More Powerful Than a Locomotive!

Today is Tuesday, and we are exactly a week away from Viva’s 5th birthday. We are not doing a HUGE party this year, but we are doing a small party at school (cupcakes, goody bags) and we are supposed to be taking her and her best friend C. to Disneyland* the weekend before the birthday – i.e. this coming Saturday. Now, I have called C’s mother twice in the past week and a half and left messages on both her home and cell phones. I offered to just take C. with us, or, if her mom was not comfortable with that, we would of course pay for her as well. NO RESPONSE. This is after I already ran it by her a month or so ago and she agreed to come. So now I am scrambling a bit and will probably see if one or both of my nephews can come instead. I know Viva is going to be really disappointed if C. can’t come – I fully expect big, drippy tears, veins standing out from neck, etc. – so I am pretty ticked off on her behalf.

At any rate, Viva decided that for school, she wants a Bat Cat party. Bat Cat is a fairly minor character in the Charlie and Lola series, so there is no such thing as commercially-licensed Bat Cat paraphernalia. I don’t have as much time on my hands these days as I did when I was home on medical leave and made the Bat Cat Halloween costume, so I asked her to compromise a bit and do a general superhero party. She was down with that, because lately she is crazy for The Incredibles and wants to be Dash (“He can RUN! ON! WATER!”)

and she knows the boys in the class (who outnumber the girls 2 to 1) would be cool with Spiderman and Batman masks and all. But as I am looking for goody bag stuff, etc., I’ve been smacked in the face again with how unbalanced all marketing crap is.

The only female prepubescent superhero that I’m aware of is “Word Girl” who appears on PBS:

She’s great and all, but she has a limited audience. There is no big-name girl superhero.**

This bums me out. Clearly, I am going to have to create one in my spare time.

Speaking of non-commercial superhero stuff for your kid (and we were, weren’t we?), check out Little Capers. Now I’m stomping off to finish a program budget, in a single bound.


*I know, this seems to completely contradict my hatred of all things Disney. But we live less than an hour away from D-Land and Viva has never been and wants to go. Sometimes for your kids you have to suck it up.

** Yes, I know Dash’s sister is a superhero, but she’s in junior high. She can turn invisible and create force fields, which is pretty handy, but she doesn’t have the punchy personality of Dash, so I can see why Viva is not so taken with her.

Kick Me While I'm Down!

I just received this in my email inbox:

Dear Family,

Thank you for your interest in [Very Nice] Charter School.

Unfortunately, due to overwhelming response to this year's lottery, we are unable to offer your child a space in the 2008/2009 Kindergarten class at this time.

Your child will remain on the waiting list, and should a space become available, you will be contacted based on the order of the waiting list.

We thank you for your interest in our school and wish you all the best.

Regards,
[Very Nice Principal]

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

That was my public school backup plan. I am breathing deeply and thinking that this is all happening for a reason. Something good will come of all this. You know what they say, "You can plan a pretty picnic, but you can't predict the weather."* Words of wisdom, my friends.

I need a day off.

* Outkast, "Ms. Jackson"

Living in a Shotgun Shack

And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife
And you may ask yourself-well...how did I get here?
Talking Heads
“Once in a Lifetime”

So. We are not moving. We could not make the house work for us for a variety of reasons. I am really bummed and I can’t talk about it.

The breakroom where I work is stocked with a variety of teas, coffee, and hot chocolate packets. I am finding little consolation in the idea I can drink hot chocolate, “now with antioxidants!” How can hot chocolate have antioxidants in it? What kind of world are we living in?

Back to house news, because I can’t stop thinking about it. Sweet Dub and I have been watching the real estate market tank, and following forecasts which indicate the L.A. housing market won’t fully correct itself until possibly 2010. This is frustrating, because we are on the cusp of being able to buy, and yet anything we buy now would probably depreciate as soon as we bought it. It’s like buying a car!

At any rate, because I am all about the Internets, I have found a couple of LA-area blogs I like, one of which is pretty well known, and the other perhaps not so much. Check them out, if you feel like it. Now, with antioxidants!

Honey, I'm Home

I know I am a blog slacker, and I don’t write enough. This time I haven’t been writing because I didn’t want to jinx my Really Big News.

No, I’m not pregnant. At least, I don’t think so. Hmmm…(counting back through the calendar…)

Well, anyway, the Really Big News is that the Blah Blah Family is moving! We are doubling our space and moving into a new house less than a mile from our current house. It is still a rental, because we have not yet saved the big bucket of cash we would need to put down as a down payment on a house in a decent area (median home price in Los Angeles is somewhere around $500,000*, but the average home price in our ZIP code is $850,383. Yeah, you read that right.). We’re getting there, but not quite yet. However, while this house will cost us more in rent, it will actually save us money in the fall because VIVA CAN GO TO THE LOCAL PUBLIC KINDERGARTEN FOR FREE!

Yes, there was much screaming and dancing for joy on that one. We’re sending her to one of the top ten public elementary schools in Los Angeles and putting most of what we spend on preschool each month in the bank. I can not even tell you how relieved I am. Here are some lovely photos:

The view of the house from the terraced back yard!

The capacious living room!

Our squeaky clean kitchen!

By the way, we move in less than two weeks. I see a garage sale in my future.

* I am pretty sure that buys you a chicken coop. The 834-square-foot house in which we currently live is valued at $603,500 on Zillow.com. That’s actually less than when we moved in. Hey, maybe we brought down the property values!

Dear Prudence,

The way that my office is set up and my desk is configured, anyone can see my monitor when they walk into my office – that is, if they really want to. A person that I work with has the habit of walking in and as he/she is talking, situates self so their body is where they can see the computer, and eyes keep going back to whatever is on my computer screen. I realize that this is a very human trait, people are naturally curious, etc. but I find it really rude. Most of the time I am doing work stuff, but sometimes I am eating lunch at my desk – which should be pretty obvious, as there is food on a plate in front of me. Despite the fact that I am at my desk, sometimes there’s personal stuff I want to do, like look at my bank balance, pay bills, etc. Sometimes I want to write an e-mail to a friend. Sometimes I want to comparison shop online when I am contemplating a big purchase. Sometimes I like to check other people’s blogs!

Just so you know I am not a complete idiot, I realize the solution is that I should just reconfigure my office. However, I have a heavy, L-shaped desk with the keyboard drawer attached in this configuration. I have tried moving the monitor before but the cord doesn’t stretch far enough.

So perhaps I just need to be rude, although I don’t want to damage my work relationship with this person, and I like him/her overall. Any ideas?

Wimpily yours,
Mama Blah

Good MORNING!

The scene: Blah Blah bathroom, 7:15 AM. I have just emerged from the shower and I’m drying off. I become aware of a little voice speaking softly and coming closer. The bathroom door is flung open, whacking me in the ass. Viva announces dramatically: “I feel poopish!”

“Okay, then,” I say, quickly applying deodorant as my offspring drops her drawers.

“Clear the room! She’s gonna blow!” Viva says cheerfully, settling onto the toilet.

Man, I beat it the hell out of there, hair dripping and all. You don’t need to tell me twice.

Hooray for Love!

It's the wonder of the world,
It's a rocket to the moon
It gets you high, it gets you low,
But once you get that glow...

Here's to my best romance,
Here's to my worst romance
Here's to my first romance - ages ago
Here's to the boys I've kissed, and to complete the list
Here's to the boys who said "No!"

Love, love, hooray for love
Who was ever too blase for love
Make this the night for love
If we have to fight, let's fight for love

Some sigh and cry for love
Ah, but in Pa-ree they die for love
Some waste away for love
Just the same - hooray for love!

It's the rocket to the moon,
With a touch of "Clare de Lune"
It gets you high, it gets you low,
But once you get that glow...

Some trust to fate for love,
Others have to take off weight for love
Some go berzerk for love
Loafers even go to work for love

Sad songs are sobbed for love
People have their noses bobbed for love
Some say we pay for love
Just the same - hooray for love!

One of my favorite love songs is "Hooray for Love" as sung by the legendary Ella Fitzgerald. It's just so exuberant and happy and fun. Love to you and yours and Happy Valentine's Day!

O frabjous day!

My daughter is nearly five years old, born and raised in Southern California, and, until this weekend, had never seen snow. We have been promising to take her to The Snow all winter, but there were holiday events to be gotten through, and then The Rains, which would have meant we needed chains on our tires to drive through The Snow, and then we got The Bronchitis.

Sunday morning, when the forecast was for highs in the 70s, the Blah Blahs ventured forth and drove to Claremont, had breakfast at Walter’s, and then drove up Mt. Baldy. Viva was pretty much beside herself from the word jump. When we began driving up the mountain, it was about 74 degrees. Sweet Dub became nervous that The Snow might be inaccessible, perhaps having melted away at the altitude we could get to, and began dropping disclaimers hither and yon. I smiled sweetly at him, as I always do, and said, “Let’s just see what we can see.”

We drove up above the snowline, well past Mt. Baldy Lodge – somewhere above 4,000 feet – and found a place to park by the side of the road amidst a bunch of other snowtime revelers. It was sunny, but there was still quite a bit of snow on the ground; not fluffy, powdery snow, because it had melted and then refrozen, but we were able to pack snowballs and fling them at each other. We also managed to put together a couple of small snowpersons. And, best of all, we made friends with a man and his maybe-9?-year-old daughter Annabelle, who offered the use of her sled in such a sweet little way that I just wanted to kiss her. One does not kiss children who one has just met, so instead I thanked her profusely and beamed warm sunshiny vibes her way, and Viva went sliding down a small slope over and over, chortling in such a ridiculously cute manner that it would just split your heart into pieces.* We later moved on to a much steeper slope, and Viva discovered to her great delight that it is possibly even more fun to slide down snow without a sled. She got completely soaked through, but honestly, the look of abandoned glee on her face let the world know it was well worth it. Aside from which, once home, she went to bed early with no protest at all and slept like a rock.

We took video. I’ll see if I can upload.

* I used this exact phrase to one of my co-workers today, and she said, “Chortled? Leave it to a writer to come up with that word to describe their weekend – who says that?” Later in the day, I was looking up Jabberwocky, which has been floating through my mind all weekend, and I discovered that Lewis Carroll evidently invented that word. Weird synchronicity.

Drug-Addled Gasbag

Sick for nearly two weeks. Finally broke down and called the doctor. Diagnosis: I have bronchitis and what may be the early stages of strep throat. My doctor has prescribed some antibiotics and cough syrup with Codeine. I am sleepy as all get-out and a little nauseated. And yet, I haven't been able to sleep while at home this afternoon because first came the lawn care guys and quick on their heels, some people from the phone company who need to access a telephone pole via my back yard. Something about my neighbors' phone service, I don't even know.

Lawd, give me strength. Or as my mother-in-law is fond of saying, "Lawd, help me JEE-zus."

This may be the most pointless post ever -- in fact, I nearly went back and deleted it -- but I wanted to post what's been going on/where in blazes I've been.

I'm afraid to write more because inevitably in my foggy state, I would reveal something I'm not supposed to, like Viva's real name or the secret formula for Coke Zero.

I hope all is well with all of you, O Internets. Drop me a line sometime or have your people call my people or something.

In a Nutshell

If ever there was a good analogy for my day, it would be this scene from Seinfeld:

Cut back to Elaine at Mr. Pitt's. There are pairs of socks everywhere. Pitt has on the latest pair.
PITT: It's good, but...
ELAINE: But what??
PITT: Ultimately I don't think they'll stay up.
ELAINE (pulling up Pitt's socks): No, no! They'll stay up!
PITT: For a while, yes, but not in the long run.
ELAINE: But that's why I got you the tighter ones! (Holds them up.)
PITT: Oh, forget about those! (Takes the socks from Elaine and throws them on the floor.) Why do you keep mentioning those?
ELAINE: What do you want!?
PITT: I want a decent sock that's comfortable, that will stay on my foot!!
(Elaine curls up into a fetal position.)

Today, Mr. Pitt has been asking me to get socks from all corners of the globe, and they are all the wrong size.

I hate days like this.

The Queen of Everything

This weekend, Sweet Dub was out of town on business. Viva and I had a pretty mellow Saturday; we did the grocery shopping, tie-dyed a T-shirt and did some yard work. Then I got all dolled up, dropped her off at my in-laws’, and went to a work party. (And I did have to work for part of it, mainly with set-up.) Then I had to stay late to help clean up and figure out how to get drunk people home. I didn’t get home until 1:30 AM, then rolled out of bed at 8:30 AM, slightly hung-over, showered, dressed, and went to pick up my baby from her granny’s. I had nothing planned for Viva and I to do, and the house was a wreck – so I sucked it up, made a huge pot of cinnamon hazelnut coffee, and went for it. I think I did about 5 loads of laundry. I cleaned the bathroom. I washed windows. I set a playdate for the following day into motion. And all the while I kept my kid entertained. At one point, while I was washing dishes for the fourth time that day, Viva went into her room for a few minutes, and came back with a small circlet with points at the top, made out of orange construction paper.

Viva: It’s for you.
Mama B: Oh, that’s sweet. What is it?
Viva: It’s a CROWN. Because you are the Queen. The Queen of Everything!

Ain’t that the truth.

I think it goes without saying that I will be very glad when the King of Everything gets home today. I have missed him so much that when he called this morning I hugged the phone for about 5 minutes after we hung up. And I am not embarrassed to say so!

Do the Right Thing

That old law about 'an eye for an eye' leaves everybody blind. The time is always right to do the right thing.
-Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Mama B: So do you know why today is a holiday?
Viva: Mmmm…no.
Mama B: We’re celebrating Martin Luther King’s birthday.
Viva: Oh, yeah. They’re having a parade.
Mama B: Yes, there’ll be a couple of parades today –
Viva: They’re having one at my school.
Mama B: Really? Where? Inside the school, on the yard?
Viva: Yeah. And, what’s his name again?
Mama B: Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. [realizing it’s a bit of a mouthful] Dr. King.
Viva: Yeah, he’s gonna be there. He’s gonna lead the parade.
Mama B: What? But he’s dead, baby.
Viva: WHAT?
Mama B: [glossing over the assassination] Um, yeah, he died, honey. A long time ago.
Viva: Oh.
Mama B: Would you like to see a parade today?
Viva: [shrugs]

Fifteen minutes later, on the phone with the African-American Museum – assuming they’ll just have a recording explaining what’s happening today. But no, an actual person answers.

Mama B: Oh, um, yes, I was just wondering what the museum has planned for Dr. King’s birthday today.
Museum person: [pause] Well, I think we’re having cake at 1 o’clock.
Mama B: Ooohkay. Well, okay, thanks.

Fifteen minutes later, saved by the bell, or rather, the cell phone. Viva’s best friend’s mom calls and says they can come over for a play date. Phew.

And further discussion of Dr. King is tabled for the moment. Trying to explain the civil rights movement to a 4-year-old, without freaking her out or hurting her feelings, makes my brain hurt. I feel like I end up saying a whole lot of nothing.

My friend S. once had a talk with her daughter’s teacher wherein the (not African-American) teacher expressed concern about how “sensitive” her daughter was. Apparently the teacher was discussing African-American history and noted that “A. gets very upset when we talk about slavery.”

S responded, “Well, maybe that’s because it’s upsetting!”

Viva, like many kids her age, gets pretty pissed off when she is not treated the same. The way I tried to explain who Dr. King was, was to say that he worked very hard to make sure everybody got treated fairly. Her little brow furrowed, and she said, “Well if people weren’t being fair, he should have called the police.” I thought for a quick second and then said, “But the police weren’t being fair, either. That was part of the problem.”

My main problem is that I am a wimp. I don’t want to introduce the idea to her that people who look like her were (and hello, are) treated unfairly, simply because they were/are brown. I just don’t want to be the one to break her heart like that. I know, I know, she will find out eventually. This is one of those hard life lessons. Any tips from those of you who have been there?

Updated to add: I found a link for a kindergarten lesson plan to teach kids about Dr. King. I think the books listed, along with the activities, will help going forward.

And Now, the Man on the Street

I was listening to Morning Edition this morning on KPCC, one of our local public radio stations, and naturally they were interviewing people about the primaries. One gentleman the reporter spoke with said he was voting for John Edwards because he believes he’s electable. He went on to say (and I’m paraphrasing here) that he doesn’t think Hillary and Barack have a chance, and that although he admires Barack Obama and thinks he is capable, “America’s not ready for an African-American president.”

I don’t understand this argument. It’s the primaries. You should vote for who you think is really best for the job – who can do the most for the country – not for who you think can ultimately win the nomination. How else can your voice be heard? I glared at the radio for a second and said out loud, “Fool, then you are just playing their game – or they’re playing you, more like it.”

This man went on to say that America is too racist and sexist, and that maybe if it was 2050, Barack would have a chance. He then brought up immigration, making it clear that he was Latino, and saying that Americans want to send back even people who’ve been born here, who are second or third generation, in fact, who were here “before any of them, I mean, when they came over on the Mayflower, we didn’t ask for their green cards.” This is where he completely lost me, and I turned the station. But I can’t let it go.

When people say, “America’s not ready for an African-American president,” or “America’s not ready for a woman president,” all I hear is that they’ve given up on any semblance of equal representation. These are bogus statements. If you can vote, you are America. Don’t act like America is something separate from yourself. Be honest and say, I am not ready for this particular African-American as president, because you don’t agree with how he claims he’s going to lead the country. Not because he’s African-American. That means that on some level you agree. That means on some level, you’re letting our negative racial history live on and worse, to continue.

If you want to vote for John Edwards because you think he is the best person for the job, because you agree with his policies and think he would move this country in a positive direction, great. If you are voting for John Edwards because even though you like Hillary or Barack’s stance better, you think neither of them will win, then you are part of the problem. Don’t fool yourself. And don’t blame the entire country for your own racist malarkey.

Off my soapbox. I think I stubbed my toe.

Hey, Jack Kerouac

Oh, yeah - one of those blog posts? Which I was going to write about? Yeah, I just remembered, and all this went down right around the holidays, so in the madness, I never got around to writing about it.

Sometime in December, Sweet Dub called me up at work and totally out of the blue, said, "So, how do you feel about Vancouver?"

"It's supposed to be beautiful," I said. "I've been wanting to visit. So what, to live there?"

"Yeah, it looks like I might get a job offer," he said. "But I told them I'd have to talk to you first."

"Yeah," I said. "Okay, why not. Vancouver."

"Are you serious?" he said. "You would actually just pick up and move?"

"Why not?" I said.

"Wow," he said. "Okay, I'll talk to you later."

As it turns out, we are not moving to Vancouver, because for one thing, as his trusted boss says, "Nobody moves from Hollywood to Vancouver." Sweet Dub is in the movie bidness, and while Vancouver has been nicknamed Hollywood North* due to all the production and post-production there, it is still not as happening as Hollywood itself. It seems he would be less busy than he is here and probably not the best move. Also, since who knows if I would be able to work there, they'd have to offer him quite a stack of cheese in order to make it viable for us. And furthermore, after researching Vancouver in an admittedly cursory way, it appears that there are maybe two black people in the entire city. Perhaps that is a lowball estimate, but even given that Canada does not have the same complicated history with black people that the U.S. does, I don't know that I'd feel comfortable there. And if Viva and Sweet Dub and I get stares and invasive questions in greater Los Angeles, I can only imagine what it would be like there. This is not to say that Vancouver is not diverse; it has a sizeable Chinese population (29%), with some South Asians and Filipinos thrown in there for good measure. Its black population is 0.9%. Yeah, you read that right.

I'd still like to visit, but for now, I guess we're staying put. I was kind of excited to have an adventure -- whee, new things, new places, new people, free health insurance! -- but maybe something else will turn up. If nothing else, this lets us know that options are out there and that Sweet Dub is a valuable commodity** -- this was not an opportunity he sought out, they came to him. Yeah, that's right. Sweet Dub is the shizzle!

* Not North Hollywood. Completely different.

** I mean, we knew that already, but I think this whole escapade at least reinforced that with the upper management of his company. Maybe they will find or create another internal opportunity for him.

Monkey Mind

Here is what happens lately when I think about blogging. I think, "What should I write about?" I think, "I had a really good idea yesterday for a post, what was that, about the thing, and the person...?" Then I think, "I should write about Barack and Hillary - what was it that so-and-so said on such-and-such blog, that was really insightful, I should link to it..." Ten minutes later after reading more about it I think, "Well, I can't say it better than that, he/she hit the nail on the head. Why am I so uninteresting?" Then I think, "Shit, I'd better call so-and-so about this one detail on the proposal I'm writing. I wonder if she has a good case study I could use?" A little later on, I think, "Jesus! The day is half over and I still have so much to do. I haven't even eaten lunch yet. Where did I put that piece of paper with the budget information on it? I really have to pee. Wasn't I going to blog today? I should blog today. It's been awhile. What should I say? Is today Viva's art class? Am I supposed to pick her up today? The estimated client numbers I pulled out of the ether for this proposal are completely inflated. Who knew that this type of therapy was so time-intensive? I said 200 families served annually and it's probably less than half that. How can I spin this to our advantage? What are we supposed to have for dinner? Did I pay my cell phone bill? I better check that. What time is it? Jeez, I should have left 15 minutes ago. Where did I park?"

Sorry, folks. I'll try to do better. But you see my brain, she is all over the place like a dog-sled team composed of cats hepped up on speed. It is somewhat exhausting.

Big Brains

Since we don't have anything else to do, we have decided to make ourselves crazy trying to figure out what to do about school for Viva. I think I've mentioned this before, and no doubt I will mention it again.

 

The preschool years represent a critical window of opportunity that we can't afford to waste."
--Maryann O'Sullivan, Founder and Former CEO of Preschool California

 

Viva enjoys school.  She is reading at a very basic level. She can add and subtract.  She is learning how to tell time and count money.  She is, just as importantly, very social and gets along well with her peers.  That said, she is only 4 years old. Because we have swallowed the whole "first five" shpiel hook, line, and sinker, we are spending an obscene amount of money on preschool.  It would be nice to catch a break and get her into a good public kindergarten. I am putting in an application for her for Fall 2008 for a progressive, constructivist charter school and hoping like hell she gets in.

 

Sweet Dub's best friend has a daughter that is one year older than Viva. His daughter is also very bright, and she went to a very good preschool up until this fall, when she started public kindergarten. 

 

"She's bored," Sweet Dub's friend said. "They have kids in her class who don't even know their colors."  He also said that the teacher doesn't have time to teach to these varying levels, so she teaches at pretty much the lowest common denominator.  This is exactly what I was worried about. 

 

On the other hand, there is one part of my brain that says, "It's just kindergarten. Chill out and supplement school with what you do at home."  What do you think?

 

P.S. Still no Internet access at home.  Completely unacceptable.

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12 30 07 Blog Blackout

Hello, and welcome to our program.

 

Since returning to work from medical leave, I have been far too busy to blog at work.  And since my Internet capacity at home lately seems to be quite hit and miss, I'm not posting from home either.  Right now, I am typing this at home on Sunday in Word and hoping to be able to post it later – perhaps Wednesday when I am back at work, when it will be three days old and late late late.  I can't even email this to myself or to the blog because of my irritating Internet access (read, lack thereof).  I am not sure whether my old modem is just not communicating with my wireless modem or what on God's green earth exactly is happening, but it is irritating that when one finally gets oneself together to post something, one can't because one's high-tech gadgets have decided to get all temperamental on one's ass.  Why, for example, can one be searching on Google one minute and the next get an error message saying one is not connected to the Internet?  This is the type of thing that might make a person with anger management issues rip the modem out of the wall and toss it into the fireplace.

 

Fortunately, I have been reading a lot of Zen work lately, so I choose to view this as the best possible thing that could happen.  Perhaps there is a good reason I haven't been able to blog.  It will all reveal itself to me, and I will in turn reveal it to you, and then we will all have a good jolly laugh and eat piles of frosted donuts.

 

I hope you weren't worried during this long blog silence.  Fear not, the Blah Blah family members all are fairly well, excepting our runny noses.  Our Christmas season was not without its drama, but we enjoyed it nonetheless.

 

All the best to you and yours.

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Have a Holly Jolly Christmas

Happy Holidays! Have Some Spam

This morning, I have received 21 spam e-mails on my work computer. I wish there was some way to let it be known that I am not male and do not need Viagra or other, er, enhancement. And as far as I know, my husband and I are both quite happy with his existing equipment.

That’s all. There, I said it.

Obligatory Cute Christmas Story

Viva: Let me sing you a song.

Mama B: That would be fabulous, baby, go ahead.

Viva: [singing heartily] Feliz NabiDAH! Feliz NabiDAH! I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas at the bottom of my HEARRRRTT! [repeats ten times, dancing and swinging arms in graceful arcs]

Mama B: That was beautiful. I bet it is really beautiful at the bottom of your heart.

Viva: [scowls] No, Mama, that’s just part of the song.

Mama B: [because the Cuteness! Is! Too! Much!] I love you so.

Viva: [meltingly] Oh, I love you too.

Not So Cute

Last night, Sweet Dub and I were talking about what to do about Viva’s future education. Should we send her to the public school down the street next year, as she will be old enough to go to kindergarten and we will no longer have to pay for school? How bad is the local public school anyway? Well, I went online for a refresher on what the school’s demographics are, what its test scores look like, etc., courtesy of the LAUSD website. They’re actually pretty decent when all is said and done. But then I Googled the school to see if I could get any “nonpartisan” feedback about it and I discovered that some very involved parents at the school have created a Website. “Hey, this might not be bad,” I said to Sweet Dub. The parents noted that the school’s performance as tracked by test scores has consistently improved over the past five years and that they had been able to secure some private grants to make improvements to the school. All well and good. Then I read a post that there is evidently a registered pedophile living across the street from the school.

Yes, you read that right. This person served time for lewd and lascivious acts with a person under the age of 14, and then moved in close proximity to an elementary school. According to the parents, school staff is aware he is there and they all know what he looks like. And according to the LAPD, he isn’t doing anything illegal just by living there, because he served his time, he is through his parole, and he hasn’t been accused of further criminal activity. But just because it’s legal, doesn’t make it right. It’s like a recovering alcoholic moving across the street from a bar.

This means he lives just a few blocks from us. You can say all you want that they’re everywhere. If you look on your state’s sex offender registration database, it will make you crazy. There are 20 in my ZIP code alone, and many (including the guy down the street) are in violation, which means they haven’t checked in with the state when they were supposed to. You can go here if you live in California – or Google Megan’s Law to search in a different state.

I am at work right now, and I just glanced at a photo of Viva beaming at me from her homemade Mother’s Day card and I felt simultaneously the urge to cry and throw up at the idea that someone just might not be able to help himself from hurting her. Needless to say, we’re still working out our kindergarten plans.

On A Lighter Note

Because I just can’t leave you like that (and I certainly didn’t start this post intending to take you on a journey down the Road of Creepiness), I bring you this:

Report: Nation’s Wealthy Cruelly Deprived Of True Meaning Of Christmas
The nation’s poor get to experience true Christmas spirit, while the wealthy, burdened by shopping and party obligations, are left out in the cold.


Report: Nation's Wealthy Cruelly Deprived Of True Meaning Of Christmas.

In the absence of The Daily Show (when O when will the writer’s strike end??), this is not a bad substitute for the type of features I would expect to see at this time of year. Enjoy, and keep away from the fruitcake.*

* I don't mean myself.

Where is Christ in Christmas?

"Santa died for our gifts and rose from the dead and moved to the North Pole and because of that, every year Santa comes down to forgive us our sins and give us eternal presents."

- Jazmine, explaining "the true meaning of Christmas" to Riley in "A Huey Freeman Christmas," a.k.a. The Boondocks Christmas Special.

That show is frickin' hilarious.

New Feature!

So I returned to work last week and have not had even a second to pick my nose*, never mind write a coherent blog post. Since this seems to be an overarching theme which runs throughout 9 out of 10 of my blog posts, and over which I have a disproportional amount of guilt, I am going to start a new feature at Mama Blah Blah.

Are you ready?

Are you sure?

Here it is. Because I have limited time, I'm going to post one-liners. These may be things I have said or overheard or that other people have said to me or that I pick up off the bathroom wall. I will try to post them in context, which will involve more than one line, but they will be for the most part very brief posts.

Today's one-liner, which was actually said yesterday, is:

"Once again, not having won the lottery, the [Blah Blahs] head off to work."

Said by Sweet Dub, approx. 6:30 am, as we looked at each other mournfully, me in my bathrobe, he fully dressed and about to walk out the door. I hate Mondays.

* Not that I would ever do that. Isn't that what coat sleeves are for?