!

At 7:30 AM the phone rang.  It was my mother. An unusual time for her to call, but hey, it was her favorite child's birthday!  Instead of birthday greetings, she told me she was having vertigo.  She described lying in bed, coughing, and suddenly feeling like a chicken on a rotisserie spinning 360 degrees.  Seeing as she had plans to fly to California to take care of my sister's children for a few days, this was especially bad timing.  Her flight didn't leave until late afternoon so I suggested she take some anti-vertigo medicine, get back in bed and give it a chance to work.  I told her I'd call my sister to put her on alert and I'd call back in a bit to check on her.

Juliana and I continued to get ready for school.  At 8:10 the phone rang again.  It was my neighbor.  Only when I answered the phone, it wasn't my neighbor.  It was David.  "Mom, the bus never showed up."  Viola class starts at 7:45.  My clever child had stood out there for nearly 45 minutes.  I told him to come home and I promptly called the bus company.  They told me a train had delayed the buses that morning.  I explained that it wasn't late, it never came at all.  The nice woman said "Oh."  David came home and I suggested he spend some of his extra time looking for his watch. 

At 8:30 the phone rang again.  I was gathering laundry together and I yelled for one of the kids to answer the phone.  They stood around reading off the Caller I.D. as I yelled JUST ANSWER IT!  Needless to say, between the two of them (each standing by a different handset) they were unable to answer the phone before it went to voice mail.  This is a personal pet peeve.  They know that if they don't know who it is or aren't sure, they can just hustle the unanswered phone to me.  Instead they feel the need to engage in some sort of existential reflection over what it means to answer the phone.  My frustration level hit red and, in my proudest parenting moment of 2007, I announced to my children that they were Phone-Answering Retards.  <sigh>  That one is not going to look good on my permanent record.

I retrieved that phone message and then gave my mom a quick call to check on her.  She said that just reaching over to answer the phone made her have a wave of vertigo and her voice sounded thick with nausea.  Not good.

I finally got the kids off to school and went on my morning walk to help stamp some of the frustration out of my soul.  Two friends were planning to take me to lunch and another friend had baked me a cake and a group of us were going to have cake and coffee after lunch.  I called my mom after my walk, but there was no answer.  I left her a message saying I was going to shower and please call me back as soon as she could.  The phone rang during my shower, but it wasn't her.  I decided to call my sister to see if she'd heard from Mom.  I dialed and instead of hearing it ring, I heard the sound of dialing.  It was my sister calling me at the exact same time to say that she'd been calling Mom but there was no answer.  She decided to try one more time, then called me back to say there was still no answer.  I told her I'd head over to Mom's apartment and see what was going on.

I consciously chose comfy clothes because I figured there was a good chance I'd be spending the rest of the day playing nursemaid either at her house or, God forbid, the hospital.  I grabbed a sweatshirt and hopped in the van.  I called my friend to tell her I would have to bail on our lunch plans.  I drove quickly but carefully.  I thought back to all the times we went through this with my grandmother.  A number of phone calls would go unanswered and the grandchildren would draw straws to see whose turn it was to go check for dead bodies.  She was always found alive and well but without her hearing aids or with the opera turned up full blast. 

The closer I got, the more my mind started to let in ugly thoughts.  Vertigo....nausea....ok, could be she's just too dizzy to deal with the phone.  A block later I contemplated the possibility of finding her crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the steps.  Another stretch of driving brought with it the possibility of aspirated vomit.  Now I was getting scared AND pissed.  How dare she die on MY birthday!  What kind of legacy was that?

I pulled into her complex and parked.  On the way to her front door, I noticed something.  Her. car. was. gone.  I stood in the rain and whipped out my phone.  She answered her cell.  I calmly asked where she was.  She replied that she'd felt a bit better so she'd gone to work.  I--how shall we put it?--flipped.  I said, "Are you fucking kidding me??  I came to your house to scoop your dead body off the floor because the last time I talked to you, you were too sick to deal with answering the phone.  Nobody has been able to reach you for the past hour.  Did it occur to you to call and tell somebody you were feeling better and would be leaving the house?"  I continued in this vein for awhile because also?  Driving with vertigo?  Not a good idea.  She apologized profusely.  I offered to come pick her up, but she protested that she was fine and promised to call me when she got home.

(For those of you keeping count at home, this was the third phone call I'd had with her.  Still no acknowledgment of my birthday.  And me, her favorite child!)

I called my friend to put lunch BACK ON.  I drove home to change out of my sweats and make myself presentable.  My mom called to say she'd made it home.  I praised her responsible communication and told her I was heading out to lunch but that she could reach me on my cell all afternoon.  Horror filled her voice as it dawned on her.  "Oh my God.  Happy Birthday!  I am the worst mother ever!"  I gently suggested that maybe, just MAYBE, her vertigo was God's punishment for forgetting my birthday.  I like to be helpful that way.

The bad news is that she's still sick and had to cancel the entire trip to California.  The good news is that the glass of Pinot Gris I had at lunch was delicious.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Looking For a Hinjew

Heh, look what I found!

Monday, October 15, 2007

Found The Charger

Today I was determined to find that damn camera charger so that I could document this miserable room.  I  grabbed the trash can and recycling bin and tore through the mess like a crazy person.  In about 15 minutes the place looked a lot less like a hazardous waste dump and, as I was replacing some Scotch tape in a drawer, I found the camera charger tucked away nice as could be.  So now the camera is charged but the mess is no longer worthy of documenting.  I'm sure there's a lesson there somewhere.

But because I promised, here are some pictures.  First we have the last bit of wallpaper above the windows.


Next is the tangle of wires that I trip over daily:


Here is our lovely and fashionable card table desk. We sold our old desk at a yard sale in May thinking that would hasten the process of getting a new one.  Did I mention that was in May?


Aaaaaand the last bit of wallpaper around the bookshelves.  That's all there is left to do and it's still not done.  Seriously, what is wrong with me?  (Please note that is a rhetorical question.)














Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Hell

Yes, I am fully aware of my lack of blogging.  My main reason is that the office, where the computer is, looks like a portal to hell.  The wall paper which I started removing in August still isn't completely off and the room has become a trash despository for the rest of the house.  I hate even coming into this room and it doesn't help that most times as I walk to the computer, I trip over the tangle of wires and knock the DSL out of commission.  I thought I would take a few pictures to illustrate the horror but when I picked up the camera, the battery was dead and for the life of me, I can't find the charger in this roomful of misery.

So all you get is my completely un-illustrated whining.  Along with my sincerest apologies.  If it's any consolation, I've written about a half dozen posts in my head....

Here's hoping for a big rush of motivation to finish the wallpaper removal as I think that will serve as a catalyst for the rest of the room. Either that or a big can of accelerant and a butane torch.

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

Conferences

Last week we had our first parent-teacher conferences of the new school year.  Juliana's teacher raved about her, which surprised exactly no one.  She is the type of child who is a perfect match for public school: smart, enthusiastic, a hard worker, and fun to have around. She is excelling in every area, despite her small tendency towards math anxiety.  Her glowing conferences  are remarkably different from our experiences with David at this age.  While his teachers always commented on how much they enjoyed having him in class, we were treated to a list of things with which he struggled.  Like his abysmal handwriting. (Which he gets directly from me.  Sorry, kid!)  And the fact that he couldn't do timed math tests. 

For the first four years of school, David was distinctly in the middle of the pack for everything.  It wasn't until 4th grade that he came into his own.  That was when his high scores and class performance led his teacher to recommend him for the gifted program, which he successfully tested into (into which he successfully tested?).  He had a strong academic year and became a class leader.  The icing on the cake came last May when he scored a spot on the competitive soccer squad.  His teacher for the past two years was a lovely older woman with extensive teaching experience.  She was a great mixture of strictness and warmth which helped David rise to the expectations she had for him.

Cut to this year.  His teacher is a young woman, newly married, with a baby at home.  She coaches volleyball at the high school and is as enthusiastic as the day is long.  She clearly enjoys the 5th and 6th graders and she is funny and encouraging and David adores her.   Our conference started with her telling us that "David is an absolute joy."  I am not exaggerating when I say that EVERY teacher he has ever had has used those exact words to describe him.  She talked about how he is smart and confident and participates in class.  She observed that he really seems to be keeping on top of his work and managing his responsibilities.  I was thrilled to hear all this, no doubt.  But nothing compared to the warmth I felt in my soul when she remarked on his great sense of humor and his ability to understand sarcasm.  She said sometimes she'll throw a comment out there and only to be met with dead silence from the class.....

....and then she'll hear David giggling in the corner.

Monday, October 1, 2007

This And That

I was at Target today looking for Halloween decorations for my yard when I noticed that nearly every item I picked up had the following warning on the back:

Prop 65 Warning: This product contains lead, a chemical known to the State of California to cause cancer, birth defects, and other reproductive harm. Wash hands after handling.

Uh, yeah.  Happy Halloween!  The best I could figure was that it applied to decorations with electrical wiring coated for outdoor use.  But, see, once I'm given a warning like that I either develop OCD and have to wrap myself in Saran Wrap before I can touch it OR I have the opposite inclination and find myself strangely compelled to floss with the lead-caked cord.  (Possibly these are two ends of the same spectrum.)  Needless to say, in the interest of safety, I didn't buy anything. 

**********
I hate when I google to see if Spots and Emma can safely have a certain type of fresh vegetable and instead of getting a list of Guinea Pig Approved Foods, I get something like this or this

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Overheard today at Target:

Manager (talking to female employee):  Now do you understand that before you can clean the bathroom you have to make sure ALL the men are out first?

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Hey, my cousin is in a music video!!  He's the shirtless guy at the bar.




Monday, September 24, 2007

I'll Try Again Next Year

Do you think I am effectively cleansing my soul on Yom Kippur when I spend much of the day distracted by the need to send this ecard to some guy sitting a few rows behind me?

Getting Closer

Thank you to everyone who has helped with the wristband search!  I've finally gotten a lead.  I have to give credit to Robyne who didn't find the exact one, but sent me a link for a type of bracelet called namelets which eventually led me to google "namebands"  which got me to the manufacturer  (History and Heraldry)  which led me to this site where I can buy an complete floor display containing 256 names.  But the only place I can find to buy an individual band online is this British ebay seller.  So, I emailed the company headquarters to see if they could tell me of a store in my area that carries the display.  I had an email first thing this morning from a lovely woman named Abby who didn't have anything here but told me to send her more cities and zip codes, so now I'm having her check the entire states of Oregon and Washington. 

In the meantime, if any of you go to a gift type store and see one of these displays, pick me up one with David's name on it and I will happy reimburse you!




Friday, September 14, 2007

This Kid Makes Me Laugh

This morning David woke up early and, as rarely happens any more, he came into my room to snuggle for a bit.  But since he's a 10 year old boy, there were not going to be any outward terms of endearment, so here's the conversation we had.

"Mom, can I give you a bruise?"

"Only if I can break one of your bones."

"You couldn't break my bones.  You aren't strong enough."

"I could decapitate you with my bare hands."

<giggling>  "But you don't have bear hands.  You have human hands."

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

While I'm Soliciting Help

When I went to Seattle in May, I brought David back one of those rubber bracelets, like a Livestrong bracelet but this one had his name already on it and a bunch of words like "loyal" "respect" "smart" and things like that.  It was a green camouflage color and he wore it every single day since I got it for him.  Last Friday, we were at an ice cream social at the school and when we were leaving, he realized he had lost it.  He was heartbroken (we're talking actual tears) and he and Ritu went back to look for it, but it was dark and he'd been playing down on the great big grass field. Did I mention it was a green camouflage color?

Sooooo, I've been trying to find another one.  I've googled every word combination I could think of.  I've found a zillion sites when you can customize bracelets, but none that are pre-printed like his.  You know how you see displays of pencils or keychains with common names printed on them?  It was that sort of a display, only rubber wristbands.  If anybody has some time and likes a google challenge, David and I would be forever in your debt if you could find a place to get a new one.

Help!

You may scoff at my dilemma, but I need your help!  Let me first set the stage for you.  I have an overdeveloped respect for authority to the extent that it took a couple of years before I was able to address teachers at my kids' school by their first names.  My friend gave me great advice when I was struggling with this.  She said always to address a teacher as Mrs. Whatever in front of the children, but to go to a first name basis in private.  I remember the first time I ever addressed a teacher by name in an email.  I sat there at the computer and kept changing it to Mrs. and then back again.  (Can't imagine why I never get anything done around here when I am clearly using my time and energy so wisely.)  I finally made the plunge and I've been fine with it ever since. 

 Ok, we're almost to my dilemma, but first you need the second bit of information.  In striking contrast to the  blackness in my soul, I am a surprisingly perky emailer.  I'll be the first to admit that I probably make use of the exclamation point more than I should, but I like to set a light, friendly tone.  In fact, most of my emails to teachers start with "Hi Mary!" or whatever the teacher's name is. 

Now we arrive at my current problem.  David's teacher, who has a perfectly good first name, chooses instead to go by initials.  Let's call her P.J.  So, now when I email her, what do I do?

This looks weird to me:  Hi P.J.!
This looks wrong.:  Hi P.J!

Last time I went with this:  Hi PJ! which looked and felt better to me except for the residual guilt that came from having edited her name.

Aside from dialing down my perkiness (not an option!!) or only speaking to her in person, what should I do? 

Saturday, September 8, 2007

Someecards

Have you all seen these?  I spent way too long today looking at them.  Here are a few of my favorites:  A sweet apology, a kind word of encouragement, and a workplace sentiment we can all get behind.    If you don't have any friends you can send these to, then I suggest you get some new friends. 

School!!!!!!!!!

You may recall that on the first day of school last year, I was a mess.  It was Juliana's first time being gone all day and it hit me hard.  Well, I got over that.  This year I counted down the days waiting for the school to open wide its glorious doors.  We'd been having a great summer, but I was tired of dragging kids everywhere I went.  Oh, that and the bickering.  (Who knew there was only one "good" place to sit in the entire family room?)  I celebrated the first week of school by going out to lunch twice and browsing leisurely in every shop just because I could.  I think I got more done last Thursday than I did the entire month of August.

The kids are both off to great starts.  At our school, all the 3rd and 4th grades are blended classrooms as are all the 5th and 6th grades.  For David, as a fifth grader, that meant a brand new teacher after two years with the same one.  Juliana also got a new  teacher for second grade, but we'd had a chance for a "meet and greet" the week before school started where she got to visit her classroom, meet the teacher, find her desk and put away all her school supplies.  Her entire circle of friends are in her class which made for a nice, smooth transition.  She spent the first few afternoons flopping on the couch with a book when she got home, worn out from putting in a full day. 

David got the teacher I was hoping for but none of his close friends ended up in his class.  He spent the weekend stressing over that and when I left him the first day he was looking somewhat overwhelmed.  It doesn't help that he's a wee little fifth grader and he's in there with some Amazon-type 6th grade girls.  I needn't have worried, though, because the minute school let out he started telling me everything that happened that day.  He talked so much that I practically relived the day in real time.  His teacher was "silly and funny" and the day was "great" and his teacher has a really cute baby and the baby isn't scared of anything except for when her mom sneezes because she has really loud sneezes and when his class goes downstairs for music or P.E. they get to walk on the outside stairs and they can make noise because they aren't in the halls and they can even do that when it's raining or snowing and his teacher has a key for the outside door and HOW COOL IS THAT?

Here are some first day pictures.  My camera was accidentally set to some weird setting like "Panoramas of Neptune" so the pictures aren't that great.

David tolerating my yearly ritual:


My big girl:


This is why I needed them to go back to school:









Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Vegas Part 3

See, what's so frustrating about Vegas is how hard it is to get information.  It's like they don't even want you to know what there is to do.  Every event is a closely guarded secret.

Like, how will you ever find out what show is playing right there in the Venetian?


And what about comedy?  Are there any comedians around?


Come on, people.  Those signs are only ten stories tall.  Put a little effort into your advertising, wouldya?


What's that?  Wayne Brady's in town?  And Phantom??  You'd sell more tickets if you just let people know .


I heard a whisper of a rumor that Toni Braxton was performing at the Flamingo.



Because I am 12 years old, I thought it would be hilarious to have the hotel room that looked right out of her crotch. 

And just to prove that you can market absolutely anything, here's my favorite. 

Yesirree.  These people actually paid for oxygen.  And not only could you buy it, you then got to partake of your purchase by sitting in a crowded food court with a plastic cannula up your nose.   Good God, I hope those were single use.










Vegas Part 2

Despite my making fun of the Venetian, our room was incredible. I loved how spacious it was with a whole living area a few steps down from the bedroom.  In great contrast to the rest of Vegas, it was tastefully decorated in muted colors and the room felt like a soothing hide-away. 






Every night they staff would turn down your bed and leave chocolate on your pillow.  For ambiance, they would turn on soft music and low lighting. Do you see that long black dresser across from the foot of the bed in the picture above?  Do you see the white rectangle inset in the dresser top?  Turns out that whole top surface lights up.  Our first night in Vegas, we made it back to our room around 2:30 A.M.  I crammed the pillow chocolate into my mouth and flopped onto the bed.  Ritu locked the door and went to turn off the dresser light.  The way to do this was not readily apparent, and I'm guessing the large amount of alcohol in his system didn't help.  He spent a solid five minutes trying every switch in the room two or three times and patting down the entire dresser trying to unlock it's secret.  I helped by lying on the bed laughing hysterically.  I thought for sure we were going to have to call housekeeping for help when he finally found a small switch on the edge of the dresser.  We never found it on again after that  so I figure it's a little joke they like to play on people their first night in town. 

Ritu neglected to take a picture of the bathroom which was my favorite part.  Double vanity made of marble, great big bathtub, glass enclosed shower, and a flat screen TV because God Forbid you miss anything while you're getting ready.  (Did I mention there were three TVs in our suite?)  Plus one of those little girly tables to sit at while you put on your make-up.  I'll admit I'm a sucker for those.

We were on the 28th floor overlooking a section of The Strip.




Here's the same view at night:





More soon.  Now I've got to go dose Emma....



Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Emma Redux

When we got back from Vegas, I noticed Emma was acting a little funny.  It looked like she had a bald patch behind one of her ears and she kept shaking her head.  I figured she was itchy from ear mites and took her to the vet for what I assumed would be a quick fix.  As soon as the vet mentioned how unusual it would be to see ear mites in a guinea pig, I knew I was doomed.  Turns out, of course, that she didn't have ear mites.  She had a flare up of this which I'm sure you all remember from April.  Last time, the ear infection caused the head tilt which in turn led to corneal abrasions in her right eye.  Now her ear is infected again and she has findings in both eyes.  Since she has only minimal tilt this time, the eye issue seems to be related to a systemic infection, not abrasions.  Last time I spent two weeks administering three medications.  This time I have FOUR.  Here's a look at my Guinea Pig Pharmacy.

From left to right we have:

1.  Antibiotic eye drops,  2-3 drops in both eyes every 12 hours.

2.  Anti-inflammatory ear drops, 2-3 drops in the right ear every 12 hours.

3.  Acidophilus capsules.  These you have to open up and mix with 2 ml of water and syrninge feed her twice a day.

4.  Antibiotic, .6 ccs syringe fed twice a day. 

As before, the acidophilus has to be given 45 minutes before the antibiotic.  That way all the good bacteria in her gut doesn't get destroyed by the antibiotic.  Plus, it means the medicine giving process takes 45 minutes twice a day.

What makes this especially fun is the addition of the ear drops.  The vet and the tech both warned me how important it was to wear rubber gloves while handling them.  Apparently they contain  DMSO  which is a controversial substance and has only limited approval by the FDA for certain medical conditions.  The concern has to do with the fact that it is so quickly absorbed once it gets on your skin.   When I asked the tech at the vet's office what would happen if it got on me, I Swear To God she said that my bones would start to dissolve.  Ritu did some research and couldn't find that particular side effect, but did say it's used in other countries as a topical analgesic.  He finds it somewhat less than concerning.  I don't understand why I have to use gloves to touch it, but it's perfectly ok to squirt it directly into my two pound guinea pig's head.  (Oh wait, sorry, she's up to two pounds and one ounce now.  Such a big girl!)  Guess what a guinea pig does when you give her toxic ear drops!  Did you guess shake her head spraying them right in your face?  Bingo!  Anybody know where I can get a welder's mask and some Skele-Grow?

The good news is that other than the original head shaking, she hasn't seemed too sick.  The bad news is that her generally healthy state leaves me much less sympathetic to her plight.  Also, slightly more resentful of the $122 this visit cost me.  Hopefully this round of drugs will solve the problem once and for all and may even cure her of that residual tilt.  Lucky for her she's so dang cute.

 

 

Pete's Pond

One of my favorite Internet Time Wasters/Educational Experiences is back up and running!  For the past three years, National Geographic has operated a "wildcam" at Pete's Pond in Botswana.  The presence of this man-made lake helped revitalize the wild animal population there which had been threatened by poachers who waited at the Limpopo River.  Now the area has become a wildlife preserve filled with birds, impala, wildebeests, zebras and more.  Just this morning, the kids and I saw an elephant and a cheetah.  Have fun!

Pete's Pond Wildcam

Monday, August 20, 2007

Well, Duh

Juliana won a set of those plastic fangs at a Chuck E. Cheese type place last week.  She is quite fond of them and loves to sneak up on people and "scare" them.  Her stealth mode isn't too effective as the teeth are so large that you can hear her coming a mile away what with all the slurping and schnuffling noises she makes in an attempt to breathe while wearing them.  She bared her fangs at me tonight and I dutifully acted scared.

 "Eeeeek!  It's a vampire!"

 "No, I'm not"

 "Then what are you?" 

"I'm Juliana wearing rubbery, fake teeth."

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Vegas - Part 1

A few months ago, Ritu had the chance to speak at a conference in Italy in September and we contemplated taking the entire family.  Unfortunately, they found enough speakers before he committed and the opportunity was lost.  So, when we planned our Las Vegas trip, I thought it would be mighty funny to stay at The Venetian as a lame stand-in for our lost visit to Italy.  Most of the hotels on The Strip have some sort of gimmick and The Venetian is no different.  Their theme is a trip to Venice complete with it's own Grand Canal.

As a disclaimer, I will say that much of the hotel was gorgeous and the guest rooms were possibly the nicest I've ever stayed in, but there was a Grand Hokeyness factor that I couldn't overlook.

For instance, when you first pull up, there is a huge portico covering 5 lanes of traffic. 


The ceiling is covered with numerous paintings.  Doesn't this just scream Park Here to you?



Hey look!  I think these guys are playing craps.


The lowermost level contains the Grand Canal Shoppes and the aforementioned Grand Canal itself.


The gondola rides featured, of course, singing gondoliers.  You just know this guy's mom tells everyone her son has a job in show business.




Here I am enjoying my stroll along the canal.


Here is Ritu.  Note what a lovely sunny day it is here in the basement of the Venetian. 



We spent hours strolling around Venice, er, the Venetian.  Eventually, as the sky turned pink and gold with the sunset, we stumbled upon a large piazza.




It was filled with street performers.  Who doesn't love street performers??


Like this guy on stilts! Pretending the jester guy! Is his marionette!  Oh, how we laughed at those scamps.




And a strolling accordion player.   I simply can't get enough of the dulcet tones of an accordion.  Ritu insisted I get my picture taken with him.  That husband of mine is forever looking out for my happiness.


And what visit to Venice would be complete without The Guy Who Pretends He's A Statue?



I hate this guy.  He wasn't even a good statue.  He blinked like a 4-way traffic light and fidgeted more than a three year old in church.  
I envisioned running full tilt at him and knocking him down.  The hostility this man provoked in me was completely unreasonable and could only be quelled by many glasses of red wine.  Thank goodness the Venetian has no short supply of that.