Cosmic Balance

Apparently, all I had to do was ask.  Yesterday was mostly dry and there was a brief sun-sighting.  My God, people, I actually had to squint at one point.  After school, we were able to stay and play at the playground for an entire hour.  The kids got to use their large muscles and the cold air scrubbed our lungs clean.  It felt good.  But I should've known it was too good to be true.  Just before dinner, Juliana started crying that her stomach hurt.  Forty-five minutes later, she barfed on the couch.  (Let me make two observations:  1.  Leather furniture is a good thing and 2. Partly digested turkey bacon is easily recognizable.)  While she used to be an Olympic caliber puker, I don't think she's thrown up since we moved here 3 1/2 years ago.  And as you may remember, David was barf-free until he was 8, so this was my first experience with a 5 year old with the stomach flu.  When her stomach started hurting, I'd set up a bucket on a towel next to the couch.  Not wanting to defile it, she sat up and barfed in her own lap.  (Did I mention leather furnitue = good?)  So, at bedtime, I set the bucket up again on the floor next to her bed, hoping it's presence would act as a talisman if nothing else.  Around 11:30 last night, I heard that unmistakable sound and got out of bed to find her standing in the hall, crying that she'd thrown up again.  I shepherded her into the bathroom and asked where she'd done it.  Her response?  The bucket.  I raced back to her room to verify and it was true!  She'd  woken up from a dead sleep, leaned over and puked right into the bucket.  I tell you, I was practically giddy.  Everything was cleaned up and she was back in bed within 10 minutes. 

She slept the rest of the night and seems a little better today.  After a long dry spell (pun fully intended) we've now had three members of the family vomit in the last three months.  I think if we can get Ritu to puke in February, we win Barfing Bingo. 

Just Don't

If you're going to a restaurant with your boyfriend, please resist the urge to sit on the same side of the table.  And if you're going to do it while wearing cream colored hose and cream colored shoes, just stay the hell home. 

Rain

I live in the Pacific Northwest.  This is my 4th winter here.  I get that it rains all winter.  Really.  I GET IT.  Now for the love of God, enough already.  It has rained here for something like 30 days straight.  I am not using hyperbole when I say that in recent memory, I can think of exactly 2 brief instances when I saw any blue sky or the actual sun.  Sometimes the rain stops and the sky becomes a brighter shade of gray, but that doesn't count in my book.  The last time the sun came out, I ran through the house opening blinds and when I found a good sized puddle of sunlight on the futon in David's room, I sat in it like a cat until it was gone again.  Even when the rain stops, there is a fine mist in the air wetting everything that passes through it.  Even when the mist stops, there are always those suffocating clouds hemming in the limited view.  Each morning I wake up and hear the rain slamming on the roof and I'm starting to feel like those pioneer women who endured the endless prairie wind until they snapped, took the shotgun and blew off their heads.  I'm tired of wet cars and wet shoes and the squish of mud.  I'm tired of shiny pavement and soggy newspapers.  I haven't put my sunglasses on in weeks and I have an odd dependence on them, especially when I drive.  I watch the rainwater on the driveway across the way, sheeting and rippling as it streams down to the street.  It has a hypnotic effect and I find it hard to tear myself away and get anything done.  As with most people around here, I've upped my coffee intake.  I've taken to adding a cup in the late afternoon to pull me through. A cinnamon dolce latte does a lot to put me back on track. 

The good news is that we go to Arizona this weekend.  Ritu has a conference there and we're going to join him.  I'm going to stick myself outside and recharge like a solar powered yard light. 

A Pretty Girl Is Like A Melody

Just before the holidays, our mall opened an entire new wing of stores.  No way in hell was I setting foot in the mall at that point but now that things have settled down, Juliana and I made our pilgrimage.  Juliana loves to shop.  Way more than I do.  One of her favorite places on earth is the children's shoe department at Nordstrom's.  She is difficult to buy for, though, due to her adamant opinions regarding what she will and will not wear.  This tendency started at the ripe old age of 19 months when I took an outift out of her dresser and she told me NO.  (In contrast, David let me choose his clothes until he was 4 1/2. )   I generally don't buy her clothes unless she is with me because if I bring something home and she says she won't wear it, there is no negotiating.   At the mall, we discovered a clothing store called Naartjie (pronounced Nar-chee).  It was a relief that she and I both liked it as I am still stinging from her refusal to take a trip to Hanna Andersson over winter break.  Oh, the betrayal!  The outlet is minutes from my house and the clothes are so delicious.  How dare she move on? 

I think Naartjie will ease the pain for now:

There Ought To Be A Law...

....against husbands who have a sleepless night and embrace the philosophy of misery loves company by waking you up at 4:10 AM by repeated heavy sighing and flopping around like a fish caught in a net. 

The Prisoner Pear

I just finished reading this incredible book of short stories.  I highly recommend it.  The author is a friend of mine, which makes it especially cool.  Check it out at Amazon or Powell's. 

Happy New Year!

I am a creature of habit.  Possibly too much so.  I like my days to have a certain amount of routine and consistency.  Do you know what the polar opposite of that is?  Winter Break.  Given the trip to India and our slow recovery, I purposefully left the two weeks of break wide open.  I quickly realized my mistake:  I'd left the two weeks of break wide open!  What was I thinking??  Actually, the kids did well.  We scheduled playdates, visited the science center, went to the movies.  For the first time in my 8 1/2 years of being a parent, the children both slept in on a regular basis.  When school is in session, I get up at 6:15 and start my day.  I exercise, shower, and by the time the kids get up, the coffee maker is gurgling and I have a load of laundry churning in the washer.  The sound of appliances hard at work fills me with efficient satisfaction.  While sleeping in is glorious, no doubt, it leaves me anchorless and  I spend the rest of the day playing catch-up.  I could've continued to set my alarm, but it was hard to grasp that this late sleeping was for real.  Every night I assumed it was a fluke and I'd go to bed expecting to be awakened around 7 AM.  One morning we didn't wake up until 9:00.  That's like, noon in parent time!

On New Year's Eve, we went to a hockey game.  (Ritu and I are big hockey fans.  In fact, our first offical date was a Michigan basketball game followed by a Michigan hockey game.)  Every New Year's Eve, our local hockey team, the Winterhawks, plays a 5 PM game.  Afterwards, there are player autographs and games for the kids out on the stadium concourse.  At 9 PM, they show the ball dropping in Times Square on the jumbo-tron scoreboard and have a balloon drop there in the stadium.  We went with another family who have children the same ages as ours.  The Winterhawks played their biggest rival, the Seattle Thunderbirds.  The Winterhawks scored three quick goals during the second period.  With each goal, the crowd would erupt.  Each time, Juliana would shove her plate of pizza at me to hold, jump up, cheer and dance, THEN turn to me and ask "What happened?"  I fear she may be a candidate for a cult later in life. 

During the third period, there was a brawl.  An excellent brawl.  Even our goalie skated the length of the ice to fight with the Seattle goalie.  I'll admit, there I was, a few months shy of 40, on my feet cheering and singing along with the Beastie Boys song being blasted over the loudspeakers.  You know, you DO have to fight for your right to party.  All in all, it was a fun night and we were home by 9:45 PM.  That's like, midnight in parent time!