A (first day back to school after spring break): Teacher asked us all what we did for Spring Break.

Me: What did you say?

A: That we went to the mall and ate pizza.

Me: Did you tell her about going to Mama's old school (UC Berkeley) and seeing the T Rex skeleton?

A: No.

Me: Did you tell her about going up to the top of the Campanile and seeing all the way to San Francisco?

A: No.

Me: Did you tell her about going to the airplane museum?

A: No.

Me: Did you tell her about going to the library and playing at the fountain?

A: No.

Of course not. He told her he went to the mall and ate pizza. I feel like I should send an explanatory note:

Dear Miss Michelle,

On A's Spring Break, we did not go to the mall and eat pizza. We went to the mall and ate chicken nuggets. But that was just one day and it was after an hour at the bouncy house. On the other days we did very educational and enriching activities that I assure you A. enjoyed while he was doing them.

Thank you,
A's Mother


And because I feel like sharing pictures, here are the boys at Costco. A is asleep in the cart. He fell asleep on the way there, so I propped him up in the back of the cart and he slept like this through the entire shopping trip. This was just before I took them out and put them back in the car. People don't believe me when I say nothing wakes that kid up.

Ben: "A. westing. Shhhh."











And here's after A. discovered the self-timer on the camera (I was taking before and after pics of myself). He was fascinated by it and wanted to show G how "the camera can take a picture all by itself!"

So we did a family shot by propping the camera on the table and Ben's like, "What the hell?"

The World and the Way I See It

I hate eye exams. "Which is better, A or B? B or C? C or D?" I don't know! One is fuzzy on the left side of the letter and one is fuzzy on the right side of the letter and I don't know which I prefer! Then they get all impatient and sigh heavily and go, "OK. Whiiiich is beeeetttteeer, Aaaaaa or Beeeeee?" I UNDERSTAND the question, babe.

I learned yesterday that I need bifocals, or "progressives," as they are now called. Eye doctor said I could wait and get regular lenses now, but if I did, in 2 years I wouldn't be able to read anything and I'd be back for new glasses. Some people stay with the regular lenses for a while and just take them off and hold the menu at arm's length if they need to read it. "That won't work for you because you can't even see there's a menu at the end of your arm if you take your glasses off. So you might as well get them now."

I expressed concern about getting used to "progressives."

"Oh, it's just like the ATM. Or bill pay. It's just like bill pay."

"I'm sorry?"

"You know - you hate it at first but then you love it. Like bill pay."

I'm not sure what to think because I'm not aware of either loving or hating bill pay, but clearly this doctor develops intense relationships with things, and I didn't want her to hate or love me, so I just kept quiet.

I was told I have bad astigmatism, which is why I had trouble focusing with my uncorrected contact lenses. So now I'm getting "torque" contact lenses, which are about an inch thick on my eyeball. Well, they feel like it, anyway. I also learned I have "steep" corneas, so they have to special order the contacts.

I don't know why they don't just put me down now.

After the contact lens fitting, I picked out some Coach frames, got measured for the progressives, paid for the lightweight, anti-glare lenses, gave Major HMO my right arm and leg (because steep, torqued contacts are also about 3x as much as regular contacts), and walked out of there with nothing. The glasses certainly aren't going to be done in an hour or less because this is Major HMO we're talking about. The contacts will arrive in a week or two.

I don't so much have a problem with the weird, thick contact lenses, or the bifocals, sorry, "progressives," themselves. I mean, at least my vision can be corrected, right? What I have a problem with is getting old. I mean, if my vision is like this at 41, will I really be blind at 70?

"You're going to need glasses, too, if you have my eyes," I told A.

"I don't have your eyes," he scoffed, while rolling said eyes. "I have my own." Good thing, too.

You'll never believe what happened tonight.

Ben was complaining, yelling, having all sorts of tantrums in his crib because he didn't want to go to bed. This is not unusual. I was reading to A. in the next room and we have both gotten pretty good at ignoring Ben's screams. When I was done I went into Ben's room and said to him, "What can I do for you?"

"Nooo! Waaaaaah! Get up!"

"No. Time for night-night."

"Noooooo! Get up!"

I picked up his monkey blanket (a whole post in itself), said, "Night-night, monkey." Then I asked the monkey, "Monkey, is it time for night-night?"

Monkey, being smart and totally in my control, nodded yes. He also said, in a high-pitched monkey voice, "Benjamin! Please go night-night with me!"

Then I did the same with lion blanket. Lion also nodded affirmatively when asked if it was time for night-night and added, "Ben! I need you to lie down with me! Oh, please lie down with me!"

Ben stopped screaming, grabbed Lion and lay down. I didn't hear another peep out of him. He's asleep now.

I realize this trick will never work again, but I can't believe it even worked once.

My idea of a fun evening on the couch: searching for stupid MySpace comics to put on friend's pages.

G's idea of a fun evening on the couch (OK, his third choice*): "Hey! Did you read about the 9-part PBS series on Al Qaeda and terrorism? Where's the remote?"

*Second choice was looking at SunRiver vacation sites to spend a week with his family. I'm not telling you what his first choice is.

Cul-chuh

Gotta love the cultural component of Montessori. A. recently wrote his very first sentence. They pick a picture out of a pile of magazine clippings and write a sentence about what's going on in the picture.

A. picked this picture:



And here's his sentence, "The men are wting to ply bingo":


Now is that a first sentence or is that a first sentence? Screw Dick and Jane. Let's talk about loiterers.

More A. and B. Stories

A, (seeing a no-smoking sign in the store): Look! No Pencils Allowed!

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A. has started a paperclip collection. He has six. He scours the house, looking carefully in all corners. "Wow, it sure is tough work to spot paperclips!"
G: "But so worth it!"
A: "Yeah, you have to look very carefully for something shiny and shaped like a paperclip."

After he ran a "race" G gave him not one, but TWO paperclips as a prize. He was ecstatic.

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He also, inexplicably, galloped around the house the other day yelling, "Bareback Mountain!" but couldn't tell us where he'd heard it.

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Whenever we correct Ben or say "No!" to him, he immediately counters with a very sad face and a plaintive "My finger hurts!" We kiss it, figuring he's either looking for affection or trying to change the subject. It just occured to me that he might have misunderstood something about someone getting their feelings hurt and thought instead that their finger got hurt.

Real Moms

Our favorite Boobless Brigade Mistress tagged me with the "Real Moms..." meme. Unlike listing my shoe size and the last song I listened to, this one actually requires writing a post. Pssshhh. Girl knows I can't say "no" to her and is exploiting it, if you ask me.

So my first thought was "Real Moms are afraid," because I'd been meaning to write about how terrifying motherhood is. But if you look back at the blogger that tagged BBM, Lizard Eater, you see that has already been done, better than I could have, certainly.

So. "Real Moms are saggy." Yeah, but not much to write about that.

"Real Moms are tired." Yeah, but again, sort of self-explanatory.

I keep coming back to "Real Moms are afraid." I mean, besides the love I feel for my boys, I don't know any other emotion I've felt for them as strongly as fear. It's wound so tightly around my heart that it feels indistinguishable from the love. The more I love them, the more terrified I am of losing them. In this whole "Let's Be Honest About Motherhood and Write Books and TV Shows About How Crazy It Is" atmosphere, I wish someone would be honest about being crazy-terrified about losing their kids.

And I do mean crazy. For a reasonably logical person, I've become awfully superstitious about this. Every night I pray. I've always said a prayer asking for blessings for all the people I love (when I was a child, I used to name everyone, until I shortened it by referring to "my list of usuals") and thanking Him for good things. Now, every night I say Thank You for my beautiful boys, for their health, for their wit and intelligence and sweetness. I know how lucky I am.

But the prayer also holds a tinge of bargaining, just in case G_d is up there saying, "Now, whose kids am I going to take today?" he won't look at me because I really do appreciate them. I must - I say Thank You for them every night, don't I? No lessons need to be learned here, thanks.

Then I feel awful because I have friends and relatives who have lost children who were no less appreciative or loving of their kids than I am. Of course I don't really believe that losing one's child is some sort of horrible life lesson. It's a completely base, ridiculous impulse. Like the impulse that led me, shortly after both A. and Ben's births, to search out websites about infant loss. See G_d? Look how unafraid I am, how willing I am to face other people's pain! See? You don't need to make me go through it! Just skip over me, thanks!

I'm more afraid for Ben than I am for A. I tell myself that it's because he almost died at birth because that's logical. Thank goodness I've never been prescient, because if I had ever accidentally predicted something like who was on the other end of a phone call, I'd think my fear for him is an omen. As it is now, if he's fussing in his bed and stops, I have to go make sure he's still breathing. There's something about the brightness of his smile and his sweet little laugh that is so beautiful, I'm afraid it will burn out.

I remember hesitantly mentioning to a mother in my mom's group that sometimes I was overwhelmed by visions of something happening to one of them. She agreed, and, hopeful that I wasn't alone in this anxiety, I ventured further, "I think about it at least once a day." She frowned and said, "No, it doesn't hit me that often." Oh, OK, so it IS just me, then.

Ironically, I'm not super-over-protective. I don't panic at bumps and bruises, I let them climb stuff and ride their bikes in our cul-de-sac. I know I can do some things to protect him, but on a larger scale, I am not in control. And I know that so clearly as I'm falling asleep (no wonder I get insomnia). I start out politely praying that I'll get to see both boys grow up, and before I know it I'm silently roaring to G_d "YOU CAN'T HAVE THEM!" with my eyes flashing and my teeth bared.

I think lots of parents are able to shake the fear back to some dark crevice where I guess it stays quiet or maybe they can ignore it. For whatever reason, mine is quite active especially at night as I'm falling asleep. Then in the daytime it's a bit quieter. I'm reluctant to let it get too quiet, though. At the very least, it keeps me grateful.

My senses real: the sweet, greasy, aromatic funnel cake calls to me.

Today's title comes to us courtesy of my Spam folder. It was one of the more poetic entries.

Yesterday I think someone was trying to tell me something. We dropped A. off at school, then drove down the street to the bank. There is only one bank branch in town with a drive-through ATM, which I love because I don't have to take Ben out of the car seat. But a branch from a tree had fallen and the drive-through was blocked off. Fine, my account has enough padding that I can put the deposit off until another day.

We drive on down the street on our way to the lake where Ipower-walk most mornings with Ben in the jogging stroller. The freeway on-ramp was closed due to construction. There really isn't an easier way to get there, so I double back and go home, figuring I'll do an exercise video later.

We get home and I remembered that I was out of contact lenses. Actually, I had plenty of lenses for my left eye - I was only out of the lenses for my right eye. Guess they tear more easily, I don't know. I tried to order them ala 1-800-Contacts, and it didn't work - my brand was discontinued. OK. I called the number they gave, 1-800-288-2288 (yep, I figured out afterward that this special customer number was, in fact, 1-800-contact). Oh, gee, they'd be happy to call my eye doctor and find something else that would work. I hold....Gee, I'm sorry but they won't verify anything because you haven't been in for 5 years.

Really? Has it been that long? Gee. No wonder I can't see anything. No way I can get contacts without a new prescription. I'm fine with getting a new prescription - but I can't get an appointment until April 19th and the sun is shining and it's blinding me and I don't have prescription sunglasses, and believe me, no one wants me doing anything without corrective lenses.

All avenues were blocked, in all directions. I decided the universe was telling me to lie down and take a nap, so I did.

Update because I know you're concerned: I did get my old eye doctor to give me a trial pair of some new lenses, but I had to go pick them up 40 miles away. Small price to pay for the ability to wear sunglasses while driving. And there's a good frozen yogurt place out there. And a good park for the munchkins where they could play in a fountain. I guess everything's back to normal.

I really, really planned to blog today. But a horrendous migraine has sidelined me since 4am. My pills work but it keeps coming back. So I'll leave you for now with this fun site.

Two Shorts

Today in the car, A. said, in a sing-song voice, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" I'd never heard him use this phrase before.

Me: I don't know. What are you thinking?

A: Greeeeen Jellllo!

Me: No. I'm afraid not, buddy.

(silence)


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In the party store today, Ben found some Spiderman napkins. He picked them up and then put them back on the shelf, yelling:

'"Piderman! 'Piderman! Not today! Not today! 'Piderman! Not today!"

Love it when he does my work for me.

• Everyone says when they see my cute little kids, "Enjoy this time - they grow up so fast." Well. Come to my house and tell me that when it's 9:30pm and Ben is still awake and in his crib screaming for a cheese stick. Last night, he didn't fall asleep until almost 11pm. He's insane. I tried to go to bed around 10:30pm but he was singing at the top of his lungs, so I came out and informed G. that our 2-year-old is bipolar and currently in a manic phase. Day before that, he was up and ready to start his day at 4:30 am. There's a time and a place where drugging children is appropriate, and I believe that time is coming and the place will be our house.
  
• It takes a lot to gross me out. I also thought dermatology was sort of an "easy" way to be a doctor. I mean, it's not brain surgery, right? I didn't realize just how gross dermatology could be until I googled the particular kind of cyst I have on my chest that's soon to be removed. Yuck.
  
• Yep, Fussy Boy Ben turned two a week ago. I didn't blog about it because we really didn't do anything. I made some star-shaped angel food cupcakes, put a bunch of them on a plate, lit some candles, sang "happy birthday" and that was pretty much it. We sang "Happy Birthday" a couple of times because Ben kept demanding "Again! Again!" and you know, it was his birthday. Then he took each cupcake and took a bite out of each one in turn. Way to celebrate, buddy.
  
• We saw "Jersey Boys" in SF a week ago and I am obsessed. It was fantastic. I expected to enjoy it like "Mamma Mia," you know, a little nostalgia and a little dancing. I didn't expect to get emotionally involved with the characters. It took us forever to get out of the theater because we were way up high in the balcony and as we were leaving, we saw the actor who played Tommy DeVito. He was soooooo good. Ben Fong-Torres wrote a thing about why "Jersey Boys" worked on such a different level than other nostalgia musicals - you believed you'd just seen four struggling singers, not four actors.
  
• Seriously, if it's coming to your city, see it. The tour company is amazing. I'm trying to figure out how I can see it again before it leaves for LA.
• Once again, we have a post in all green. Well, Happy St. Patrick's Day.
  

I Love This Blinkie

Pretty much sums every Irish song you've ever heard, doesn't it?

Reasons to Have a Third Child

1. I always thought I'd have three kids
2. I'd like to get one more chance to actually experience birth
3. I'm one of three, and I like having two siblings
4. Babies are nice and snuggly
5. I'd like to breastfeed again
6. Might be nice to have a girl
7. I'd like to have an adult daughter someday
8. We make cute kids
9. I like being a mother

Reasons to Not Have a Third Child

1. Dear God, I like my sleep
2. That first year is not my favorite time
3. I'm old
4. And creaky
5. Chances of birth defects are higher
6. Putting two kids through college is going to be impossible already
7. Having three kids under the age of 5 could push me over the edge
8. Less attention to give to the other two
9. It's just starting to get easier with the other two

It's a Pretty Good Day

So today the first issue of Digital Scrapbooking came in the mail. I leafed through it, looking for my layout, and just as I was thinking they'd left it out, I found it on the next-to-last page. It got a full page all to itself! I have no idea if that's impressive in the magazine world but I'm pretty impressed.


Me: Look, A! It's you! In a magazine! Isn't that exciting?

A: Yeah, a little bit. But what's more exciting is you giving me money.

I Feel the Earth Move

We just had a small earthquake here, 4.2, centered about 20 miles away. For those non-Californians in the readership, the first thing you do when you think you feel shaking is to freeze. Is this a quick little rumble, or is it a precursor to a big shake? Did I imagine that? No, the lampshade is shaking, so it wasn't just me. Do I need to move to safety? Do I need to go grab the kids?

The shaking stopped, so I walked over the to the TV and turned it down. ?????

After-Nap Snuggles

For his whole first year, Ben was really stiff. He had to be folded into his car seat, and never put his head on our shoulders. After he loosened up, though, he discovered snuggling and is now a master snuggler, especially right after his nap. I keep telling G. that I want him to take photos of Ben snuggling with me, but he's never really around when it happens, so today I asked A. to get the camera and he actually took these photos of us. Pretty good, huh?




















credits can be seen here

Gung Hay Fat Choy

A. had a Chinese New Year's Parade at his preschool yesterday. I didn't get to see it, but G. took videos of the whole event for me. A. took the command to make a lot of noise and yell, "Gung hay fat choy!" very seriously. Here he's holding his noisemaker and stomping his feet. He was the loudest yeller, too. We are very proud.













Above you see the problem with having preschoolers operate a Chinese Dragon. The head keeps forgetting the body. And they can't see anything. But it was a noble effort.

Belated Oscar Thoughts

I noticed a lot of ears this year. I suppose they've always been there, but they seemed bigger this year. First it was Michael Arndt's Spock ears (sorry, I'm sure you're a really nice guy but you've got Dr. Spock ears)...then Will Smith presented soon after and I had never noticed how big his ears are. It was amazing. I think I've just always seen side shots before.

And the lovely Anne Hathaway: The See's Candy Lady Dresses Up. (I couldn't find a pic of an actual See's lady, so the famous See's Barbie will have to do).


















I actually know one of the nominees. Back in the late 80's, I shared an apartment with a graduate student in mechanical engineering. We shared the Loma Prieta earthquake, an Erasure concert, and lots of movies. She bought me blue-stemmed wine glasses to replace the ones I had from my mom that fell out of the cabinet and shattered in the earthquake. She wrote short stories at the time, and let me read some of them. Now she's been nominated for best original screenplay. How cool is that? Every time the camera went to someone in the audience, I peered at all the people behind him/her to see if I could see her. I think I did, but I could be wrong. Anyway, congratulations, Iris. You deserve every moment. And the gift bag.

But Wait, There's More...

G. was getting all snuggly one night, and then he found the TTFTE classic short story, "A Crack in the Track" stuck under the pillow. He said in his huskiest voice, "I wanted to read you some passages from "A Crack in the Track"...

Which started me thinking about other kids' books that could double as erotic novels/porn. The best I came up with was "There's a Wocket in my Pocket."

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A. is stealing money. He doesn't think of it as stealing, of course, he thinks of it as going on a "money hunt," where any change he finds is rightfully his. There's some good English blood in that boy. Sometimes he even draws a treasure map.

Anyway, I think he knows that the money isn't really his, or wasn't to begin with, so he makes stuff up. Every night he wants to count the money in his teddy bear bank, and he tells whichever parent is with him that the other parent gave that day's take to him for helping Ben. He told G, "Mama gave me this money for doing chores. And I helped out Ben." Riiiiight. G. told me about it that night and I replied, "Since when does he do chores? Or help Ben?"

So I was prepared the next night when he told me, "Papa gave me this money for giving Ben a drink." I said, "Gee, we don't usually give you money for handing a drink to Ben. Are you sure that's what happened?" He stuck to his story, and we're actually not entirely sure where he's getting the money. I think he's now up to $1.80, which he says he'll hold on to until he's older.

I think if it's on the floor, it's fair game, but he shouldn't be lying about it. On the other hand, I think we've found a real motivator to get him to use the bathroom instead of his pull-up at night.

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Have I told you all about the "I Spy" game? We basically play memory with the I Spy cards. It's not easy - there are 25 matches and they're different photos with the same object - in the photo, that's a match because both cards show the clown. A. wipes the floor with both me and G. Occasionally, if he's really off his game, we'll win, but seriously, the kid is scary good.

Anthropomorphism

You know you're supposed to ask the computer, via that little symbol with the arrow in the task bar, if it's OK to remove peripherals? Everytime I ask my laptop if it's OK to remove the external hard drive, it says "Drive: Generic Volume cannot be stopped right now. Try again later."

And each time, I unplug it anyway, and have this feeling that I'm showing the computer who's boss. Like it's going to be impressed and realize who's really in control. Or, that I'm not it's bitch, dawg, depending on your generation.

I have about 5 half-written blog posts in my head. They usually come to me while I am driving or falling asleep, which are not the best times to write them down. At some point in the next few days, I will have a blog-o-palooza and get them all out of my head, where they are taking up valuable brain space.

I read this as "Hugh Hefner Escapes, Leads Police on 5-hour Chase." Imagine my disappointment.

Music

A few years ago, when I decided to stop living beyond my means, I discovered the library. What a place! They'll let you take books home, for free, and read them! And all they ask is that you bring it back. Who knew?

They also have CDs - I currently have 2 Diana Krall, 1 Frank Sinatra and 1 Dean Martin in rotation. On Valentine's Day G turned on the CD player in our room to set the mood. "Really? Lullabies?" I asked. He shrugged. Fortunately I had one of the Diana Kralls nearby.

G is hopeless when it comes to music. It's odd, because he has a good ear for it. We were remembering old TV shows and I brought up the "Bob Newhart Show," G immediately started humming the theme song, and in my mind's eye there was Bob, walking through Chicago with his briefcase. He can also hum, on demand, almost any commercial theme you can think of, like the DeBeers diamond music. It's weird.

He's liked the music I've introduced him to well enough, but it's just not that important to him. He also doesn't read fiction, which to me is the weirdest thing EVER. He'll read professional psychology books sometimes and he brought the Windows manual on a camping trip once, but I've never seen him buy a book just to enjoy it. How I ended up with a guy who doesn't read I'll never know. But that's Love. He also doesn't surf the web.

Anyway, when I met him, he had about 10 CDs to his name, and 3 of them were by Yanni. One was John Tesh. Another was Jon Secada. Poor guy. And here comes me with over 500 CDs of pretty much every genre, knowing the lyrics on pretty much all of them. Needless to say, I picked out all the music for our wedding.

Today he went to Borders to look for a book (a professional book), and actually bought a music CD. I don't know that he's bought a CD for himself since I've known him (11 years this month). He brought home this one: Frank Sinatra. Which really surprised me. Turns out it was playing while he was browsing and he asked what was playing. It was actually a really romantic move for him, I thought. Very unusual. Way to shake things up. It's a great CD. And we don't have to give it back in 2 weeks.

During dinner, I was singing along with "It's Almost Like Being in Love," and he said, "You really know the words to these songs?"

I stared at him. "Don't you?"

"Well, I've heard them before, but I don't know them."

"Guess it's all the Lawrence Welk I watched growing up."

His grandma watched LW too, but I guess it didn't stick. He can't figure out, however, why I can't remember numbers. Why I tell people who ask that our jogging stroller was $200 when it was actually $300. I really can't keep numbers in my head and he'll look at me like I'm crazy. And all I have to say to that is, "Dude. Before you met me all you knew was Yanni."

On a completely unrelated note: Diet Coke with Splenda. Blegh. I was forced to buy a case when they were out of my Caff-free Diet Coke. It was Not Good. And I'm not all that picky when it comes to my diet colas. So be forewarned.

A. and Ben were running around the house with sand toys, saying they were catching butterflies. Awww. Then A said,

A: Yeah! We're catching butterflies to cook and eat for dinner!

Me: Oh...I'm not sure I know how to cook butterflies.

A: It's easy. You put them in a pan, put some roast beef on top and cook it for 15 hours.

Well. OK then. I think I'll still take charge of dinner, OK?

Later, playing "Jungle," in which he hides in a bush outside, and I watch the leaves move and wonder what animal could be hiding in the bush; then he pops up, announces what animal he is and we have a conversation:

A: I'm a tiger!

Me: Oh dear, I'm a little scared of tigers.

A: Well, tigers are scared of moms, dads, boys and babies but they're not scared of humans.

Me: Oh, OK. Tiger, you don't have to be afraid of me, even though I'm a mom. I won't hurt you. But watch out for the red-headed boy around here.

A: Well, A and Benjamin are already my friends. They give me food.

Me: Really? What kind of food?

A: Carrots. And skunks. And rocks.

Me: Rocks? Are you sure you can eat rocks?

A: Yes, I have very sharp teeth and I take the rock and I just crunch it like that! And then it comes out my front.

Me: And skunks too?

A: Yes, I plunge the tail and then it doesn't smell anymore.

Me: You plunge the tail? Into what?

A: (looking a little uncertain) I plunge it into the smell. Goodbye! (ducks back into the bush)

He was also a zebra who ate lions, a turtle who ate hippos (maybe I should have given him a bigger lunch because eating to be on his mind), and a giraffe who hid behind mountains when it rained.

Since A. is such a big fan of paperwork, he always has papers to bring home when I pick him up. After getting his "paperwork" out of his drawer*, zipping up his jacket, buckling him and Ben into their respective carseats, all of which I can do in my sleep now, he said, "Mama, did you get my money?"

Me: "Your money? What money?"

A: "The money I bringed for show and tell."

Me: "No, I didn't know you brought money for show and tell. Was it in your drawer?"

A. (heavy sigh and eye-rolling): "No, it was in the show-and-tell basket."

Me: "I didn't know you brought money to school, so how could I have known to get it?"

A: "Well, I didn't tell you because I wanted it to be a surprise."

Me: Long discourse on how if it was a surprise, that means I didn't know about it, which means I wouldn't have known to pick it up out of the basket, and they don't even have show and tell, they have "bring something that begins with the sound of the week" and this week's sound is "L" so what was he doing bringing money anyway?**

A: (silence, of course, because what are you going to say to all of that?)

Me: Well, what did you tell everyone about the money?

A: That I got it off your desk.

Excellent. So many different directions to go with this one.

• You know you're not supposed to take money off my desk.
• If you want money, tell me and I'll probably give you some.
• This week's sound is L. What sound does "money" start with?
• What did the teacher say when you showed her the money?
• What color were the coins (I don't leave paper money on my desk - I'm not that stupid)? Silver and big or brown and smaller?
  

But he's a smart cookie. He changed the subject and started asking me questions like, "What do whales drink?" (I don't know, Sex on the Beaches?) and "Why don't fountains get flooded?" and "Why do we have crabs?"*** and "Why do we have astronauts?"

He's only four now, which scares me. I have a PhD****, but I don't think I can keep up with him.


*How many connect-the-dot snowmen can one kid do? So far we're up to 12, I think. God forgive me, I'm throwing most of them away.

**Sometimes I imagine what my kids are going to tell their future therapist. "My mom...she was always really logical but she didn't really make a lot of sense most of the time. I don't think she really heard me."

***The kind that live in the ocean, smart asses. Why DO we have crabs?

****Having a PhD means you took lots of precious time out of your life and put up with a ridiculous amount of B.S., not that you're smart. I still call myself "Dr." on my office voicemail, though, damnit. I earned it.

Today's PSA

While looking for a local Music Together workshop for Ben and I, I came across the story of Harrison, a local 2-year-old fighting leukemia. He needs a bone marrow transplant to survive, and his parents and older brother are not matches. He most likely will need a donor of mixed Asian/Caucasian race. I'm not Asian, but it is a good reminder to get sampled so I can be part of the world registry.

Getting Ready for V-Day

A. is a true romantic at heart. He has been unbelievably focused on making valentines this week. I really thought he'd make three or four and then get bored, and it never occured to me that he would make a handmade valentine for everyone in his class, let alone our family and friends, but he can't stop. In fact, he got so into it last night that he didn't stop to go potty until it was too late. Good thing it was bath night.

He could not be prouder of his valentines. He knows which one goes to which person, and, a true gentlemen, made hearts for all the girls first. Since we took this picture, he's probably made 5-6 more. I bought a kit of 30, and it looks like I might have to get more.

When G. has to buy me a present for some holiday, say, Valentine's Day, he tends to take the boys to the local drugstore and let them pick out whatever they want (as long as it's under $10). That's how I got Softsoap in a jungle animal pump bottle for Mother's Day last year.

I came home from work last night and A. told me, "We bought you a Valentine's Day present, Mama!"

Me: "Oh yeah? What was it?"

A: "Well, we got you a lipstick!"

Me: "Oh yeah?"

A: "Yeah! And it's a color you don't have!"

Yay! I know G. wouldn't buy me a lipstick without my input, but he'd let A. pick one out, I'm pretty sure. I wondered what I'd do when A. wanted me to wear this lipstick, which was likely to be an blue-ish orange.

Me: "So, what color is it?"

A.: "Lemon!"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

and, for Sarah, as requested, the boys frolicking in the new bed:

Geez, I'm a lousy poster this month. Sorry. This whole exercise-an-hour-a-day thing is seriously cutting into my sitting-on-my-ass time.

And trying to fit in the exercise and figure out what to eat is cutting into valuable brain space that I usually use to file away humorous anecdotes and pithy opinions.

I'm glad I live in CA right now. Ben and I walk every day after dropping A. off at school, well, he rides and I walk, and it's much more pleasant to do it in the sunshine. A newspaper headline last week, during a brief drizzle, exclaimed, "Finally! A break from all this sun!" Now there's a headline you won't see in Portland.

We're also currently occupied with finding a kindergarten for A. The public schools right by us are awful, the worst in a state that is one of the worst in the nation. There's a kindergarten in the Montessori school he attends now, but G. was appalled to find out it was an all-day program. I, on the other hand, do not have a problem with that. So we went to two Catholic school open houses this past Sunday, only to find out that they are all-day programs as well. The three programs are fine. It's just a matter of deciding between them.

He's used to Montessori and really likes it, but the classrooms always seem sort of dry and colorless to me. I mean, compared to other kindergartens that have kid's crafts hanging from every ceiling tile. Maybe that's my issue because A. doesn't seem to mind. On Saturdays he says, "Is this a weekend? I don't have to go to school? Awww. Because I love paperwork."

In-Box Irony

International Internet-Free Day

Posted: 27 Jan 2007 04:30 PM CST

Today is International Internet-Free Day! “Do you check your inbox every five minutes? Do you lose track of time surfing the online shops? Have you e-mailed a colleague at a desk next to you? Do you podcast your daily thoughts, rather than call your mother? Fear not: hope is at hand.

Visit Kiddley for more!

How to Write a Letter, By A.

1. Tell your mom, "I want to write a letter with my flashing Lightning McQueen pen."

2. Sit down at the table in front of the blank card your mom gives you. Look condescendingly at Mom when she offers to help you write it. Say, "I don't need help. I will tell my guardian angel what I want to say and my guardian angel will tell me what letters to write."

3. When your guardian angel remains strangely silent, tell your mom to grab a pen and paper and write down what you say. Tell her you'll copy the letters onto your card when she's done.

4. Talk as fast as you can.

5. Roll your eyes when your mom can't keep up. Geez - and she's supposed to be a grown-up?

6. Start copying all the letters. Boy, there are a lot of them. Did you really say that much? Get through, "Dear Auntie Sha" and decide you've had enough.

7. Cover card with Christmas stickers because they happen to be nearby.

8. Give to mom and tell her it needs to be sent immediately.

Tonight, A. was telling his grandmother about his calendar that helps him "know what week it is." Then, completely randomly, he asked her, "Have you ever seen two 51-year-olds on top of each other?" I don't know how she answered.

In completely unrelated news, we went to Lowe's to look at bathroom tile, and I decided that I don't like home decorating. I feel like I should, since everyone else seems to. love the result (usually), and I really appreciate a well-appointed room, but I hate the process. If we were to build a custom house, I would probably end up gouging my eyes out just to stop having to look at swatches and tiles and samples. I get bored watching the home renovation shows on HGTV. I do watch Extreme Home Makeover, but I'm much more interested in the people's stories and am happy to watch just the reveal. That would actually be a perfect setup for me....send me to Hawaii or Disneyland and have it done when I come back.

Spittin' Image

I need a better picture of myself. Apparently, with no makeup and all grungy, I look like Jared Padalecki.

Brain Drain

• Every time I read something on the debate over whether or not lethal injection is a humane way to execute someone, a big "Unclear on the Concept" sign lights up in my head. We're killing them, right? To make sure we're doing it "humanely" seems a little, I don't know, disingenuous.

• On those Nasonex commercials, the bumblebee has what sounds like a Mexican accent. Why?

• I swore I wouldn't join the Grey's Anatomy cult and here I am, totally into it*. It made me cry last night, and it never makes me cry. Don't like Meredith, though. Got a total girl-crush on Sara Ramirez.

• I did over 1,000 dumbbell squats today. Yes I did. It was part of the challenge I signed up for. I'm regretting telling A. that we'd drive to the museum tomorrow because I'm not at all sure I'll be able to walk, let alone get in and out of the car.

• Ben is getting very bossy. "Sit Here!" "Go Dat Way!" "Cawee Me!" He even yells at me to "Drive!" if the car is stopped at a red light.

• "Mama, I like you and Papa very much," A. told me while we snuggled in bed yesterday morning. Awwwwww.

• Why is all this type in green?

• *I'd say "drinking the kool-aid" but I read an article written by a survivor of Jonestown who described the horror he feels every time he hears that phrase. That never occurred to me, but I never really thought about what it would be like to survive such an event.

I'm Here, I'm Here

Sorry for the long pause.

Went to Seascape last weekend with the Sisters, the Nieces and Sister's sisters-in-law et. al. for a celebration of Big Sister's birthday. It was cold, beautifully clear, and filled with various 'tinis. Check out this dessert platter:



This was after a melt-in-your-mouth filet mignon with gorgonzola sauce. Damn. There was more to the weekend than food and drink, but the food and drink were pretty darn good.





In other news, I've been busy uploading all my food and exercise to Sparkpeople.com and trying to figure out when I can exercise. I joined a Biggest Loser challenge on my digi scrapping board (that started after the weekend, fortunately), and it's not really all that blog worthy.

Cute things: Ben is calling the Alphabet Pal "Apple-bit! Apple-bit!" So of course I can't say "alphabet," I have to say "apple-bit" now.

I've gotta start taking notes. I know there's other cute or weird stuff I've thought about, but I can't remember it right now.

Ben continues to request the morning paper with his breakfast. A few minutes after I took this picture, he requested coffee.

I'm not kidding.

And Then We Shoot 'Em

As mentioned previously, A. has been telling some tall tales. We’re working on the difference between the truth and stories, and I’m not sure he gets it. I was at a DoReMi and You party this morning while he hung out in the super-cool playroom upstairs. One of the mothers came down and told me that A. had had a full conversation with her about his school, our “cool” house and our backyard. I smiled and nodded, wondering what he’d told her, but it wasn’t the right time to ask.

So we were getting into the car and I said casually, “So Bree told me you told her all about school?”

A: “Yeah, I did.”

Me: “Did you tell her the truth, or did you tell her stories you made up?”

A: “Weeeelll, mumble mumble mumble. But right now I need to take a nap.”

I find naps to be the perfect escape, too.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

We were talking about hands and how they get bigger when you grow up. A. said, “Mama, when I grow up….”

I thought he was going to say, “My hands will be bigger than yours.” That would’ve made sense.

Instead, he came out with, “….you’re going to get shot.”

Huh? I think he’s trying to figure out how people die, and he knows people die from getting shot. I told him (when he asked me when I was going to die) that I hoped I would die when I was really, really old, so I think he has this idea that we take all our old people out and shoot them.

He said something similar to G., who reminded him, “Grandma and Grandpa are old and they haven’t gotten shot.”

Language Skills

Ben, over oatmeal: I wan' read paper! I wan' read paper!

Me: You want to read the paper? The newspaper?

Ben: Yeah!

Me: OK, how 'bout you look over the business section? (set it in front of him)

Ben: Yeah! (studies it intently)



Few minutes later:

Me: When you're done, it's time to go night-night.

Ben. No. I go night-night right here. (proceeds to demonstrate)


Ben: Take picture A! Take picture A! (once I brought the camera out, he wanted me to take a picture of A.)

Me: How 'bout you try not being so controlling? Hmm?

Ben: Yeah. :::pause::: Mama! How 'bout take picture A!

Ya Think?

We have a new dentist. I told him the first time I saw him that I was hard to numb. I've always been told this by past dentists, and notes have been made on my permanent record. Some dentists seemed to take my lack of numbness as a personal affront, like I was doing it on purpose. Anyway, I don't know why I'm hard to numb, it's just another thing that makes me quirkily charming.

So he "deep cleaned"(yes, just like carpets) three parts of my mouth last year. No problems - I numbed up just fine, listened to my iPod and thought, "Why am I so afraid of the dentist? This is a piece of cake." We postponed the left bottom row until today, and planned to do a filling replacement. No big deal.

If I ever again have any dental work on the bottom left molar, remind me that that particular tooth never completely numbs and it should only be touched if I am completely under.

One dentist (probably the last time this tooth was worked on) told me that he couldn't give me any more Novocain and if the last shot didn't work, I'd have to get a general. I only remembered that after this new guy had given me six shots of Novocain and my tongue wasn't numb yet. "That's weird, the tongue is usually the first to get numb," he kept saying, like I'd have an explanation for him. "Sorry," I said.

Meanwhile, my lip was drooping down to my chin because it was about 5 times its normal size. Or felt like that, anyway. (Yes, it's 6 hours later and I'm still drooling. The lip numbs just fine, thanks).

He shrugged, started drilling and I leaped out of the chair and through the ceiling.

"Now I remember," I told him. "Last time I got a filling in this tooth it never got completely numb. I just had to soldier through."

Soldier through? Right after I said it, I thought, "Where did I come up with that?" And I tried to distract myself by coming up with another way to say the same idea, and I couldn't think of anything. Bite the bullet? What am I, a WWII fighter pilot?

Anyway, I had to grip my shirt with both fists, clench my eyes shut and soldier through him doing his best Sir Lawrence Olivier impression by drilling directly on my tooth nerve. It was a little numb, but it still hurt. And you know how when the dentist starts drilling and you're afraid you're not numb yet and you're waiting for that stabbing pain? I kept anticipating it getting worse and sending me through the ceiling again, so I was a little tense.

As I unclenched every muscle of my body and staggered out of the office, a light bulb went on over his head and he said, "Hey! Maybe that's why you have a phobia of dentists!"

Ramblin'

I've been sort of fascinated with the Compact since I read about it. Essentially a group of people pledge not to buy anything new for a year, except things like groceries, toilet paper and essentials that can't be bought used. Otherwise, they barter, trade or substitute with what they already have.

I had a significant amount of credit card debt from my grad school days, and it's finally almost paid off. Actually, it is paid off, but I'm still working on the plane tickets to AZ. When that's paid off, I'll be totally out of debt. I was stupid about money in my 20's, and I'm determined not to make the same mistake again. Unfortunately, it goes against my nature, which is to roam Target aisles aimlessly looking for bargains on stuff I like but don't need.

I think it's a really good idea to think about what we need versus what we want. Don't get me wrong - I love stuff. I love new stuff. Cute stuff. Pretty stuff. But the problem with liking shopping is that the glow from the new stuff wears off and you have to go out and get more new stuff. A columnist I like once said something like, "Luxury is always one step above what you're used to." I remember that often because it means that you'll get the same pleasure from 300-count sheets if you're used to cheaper sheets as someone who's used to 300-count sheets would get from 500-count. You know? I try to keep my life simple so I'll really appreciate the more indulgent things. Starbucks is indulgent. My iPod is super indulgent and I'm so grateful for it. Dinner out is really indulgent. We had dinner at the Elephant Bar on New Year's Day and I'm still enjoying it (and I don't mean that in the indigestion-kind of way). Getting cable in a hotel room is indulgent.

In my quest this year to reduce my consumption, I joined the Yahoo Group for the Compact. I'm going to un-join it pretty quickly here, because there has been about 400 posts TODAY. Just today. They're debating WalMart & capitalism, dryer sheet toxicity, and shampoo made from baking soda. Where do these people find the time? I'm searching for hedonism and pleasure among reduced consumption. As A., quoting Jack Johnson, says, "Reduce, reuse, recycle."

You know, ideally, I'd save enough money to pay for services instead of goods. Like a housecleaner. That'd be a fine goal.

Pat Could Ask G_d to Make Ben Take a Nap

If Pat Robertson has such a direct connection with the Big Guy, why doesn't he ask him to BE A LITTLE MORE SPECIFIC??? That'd really help a lot. Thanks.

Ben is not 2 years old yet and wants to give up his nap. Everything I've read says he needs a nap. Also, since our travels he's gotten out of his usual sleep routine and wants us to rock him to sleep every night. I've gradually been working that from rocking to patting, from patting to standing near the crib, etc. Now I can stand in the doorway while he's falling asleep, but I have to stay there. Any slight move on my part will make him scream. If he just complained for 5-10 minutes, I'd be fine with it, but he doesn't. He gets hysterical for up to an hour (I've tried it). Really, really hysterical. And when I go in there, he's sweaty, red, tear-streaked and it breaks my heart. Once he even threw up. But this is ridiculous. When I'm by myself because G is working late, I can't stand in his doorway all night - I have to get A. to bed, too. It sucks.

But he is a true charmer. Here I quickly caught a photo of him complaining about nap time:

But once he saw the camera, he was all smiles:


Kid LOVES having his picture taken. He'll even say: "Take picture Benj-min. Take picture Benj-min." He's one of those kids with whom it's really, really hard to stay mad.

So Perhaps Knitting Isn't for Me

I'm trying, I'm really trying. Some of my favorite bloggers are knitters, and I'm really trying to get into it. After seeing these sweaters at Squeaky Weasels I got all remotivated. I mean, LOOK at that second one. That first sweater looks totally like something I would wear, but the second one I would have to hang on my wall and admire it. I wouldn't wear it because I'd get my fingers all caught up in those holes and rip out the darn thing the first day, but damn! Isn't it beautiful?

Anyway, I'm having a hard time with the knitting. I watched some knitting how-tos on the 'net, and did manage to cast this thing on myself. Until then, my MIL had to do it for me, but you know, she's in another state so that's not really very convenient. I don't get the pleasure of it. How do you keep those needles moving so fast? I either have to work the thing in to the loop with butter because it's so tight, or it's way too loose. On the plus side, I think I may have invented some new stitches.

Is It 2007 Already?

I love New Year's. I love fresh starts, goal planning, office supplies and all that stuff. I think I would make a great coach if I were more organized. I know lots of people hate resolutions, but I like the idea of always working toward improvement, as long as you're not thinking life will suddenly begin once your goals are met.

All the big goals I once wrote down on a piece of paper have been reached. I finished my dissertation, I got married and had kids, I own a house. I am much more in control of my spending, and the credit card debt I racked up in grad school is almost completely gone. We've cut our expenses so that I am able to work part-time while the kids are little (it's a good thing our kids are brilliant and will be earning full scholarships for college to become doctors and will also be supporting us in our old age, though).

I eat more whole grains, less sugar, and I cook more. I pay all my bills well before they're due. I play with the kids every day. I have an iPod.

So before I think about what needs to be improved, I want to give myself a big pat on the back for all these changes. (Not that I had anything to do with the iPod, except be fortunate with my choice of sisters and husband).

OK, so now, as I look back to last year, I see that I wrote "I need...more energy and organization." What a coincidence! That's exactly what I was thinking I was going to focus on THIS year!

Hah. So, my goals essentially are to have more energy through exercise and nutrition, and to streamline my routines to save time and energy. To that end, here are my smaller goals:

Personal

Keep calories under 1600, or points under 21.
Gym or walking outside 3x/week.
Yoga 2x/week.
Lights out before 11pm.
No recreational shopping (Buy only what I need)

Business

Return calls w/i 24 hours
Progess notes done same day as appointment
All billing done monthly, including paper claims (instead of just the ones I can do on-line).
CE units done by end of summer

2006 in Review

A Really Long Photo Post

The bed arrived on Wednesday. It has a nick in the footboard, so they're bringing us a new one next week. G is very good at demanding perfection in the furniture he buys. I'd say he's sent back or returned 60% of the home and office furniture he's bought because of imperfections. At first I thought, "Wow, he's anal," but now I appreciate it. If you're going to pay money for a decent piece of furniture, it should be as nick- and scratch-free as possible.

Christmas in AZ, as my sister says, was kind of non-Christmas-like. To avoid having to haul more crap back and forth to California and Oregon, we all left Santa's big presents for the kids at home and just brought stuff for the stockings. And we went to a large church that was pretty but unknown to us. And we didn't go anywhere but Target and Safeway. Which was fine because I was sick, and if I had to be stuck in someone else's house watching my kids to make sure they don't break anything, including their necks falling down the stairs, I'm glad it was with my family. That's the good thing - my family is fun to be around.

I had a plan to take pictures of things that were Christmas-in-the-desert-like, but didn't see any cacti draped in lights and since I was sick, I wasn't all that motivated anyway. Here's one from someone's web page.

A. played Poor Little Boy and told my sister that he had no sweatshirt or shoes because I hadn't packed them. Now, I admit I forgot to pack pajamas for him. But since he wore sweats most of the time, big deal - it's not like he had to sleep in a three-piece suit. I made sure he wore a sweatshirt and shoes on the airplane, so I know I didn't forget them.

And, we did not force him to sell all his videos, as he plaintively claimed to Big Niece. Although the plane tickets for the four of us were so expensive, as long as he's offering, it's not a bad idea.

Except for the tall tales of woe and deprivation, both boys were pretty much charming as usual. Ben cemented his rep as Family Floozy by crawling indiscriminately into any lap that would have him.

On the way home from the airport, both boys cooperated nicely by falling asleep in the car so G and I had plenty of time to go into the house and get Santa's stuff out to the tree. A. pulled his big wishes: a trumpet and a Tow Mater alarm clock. He's also thoroughly enjoying his guitar and his digital camera. We've now got lots of pictures of the bottom half of the tree:

And, toothpaste.







Ben got one of those bead/wire things they have in doctor's offices and he loves it. A. also got the real model train, which ended up being a bit fragile for 4-year-old hands.

I'll have to get some video of A's version of "Hark the Angels Herald Sing," otherwise known as The Charlie Brown Christmas Song. He mixes it up a bit by singing it to the tune of "Deck the Halls":

Hark the angels herald sing
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Glory to the newborn king
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

Try it. It works.

We're Baaaaack

So the bad cold/laryngitis turned into sinus infection/bronchitis and I finally broke down and got me some antibiotics yesterday. I am so sick of being sick. I'm tempted to quarantine the whole family for at least a week so we can stop picking up these viruses. I guess that's one good thing about A. being out of school until next week.

So we're here in Arizona, where it's freezing and rainy. Blegh. Family's fine and it's great to see them, but I can't talk to them because I have completely and totally lost my voice. I had a cold before this, but I thought I was on the upswing. Absolutely no sound is coming out of my throat. And here I sit with my goofy family, full of witty comments. It's infuriating. A. and Ben whisper back to me when I try to talk to them, which is funny.

I need to find that story about the guy who stopped talking for a little while and ended up remaining silent for years. I forgot what his point was, but there's probably a lesson to be learned here. Like, maybe I should keep my mouth shut every once in a while. Nah. That's not it.

'Tis the Season

...for brave little children. When it was our turn, Ben went running up to Santa waving and hollering "Hi Santa! Hi Santa!", but balked a little when the big guy held out his hands to pick Ben up. Still, they did pretty well considering the 45 minute wait and the late hour (we decided to go after dinner, thinking everyone else would be home eating. We were wrong).

The Story of the Bed

So today’s the 20th anniversary of my mother’s death. In 1986 I was 21, and at the time I thought I was much older than I actually was.

I decided that what I wanted to do today was go to mass in my childhood church, about 30 miles away. My mother was very involved with the church and its elementary school which I went to for eight long years. It’s probably the place I most associate with my mother, besides Macy’s, so we made plans to bring the boys to 4:00 mass today.

Last night, G. said we had a detour to make before we headed out to my hometown. He said he had a surprise. So he got behind the wheel and headed towards the mall.

“Olive Garden? Are going to play Olive Garden Roulette and see if we get sick?”

“Are we applying for jobs at the Elephant Bar?”

We finally pulled up to Levitz. G made us stay in the car, took a small gift bag out of the trunk and ran inside. A few minutes later he came back and told us we could go inside. He told me my present was inside the store somewhere and I had to find it.

Long story short, I walked through the bedroom section and found a big sleigh bed with a red ribbon and the gift bag on top. Inside the gift bag was a card G had made with a picture of my mom on the front and the following inside:

My Dear Lovely Lunasea:

It’s been 21 years (sic. It’s been 20, but who’s counting?). A long time to be without someone so important.

Your Mom would be very proud of you – UC Berkeley graduate and the first doctor in the family.

She would have wanted to be in the front row on our wedding day. And yes, she would love A’s red hair, and Ben’s infectious smile.

Keep remembering her with this sleigh bed. It replaces the one that got broken. I’m sure she is sending love to us from distant shores.

Love, G.

So. He bought me a sleigh bed.

Backstory: My mother received an antique bedroom set when she was a young woman. It included a double sleigh bed that always made me think of her. G and I have never had a bedroom set, and I figured we could use the sleigh bed at some point, but it’s been so well-used and loved over the years that it has completely fallen apart and is in shards in our garage.

So. He bought me a new sleigh bed. He'd hoped to have it delivered and set up today, but that was impossible, so I got to burst into tears in a furniture store.

Afterwards I felt lighter than I have all month.

A. likes to compose his own songs and teach them to Ben. This composition is one of my favorites, titled "Snow is Slippery." Pay special attention to Ben's backup vocals, which, although I might be biased, are simply brilliant. Also, songs can only be sung in our house if you're walking around in circles.

Shrinky Dink Success

I've not had too much luck with Shrinky Dinks in the past few years. But we've been Christmas crafting and they worked great this time. Guess I wasn't making them big enough to begin with.

We made these window charms for the aunts (shut your eyes, aunts):




Ben scribbled all over the circles, while A. did some stick figures and Christmas trees.




Here's how they started out. I used the grated cheese top as the template for the circles :










And here's how they looked after baking:











We got an assortment of beads at Michael's and strung them up on elastic line. If you try this, take my advice and DON'T FORGET to punch TWO holes in each disk. You're going to be bummed if you just did one and will end up gluing the elastic line to the disks so they hang straight, which will be a big pain in the ass.

I've been thinking a lot about the division that happens between friends when one has children and the other doesn't. Having had my kids in my later-30's, I've been on both sides of the dividing line and I'm not sure there's any way around it when two friends who used to have a lot in common suddenly seem to have so little in common.

So I was very interested in this article in our Sunday paper. Interested enough, in fact, to write a letter to the editor about it. Nothing says "Blog Entry" like a letter to the editor.

Dear Editors:

I know the article “Losing best friend to the trappings of motherhood” wasn’t written to me, but it could have been. Here’s my response.

Dear E,

You are trying to confirm that I'm the same girl who jumped into the mosh pit, made out with bad boys till the wee hours, and flirted with Johnny Depp. Here's what I've been trying to tell you:

I'm not the same girl.

Motherhood has changed who I am in a profound way. It has altered the fibers of my heart. I talk about my kids because I want to share this profound change with you. You were my best friend, and it hurts that you don’t understand how my heart and soul have been taken over by this amazing little being. I talk about potty-training because that IS my life right now and believe it or not, I wouldn’t change it for a thing.

Of course, sometimes I miss my old life. Sometimes I envy your freedom. But that is exactly why I now gravitate to other parents – they are the only ones who can understand that while I may say I’d like to sell my kids on e-Bay after a vomit-filled night, I would still throw myself in front of a train for them.

You’re absolutely right that choosing not to have kids doesn’t make you shallow or immature. But it's also true that my identity and sense of purpose being inextricably altered by motherhood doesn’t mean I’ve made a mistake.

Here’s a news flash: I don’t want to go to Hawaii for a week without my kids. I love that I connect with my husband over T-Ball. Maybe I will wear that miniskirt again, but it’s kind of impractical for playing with blocks on the floor.

I hope we do get that lunch together. And maybe you can come over to play sometime.

Still your friend,

L

So I've started a tradition of making calendars for the Grandpas. I do 12 8.5x11" layouts, upload them to Shutterfly and order some calendars. Inexpensive, and they seem to like them.

This year, you can even personlize the dates on the calendar, which is great because my dad can't remember his grandkids' birthdays. I collected the dates on my side of the family (which was great because I can't remember them either), and G collected the dates on his side of the family and gave me the list.

I noticed he included all the grandparents, although all of them have passed and presumably don't need cards sent anymore. Then I noticed another name.

"Mrs. Davis? Who's Mrs. Davis?"

"Aw, Mrs. Davis. Our long-time next-door neighbor."

"She's, um, dead, right?"

"Oh yeah, she's been gone a long time."

OK, so I can understand including the dead grandparents' birthdays - they're Catholic, maybe they'll want to have a mass said or something. But the dead next-door neighbor?

He asked, "Do you think that's weird?"

I answered, "Yeah, a little, but it's your call." And that's how Mrs. Davis' birthday came to be included on Grandpa G's calendar.

Sleep and Other Mysteries

So the Crazy Toddler is trying to give up his nap. He's 21 months old and everything I've read says he still needs a nap. You know, it would be one thing if he didn't nap but slept in until 8am. He still gets up between 5am and 6am. Enough already, kid. You need to sleep. We need to sleep.

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Last night A. came out after I'd put him to bed. "I need you to tuck me in."

"I already did, though - why do you need it to be done again?"

"Because the blanket keeps tucking me out!"

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Had a weird encounter at Michael's. The lines were typically long and the cashiers typically slow. The old lady in front of me had divided her purchase into a million smaller purchases and wanted to write a separate check for each one. (Who writes checks anymore?)

So a clerk finallys shows up and says she can take me, since I'm next in line, at the next register. I grab A., swing the cart around and book it over there. A tall skinny woman tries to jump in. I hate line jumpers. Hate them. The lady looks pleadingly at me and says, "It's just one item, please, would you mind?" I'm a zen kinda chick, so I shrugged and said, "I've waited this long, I guess a few more minutes won't matter."

Meanwhile, the old lady finally finished and the customer who had been behind me was already getting her purchase rung up. Of course. Whatever. I felt worse for the people behind me who had been waiting patiently and then had this lady just squeeze on in. But Ben was entertained by the snowmen all over and A. was being cooperative, so whatever.

Here was the weird part: Line Jumper leans over to me and says, "We're on our way to meet my mother at the hospital, to find out...." here she pauses and holds her hand up to her mouth so she can whisper behind it, presumably so her little girl doesn't hear her, "if she has lung cancer," in a big stage whisper.

Lady, why are you telling me this? I told you you could go in front of me. I nodded at her, but thought, "Oh, yeah, my mom had lung cancer. She died. Right before Christmas, too." But when someone tells you their mom might have or has lung cancer, the last thing they want to hear is that my mom had it too - unless she survived, which she didn't. It was weird. When she was done, she actually stepped toward me, put her hand on my arm and said, "Thank you." Um, you're welcome?

This whole December has been weird. I can't figure out if I'm just annoyed with the holiday overload, if I'm pressured, getting sick, grieving my mother, or WHAT. I've been in a bad mood and the news about James Kim didn't help. It made me very, very sad. I had a bit of time before my 6-clients-in-a-row, put The Flaming Lips on my iPod, went out for a walk and wondered WTF everyone was praying was for. I mean, God's gonna do what he's gonna do (or not do) no matter what, anyway, right? I've rarely prayed for anying specific, rather, I pray for strength. Strength and peace for me and/or for others. But today I was just pissed off. God's gonna give that family strength if he wants to. Or he won't. Whatever. My praying isn't going to make a difference.

I'm not always this jaded or angry. 99% of the time I believe that prayer is mostly just being aware of God's presence in our lives. But today - I'm not so aware and I'm pretty pissed off. Stop taking little kid's parents away. Stop giving kids to people who abuse and/or kill them. Just cut it the fuck out.

Look at all that snow. This was taken out of the car window when we went to Mt. Hood right after it snowed. I'm not used to seeing all that snow on trees.


You've probably heard about it, but there's a SF man still missing in Oregon. They found his wife and small children yesterday. I really hope they find him alive.

G's uncle gave us a generous donation towards a real model train set for A. So we trekked off to the hobby store this morning to be educated on the basics of model train-ology.

Wow. There are people in those stores who haven't seen the light of day for years. Their necks are permanently crooked, and they have no idea how to deal with someone who is over 1 1/4'' tall and not plastic.

We found a girl who made eye contact, and were advised to go with the HO scale stuff. We were also advised to buy a set that was already packaged together, instead of trying to cobble our own from single pieces. That was a good idea because we have no idea what we're doing. There's a lot of precision and work that goes into making a small train go 'round and 'round over and over and over.

I wanted to get the box labeled "PROFESSIONAL HO SET" just 'cause I thought it was funny, but I knew the joke would be lost on a 4-year-old, so we settled on one with a big black old fashioned engine and a couple of freight cars. They also had a HO scale Gordon (of TTFTE fame) which A. said he wanted, but we're trying to get away from Thomas. (Hah! Like you can ever get away from Thomas!!)

I leafed through some of the model railroading magazines and got scared. I even looked at the very basic one and it scared me. I pictured myself trying to bond with my pre-teen son by forcing plaster of paris into a rock mold, deciding whether to go with brown or gray rock paint, and debating the design of trestles. I am glad to be avoiding Barbie, but I'm not sure this is much better.

Blogger's getting pushier about switching to Beta. I don't like the fact that I can't switch back to the original version if I don't like it. Tell me that once I make a decision there's no going back, well, I'll usually just stay where I am, thankyouverymuch. It's hard to make a commitment. Look how long it took me to become a mother. And Blogger, you're not even as cute as the babies, so get off my back.

Thanks for the thoughts on the cards. It was a tie between #1 and #4. I really liked #4, but I also really liked the Merry&Bright word art and it describes the boys so well, so I wanted to keep that. (Personally, Carrie, I liked #3 too. I always knew you had good taste).

G. really liked #1, although I thought it was too busy. So since #1 was one of the finalists, we went with that one. I'm gonna keep the designs, though, and maybe recycle them next year.

We don't have an Advent Calendar. I'm looking half-heartedly for one that doesn't involve chocolate because we'd have to get two. Ben would have a fit if A. got chocolate and he didn't. And while my standards are fairly low, I'm not so crazy about chocolate at 7am. I remember last year A. would have a huge sugar rush before my coffee was done and it wasn't good.

I'm not finding any that don't have chocolate and I don't have the time to make one, although this one is quite cute.

We've got a calendar on the fridge. That's gonna have to do for now. "Make an X in the square, kid, that's as much of an advent calendar as you're gonna get this year."

We did do a gingerbread house tonight. It went quite well. They give you options for a "Sled and Breakfast," and two other designs. Please. I'm lucky to pipe a door and windows on. I ain't doing curtains or gargoyles or whatever. Ben called the finished product "Santa Claus!"

Still having the weird pressured feeling. Don't know why - I did our December calendar tonight and it's not that packed. My shopping for A. & G is done, I've got a few more things to get at Target for Ben and I've just got two family kids to buy Xmas presents for and that will be done. Ordered the cards. No parties to plan for. I don't know what the deal is - maybe I just need to crank up the Paul Anka Xmas Tunes and chill.