In my mind, she is about 28 years old, laughing, dark eyes flashing, with a navy bandana holding back her dark hair, slim and lovely in a sleeveless white top and jeans. She is more beautiful and wonderful than anything, and if I can make her laugh, it fills my heart to bursting, so I clown around and make goofy jokes and funny faces. When she laughs, I can’t even stand how much I love her. I hug her over and over as hard as I can. I snuggle with her and bury my head in the fold of her neck, and breathe in deep. She holds me close. We read together. My sister joins the pile. We sing. We weave our fingers together. We dance around the living room.
She teaches me to be curious, to express myself. She embraces my love of color. She buys me art supplies, takes me to museums. We sing a lot – in the car, to the radio, and at home, to LPs. She loves Motown and the Beatles. We read constantly. We draw, we play games. We do yoga. Sometimes she is sad, and she can’t explain to me why. It hurts my heart when she cries. I climb up on the bed and hug her and wipe her face with my sweaty little hands. She smiles and she cries and she hugs me back.
We are poor. She plans for things months in advance, and on Christmas Day and on birthdays it is like a miracle. There are boxes to open, and toys to play with. How much does she go without so we can have these things?
It is a golden time, when she is the star in my universe. My sister and I are her whole world.
Things change. Today I don’t recognize her. The only commonality seems to be the sadness. She is unhappy with how her life has turned out. We disagree about so many things. Now when we talk it is like we are speaking through some strange device that garbles our words as they come out. We can’t understand each other.
She gave me such a huge gift. So much of how I am raising my children comes from those early childhood experiences. Somewhere along the line, my mother lost her way. She grew clay feet. She exposed her flaws. Natural, it happens. We are all human and imperfect.
But having given unconditional love, she now looks for unconditional support. Even for decisions that are flawed, actions that are hurtful. I struggle with how to deal with her.
As Mother’s Day looms, I try to be mindful of these old memories. I want to be with my children on Mother’s Day – not to get gifts or be fed breakfast in bed, but just to hold them. And sing a little. And maybe dance around the living room. And maybe that’s the best way to honor my mom.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Decidedly Unfunky
I am in the midst of a clothes funk. Ecch, my clothes. Why are they all so hateful?
Added to that, the family has booked a trip to Maui in June. I know, I know, all I should need is two pairs of shorts, a few T-shirts, some flip-flops and the sunscreen. And a hat. Wait, I just re-read that sentence and realized I didn’t even think to include bathing suits. What does that tell you?
Summer is coming! I want to spend the entire summer looking fabulous in cute little sundresses all in bright citrus-y shades. With adorable little strappy sandals! Alas, my budget does not allow for this. I need to buy clothes for my children. They insist on growing, which is completely inconsiderate of them and certainly something which I will never let them live down.
I have a friend who always looks completely fabulous. (Maybe it’s you!) I always want to ask where she gets her clothes. She is at least 10-12 inches taller than I and always wears amazing high-heeled shoes. I mean, her shoes are like a party in and of themselves. She can rock short hair or she can rock cornrowed braids (the look she is currently rocking). She could probably shave her head and look abso-fricking-gorgeous. She is just one of those peeps who has a presence. I have a little bit of a girl crush on her.
She, like me, has two small kids. I don’t know how she does it. I love her, and while I’m all about the self-acceptance I do occasionally feel kind of short and frumpy around her. Now, I do own a mirror and I am aware that most people of the adult sort are, indeed, taller than I am. I embrace my shortness. I just don’t embrace feeling frumpy dumpy.
I realize there are more important things to worry about. So many more important things to worry about – and I do. But I feel the need to jazz myself up a bit. And maybe that will make me able to tackle some of those more important issues. Like, Viva telling me last night that she was mad at God. My 6-year-old is having existential angst! Is it any wonder that I just want to fixate on my closet?
Added to that, the family has booked a trip to Maui in June. I know, I know, all I should need is two pairs of shorts, a few T-shirts, some flip-flops and the sunscreen. And a hat. Wait, I just re-read that sentence and realized I didn’t even think to include bathing suits. What does that tell you?
Summer is coming! I want to spend the entire summer looking fabulous in cute little sundresses all in bright citrus-y shades. With adorable little strappy sandals! Alas, my budget does not allow for this. I need to buy clothes for my children. They insist on growing, which is completely inconsiderate of them and certainly something which I will never let them live down.
I have a friend who always looks completely fabulous. (Maybe it’s you!) I always want to ask where she gets her clothes. She is at least 10-12 inches taller than I and always wears amazing high-heeled shoes. I mean, her shoes are like a party in and of themselves. She can rock short hair or she can rock cornrowed braids (the look she is currently rocking). She could probably shave her head and look abso-fricking-gorgeous. She is just one of those peeps who has a presence. I have a little bit of a girl crush on her.
She, like me, has two small kids. I don’t know how she does it. I love her, and while I’m all about the self-acceptance I do occasionally feel kind of short and frumpy around her. Now, I do own a mirror and I am aware that most people of the adult sort are, indeed, taller than I am. I embrace my shortness. I just don’t embrace feeling frumpy dumpy.
I realize there are more important things to worry about. So many more important things to worry about – and I do. But I feel the need to jazz myself up a bit. And maybe that will make me able to tackle some of those more important issues. Like, Viva telling me last night that she was mad at God. My 6-year-old is having existential angst! Is it any wonder that I just want to fixate on my closet?
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
A Girl A-Swirl
I don’t know where to start.
I haven’t written about this because it’s not my story. It’s not my life. It’s not my business. But I can’t stop thinking about it.
I work with a great group of people. I’ve become good friends with some of my co-workers. One of them – let’s call her Sally – is a few years younger than me, a single mom of four. We both have 6-year-olds and share stories about them. Her other kids are older – three teenage girls.
About 5 weeks ago, we learned that the oldest, who’s 17, is pregnant. My friend, who is 37, is about to become a grandmother.
Holy frigging crap dot com.
We then learned that not only was Sally’s daughter pregnant, she estimated she was about 6 months along. She’d been hiding it from her mom, who (in her defense) works long hours to put food and cell phones on the table for her four kids.
The 17-year-old has had no prenatal care whatsoever. At her first prenatal appointment, it turned out that she was 7 months pregnant and the baby is due in the first week of June. Needless to say, Sally is crushed. She is already struggling to make ends meet. Her daughter is in denial that this even happening, and doesn’t seem to have a clue or a plan as to how she is going to care for the baby. The parents of the baby’s father say they don’t want the kids to get married just because of the baby, they don’t want their son to drop out of school, and they’ll help pay for whatever the baby needs. In theory, this is great. In reality, I feel like they’re letting him off the hook for taking care of his baby – and who knows if they’ll actually come through with any money consistently.
Pretty much every day, Sally has more bad news about this whole situation. She comes into my office and tells me the latest (which I won't share here) and asks me what she should do. Fortunately, we work in social services, so all the resources for a situation like this are readily at hand. But every time we talk, I can feel my stomach lining being eaten away. I don’t know how she is even walking upright.
Last night, after the kids were in bed, Sweet Dub and I were sitting on the couch watching the NBA playoffs. I guess I was staring off into space because Sweet Dub asked me what was on my mind.
“I can’t stop thinking about Sally,” I said, and told him a fraction of what she’d told me. Then I said, “I can’t help thinking about how I’m going to talk to my kids, about what my hopes and expectations are for them. I mean, I feel like she did the best she could and it wasn’t enough. I just feel so bad for her.”
If nothing else, this has led us to the latest of many talks about how we want to prepare our kids for life in general, and more specifically about how we want to talk with them when it comes to sexuality. My mom was always very frank with me and my sister, and I expect I will be the same with my two. And Sweet Dub is pretty much the master of being direct and open. We are not perfect, but we are pretty much both of the school of “better to have too much information than too little,” and of the credo, “what you don’t know CAN hurt you.”
In the meantime, our little group at work is pulling together a baby shower which will be as much about pampering Sally as about preparing for the baby.
It’s a girl.
I haven’t written about this because it’s not my story. It’s not my life. It’s not my business. But I can’t stop thinking about it.
I work with a great group of people. I’ve become good friends with some of my co-workers. One of them – let’s call her Sally – is a few years younger than me, a single mom of four. We both have 6-year-olds and share stories about them. Her other kids are older – three teenage girls.
About 5 weeks ago, we learned that the oldest, who’s 17, is pregnant. My friend, who is 37, is about to become a grandmother.
Holy frigging crap dot com.
We then learned that not only was Sally’s daughter pregnant, she estimated she was about 6 months along. She’d been hiding it from her mom, who (in her defense) works long hours to put food and cell phones on the table for her four kids.
The 17-year-old has had no prenatal care whatsoever. At her first prenatal appointment, it turned out that she was 7 months pregnant and the baby is due in the first week of June. Needless to say, Sally is crushed. She is already struggling to make ends meet. Her daughter is in denial that this even happening, and doesn’t seem to have a clue or a plan as to how she is going to care for the baby. The parents of the baby’s father say they don’t want the kids to get married just because of the baby, they don’t want their son to drop out of school, and they’ll help pay for whatever the baby needs. In theory, this is great. In reality, I feel like they’re letting him off the hook for taking care of his baby – and who knows if they’ll actually come through with any money consistently.
Pretty much every day, Sally has more bad news about this whole situation. She comes into my office and tells me the latest (which I won't share here) and asks me what she should do. Fortunately, we work in social services, so all the resources for a situation like this are readily at hand. But every time we talk, I can feel my stomach lining being eaten away. I don’t know how she is even walking upright.
Last night, after the kids were in bed, Sweet Dub and I were sitting on the couch watching the NBA playoffs. I guess I was staring off into space because Sweet Dub asked me what was on my mind.
“I can’t stop thinking about Sally,” I said, and told him a fraction of what she’d told me. Then I said, “I can’t help thinking about how I’m going to talk to my kids, about what my hopes and expectations are for them. I mean, I feel like she did the best she could and it wasn’t enough. I just feel so bad for her.”
If nothing else, this has led us to the latest of many talks about how we want to prepare our kids for life in general, and more specifically about how we want to talk with them when it comes to sexuality. My mom was always very frank with me and my sister, and I expect I will be the same with my two. And Sweet Dub is pretty much the master of being direct and open. We are not perfect, but we are pretty much both of the school of “better to have too much information than too little,” and of the credo, “what you don’t know CAN hurt you.”
In the meantime, our little group at work is pulling together a baby shower which will be as much about pampering Sally as about preparing for the baby.
It’s a girl.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Thursday’s Random Five
(1) An old friend of mine that I’ve reconnected with on Facebook just emailed me to invite me to join Tubely. As you know, I can barely keep up with this blog and Facebook, never mind yet another networking site. I took a look to see what the hell Tubely was. It’s an online dating service. Bwuh? Since we are both married, albeit to different people, I find this a bit bizarre. I just sent her a message saying, well, basically, “What?” People should quit smoking crack. Or meth. Or whatever the hot and happening’ drug is these days. I can’t keep up.
(2) How funny is the whole right-wing hullabaloo over teabagging? You can’t make this stuff up! I love it. Now I hear that the hard-core right-wing National Organization for Marriage has adopted the slogan "2M4M", which is supposed to be indicate they’re hip to the young folks with all the newfangled texting and tweeting and whatever it is they do. It allegedly stands for "2 Million for Marriage." Of course, once again, they failed to do their homework and oh, I don’t know, see if this is already in common usage. Others more hip than I have indicated that this code is very familiar on social networking sites and stands for "2 Men for a Man," i.e. two men looking for a third for a ménage-a-trois. I almost feel sorry for NOM – they can’t win for losing. It is highly entertaining.
(3) Two days ago it was 95 degrees here in Los Angeles. Today, we are looking at a high of 68. It’s overcast and a little drizzly in places. I’m wearing a sweater. Happy global warming!
(4) I fell off the 100-Pushup Challenge wagon this week. Boo. I was up to 89 pushups!
(5) In related news, there’s also a 200-Sit-up Challenge and a 200-Squat Challenge. I did the 200-Sit-up Challenge initial test and was able to do 69 consecutive sit-ups. I plan to start doing both challenges next week. In preparation, my thighs have been blubbering in the corner. That’s right, you better be scared!
(2) How funny is the whole right-wing hullabaloo over teabagging? You can’t make this stuff up! I love it. Now I hear that the hard-core right-wing National Organization for Marriage has adopted the slogan "2M4M", which is supposed to be indicate they’re hip to the young folks with all the newfangled texting and tweeting and whatever it is they do. It allegedly stands for "2 Million for Marriage." Of course, once again, they failed to do their homework and oh, I don’t know, see if this is already in common usage. Others more hip than I have indicated that this code is very familiar on social networking sites and stands for "2 Men for a Man," i.e. two men looking for a third for a ménage-a-trois. I almost feel sorry for NOM – they can’t win for losing. It is highly entertaining.
(3) Two days ago it was 95 degrees here in Los Angeles. Today, we are looking at a high of 68. It’s overcast and a little drizzly in places. I’m wearing a sweater. Happy global warming!
(4) I fell off the 100-Pushup Challenge wagon this week. Boo. I was up to 89 pushups!
(5) In related news, there’s also a 200-Sit-up Challenge and a 200-Squat Challenge. I did the 200-Sit-up Challenge initial test and was able to do 69 consecutive sit-ups. I plan to start doing both challenges next week. In preparation, my thighs have been blubbering in the corner. That’s right, you better be scared!
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Be a Light Unto the Nations
On Friday, Viva came home with a notice in her backpack that International Day will be held on April 24th. Oh, how nice – what a great opportunity for the kids to learn about different cultures, etc. In the past, students at her school have been given the option of wearing traditional dress or bringing traditional food if they choose.
But not this year. This year, the school is having an International Talent Show and requiring kids to participate in it. The school is also requiring a monetary donation of $10 per kid. The school is also requiring each kid to bring a dish from their "home country." The school also wants parents to donate cultural items to a “mini-museum,” and wants parents to participate both in the talent show and the all-day events. What the fizzle?
[Commence rant.] If you are African-American, this whole thing is just annoying. First of all, what country are we to choose? Sweet Dub says, “America. She is American. Send some damn apple pie.”
I say, to be even more obnoxious, “She allegedly has Cherokee on both sides. Maybe I should send some cornbread. Or maybe I’ll send some maize.”
I’m not up on the AIM doings, but I do know that the Cherokee are a separate nation. Why not claim that as our country?
I have no idea which country or countries in Africa we hail from. I also have no idea which country or countries in Europe we hail from. I’ve heard rumors of Spanish descent on my side, and the Blah Blahs’ family surnames are all English or Irish in origin, but as we all know, that doesn’t mean we are necessarily related to the people who gave us those surnames. I’m Cherokee on my dad’s side and Gingaskin on my mom’s (the Gingaskin are actually a tri-racial tribe from the eastern shore of Virginia). Since the Gingaskins were terminated as a tribe by being absorbed as free “mulatto” or “colored” folk on the census rolls back in the day, I really have no idea what food they ate. Nor were they ever recognized as a separate nation, never mind one of the Five Civilized Tribes who are way more well-documented.
Don’t even get me started on the talent show.
Nonetheless, I think this is a good opportunity to talk with Viva about her heritage and appreciation for all the different peoples that make up the world. And I’m sure she’ll learn something. The question is, what can we teach her classmates about her nation?
Weigh in. I’m interested to hear what you think.
P.S. Can I also just say that I find it annoying that the school is having International Day during the same week as Earth Day? And yet they have no Earth Day events planned. Why choose a random day to celebrate when you have an internationally-recognized eco-conscious day already on the calendar? Save the earth or there will be no nations. For heaven’s sake!
But not this year. This year, the school is having an International Talent Show and requiring kids to participate in it. The school is also requiring a monetary donation of $10 per kid. The school is also requiring each kid to bring a dish from their "home country." The school also wants parents to donate cultural items to a “mini-museum,” and wants parents to participate both in the talent show and the all-day events. What the fizzle?
[Commence rant.] If you are African-American, this whole thing is just annoying. First of all, what country are we to choose? Sweet Dub says, “America. She is American. Send some damn apple pie.”
I say, to be even more obnoxious, “She allegedly has Cherokee on both sides. Maybe I should send some cornbread. Or maybe I’ll send some maize.”
I’m not up on the AIM doings, but I do know that the Cherokee are a separate nation. Why not claim that as our country?
I have no idea which country or countries in Africa we hail from. I also have no idea which country or countries in Europe we hail from. I’ve heard rumors of Spanish descent on my side, and the Blah Blahs’ family surnames are all English or Irish in origin, but as we all know, that doesn’t mean we are necessarily related to the people who gave us those surnames. I’m Cherokee on my dad’s side and Gingaskin on my mom’s (the Gingaskin are actually a tri-racial tribe from the eastern shore of Virginia). Since the Gingaskins were terminated as a tribe by being absorbed as free “mulatto” or “colored” folk on the census rolls back in the day, I really have no idea what food they ate. Nor were they ever recognized as a separate nation, never mind one of the Five Civilized Tribes who are way more well-documented.
Don’t even get me started on the talent show.
Nonetheless, I think this is a good opportunity to talk with Viva about her heritage and appreciation for all the different peoples that make up the world. And I’m sure she’ll learn something. The question is, what can we teach her classmates about her nation?
Weigh in. I’m interested to hear what you think.
P.S. Can I also just say that I find it annoying that the school is having International Day during the same week as Earth Day? And yet they have no Earth Day events planned. Why choose a random day to celebrate when you have an internationally-recognized eco-conscious day already on the calendar? Save the earth or there will be no nations. For heaven’s sake!
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Now With Ginkgo Biloba
Two posts ago, I think I promised you two “You know you’re getting old when…” moments.
Here they are.
Moment #1. 99 Cents Store on Sunset in Hollywood. I am standing in line between (a) members of a large family who have all used the same cart but are all paying for their items separately in several complicated transactions and (b) a young woman with bleached platinum spiky hair, black fingernail polish and a large ring through her nose*. The latter is, of course, on her cell phone.
Over the PA system, Annie Lennox's "Walkin' On Broken Glass" comes on. Young woman behind me shrieks into phone, "Oh my God, this is one of my favorite songs of all time! [singing into phone] Walkin' on walkin' on broken glass... Yeah, my mom totally raised me on this shit!"
Um, yeah. That’s what I was listening to when I was working my first job out of college. That made me want to curl up into a fetal position with a pint of Haagen-Dazs.
Moment #2. Sweet Dub is at work. He and a female coworker who is about his age are discussing a movie which is on the production schedule. It is a remake of Fame. Another coworker says, “What’s Fame?”
Sweet Dub and the female coworker look at each other. She says, “You know, Fame? Irene Cara? I’m gonna live forever, I’m gonna learn how to fly? You know, it was a TV show?”
Second coworker has no idea what they’re talking about. “How old are you?” Sweet Dub says.
“Twenty-seven,” the guy says.
Yeah. Haagen-Dazs, please.
*Sweet Dub tells me later that I am describing what is known as a suicide girl. Oh, you crazy kids!
Here they are.
Moment #1. 99 Cents Store on Sunset in Hollywood. I am standing in line between (a) members of a large family who have all used the same cart but are all paying for their items separately in several complicated transactions and (b) a young woman with bleached platinum spiky hair, black fingernail polish and a large ring through her nose*. The latter is, of course, on her cell phone.
Over the PA system, Annie Lennox's "Walkin' On Broken Glass" comes on. Young woman behind me shrieks into phone, "Oh my God, this is one of my favorite songs of all time! [singing into phone] Walkin' on walkin' on broken glass... Yeah, my mom totally raised me on this shit!"
Um, yeah. That’s what I was listening to when I was working my first job out of college. That made me want to curl up into a fetal position with a pint of Haagen-Dazs.
Moment #2. Sweet Dub is at work. He and a female coworker who is about his age are discussing a movie which is on the production schedule. It is a remake of Fame. Another coworker says, “What’s Fame?”
Sweet Dub and the female coworker look at each other. She says, “You know, Fame? Irene Cara? I’m gonna live forever, I’m gonna learn how to fly? You know, it was a TV show?”
Second coworker has no idea what they’re talking about. “How old are you?” Sweet Dub says.
“Twenty-seven,” the guy says.
Yeah. Haagen-Dazs, please.
*Sweet Dub tells me later that I am describing what is known as a suicide girl. Oh, you crazy kids!
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Whee Fit
I realize I have not yet done a recap of Viva’s birthday (April 1st), and I think that is because I am still recovering. I haven’t written anything yet about how great it is that she is six and how I love this age, nor have I written about any kind “cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon” moment where I suddenly realize that she will be grown up and gone before I know it and I’ll be sitting at home morosely tuning my guitar and making up songs about her. (Please note that I do not play the guitar. This is one of my life goals, however.)
That said, let me tell you that Sweet Dub had the brilliant idea of piggybacking onto Viva’s Christmas gift and purchasing the Wii Fit for her birthday. Viva is a natural athlete, which is constantly amazing to me as I am quite possibly the most uncoordinated and klutziest person going. No, seriously. She participates in Sports Clinic after school and has won all kinds of trophies and ribbons, including the MVP for flag football. I do not say this to brag, but as background for this purchase. Her favorite games on the Wii are mostly sports, so the Wii Fit actually made sense.
As soon as Viva opened the Wii Fit, Sweet Dub set about syncing it with our existing system and within a few seconds had completely fried both systems so neither would work. This led to a lot of stomping around and some muttered expletives.
However, several days later he sat down and worked out the bugs, and he and Viva started using it. Last night, they both prevailed upon me to use it for the first time.
I am pleased to report that (a) I weigh less than I thought and (b) my body mass index is 20.5. I am not surprised to report that the Wii balance board says my posture is wiggity wack and I’m unbalanced. I am mortified to report that my Wii age is 55. FIFTY-FIVE.
Okay, some days I may feel 55. But I am not actually anywhere close to 55. And I never drive 55. (Huh?)
Update on the 100 pushup challenge: 77. I fell off the wagon and missed a day so it’s screwed up my log. But I’m still working out and I feel pretty good.
So, how about you? How’s the family? How’s life treating you? I’m out of touch.
That said, let me tell you that Sweet Dub had the brilliant idea of piggybacking onto Viva’s Christmas gift and purchasing the Wii Fit for her birthday. Viva is a natural athlete, which is constantly amazing to me as I am quite possibly the most uncoordinated and klutziest person going. No, seriously. She participates in Sports Clinic after school and has won all kinds of trophies and ribbons, including the MVP for flag football. I do not say this to brag, but as background for this purchase. Her favorite games on the Wii are mostly sports, so the Wii Fit actually made sense.
As soon as Viva opened the Wii Fit, Sweet Dub set about syncing it with our existing system and within a few seconds had completely fried both systems so neither would work. This led to a lot of stomping around and some muttered expletives.
However, several days later he sat down and worked out the bugs, and he and Viva started using it. Last night, they both prevailed upon me to use it for the first time.
I am pleased to report that (a) I weigh less than I thought and (b) my body mass index is 20.5. I am not surprised to report that the Wii balance board says my posture is wiggity wack and I’m unbalanced. I am mortified to report that my Wii age is 55. FIFTY-FIVE.
Okay, some days I may feel 55. But I am not actually anywhere close to 55. And I never drive 55. (Huh?)
Update on the 100 pushup challenge: 77. I fell off the wagon and missed a day so it’s screwed up my log. But I’m still working out and I feel pretty good.
So, how about you? How’s the family? How’s life treating you? I’m out of touch.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
This, That and the Other
Well, hello! How’ve you been?
I’m on call for Jury Duty this week, so every day I’ve been at work I’ve been frantically trying to finish things just in case I get called. I have been working through my lunch hour, rather than blogging during lunch as I sometimes do. And then, at home I have actually been (a) working out (b) spending time with my family and (c) getting caught up on all the stuff that’s backed up on our DVR. Last night I watched multiple episodes of The Office and 30 Rock. Somehow I had missed three weeks in a row. What on earth?
All this to say, not blogging much although there’s lots to blog about. Highlights:
Sweet Dub is getting some kind of promotion at his job. We don’t yet know what exactly this means. Will he get more money? More time off? Or should he just be happy he has a job in this economy and not expect any compensation for these extra responsibilities (which are substantial)? He’s meeting with the mucky-mucks today. We’ll see. Maybe they will offer him a kajillion dollars and I can stay home and eat bonbons. I mean, do volunteer work. Oh, I mean, take my kid out of day care and go to Mommy and Me classes and roll my eyes at the moms in their yoga wear texting on their Blackberries. Because I would never do that!
Viva seems to have turned six, although I don’t even comprehend how it is possible that she is that old. She had two parties. Photos forthcoming (I brought the camera with me to work but have the wrong size USB cable, and my work computer has no memory card slot. I can not even tell you how irritated I am at technology at this point).
Viva has been sick for the past week with some sort of stomach thing. She is hardly eating anything. Monday I sent her to school with rice, crackers, a banana and some yogurt. Instead, she weaseled school lunch out of her teacher…and ended up paying for it with four separate rushed trips to the bathroom between lunch and 4 pm. Needless to say, she contritely went back on the boring diet.
Cily has developed separation anxiety, but not the normal kind, because why be normal? No, she doesn’t get upset if I leave her at daycare. She gets upset when we are getting ready in the morning and I have to put her down so I can get dressed. I can’t go to work in my underwear. I really don’t think that would go over too well, even on Casual Fridays.
I am still doing the 100-pushup challenge – 67 pushups on Monday. My arms feel like they were carved out of granite.
I am also doing Pilates, which is obviously (obviously!) the invention of some psychologically twisted person. I am convinced that I have no abdominal muscles at all. Maybe elves took them while I was asleep. Anyway, I was working out to an ab sculpting DVD last night and I swear to you the people on the DVD were doing things that are physiologically impossible. I also must tell you that I was more than a little grossed out by Mari Winsor telling me to tweeze my buttocks as we moved into various positions. (FYI, it’s not what you’d think. However, I am far too literal and visual a person for her to use that terminology.)
Speaking of technology – which I did, about 4 paragraphs ago – I am doing research on various forms of electronics for this foster teen program we are developing for work, and all I can conclude is this: I need a new laptop, a pocket video camera, and an MP3 player in order for my life to be complete. And I need them all now.
Beyond these petty concerns, I am enjoying the cooler, overcast weather today, and I am delighted that yet again the Blah Blah family seems to have been adopted by a cat. And, power to the people: this is another black cat. You may recall that at our old house, we were adopted by Jean-Jean*, who was inexplicably moody, at times extremely friendly and at times not. This mystery was cleared up when we discovered that there were actually two long-haired black cats with green eyes visiting our yard. One was tame, the other, not.
This new black cat is extremely tame, to the point where when I sit down on the back steps, he jumps into my lap. Tame to the point where he stands and scratches at the back door to let us know he’s there. Tame to the point where he jumps up onto the (covered) barbecue grill and peers into the kitchen window, as if to will us to come out and play. Tame to the point where, when Viva leaves the laundry room door ajar, he just saunters on in like he owns the place.
It has been fun to watch Viva getting used to him. She has never been around a cat that is this used to people. When I casually pick him up and remove him from somewhere he is not supposed to be, she gazes at me in rapture like I am a lion tamer. It is quite funny. I am considering investing in a top hat. Maybe I’ll sell tickets in the front yard.
Next time: two “you know you’re old when…” moments. Oh, dear.
* I went back through my old blog posts to find the one where I posted a picture of him, and alas! I can't seem to find it. Sorry. But know that he was a most beautiful cat.
I’m on call for Jury Duty this week, so every day I’ve been at work I’ve been frantically trying to finish things just in case I get called. I have been working through my lunch hour, rather than blogging during lunch as I sometimes do. And then, at home I have actually been (a) working out (b) spending time with my family and (c) getting caught up on all the stuff that’s backed up on our DVR. Last night I watched multiple episodes of The Office and 30 Rock. Somehow I had missed three weeks in a row. What on earth?
All this to say, not blogging much although there’s lots to blog about. Highlights:
Sweet Dub is getting some kind of promotion at his job. We don’t yet know what exactly this means. Will he get more money? More time off? Or should he just be happy he has a job in this economy and not expect any compensation for these extra responsibilities (which are substantial)? He’s meeting with the mucky-mucks today. We’ll see. Maybe they will offer him a kajillion dollars and I can stay home and eat bonbons. I mean, do volunteer work. Oh, I mean, take my kid out of day care and go to Mommy and Me classes and roll my eyes at the moms in their yoga wear texting on their Blackberries. Because I would never do that!
Viva seems to have turned six, although I don’t even comprehend how it is possible that she is that old. She had two parties. Photos forthcoming (I brought the camera with me to work but have the wrong size USB cable, and my work computer has no memory card slot. I can not even tell you how irritated I am at technology at this point).
Viva has been sick for the past week with some sort of stomach thing. She is hardly eating anything. Monday I sent her to school with rice, crackers, a banana and some yogurt. Instead, she weaseled school lunch out of her teacher…and ended up paying for it with four separate rushed trips to the bathroom between lunch and 4 pm. Needless to say, she contritely went back on the boring diet.
Cily has developed separation anxiety, but not the normal kind, because why be normal? No, she doesn’t get upset if I leave her at daycare. She gets upset when we are getting ready in the morning and I have to put her down so I can get dressed. I can’t go to work in my underwear. I really don’t think that would go over too well, even on Casual Fridays.
I am still doing the 100-pushup challenge – 67 pushups on Monday. My arms feel like they were carved out of granite.
I am also doing Pilates, which is obviously (obviously!) the invention of some psychologically twisted person. I am convinced that I have no abdominal muscles at all. Maybe elves took them while I was asleep. Anyway, I was working out to an ab sculpting DVD last night and I swear to you the people on the DVD were doing things that are physiologically impossible. I also must tell you that I was more than a little grossed out by Mari Winsor telling me to tweeze my buttocks as we moved into various positions. (FYI, it’s not what you’d think. However, I am far too literal and visual a person for her to use that terminology.)
Speaking of technology – which I did, about 4 paragraphs ago – I am doing research on various forms of electronics for this foster teen program we are developing for work, and all I can conclude is this: I need a new laptop, a pocket video camera, and an MP3 player in order for my life to be complete. And I need them all now.
Beyond these petty concerns, I am enjoying the cooler, overcast weather today, and I am delighted that yet again the Blah Blah family seems to have been adopted by a cat. And, power to the people: this is another black cat. You may recall that at our old house, we were adopted by Jean-Jean*, who was inexplicably moody, at times extremely friendly and at times not. This mystery was cleared up when we discovered that there were actually two long-haired black cats with green eyes visiting our yard. One was tame, the other, not.
This new black cat is extremely tame, to the point where when I sit down on the back steps, he jumps into my lap. Tame to the point where he stands and scratches at the back door to let us know he’s there. Tame to the point where he jumps up onto the (covered) barbecue grill and peers into the kitchen window, as if to will us to come out and play. Tame to the point where, when Viva leaves the laundry room door ajar, he just saunters on in like he owns the place.
It has been fun to watch Viva getting used to him. She has never been around a cat that is this used to people. When I casually pick him up and remove him from somewhere he is not supposed to be, she gazes at me in rapture like I am a lion tamer. It is quite funny. I am considering investing in a top hat. Maybe I’ll sell tickets in the front yard.
Next time: two “you know you’re old when…” moments. Oh, dear.
* I went back through my old blog posts to find the one where I posted a picture of him, and alas! I can't seem to find it. Sorry. But know that he was a most beautiful cat.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Freak Accident
Weekends have not been kind to me the last couple of weeks.
The weekend before last, I (unknowingly) ran over a piece of metal in my car and had to get the tire patched. Translation: I realized my tire was making the universal “I’m losing air” sound about a mile from home, pulled over and checked it, drove home at about 2 miles an hour, and ran into the house yelling up the stairs for Sweet Dub to come down. It then became his responsibility to fix the tire. You know, I consider myself a feminist, but this is one instance where I am happy to play the helpless damsel in distress because I just don’t want to deal with it.
So, this past weekend. Sweet Dub is lying on the couch, sick as a dog. Cily is asleep. Viva is…hmm, I’m not sure what she’s doing. She may be out in the back yard trying to find the latest cat who has decided we belong to him.
I am upstairs, having decided that our house is a Den of Filth and that I am going to clean from the top down. I start with the bathroom. I have already scrubbed the toilet and the tub. I am in the tub with my jeans rolled up, scrubbing the glass shower doors. I slide one of the glass panels over to get to the other one better, and all of a sudden there is a big crash. I am no longer holding the door, because the door is no longer there. I am standing ankle deep in bare feet in chunks of glass. Beads of blood are already starting to form on my arms. I realize if I move I am going to really hurt myself. I scream for Sweet Dub, who is already awake and moving because he heard the crash. He and Viva run upstairs. He and I both yell at Viva to stay out of the room because the glass has shattered all over the floor as well as the tub. It is in the toilet. It is in my hair. It is in the rolled-up cuffs of my jeans, and in the hood of my sweatshirt. Part of the shower door is still swinging a bit from the frame of the shower. Viva is whimpering. Cily sleeps through the whole thing.
Sweet Dub walks carefully into the room in sneakers and lifts me out of the tub. When I put my feet down, I cut myself – which I think was inevitable because tiny slivers of glass are clinging to my feet. I stand out in the hallway right outside the bathroom and carefully pull off my clothes, which we throw into a bucket. I have a couple of really deep gashes in my hands, on the outer parts of my thumbs, below the knuckle, and my left wrist is slashed up. I also have many smaller scratches all over my hands and feet. I wrap my hands in an old T-shirt and apply pressure. It could have been worse. What if Viva had been in the shower? I don’t think she would have had the presence of mind not to move, so she would have been cut up much worse.
Our landlord’s father is the one who put the shower in. It’s supposed to be a floating glass door, i.e. it doesn’t have a frame around the sides or bottom, only at the top. So when it jumped the track a millimeter, it hit the tub and with no frame to protect it, fell to pieces. At least, that’s what we think happened.
I don’t want to replace it. A tension rod and a shower curtain, and I’m all good.
On Sunday, Sweet Dub said to me, “Can we just make a pact? Can we go one weekend where you’re not screaming ‘HON-EAAY!!!’ with the latest disaster up or down the stairs?”
I’d like that. I really would.
The weekend before last, I (unknowingly) ran over a piece of metal in my car and had to get the tire patched. Translation: I realized my tire was making the universal “I’m losing air” sound about a mile from home, pulled over and checked it, drove home at about 2 miles an hour, and ran into the house yelling up the stairs for Sweet Dub to come down. It then became his responsibility to fix the tire. You know, I consider myself a feminist, but this is one instance where I am happy to play the helpless damsel in distress because I just don’t want to deal with it.
So, this past weekend. Sweet Dub is lying on the couch, sick as a dog. Cily is asleep. Viva is…hmm, I’m not sure what she’s doing. She may be out in the back yard trying to find the latest cat who has decided we belong to him.
I am upstairs, having decided that our house is a Den of Filth and that I am going to clean from the top down. I start with the bathroom. I have already scrubbed the toilet and the tub. I am in the tub with my jeans rolled up, scrubbing the glass shower doors. I slide one of the glass panels over to get to the other one better, and all of a sudden there is a big crash. I am no longer holding the door, because the door is no longer there. I am standing ankle deep in bare feet in chunks of glass. Beads of blood are already starting to form on my arms. I realize if I move I am going to really hurt myself. I scream for Sweet Dub, who is already awake and moving because he heard the crash. He and Viva run upstairs. He and I both yell at Viva to stay out of the room because the glass has shattered all over the floor as well as the tub. It is in the toilet. It is in my hair. It is in the rolled-up cuffs of my jeans, and in the hood of my sweatshirt. Part of the shower door is still swinging a bit from the frame of the shower. Viva is whimpering. Cily sleeps through the whole thing.
Sweet Dub walks carefully into the room in sneakers and lifts me out of the tub. When I put my feet down, I cut myself – which I think was inevitable because tiny slivers of glass are clinging to my feet. I stand out in the hallway right outside the bathroom and carefully pull off my clothes, which we throw into a bucket. I have a couple of really deep gashes in my hands, on the outer parts of my thumbs, below the knuckle, and my left wrist is slashed up. I also have many smaller scratches all over my hands and feet. I wrap my hands in an old T-shirt and apply pressure. It could have been worse. What if Viva had been in the shower? I don’t think she would have had the presence of mind not to move, so she would have been cut up much worse.
Our landlord’s father is the one who put the shower in. It’s supposed to be a floating glass door, i.e. it doesn’t have a frame around the sides or bottom, only at the top. So when it jumped the track a millimeter, it hit the tub and with no frame to protect it, fell to pieces. At least, that’s what we think happened.
I don’t want to replace it. A tension rod and a shower curtain, and I’m all good.
On Sunday, Sweet Dub said to me, “Can we just make a pact? Can we go one weekend where you’re not screaming ‘HON-EAAY!!!’ with the latest disaster up or down the stairs?”
I’d like that. I really would.
Physical Fitness
Hey, so the 100 push-up challenge! I started yesterday. I did my pre-challenge test on Saturday morning and discovered I could do 22 modified (on my knees) pushups. I decided to do the modified ones first and once I reach 100 of those, I’ll re-do the challenge but this time do standard pushups. I’ll be doing my pushups on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.
So, Day One, Monday: 25 pushups.
FYI: I am also doing yoga on the Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule, and doing cardio workouts on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Sunday is my day of rest. Rrrarrh! (I feel very Howard Dean, even typing that.)
Stay tuned. I’m going to be a lean machine. For those who are also doing the challenge: how has it been for you? How do you feel? I’m honestly kind of surprised that I can already see progress. But that’s good for me, because too often I get discouraged if I don’t feel I’m moving forward, even though I’ve just started. That’s me, part of the Instant Gratification Generation. Ooh, look, something shiny!*
Edited to add: once again, I’ve started something without fully researching what I’m supposed to be doing. I just went onto the website to log my pushups and I realized I’m supposed to be doing SETS. Duh. So I’m starting on Week 3 and tomorrow I’ll be doing several sets of pushups. Holy crap. I’ll let you know how that goes and if I’m still as enthusiastic about the program.
* I said that to Viva the other day as a joke, and she whipped her head around and said, “Where?” Then I felt like kind of an ass. Good parenting skills!
So, Day One, Monday: 25 pushups.
FYI: I am also doing yoga on the Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule, and doing cardio workouts on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Sunday is my day of rest. Rrrarrh! (I feel very Howard Dean, even typing that.)
Stay tuned. I’m going to be a lean machine. For those who are also doing the challenge: how has it been for you? How do you feel? I’m honestly kind of surprised that I can already see progress. But that’s good for me, because too often I get discouraged if I don’t feel I’m moving forward, even though I’ve just started. That’s me, part of the Instant Gratification Generation. Ooh, look, something shiny!*
Edited to add: once again, I’ve started something without fully researching what I’m supposed to be doing. I just went onto the website to log my pushups and I realized I’m supposed to be doing SETS. Duh. So I’m starting on Week 3 and tomorrow I’ll be doing several sets of pushups. Holy crap. I’ll let you know how that goes and if I’m still as enthusiastic about the program.
* I said that to Viva the other day as a joke, and she whipped her head around and said, “Where?” Then I felt like kind of an ass. Good parenting skills!
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Good Concept, Not So Great Execution
So I blew off a little bit of steam yesterday. I was at work and I was a little pissed off and I didn't have a whole lot of time, so I have no idea whether yesterday's post was even remotely coherent. And what's more, I'm not all that worried about it.
You may have noticed (or not! and it matters not a whit whether you have or not) that I have been on a Grace in Small Things hiatus. Not because I don’t want to appreciate all the small wonderful things in my life. They are there, and participating in GIST was a great exercise to recognize that. But it’s hard to come up with things that are wonderful and great besides my kids and my husband every day (say what you want about my personal limitations), and then that becomes kind of hackneyed and predictable. “Hey, she’s happily married and she loves her kids and she’s saying it AGAIN!” Snore.
I think my default setting is a little snarky, with a side of riled up. And I think that having a space where I can blog about these things lets me blow off steam, which allows me to be better – better at my spousing and parenting and job thing. So mixing the Grace in Small Things in with this blog space was not the best move for me.* It may work for other people.
Don’t worry – this doesn’t mean I’ll be pissed off here all the time. Just that the GIST thing seemed to be messing with the Blah Blah vibe.
At any rate, you know what's a good idea when you're pissed off about something? It's a good idea to channel your fury into something positive. Hence and therefore:
I'm joining Nerd Girl in the 100-pushup challenge! (How's that for a segue?) And I have to say, I'm going to try my damnedest to do it. My problem is that I start off these things with all the best intentions, and then life happens and my good intentions kind of run off the rails. While this is very vexing to me, it might be quite entertaining to you, and you know me, I'm all about the entertainment. (That's me, I'm a giver.)
Do you want to try it? What's the harm? Come on in!
* I’m moving it back over to GIST where it belongs. You are welcome to visit it there.
You may have noticed (or not! and it matters not a whit whether you have or not) that I have been on a Grace in Small Things hiatus. Not because I don’t want to appreciate all the small wonderful things in my life. They are there, and participating in GIST was a great exercise to recognize that. But it’s hard to come up with things that are wonderful and great besides my kids and my husband every day (say what you want about my personal limitations), and then that becomes kind of hackneyed and predictable. “Hey, she’s happily married and she loves her kids and she’s saying it AGAIN!” Snore.
I think my default setting is a little snarky, with a side of riled up. And I think that having a space where I can blog about these things lets me blow off steam, which allows me to be better – better at my spousing and parenting and job thing. So mixing the Grace in Small Things in with this blog space was not the best move for me.* It may work for other people.
Don’t worry – this doesn’t mean I’ll be pissed off here all the time. Just that the GIST thing seemed to be messing with the Blah Blah vibe.
At any rate, you know what's a good idea when you're pissed off about something? It's a good idea to channel your fury into something positive. Hence and therefore:
I'm joining Nerd Girl in the 100-pushup challenge! (How's that for a segue?) And I have to say, I'm going to try my damnedest to do it. My problem is that I start off these things with all the best intentions, and then life happens and my good intentions kind of run off the rails. While this is very vexing to me, it might be quite entertaining to you, and you know me, I'm all about the entertainment. (That's me, I'm a giver.)
Do you want to try it? What's the harm? Come on in!
* I’m moving it back over to GIST where it belongs. You are welcome to visit it there.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Kumbaya
Sometimes I think life is too stressful and we’re all too angry and we all need to just breathe and link arms and teach the world to sing in perfect harmony. And then I come across a rant like this, on Bitch, PhD. (I’ll stop for a second so you can go read it, if you want. By the way, my favorite part of it is this, in regard to the AIG bonuses: “This tearing the doors off the barn and then running around trying to figure out how to Teach a Lesson to the cow that wandered into the kitchen is stupid bullshit, unworthy of anyone over the age of three. Put some goddamn fucking doors on the goddamn barn. That one cow isn't any different than any of the others, if you were a cow you wouldn't be either, and even if you shoot it in the head your kitchen is still going to be a mess and a different cow is going to wander in tomorrow.”)
I read a rant like this, and I think, no, you know what? NO. America, we have every damn right to be angry. Yeah, I’m tired of being pissed off at things, but the world is not all lollipops and rainbows. There’s a reason I’m pissed off. And as someone I’m too lazy to look up and cite properly once said, “If you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention.”
I’m pissed off and I’m sleep deprived, and I have no time to tie my own shoes. If I get my kid off to school each day with her hair oiled and combed and her teeth brushed and her face clean, I consider that a victory every damn day. I’m here to say I’m tired, man, and I’m not going to sugar coat it. I get up every day and do what I’m supposed to do, and nobody throws me a parade or gives me my own reality show for doing so. The economy is essentially flushing itself down the toilet and scaring me for the future of my children and yours, and I get up every morning and plow ahead anyway – that is the real story. Me and all of you like me, who don’t expect to get something for nothing, who don’t hang your hopes on some bullshit system – you get up and you grumble a little bit and you try to raise your kids the best way you know how. You try to be the best person you can be. You think about your parents, your grandparents, about people you know who have faced some of the worst horrors imaginable and come out – not whole, exactly, but with a kind of fractured intactness, and they function in the world, and they interact with people like you, and they think you are some crybaby fussypots for thinking these times are bad.
The sun rises. I get up. I have a job, I have a home, I have food. My kids are healthy and thriving. My bed is very comfortable. My husband calls upstairs to me that he’s leaving and it’s late.
I get up. The news is blaring, and the news ain’t good. I wipe bums, I pack lunchboxes, I put on lipstick. I drive through Los Angeles, explaining to my oldest the nuances of 6-year-old behavior on the playground. I kiss her as I drop her off. I almost get sideswiped by a black Escalade. I drop off the baby. I stop at the door and go back to kiss her again. I drive off. Passing the Metro station, I see an old woman with a shock of white hair and a white beard stumping around painfully, slowly pushing an overstuffed collapsible grocery carrier. I watch passersby avoid her. At work, I find out that requests to our internal emergency fund (for families who need immediate financial assistance due to eviction or job loss or relocation due to family violence) are up 75% over this time last year. At the same time, funding – from government sources and from private donors - is down.
You think, “What small thing can I do to make a difference?”
You get up.
I read a rant like this, and I think, no, you know what? NO. America, we have every damn right to be angry. Yeah, I’m tired of being pissed off at things, but the world is not all lollipops and rainbows. There’s a reason I’m pissed off. And as someone I’m too lazy to look up and cite properly once said, “If you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention.”
I’m pissed off and I’m sleep deprived, and I have no time to tie my own shoes. If I get my kid off to school each day with her hair oiled and combed and her teeth brushed and her face clean, I consider that a victory every damn day. I’m here to say I’m tired, man, and I’m not going to sugar coat it. I get up every day and do what I’m supposed to do, and nobody throws me a parade or gives me my own reality show for doing so. The economy is essentially flushing itself down the toilet and scaring me for the future of my children and yours, and I get up every morning and plow ahead anyway – that is the real story. Me and all of you like me, who don’t expect to get something for nothing, who don’t hang your hopes on some bullshit system – you get up and you grumble a little bit and you try to raise your kids the best way you know how. You try to be the best person you can be. You think about your parents, your grandparents, about people you know who have faced some of the worst horrors imaginable and come out – not whole, exactly, but with a kind of fractured intactness, and they function in the world, and they interact with people like you, and they think you are some crybaby fussypots for thinking these times are bad.
The sun rises. I get up. I have a job, I have a home, I have food. My kids are healthy and thriving. My bed is very comfortable. My husband calls upstairs to me that he’s leaving and it’s late.
I get up. The news is blaring, and the news ain’t good. I wipe bums, I pack lunchboxes, I put on lipstick. I drive through Los Angeles, explaining to my oldest the nuances of 6-year-old behavior on the playground. I kiss her as I drop her off. I almost get sideswiped by a black Escalade. I drop off the baby. I stop at the door and go back to kiss her again. I drive off. Passing the Metro station, I see an old woman with a shock of white hair and a white beard stumping around painfully, slowly pushing an overstuffed collapsible grocery carrier. I watch passersby avoid her. At work, I find out that requests to our internal emergency fund (for families who need immediate financial assistance due to eviction or job loss or relocation due to family violence) are up 75% over this time last year. At the same time, funding – from government sources and from private donors - is down.
You think, “What small thing can I do to make a difference?”
You get up.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Lunch Limbo
“Mom, I want to have school lunch.”
Oh, dear God. Well, I think we have fallen into a bit of a rut as far as packing a lunch from home. I admit it. Since the baby’s birth, I’ve started packing stuff I never would have sent to school with Viva before. I’ve actually broken down and bought – oh, the shame – junk food (Cheetos, I’m looking at you). And not just junk food, but individually packaged junk food, so not only am I potentially ruining my child’s health, but I’m simultaneously destroying the planet! All by my onesies!
Ah, my old friend, Guilt. When did you get back in town?
Okay, in all fairness, here’s what Viva went to school with this morning: tuna salad with multigrain crackers, strawberries, seedless red grapes, a “100 calorie” package of Pepperidge Farm Chessmen cookies, and watered-down lemonade. (Regular readers may recall that Viva is not a big fan of the sandwich. I was pleased to discover recently that she loves a sandwich on a bagel, so that became a once-a-week staple until I learned that she was taking my lovingly constructed sandwiches apart and eating each component separately. Apparently this also meant she was throwing away the lettuce on the sandwich rather than eating it. Ugh.)
Her lunch generally consists of a “main course” with some kind of protein (can be anything from a turkey sandwich on a bagel to mac & cheese in a Thermos), one or two servings of fresh fruit (pretty much any fruit) or vegetables (edamame beans, baby carrots), a side of crackers or chips, and some kind of treat (this can be anything from a granola bar to Trader Joe’s yogurt to the occasional bag of cookies). And a drink. I don’t do juice boxes, so I fill up a reusable container with drinks from home – either water or watered-down juice. This covers two snack breaks and lunch during her school day.
When I asked Viva why she wanted school lunch, she said, “It just looks so good!” However, we have tried school lunch before, and aside from it being more expensive, there were often items that Viva simply didn’t like, and she’d come home hungry. Also, school lunch doesn’t include snacks, so I had to pack a lunchbox every day anyway.
I’ve been looking up lunch ideas online and found some good suggestions to get me out of my rut at lunchopolis and ilunchbox. Let’s face it – I’m never going to send Viva off with the gorgeous lunches you might see at Vegan Lunch Box. But I’ve got to think if I mix it up a bit more, she might back off on going back on the lunch plan at school…for the moment.
What about you? Do you have any fairly easy, fairly healthy lunchbox suggestions? Throw ‘em my way! I’m open!
Oh, dear God. Well, I think we have fallen into a bit of a rut as far as packing a lunch from home. I admit it. Since the baby’s birth, I’ve started packing stuff I never would have sent to school with Viva before. I’ve actually broken down and bought – oh, the shame – junk food (Cheetos, I’m looking at you). And not just junk food, but individually packaged junk food, so not only am I potentially ruining my child’s health, but I’m simultaneously destroying the planet! All by my onesies!
Ah, my old friend, Guilt. When did you get back in town?
Okay, in all fairness, here’s what Viva went to school with this morning: tuna salad with multigrain crackers, strawberries, seedless red grapes, a “100 calorie” package of Pepperidge Farm Chessmen cookies, and watered-down lemonade. (Regular readers may recall that Viva is not a big fan of the sandwich. I was pleased to discover recently that she loves a sandwich on a bagel, so that became a once-a-week staple until I learned that she was taking my lovingly constructed sandwiches apart and eating each component separately. Apparently this also meant she was throwing away the lettuce on the sandwich rather than eating it. Ugh.)
Her lunch generally consists of a “main course” with some kind of protein (can be anything from a turkey sandwich on a bagel to mac & cheese in a Thermos), one or two servings of fresh fruit (pretty much any fruit) or vegetables (edamame beans, baby carrots), a side of crackers or chips, and some kind of treat (this can be anything from a granola bar to Trader Joe’s yogurt to the occasional bag of cookies). And a drink. I don’t do juice boxes, so I fill up a reusable container with drinks from home – either water or watered-down juice. This covers two snack breaks and lunch during her school day.
When I asked Viva why she wanted school lunch, she said, “It just looks so good!” However, we have tried school lunch before, and aside from it being more expensive, there were often items that Viva simply didn’t like, and she’d come home hungry. Also, school lunch doesn’t include snacks, so I had to pack a lunchbox every day anyway.
I’ve been looking up lunch ideas online and found some good suggestions to get me out of my rut at lunchopolis and ilunchbox. Let’s face it – I’m never going to send Viva off with the gorgeous lunches you might see at Vegan Lunch Box. But I’ve got to think if I mix it up a bit more, she might back off on going back on the lunch plan at school…for the moment.
What about you? Do you have any fairly easy, fairly healthy lunchbox suggestions? Throw ‘em my way! I’m open!
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
The Joy of Not Cooking
This week, suddenly and unexpectedly, I have completely lost interest in cooking.
You know, I think I had a fairly good run there. I'm one of those who sits down on Sunday and maps out meals for the week, and then draws up a grocery list based on that, and then pretty much follows the meal plan with a little improv here and there. But I've just had it. I just want to come home and spend some time with the kids. This evening when I came home with Cily, Sweet Dub was mid-workout in the living room. Viva was upstairs, having finished her homework, and she proudly showed me her MVP ribbon from football clinic at school. I changed my clothes and folded laundry while sitting on the floor in my bedroom next to Cily on her activity mat. Viva plopped down with us and began playing an elaborate game of cars, planes and dinosaurs, which I provided some of the voices for. It was -- dare I say it? -- relaxing.
Sweet Dub came upstairs and asked what we should do for dinner. I realized I would be fine eating some fruit and a bagel sandwich, so that's what Viva and I had for dinner. Dub had leftover tortellini. All was well and the world did not fall off its axis. I could get used to this. The End.
You know, I think I had a fairly good run there. I'm one of those who sits down on Sunday and maps out meals for the week, and then draws up a grocery list based on that, and then pretty much follows the meal plan with a little improv here and there. But I've just had it. I just want to come home and spend some time with the kids. This evening when I came home with Cily, Sweet Dub was mid-workout in the living room. Viva was upstairs, having finished her homework, and she proudly showed me her MVP ribbon from football clinic at school. I changed my clothes and folded laundry while sitting on the floor in my bedroom next to Cily on her activity mat. Viva plopped down with us and began playing an elaborate game of cars, planes and dinosaurs, which I provided some of the voices for. It was -- dare I say it? -- relaxing.
Sweet Dub came upstairs and asked what we should do for dinner. I realized I would be fine eating some fruit and a bagel sandwich, so that's what Viva and I had for dinner. Dub had leftover tortellini. All was well and the world did not fall off its axis. I could get used to this. The End.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Lucky Thirteen.
Appreciating, on this thirteenth day of appreciating what I should appreciate:
1. I finally, after MONTHS of not, got my hair cut and colored on Saturday. I feel like a new woman!
2. New red shoes. HOT!
3. A quiet day at the office. I finished drafting my cover article, including sidebars and suggesting which photos to use.
4. Really good news from Sweet Dub's job. Apparently they appreciate him almost (ALMOST) as much as I do.
5. Jon Stewart taking on Jim Cramer. One love, Jon. One love.
1. I finally, after MONTHS of not, got my hair cut and colored on Saturday. I feel like a new woman!
2. New red shoes. HOT!
3. A quiet day at the office. I finished drafting my cover article, including sidebars and suggesting which photos to use.
4. Really good news from Sweet Dub's job. Apparently they appreciate him almost (ALMOST) as much as I do.
5. Jon Stewart taking on Jim Cramer. One love, Jon. One love.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Day Twelve. And a Partridge in a Pear Tree.
Here are some small things for which I am grateful:
1. It’s Friday.
2. It’s cool and clear today, and because I am in Los Angeles, that means it’s 63 degrees. I never have to dig my car out of the snow before I go to work. As a Bostonian by birth, I know that is truly a blessing.
3. The Blah Blahs are officially planning a vacation. Destination as yet unknown (planning has just barely begun).
4. I gave a progress report on my foster care project in a meeting today. It was very well-received – staff are excited about all the possibilities of this new program. I am too. Maybe my enthusiasm rubbed off. But my boss and boss’ boss are particularly pleased.
5. I went to the Farmer’s Market at lunch today. There are few things more scrumptious than a fresh strawberry.
1. It’s Friday.
2. It’s cool and clear today, and because I am in Los Angeles, that means it’s 63 degrees. I never have to dig my car out of the snow before I go to work. As a Bostonian by birth, I know that is truly a blessing.
3. The Blah Blahs are officially planning a vacation. Destination as yet unknown (planning has just barely begun).
4. I gave a progress report on my foster care project in a meeting today. It was very well-received – staff are excited about all the possibilities of this new program. I am too. Maybe my enthusiasm rubbed off. But my boss and boss’ boss are particularly pleased.
5. I went to the Farmer’s Market at lunch today. There are few things more scrumptious than a fresh strawberry.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Day Eleven. Cheesy and soulful.
Grace in...oh, you know.
1. Brie cheese.
2. And Camembert, too.
3. And focaccia.
4. Soul sides. Because I go to the site and scroll around and inevitably yelp and yip with excitement. I hadn’t been in a while, I admit, and today I was reading back a few posts and YIP! “I LOVE DAVID RUFFIN!” Yeah, it’s like that. Really great artists you may have totally forgotten about. Old soul music is just like home to me. I can’t explain it any other way.*
5. Being told that the EVP where I work (who is a published novelist, and completely anal about language) has been praising my writing talents hither and yon. Wow.
* Ooh! Dionne Warwick! Now there’s an O.D. (Original Diva) for ya. And look at her picture. She looked FABulous.
1. Brie cheese.
2. And Camembert, too.
3. And focaccia.
4. Soul sides. Because I go to the site and scroll around and inevitably yelp and yip with excitement. I hadn’t been in a while, I admit, and today I was reading back a few posts and YIP! “I LOVE DAVID RUFFIN!” Yeah, it’s like that. Really great artists you may have totally forgotten about. Old soul music is just like home to me. I can’t explain it any other way.*
5. Being told that the EVP where I work (who is a published novelist, and completely anal about language) has been praising my writing talents hither and yon. Wow.
* Ooh! Dionne Warwick! Now there’s an O.D. (Original Diva) for ya. And look at her picture. She looked FABulous.
A Lovely Bouquet
One of my co-worker friends is getting married next year and she just asked me if Viva could be her flower girl. Given that the only lengthy conversation they’ve had was about tae kwon do, after which they practiced air kicks, she knew what a risky proposition this might be.
“Will she even wear a dress?” she asked.
“You know, that really is an issue. I’ll have to ask her about it and get back to you,” I said, and then sympathetically, “You might want to keep looking and have Viva as a backup. But I’ll see what she says.”
Can a flower girl wear track pants and a “My school is cool” T-shirt? That seems to be Viva’s default outfit these days. We’ll see.
“Will she even wear a dress?” she asked.
“You know, that really is an issue. I’ll have to ask her about it and get back to you,” I said, and then sympathetically, “You might want to keep looking and have Viva as a backup. But I’ll see what she says.”
Can a flower girl wear track pants and a “My school is cool” T-shirt? That seems to be Viva’s default outfit these days. We’ll see.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Day Ten. Belatedly.
Grace in small things:
1. Cily’s been healthy for a few days.
2. Had a great meeting with a VP at work – we brainstormed about a new creative arts program we want to offer to foster kids. He really knows his stuff and is excited we’re trying to do this, and was happy I asked his opinion. I was happy because he really knows his stuff and is excited we’re trying to do this, so he gave me a lot of great ideas. Now I just have to write them up and hammer out a budget. Sweet!
3. Talking with some work friends about massages and pampering yourself and discovered one of our work friends has never been to a spa. (She is only 27, so I’ll cut her a little slack.) The rest of us (there were three of us, late-30s and age 40-moi) were taken aback and insisted she learn how to pamper herself. I then went online and sent her the link to this. You look, too. It’ll relax you just to look at it. Once when I went there I had such a good time talking with my masseuse that she gave me an extra half-hour and then comped the entire massage. And she wouldn’t take a tip! Ah, good times.
4. Vietnamese take-out for dinner. No dishes to wash. Pho sho!
5. Sick, but I can still do push-ups. In sets of ten! Rrrraarrrh!
1. Cily’s been healthy for a few days.
2. Had a great meeting with a VP at work – we brainstormed about a new creative arts program we want to offer to foster kids. He really knows his stuff and is excited we’re trying to do this, and was happy I asked his opinion. I was happy because he really knows his stuff and is excited we’re trying to do this, so he gave me a lot of great ideas. Now I just have to write them up and hammer out a budget. Sweet!
3. Talking with some work friends about massages and pampering yourself and discovered one of our work friends has never been to a spa. (She is only 27, so I’ll cut her a little slack.) The rest of us (there were three of us, late-30s and age 40-moi) were taken aback and insisted she learn how to pamper herself. I then went online and sent her the link to this. You look, too. It’ll relax you just to look at it. Once when I went there I had such a good time talking with my masseuse that she gave me an extra half-hour and then comped the entire massage. And she wouldn’t take a tip! Ah, good times.
4. Vietnamese take-out for dinner. No dishes to wash. Pho sho!
5. Sick, but I can still do push-ups. In sets of ten! Rrrraarrrh!
Banging My Head Against the Wall
Update on the day care situation:
The director of the center did not read my email. She heard from Cily’s caregiver that I had emailed her, so she called and left a message saying she would rather just speak with me in person.
When we spoke, she had the nerve to argue with me. Incredibly, she seemed to think that if Cily wasn’t crying, there was no reason to think she might be hungry. “We feed on demand,” she said.
“I understand that,” I said. “But if a child goes five hours without eating anything, wouldn’t you just offer her something?”
“Well, she wasn’t crying,” she said.
“No, sometimes she doesn’t,” I said. “But—“
“Well, usually she lets us know if she’s hungry,” she interrupted. “Believe me.”
“What I would like to see happen is EVEN IF SHE IS NOT CRYING, offer her a bottle every three hours,” I said. “If she isn’t hungry, she won’t eat it. But she should never go five hours without being fed.”
“Okay, we’ll do that,” she said. “But you know usually a baby will cry to tell you they’re hungry.”
Deep breath. “Okay, L. – let me tell you what I am trying to do here. I am trying to avoid having my husband come down here. He is not happy. You do not want him to come down here. Can we just agree that from now on you will check to see if she wants to eat every three hours or so?”
Agreed. Jesus Lord, give me strength.
The director of the center did not read my email. She heard from Cily’s caregiver that I had emailed her, so she called and left a message saying she would rather just speak with me in person.
When we spoke, she had the nerve to argue with me. Incredibly, she seemed to think that if Cily wasn’t crying, there was no reason to think she might be hungry. “We feed on demand,” she said.
“I understand that,” I said. “But if a child goes five hours without eating anything, wouldn’t you just offer her something?”
“Well, she wasn’t crying,” she said.
“No, sometimes she doesn’t,” I said. “But—“
“Well, usually she lets us know if she’s hungry,” she interrupted. “Believe me.”
“What I would like to see happen is EVEN IF SHE IS NOT CRYING, offer her a bottle every three hours,” I said. “If she isn’t hungry, she won’t eat it. But she should never go five hours without being fed.”
“Okay, we’ll do that,” she said. “But you know usually a baby will cry to tell you they’re hungry.”
Deep breath. “Okay, L. – let me tell you what I am trying to do here. I am trying to avoid having my husband come down here. He is not happy. You do not want him to come down here. Can we just agree that from now on you will check to see if she wants to eat every three hours or so?”
Agreed. Jesus Lord, give me strength.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Day Nine and Feelin’…Meh.
1. Yesterday I was asked to work on some creative projects at work. Today that translated into me writing the cover story for our company newsletter, along with a couple of other articles. That is so much with the coolness!
2. Good and yet not so good: I’ve been watching my money carefully and I was wondering why I had more money in my account than expected – but not enough to really pursue it. Today I was changing purses and I discovered a bill in my purse that I thought I had mailed two weeks ago. Oh, so that’s why I have an extra $779 in my account! Yeah, I’m really tired. It made me laugh at myself.
3. Piggybacking on my husband’s issues with his clothes: I spent ten minutes trying to figure out what to wear this morning. Finding pants that fit, with tops that are warm but not too warm, and coordinating shoes, has become something of a challenge. Where is the grace in this, you ask? Wait for it, wait for it…well, it’s forced me to put together different items in ways I wouldn’t before. Today a random person at work stopped me to compliment me on my outfit. Somehow I made it work. Tune in tomorrow!
4. A friend at work gave me a free tamale this morning. It was yummy. (I see a theme developing here…there’s a lot of free food at work.)
5. Forgot to mention: this weekend Viva was imitating Edna Mode from The Incredibles, with perfect intonation:
2. Good and yet not so good: I’ve been watching my money carefully and I was wondering why I had more money in my account than expected – but not enough to really pursue it. Today I was changing purses and I discovered a bill in my purse that I thought I had mailed two weeks ago. Oh, so that’s why I have an extra $779 in my account! Yeah, I’m really tired. It made me laugh at myself.
3. Piggybacking on my husband’s issues with his clothes: I spent ten minutes trying to figure out what to wear this morning. Finding pants that fit, with tops that are warm but not too warm, and coordinating shoes, has become something of a challenge. Where is the grace in this, you ask? Wait for it, wait for it…well, it’s forced me to put together different items in ways I wouldn’t before. Today a random person at work stopped me to compliment me on my outfit. Somehow I made it work. Tune in tomorrow!
4. A friend at work gave me a free tamale this morning. It was yummy. (I see a theme developing here…there’s a lot of free food at work.)
5. Forgot to mention: this weekend Viva was imitating Edna Mode from The Incredibles, with perfect intonation:
“You are ELASTIGIRL! (disgustedly) My GOD, (mimes smacking someone repeatedly) pull - yourself - together!” Hey, she comes by it honestly.
The Gods Must be Laughing
Lately Sweet Dub has been complaining about his clothes and how he hates them all and needs new stuff, but he never seems to find time to shop. I found out that Macy’s was having a one-day only men’s private sale today and I decided to go downtown on my lunch hour to the Macy’s at 7th and Figueroa. I have never been to this particular Macy’s but it is the closest one to work geographically. As I was walking down to my car, this thought flashed through my mind: “No good deed goes unpunished.”
Foreshadowing much? So here is a conversation I had about 45 minutes later as I was walking back into the building and ran into a smartly-dressed male colleague:
LBB: I just drove downtown to Macy’s.
SDMC: Oh, I’m on my way to Macy’s right now.
LBB: For the men’s secret sale? Did you know they’re closed?
SDMC: The one at 7th and Fig?
LBB: Yeah.
SDMC: Yeah, they had to close that one because of the sucky economy. Why didn’t you go to the other Macy’s?
LBB: What other Macy’s?*
SDMC: There’s another Macy’s one block away, at 7th and Flower.**
LBB: Are you kidding me?? Why would they have two Macy’s so close together?
SDMC: One of them used to be a Robinson’s-May. But that’s why they closed the one at 7th and Figueroa, it was just duplicate business.
LBB: So you‘re going downtown right now? I wish I’d known.
SDMC: No, I’m going to the Beverly Center.
LBB: Wow. Have a nice two hour lunch, slacker.
SDMC: Shut up. Bye.
* Again, the “not being an LA native” thing works against me. Dammit!
** I've since heard that this Macy's sucks.
Foreshadowing much? So here is a conversation I had about 45 minutes later as I was walking back into the building and ran into a smartly-dressed male colleague:
LBB: I just drove downtown to Macy’s.
SDMC: Oh, I’m on my way to Macy’s right now.
LBB: For the men’s secret sale? Did you know they’re closed?
SDMC: The one at 7th and Fig?
LBB: Yeah.
SDMC: Yeah, they had to close that one because of the sucky economy. Why didn’t you go to the other Macy’s?
LBB: What other Macy’s?*
SDMC: There’s another Macy’s one block away, at 7th and Flower.**
LBB: Are you kidding me?? Why would they have two Macy’s so close together?
SDMC: One of them used to be a Robinson’s-May. But that’s why they closed the one at 7th and Figueroa, it was just duplicate business.
LBB: So you‘re going downtown right now? I wish I’d known.
SDMC: No, I’m going to the Beverly Center.
LBB: Wow. Have a nice two hour lunch, slacker.
SDMC: Shut up. Bye.
* Again, the “not being an LA native” thing works against me. Dammit!
** I've since heard that this Macy's sucks.
Monday, March 09, 2009
Day Eight. Vinyasa Blah Blah.
1. Relieved to read “Renting still beats buying.” Sweet Dub and I have an ongoing conversation about this since we’re not convinced that a 30-year-mortgage is something we should be struggling to obtain.
2. Today is workout day and I’m actually looking forward to it! I think today might be a yoga day.
3. I discovered this new (to me) singer through the magic of NPR and today I created a Pandora station with similar-sounding artists.
4. My boss called me in to her office today and shut the door. Yikes. No, it turns out people where I work are actually fighting over me and approached her to ask if I could work on a project. She is reluctant to let me do it, but agreed I could work with this other department on one creative project a month. (Backstory: I worked with them on occasional projects as a favor until they hired someone new. Now it turns out they like my writing better. Nice!) I am more than happy to get a break from my routine to do something fun.
5. Despite (or maybe because of) the dire economic news, Sweet Dub and I have been talking about taking a REAL vacation this year. “I’ve been working for twelve years and I’ve only ever taken one real vacation,” Sweet Dub says. You know what? Yeah, life is short. Let’s hit the road!
2. Today is workout day and I’m actually looking forward to it! I think today might be a yoga day.
3. I discovered this new (to me) singer through the magic of NPR and today I created a Pandora station with similar-sounding artists.
4. My boss called me in to her office today and shut the door. Yikes. No, it turns out people where I work are actually fighting over me and approached her to ask if I could work on a project. She is reluctant to let me do it, but agreed I could work with this other department on one creative project a month. (Backstory: I worked with them on occasional projects as a favor until they hired someone new. Now it turns out they like my writing better. Nice!) I am more than happy to get a break from my routine to do something fun.
5. Despite (or maybe because of) the dire economic news, Sweet Dub and I have been talking about taking a REAL vacation this year. “I’ve been working for twelve years and I’ve only ever taken one real vacation,” Sweet Dub says. You know what? Yeah, life is short. Let’s hit the road!
This Parenting Thing
Have you noticed, you who have children, that this parenting thing is um, kind of non-stop? As Exhibit A, I give you this:
Dear [name redacted],
I would appreciate your immediate attention to this matter. I spoke with [AM childcare person] this morning, and wanted to follow up with an email. When I picked Cily up at around 5:00 on Friday, her chart indicated that she had not eaten anything since 12:10. You may remember I asked you about it, and you said perhaps she was fed and no one recorded it. When I dropped her off that morning, I left her with three 4 oz. bottles. One was completely full when I picked her up – consistent with her not having been fed.
Cily does not always cry when she is hungry. I noticed she was sucking on her fingers loudly in the car on the way home. When I fed her, she drained the bottle (4 oz.) and wanted more. I then changed her and noticed her diaper was really heavy.
Looking back at the chart, it looks like she was asleep from 12-ish until 3:30 or so. In the time between her waking up and my arrival, she did not have her diaper changed and was not fed. This is the second time since January (when Cily started at [daycare]) that I have arrived to discover Cily hasn’t been fed for several hours. This is absolutely not acceptable.
Cily should get a diaper change within five (at most ten) minutes of waking up, and should be fed every three hours if possible. She shouldn’t go five hours without eating anything, even if she is not crying. If this is not feasible, please let me know.
It’s difficult to leave my child in someone else’s care. It’s really upsetting to be paying a premium for care and feel she is not being attended to.
Yours truly,
Lisa Blah Blah
I think it speaks for itself. Will let you know what response I get at pickup today.
Dear [name redacted],
I would appreciate your immediate attention to this matter. I spoke with [AM childcare person] this morning, and wanted to follow up with an email. When I picked Cily up at around 5:00 on Friday, her chart indicated that she had not eaten anything since 12:10. You may remember I asked you about it, and you said perhaps she was fed and no one recorded it. When I dropped her off that morning, I left her with three 4 oz. bottles. One was completely full when I picked her up – consistent with her not having been fed.
Cily does not always cry when she is hungry. I noticed she was sucking on her fingers loudly in the car on the way home. When I fed her, she drained the bottle (4 oz.) and wanted more. I then changed her and noticed her diaper was really heavy.
Looking back at the chart, it looks like she was asleep from 12-ish until 3:30 or so. In the time between her waking up and my arrival, she did not have her diaper changed and was not fed. This is the second time since January (when Cily started at [daycare]) that I have arrived to discover Cily hasn’t been fed for several hours. This is absolutely not acceptable.
Cily should get a diaper change within five (at most ten) minutes of waking up, and should be fed every three hours if possible. She shouldn’t go five hours without eating anything, even if she is not crying. If this is not feasible, please let me know.
It’s difficult to leave my child in someone else’s care. It’s really upsetting to be paying a premium for care and feel she is not being attended to.
Yours truly,
Lisa Blah Blah
I think it speaks for itself. Will let you know what response I get at pickup today.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
GIST – Day Seven. Sunday, Sunday, SUNDAY!
1. I can not tell you how much I am enjoying Big Love this season. The plot twists are ingenious and completely believable. Only two more episodes until the season finale! Criminy! (When is Weeds coming back?)
2. Cily laughs now! I nuzzle her under her chin with my nose and she chuckles and chuckles irrepressibly. If you heard it I think your heart would swell up and burst out of your chest. So yeah, maybe you should stay away.
3. Called my sister and although we chatted for only a few minutes, I automatically felt better when I was talking to her. This is not to say I was feeling bad when I called her, or that we talked about anything particularly noteworthy. I think it is just a sensory thing, hearing her voice.
4. Weeded through Cily’s clothes and put a whole bunch of outgrown outfits in a bag to give away. Pay it forward.
5. Viva put together a rather complicated paper bag puppet show version of American Idol, with a frog, lion, elephant and cow squaring off. She told me she disqualified the elephant because it was a girl. I gave her a pretty stern (for me) lecture about how it’s not right to treat someone differently just because they’re a girl, which she rolled her eyes about. And then for the rest of the day I had “Suffragette City” playing in my head. I know, but that is just how my brain works.
2. Cily laughs now! I nuzzle her under her chin with my nose and she chuckles and chuckles irrepressibly. If you heard it I think your heart would swell up and burst out of your chest. So yeah, maybe you should stay away.
3. Called my sister and although we chatted for only a few minutes, I automatically felt better when I was talking to her. This is not to say I was feeling bad when I called her, or that we talked about anything particularly noteworthy. I think it is just a sensory thing, hearing her voice.
4. Weeded through Cily’s clothes and put a whole bunch of outgrown outfits in a bag to give away. Pay it forward.
5. Viva put together a rather complicated paper bag puppet show version of American Idol, with a frog, lion, elephant and cow squaring off. She told me she disqualified the elephant because it was a girl. I gave her a pretty stern (for me) lecture about how it’s not right to treat someone differently just because they’re a girl, which she rolled her eyes about. And then for the rest of the day I had “Suffragette City” playing in my head. I know, but that is just how my brain works.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
GIST – Day Six. The Weekend Edition.
1. Took Cily for her 4-month checkup and all is well. “What a perfectly shaped head!” her doctor exclaimed. Yes, she is a perfect child. I have the photos to prove it and maybe I’ll post them someday.
2. At the doctor’s office, as we were leaving, we ran into a new mom who gushed fountains over Cily. Her stroller was completely covered and I asked if I could peek in. OH. My. GOD. Her baby boy was only 5 days old. How teeny and sweet and red! It made me all melty.
3. Thai veggie fried rice and fried tofu for lunch. Completely satisfying.
4. Had a “sleepover” with Viva in my room Saturday night. At one point woke up with my big old girl all draped over my right side. She is still a little girl – sometimes I forget that because Cily is so tiny in comparison.
5. We booked a venue for Viva’s birthday party next month. It will be a bowling party with eight other kids. Cute because they have these bumpers that go up so kids can’t roll gutter balls. While I am not crazy about bowling shoes, I do so love the sound the pins make when the ball hits ‘em.
2. At the doctor’s office, as we were leaving, we ran into a new mom who gushed fountains over Cily. Her stroller was completely covered and I asked if I could peek in. OH. My. GOD. Her baby boy was only 5 days old. How teeny and sweet and red! It made me all melty.
3. Thai veggie fried rice and fried tofu for lunch. Completely satisfying.
4. Had a “sleepover” with Viva in my room Saturday night. At one point woke up with my big old girl all draped over my right side. She is still a little girl – sometimes I forget that because Cily is so tiny in comparison.
5. We booked a venue for Viva’s birthday party next month. It will be a bowling party with eight other kids. Cute because they have these bumpers that go up so kids can’t roll gutter balls. While I am not crazy about bowling shoes, I do so love the sound the pins make when the ball hits ‘em.
Friday, March 06, 2009
Day Five. Blue skies. And God.
Again with the Grace in Small Things. At least it's making me write every day. If you don't know what on earth I'm talking about, mosey on over here.
1. Mini oatmeal chocolate chip cookies from Trader Joe’s. I mentioned that I’ve been working out, right?
2. An impromptu rooftop lunch with a friend at work. We work a couple of miles from downtown Los Angeles, and the sky is clear and blue after the rains yesterday. The downtown skyline looks amazing from the roof.
3. The dad of Viva's classmate emailed me for professional advice. I am always taken aback when someone considers me an expert in my field – and then I realize I’ve been doing this for nearly 15 years (WHAT?!). Kind of nice that people seek me out.
4. It’s Casual Friday and I am wearing my comfiest jeans! (No, not the ones with the hole in the knee.) To dress it up a little bit since I am at work, I’m wearing a cashmere sweater with a seersucker blazer thrown over that. Ahhh….
5. Bowled over by Viva asking us last night at dinner to take her to church. This led to an interesting and thoughtful discussion at the table about what church to go to. We are Methodists but rarely go to our church. We do talk quite a bit about spiritual matters and I think Viva’s spiritual education is going to kick a bit more into high gear this year. I am pleased about this, because it forces me to sit and really think about what I believe and what I want to pass on to her.
1. Mini oatmeal chocolate chip cookies from Trader Joe’s. I mentioned that I’ve been working out, right?
2. An impromptu rooftop lunch with a friend at work. We work a couple of miles from downtown Los Angeles, and the sky is clear and blue after the rains yesterday. The downtown skyline looks amazing from the roof.
3. The dad of Viva's classmate emailed me for professional advice. I am always taken aback when someone considers me an expert in my field – and then I realize I’ve been doing this for nearly 15 years (WHAT?!). Kind of nice that people seek me out.
4. It’s Casual Friday and I am wearing my comfiest jeans! (No, not the ones with the hole in the knee.) To dress it up a little bit since I am at work, I’m wearing a cashmere sweater with a seersucker blazer thrown over that. Ahhh….
5. Bowled over by Viva asking us last night at dinner to take her to church. This led to an interesting and thoughtful discussion at the table about what church to go to. We are Methodists but rarely go to our church. We do talk quite a bit about spiritual matters and I think Viva’s spiritual education is going to kick a bit more into high gear this year. I am pleased about this, because it forces me to sit and really think about what I believe and what I want to pass on to her.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
A Fraction of What I Have to Say
So many things to blog about, so little time:
Cily is much better, just about at 95% I'd say. We have battled the Croup and won!
Viva is having issues with school. As in, not being challenged by the curriculum. I hate to say it, but I can only imagine this would be worse if she were in public school. At least with private school you have some leverage, as in "we are paying you folks a lot of money to educate our kid - let's figure out what we can do to keep her motivated, shall we?"* Last night we were reading a chapter book before bed - alternating reading pages aloud to each other. Whenever Viva would come to an unfamiliar word, she would pause, work it out carefully and then move on with the rest of the sentence. This was both exciting, since she's suddenly at warp speed with the reading, and at the same time, not really odd to me. I know she is very bright, and it's reminiscent of how I was at her age, so it seems pretty normal. Then I was looking at the book today and found it's listed as Grade 7 and up. No wonder she's bored with kindergarten...
Sweet Dub and I are both working out pretty regularly these days. He is on this kick to lose weight (!! if you knew him you would laugh, but I think he only wants to lose ten pounds) and get in shape for the spring, which is on its way faster than ever since we live in Los Angeles. I am trying to lose my baby pooch and generally firm up all over. I feel pretty good, and I'm enjoying making my work friends laugh with my overexaggerated-for-comic-effect hip-hop abs moves. "Everybody dance y'all!"
If I were to talk to you on the phone right now I would rattle on like this for about twenty minutes straight and tell you I have to go but I have so much more to tell you and then I'd apologize profusely but hang up. That's just how I roll. Always leave 'em wanting more. Thank you and good night!
* Why is it as taxpayers we don't feel entitled to demand the same level of service? Am I not now paying twice for education? I sure as hells am.
Cily is much better, just about at 95% I'd say. We have battled the Croup and won!
Viva is having issues with school. As in, not being challenged by the curriculum. I hate to say it, but I can only imagine this would be worse if she were in public school. At least with private school you have some leverage, as in "we are paying you folks a lot of money to educate our kid - let's figure out what we can do to keep her motivated, shall we?"* Last night we were reading a chapter book before bed - alternating reading pages aloud to each other. Whenever Viva would come to an unfamiliar word, she would pause, work it out carefully and then move on with the rest of the sentence. This was both exciting, since she's suddenly at warp speed with the reading, and at the same time, not really odd to me. I know she is very bright, and it's reminiscent of how I was at her age, so it seems pretty normal. Then I was looking at the book today and found it's listed as Grade 7 and up. No wonder she's bored with kindergarten...
Sweet Dub and I are both working out pretty regularly these days. He is on this kick to lose weight (!! if you knew him you would laugh, but I think he only wants to lose ten pounds) and get in shape for the spring, which is on its way faster than ever since we live in Los Angeles. I am trying to lose my baby pooch and generally firm up all over. I feel pretty good, and I'm enjoying making my work friends laugh with my overexaggerated-for-comic-effect hip-hop abs moves. "Everybody dance y'all!"
If I were to talk to you on the phone right now I would rattle on like this for about twenty minutes straight and tell you I have to go but I have so much more to tell you and then I'd apologize profusely but hang up. That's just how I roll. Always leave 'em wanting more. Thank you and good night!
* Why is it as taxpayers we don't feel entitled to demand the same level of service? Am I not now paying twice for education? I sure as hells am.
Day Four. Thursday Thoughts on Grace.
1. Reason #567 to love my husband: he's been making sure I get uninterrupted time to work out in the evening.
2. 3:30am and I should be asleep, but I have Cily, wide awake next to me on the bed, skootching as close to me as possible so that when I open my eyes, her giant brown eyes are staring into mine, and she gurgles, and smiles, and grabs my face with her chubby little hand and squeezes my cheek, and I just have to learn to accept the sleep deprivation.
3. Reading Hope for the Flowers (which Amazon lists as for Grade 7 and up) with Viva, and realizing she’s really reading – we are alternating reading pages aloud, and she really gets it. When she gets to an unfamiliar word she pauses and she sounds it out and keeps going, and it is like she suddenly hit warp speed with the reading. She is awesome. She is Five, Hear Her Roar.
4. Making my work friends laugh hysterically as I show them my hip hop moves from this workout DVD.
5. Loving this.
2. 3:30am and I should be asleep, but I have Cily, wide awake next to me on the bed, skootching as close to me as possible so that when I open my eyes, her giant brown eyes are staring into mine, and she gurgles, and smiles, and grabs my face with her chubby little hand and squeezes my cheek, and I just have to learn to accept the sleep deprivation.
3. Reading Hope for the Flowers (which Amazon lists as for Grade 7 and up) with Viva, and realizing she’s really reading – we are alternating reading pages aloud, and she really gets it. When she gets to an unfamiliar word she pauses and she sounds it out and keeps going, and it is like she suddenly hit warp speed with the reading. She is awesome. She is Five, Hear Her Roar.
4. Making my work friends laugh hysterically as I show them my hip hop moves from this workout DVD.
5. Loving this.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Day Three. Sweet, Spanish, Sweaters.
1. Finding inexpensive art for Viva’s bedroom on Etsy.
2. Remembering my umbrella (it was pouring this morning)!
3. Vitamin water (it’s like crack for me)
4. Managing a Spanglish conversation with the parking lot attendant at work - not as hard as I'd thought, and he seemed so pleased.
5. Wearing my favorite comfy green, gold and chocolate sweater.
2. Remembering my umbrella (it was pouring this morning)!
3. Vitamin water (it’s like crack for me)
4. Managing a Spanglish conversation with the parking lot attendant at work - not as hard as I'd thought, and he seemed so pleased.
5. Wearing my favorite comfy green, gold and chocolate sweater.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Day Two. Smiles and starfish.
1. Joy in my two girls every day – watching them cuddle and smile into each other’s eyes this morning. It is beautiful to watch my 5-year-old falling in love with her new baby sister.
2. Rediscovering how good it feels to work out – and rededicating myself to taking care of my body.
3. Being unexpectedly captivated by the new salt water fish tank in the lobby at work. There is a huge (maybe 6 inches across) horned brown and orange starfish on the side of the tank. I’ve never seen anything like it. It is strangely beautiful.
4. Giant bag of hand-me-down baby clothes from a co-worker’s granddaughter, three months older than my little one. A nice surprise, and so thoughtful.
5. The always-in-the-background support of my sweetie pie husband. Appreciated so much more than I can say.
2. Rediscovering how good it feels to work out – and rededicating myself to taking care of my body.
3. Being unexpectedly captivated by the new salt water fish tank in the lobby at work. There is a huge (maybe 6 inches across) horned brown and orange starfish on the side of the tank. I’ve never seen anything like it. It is strangely beautiful.
4. Giant bag of hand-me-down baby clothes from a co-worker’s granddaughter, three months older than my little one. A nice surprise, and so thoughtful.
5. The always-in-the-background support of my sweetie pie husband. Appreciated so much more than I can say.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Squeakers
Cily has the croup and it has resulted in laryngitis. She coughs so hard she vomits, and then she cries in the most pathetic heartbreaking squeak. Needless to say, Sweet Dub and I have been taking turns taking sick days to stay home with her. She is intermittently feverish, but surprisingly not very irritable at all. A little fussy, but snuggly and sweet fussy rather than “O My God nothing is making her happy” fussy.
Today, Sweet Dub went to work from 6AM to 11AM, and then came home so I could go into work in the afternoon. Of course, now that I am at work (and it's almost time to leave) I can’t concentrate. Hence:
Grace in Small Things*
1. This morning I was tickling Cily on the sides of her neck and she really started laughing – which, since she has laryngitis, was not very loud, but nonetheless really turned my heart into a big gooey mess.
2. Last night, our neighbor from around the corner came over to introduce herself and to let us know of the deadline for a local charter school (next Wednesday). I guess she’d been talking to our next door neighbor and he told her of our school issues. We had a nice chat and I found out that not only does she have a 7-year-old daughter who is into a lot of the same things Viva is, but there’s a 5-going-on-6-year-old girl living next door to them as well. You mean Viva might actually be able to play with little girls her age, a mere stone’s throw away? Sweet!
3. Today I am only working a half-day! Granted, that is because Cily is sick, but hey, a half-day on a Friday? I’ll take it!
4. Today an old classmate of mine from college emailed me unexpectedly – found me through Facebook – and she is just as I remember, funny and on point.
5. At work today someone dropped off a bunch of free pies. I just had a slice of blackberry pie heated up in the microwave and it was heavenly.
* Hat tip to Journeymama for her blog posts which led me to the Grace in Small Things Website. If you haven’t read her blog, take a look – she and her husband moved last year from the States to India and I love to read about their transition. They have four very small children and you’d think their lives would be nuts, but Rae is always kind of inspirational and peaceful. Her kids are beautiful, too.
Today, Sweet Dub went to work from 6AM to 11AM, and then came home so I could go into work in the afternoon. Of course, now that I am at work (and it's almost time to leave) I can’t concentrate. Hence:
Grace in Small Things*
1. This morning I was tickling Cily on the sides of her neck and she really started laughing – which, since she has laryngitis, was not very loud, but nonetheless really turned my heart into a big gooey mess.
2. Last night, our neighbor from around the corner came over to introduce herself and to let us know of the deadline for a local charter school (next Wednesday). I guess she’d been talking to our next door neighbor and he told her of our school issues. We had a nice chat and I found out that not only does she have a 7-year-old daughter who is into a lot of the same things Viva is, but there’s a 5-going-on-6-year-old girl living next door to them as well. You mean Viva might actually be able to play with little girls her age, a mere stone’s throw away? Sweet!
3. Today I am only working a half-day! Granted, that is because Cily is sick, but hey, a half-day on a Friday? I’ll take it!
4. Today an old classmate of mine from college emailed me unexpectedly – found me through Facebook – and she is just as I remember, funny and on point.
5. At work today someone dropped off a bunch of free pies. I just had a slice of blackberry pie heated up in the microwave and it was heavenly.
* Hat tip to Journeymama for her blog posts which led me to the Grace in Small Things Website. If you haven’t read her blog, take a look – she and her husband moved last year from the States to India and I love to read about their transition. They have four very small children and you’d think their lives would be nuts, but Rae is always kind of inspirational and peaceful. Her kids are beautiful, too.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Deep Down
…I’m really shallow. Lately I have become obsessed with the things we do not have in our house – things I think we should add, and things I want to replace. It’s a long list, and I won’t bore you with the details, but it’s making me a little nutty.
Added to this, my darling Sweet Dub is obsessed with buying either (a) a treadmill or (b) a new video camera. We have already had conversations about how we should not be making any serious purchases in this economy – this is not a recession, it is something much more serious, and with so many unknowns, it’s best to be careful. Also, it seems likely that, with more budget cuts in public education, we will be keeping Viva in private school indefinitely. So we are holding back and saving our cheese, but because (a) we live in a capitalist society and (b) we are inundated with catalogs from the previous residents of our home and (c) everyone everywhere is having a SALE SALE SALE, we’re (or maybe more accurately, I’m) a little antsy.
Furthermore, although we’ve had offers of cribs from two different sources, we haven’t been able to coordinate pick-up with either party. At the moment, Cily sleeps in a co-sleeper for part of the night and in the bed right next to me the other part of the night. I’d like to move her into a crib and ultimately put her into Viva’s room at some point. I won’t get into why we haven’t been able to get either crib, but I will say it hasn’t been for lack of trying. I’m going to give it one more go this weekend before I completely wash my hands of it and go buy a damn crib with the money I’m not supposed to be spending on anything.
I know, I know: it’s not about what we own, but what we are. Or really, who we are. I will not be moved! I have nerves of steel! My debit card remains securely in my wallet, rolling its figurative eyes at the crazy.
Things I Love More Than…Well, Things:
(in no particular order)
(1) Cily’s toothless smile
(2) The L.A. sky after it rains
(3) Watching the snow fall. On TV.
(4) Viva’s laugh
(5) Being in bed with my honey
(6) A cup of tea and a good book
(7) An unexpected phone call from a friend
(8) Sitting on the beach watching the waves
(9) Singing loudly in my car
(10) The way I feel after yoga
(11) Discovering new music
(12) Snuggling in a big pile of kids and husband on the couch
(13) Making people laugh
(14) Making lists (no, for real)
(15) A good night’s sleep
Added to this, my darling Sweet Dub is obsessed with buying either (a) a treadmill or (b) a new video camera. We have already had conversations about how we should not be making any serious purchases in this economy – this is not a recession, it is something much more serious, and with so many unknowns, it’s best to be careful. Also, it seems likely that, with more budget cuts in public education, we will be keeping Viva in private school indefinitely. So we are holding back and saving our cheese, but because (a) we live in a capitalist society and (b) we are inundated with catalogs from the previous residents of our home and (c) everyone everywhere is having a SALE SALE SALE, we’re (or maybe more accurately, I’m) a little antsy.
Furthermore, although we’ve had offers of cribs from two different sources, we haven’t been able to coordinate pick-up with either party. At the moment, Cily sleeps in a co-sleeper for part of the night and in the bed right next to me the other part of the night. I’d like to move her into a crib and ultimately put her into Viva’s room at some point. I won’t get into why we haven’t been able to get either crib, but I will say it hasn’t been for lack of trying. I’m going to give it one more go this weekend before I completely wash my hands of it and go buy a damn crib with the money I’m not supposed to be spending on anything.
I know, I know: it’s not about what we own, but what we are. Or really, who we are. I will not be moved! I have nerves of steel! My debit card remains securely in my wallet, rolling its figurative eyes at the crazy.
Things I Love More Than…Well, Things:
(in no particular order)
(1) Cily’s toothless smile
(2) The L.A. sky after it rains
(3) Watching the snow fall. On TV.
(4) Viva’s laugh
(5) Being in bed with my honey
(6) A cup of tea and a good book
(7) An unexpected phone call from a friend
(8) Sitting on the beach watching the waves
(9) Singing loudly in my car
(10) The way I feel after yoga
(11) Discovering new music
(12) Snuggling in a big pile of kids and husband on the couch
(13) Making people laugh
(14) Making lists (no, for real)
(15) A good night’s sleep
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
The Tooth, the Whole Tooth, and Nothing But the...
Dear Viva,
Wow! You lost your first tooth! You are officially no longer a baby, although you will always be my baby. I’m sorry I got a little weepy when it fell out. Moms are like that sometimes. It doesn’t mean I’m not excited for you, because I really am!
Love,
Mama
Dear Tooth Fairy,
Five bucks per tooth? Really?? Even in this economy? It’s just because that was the first tooth, right?
Bemusedly,
Lisa
Dear Viva,
I’m very pleased that you’ve decided to save your five dollars and wait until more teeth come out so you can save up for something special. You are such a smart kid!
Love,
Mama
Dear Sweet Dub,
What constitutes “something special”? What if she wants to buy a snake or something?
Love,
Honey
Dear DNA,
Please let Viva’s teeth come in fairly straight. I’m putting in a plea for no orthodontia. Help me out here.
Sincerely,
Lisa
Wow! You lost your first tooth! You are officially no longer a baby, although you will always be my baby. I’m sorry I got a little weepy when it fell out. Moms are like that sometimes. It doesn’t mean I’m not excited for you, because I really am!
Love,
Mama
Dear Tooth Fairy,
Five bucks per tooth? Really?? Even in this economy? It’s just because that was the first tooth, right?
Bemusedly,
Lisa
Dear Viva,
I’m very pleased that you’ve decided to save your five dollars and wait until more teeth come out so you can save up for something special. You are such a smart kid!
Love,
Mama
Dear Sweet Dub,
What constitutes “something special”? What if she wants to buy a snake or something?
Love,
Honey
Dear DNA,
Please let Viva’s teeth come in fairly straight. I’m putting in a plea for no orthodontia. Help me out here.
Sincerely,
Lisa
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Sign 'O' the Times
...and not the Prince song, unfortunately.
I work for a social services agency that serves "high risk" families. Most of our clients are low-income, many have substance abuse problems, and pretty much all have experienced some type of violence. When people ask me how things are going at work, I tell them that things are much more difficult for our families than ever before, with the economy being what it is. Even in the best of times, our client families are hard pressed to provide the basics for their kids. I learned today that among our client families, CalWORKS applications have doubled in the past six months.
Goddammit, that's depressing.
I work for a social services agency that serves "high risk" families. Most of our clients are low-income, many have substance abuse problems, and pretty much all have experienced some type of violence. When people ask me how things are going at work, I tell them that things are much more difficult for our families than ever before, with the economy being what it is. Even in the best of times, our client families are hard pressed to provide the basics for their kids. I learned today that among our client families, CalWORKS applications have doubled in the past six months.
Goddammit, that's depressing.
Connect 4 - or in this case, more
Do you belong to any networking sites? I have a Facebook account, a LinkedIn account, a Shelfari account, a college network account, a family MySpace account, and a friend just emailed to invite me to join HoverSpot.com. I don’t even know what that is, but I’m pretty sure I don’t have time for it.
I barely have time for the friends I have, even my nearest and dearest! I know this is going to sound antiquated, but wouldn’t it be cool to get off the computer and just call the people you want to talk to? Or even just email a quick note to say, “Hi, I’m thinking about you”?
What is it with this crazy life? I admit I am just as bad as everyone else about keeping in touch. I have aunts back east with three and four kids and not only do they manage to shop and wrap and get packages out to us every Christmas, but they promptly write thank you notes (like within a week!) for the gifts I send their way. It is mind-boggling.
I blame the TV and its siren call. Now, really, after I’ve been staring at a screen all day at work, do I really need to stare at a screen for a couple of hours once I get home?
I think not. What I need to do is attend to other personal business. Spend some time with my husband, maybe do some yoga, maybe catch up with some friends. What did I do with my time before I had children? I really feel a need to reclaim that part of my life in little bits and pieces. Don’t get me wrong – I realize it would be unproductive to long for hours of free time to just noodle around. But can I grab 15 minutes here and there and make little moments for myself?
Financial advisers always say you need to pay yourself first. You hear me? That's what I'm talking about. Facebook and all its minions can wait. I've got other stuff on my mind.
I barely have time for the friends I have, even my nearest and dearest! I know this is going to sound antiquated, but wouldn’t it be cool to get off the computer and just call the people you want to talk to? Or even just email a quick note to say, “Hi, I’m thinking about you”?
What is it with this crazy life? I admit I am just as bad as everyone else about keeping in touch. I have aunts back east with three and four kids and not only do they manage to shop and wrap and get packages out to us every Christmas, but they promptly write thank you notes (like within a week!) for the gifts I send their way. It is mind-boggling.
I blame the TV and its siren call. Now, really, after I’ve been staring at a screen all day at work, do I really need to stare at a screen for a couple of hours once I get home?
I think not. What I need to do is attend to other personal business. Spend some time with my husband, maybe do some yoga, maybe catch up with some friends. What did I do with my time before I had children? I really feel a need to reclaim that part of my life in little bits and pieces. Don’t get me wrong – I realize it would be unproductive to long for hours of free time to just noodle around. But can I grab 15 minutes here and there and make little moments for myself?
Financial advisers always say you need to pay yourself first. You hear me? That's what I'm talking about. Facebook and all its minions can wait. I've got other stuff on my mind.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Birthday Bidness
Following up on my post from yesterday: I started to write a really long response about the birthday issues in comments, and then realized it was getting kind of ridiculous, so let me just put this out there:
Regarding who to invite: I hate to leave kids out, but there are 24 kids in kindergarten, split between two classes, and Viva has friends in both classes. If we invite all the kids, and they come with parents and siblings, ye Gods! That doesn't include cousins and other non-school friends she might want to invite.
Most of the kids she is friendly with are kids whose phone numbers I have - so I could invite by phone or even by email. I dunno, I'm thinking I may end up doing one school party like last year (like Nerd Girl) and then invite some friends to an off-site party, probably at a bowling alley, since that’s what Viva is leaning toward at the moment. Sweet Dub is really against the idea of only inviting some kids to the not-on-school-grounds party. He thinks there will be hard feelings if other kids find out – which, of course, there will be.
For the record, for Viva’s fourth birthday, I invited only five of Viva’s school friends to a party off school grounds, and I did a separate low-key party with cupcakes at her school. There is one little girl at school whose mother is...well, she crazy, there's no other way to say it, and no one wants to deal with her. We had already been stuck with her at some other kid’s party a few weeks before that, and we did not want a repeat. Nonetheless, the little girl found out about Viva’s non-school party and confronted Sweet Dub when he picked Viva up from school.
“My mom says my invitation must have got lost,” she lisped at him, giant brown eyes all soulful. He says it broke his heart.
“I am not going through that again,” he said. “We have to invite her. I’ll deal with [Crazy Mom’s name withheld].”
I ran it by several moms over the weekend. They all said they only invite the children their kids are close to, and that they never feel slighted if they aren’t invited to something.
“You’re doing me a favor if you don’t invite me to a party,” one said, and we all agreed. But of course, the problem is not the parents’ feelings, it’s the kids’. Nobody liked the idea of inviting the crazy mom, who we’ve all had to deal with at some point. But we all like the little girl, so we may just have to suck it up. I’m leaning toward inviting only 8 school friends (all of whom have at least one sibling), 2 or 3 non-school friends and siblings, her 3 young cousins, and a few of our friends and their kids. That means we could be talking 30 kids! Has anyone noticed it’s a recession?
My head is killing me. I’m ready to curl up in the fetal position and hibernate until this whole birthday thing is over and done.
Regarding who to invite: I hate to leave kids out, but there are 24 kids in kindergarten, split between two classes, and Viva has friends in both classes. If we invite all the kids, and they come with parents and siblings, ye Gods! That doesn't include cousins and other non-school friends she might want to invite.
Most of the kids she is friendly with are kids whose phone numbers I have - so I could invite by phone or even by email. I dunno, I'm thinking I may end up doing one school party like last year (like Nerd Girl) and then invite some friends to an off-site party, probably at a bowling alley, since that’s what Viva is leaning toward at the moment. Sweet Dub is really against the idea of only inviting some kids to the not-on-school-grounds party. He thinks there will be hard feelings if other kids find out – which, of course, there will be.
For the record, for Viva’s fourth birthday, I invited only five of Viva’s school friends to a party off school grounds, and I did a separate low-key party with cupcakes at her school. There is one little girl at school whose mother is...well, she crazy, there's no other way to say it, and no one wants to deal with her. We had already been stuck with her at some other kid’s party a few weeks before that, and we did not want a repeat. Nonetheless, the little girl found out about Viva’s non-school party and confronted Sweet Dub when he picked Viva up from school.
“My mom says my invitation must have got lost,” she lisped at him, giant brown eyes all soulful. He says it broke his heart.
“I am not going through that again,” he said. “We have to invite her. I’ll deal with [Crazy Mom’s name withheld].”
I ran it by several moms over the weekend. They all said they only invite the children their kids are close to, and that they never feel slighted if they aren’t invited to something.
“You’re doing me a favor if you don’t invite me to a party,” one said, and we all agreed. But of course, the problem is not the parents’ feelings, it’s the kids’. Nobody liked the idea of inviting the crazy mom, who we’ve all had to deal with at some point. But we all like the little girl, so we may just have to suck it up. I’m leaning toward inviting only 8 school friends (all of whom have at least one sibling), 2 or 3 non-school friends and siblings, her 3 young cousins, and a few of our friends and their kids. That means we could be talking 30 kids! Has anyone noticed it’s a recession?
My head is killing me. I’m ready to curl up in the fetal position and hibernate until this whole birthday thing is over and done.
In Which I Confess I'm a Bag Hag
"I'm thinking balls are to men what purses are to women. It's just a little bag, but we feel naked in public without it."
- Sex and the City
So my sister Lola’s birthday is coming up and for some reason I am obsessed with buying her a bag. Mainly because I love a good bag (this is not a euphemism for anything, you dirty, dirty Internets. Stop breathing so heavy and grabbing my knee.), so I get to shop vicariously.
How cute are these (courtesy Mimi Smartypants)? I love them all. And yet they are maybe a little boho and perhaps better suited to me than my sister. And yet, who doesn’t need a splash of cute hipsterness, especially when one is being reminded that one is getting older due to one’s birthday, and one could use a dash of how you say, joie de vivre? I think it’s a perfect gift. And if I happen to buy two, what’s the harm? Economy, eshonomy. (Say that ten times fast, I dare you.)
By the way, Etsy is the best invention since the self-threading needle. Better, even. There, I said it.
P.S. I just bought the cutest Orla Kiely bag (on sale! SWEET!) as a replacement for my nasty falling-apart tote bag that I'm ashamed to bring to work anymore. Now you know my weakness. That and shoes - if I had the money, I would have a whole room full of shoes. And books. Oh my God, let me shut up now.
- Sex and the City
So my sister Lola’s birthday is coming up and for some reason I am obsessed with buying her a bag. Mainly because I love a good bag (this is not a euphemism for anything, you dirty, dirty Internets. Stop breathing so heavy and grabbing my knee.), so I get to shop vicariously.
How cute are these (courtesy Mimi Smartypants)? I love them all. And yet they are maybe a little boho and perhaps better suited to me than my sister. And yet, who doesn’t need a splash of cute hipsterness, especially when one is being reminded that one is getting older due to one’s birthday, and one could use a dash of how you say, joie de vivre? I think it’s a perfect gift. And if I happen to buy two, what’s the harm? Economy, eshonomy. (Say that ten times fast, I dare you.)
By the way, Etsy is the best invention since the self-threading needle. Better, even. There, I said it.
P.S. I just bought the cutest Orla Kiely bag (on sale! SWEET!) as a replacement for my nasty falling-apart tote bag that I'm ashamed to bring to work anymore. Now you know my weakness. That and shoes - if I had the money, I would have a whole room full of shoes. And books. Oh my God, let me shut up now.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
A floating accumulation of miscellaneous stuff
I don’t have anything deep to say today, just a bunch of random observations. Let’s dive in, shall we?
Seriously? One of the Best. Headlines. Ever:
Early Humans Had Nutcracker Jaws
As an Anthropology major, I salute you, Yahoo! News!
The Golden Age
For years, Sweet Dub has complained about car commercials never showing a black man in the driver’s seat. I admit I had never noticed this because I am not insane, but once it was pointed out to me, I realized he was right. Finally, over time, we actually began to see black men driving the car in some of the car commercials. This weekend, Sweet Dub was watching the post-Super Bowl TV offerings and said, “Hey, look – a black man driving the car. Now you see it all the time…[thinks for a moment] Black President, black coach wins the Super Bowl, and black men driving the cars – after all these years of being the boogeyman, this might be our time. It’s the Golden Age of the African American male, honey.”
And with that, Cily spit up all over her daddy’s hand.
“There’s your Golden Age,” I said to him. “How’s that workin’ out for ya?”
A Musical Interlude
Yesterday, on the way to school/work, I eased up to a red light and happened to look in my rearview mirror. The guy in the Honda CRV behind me was pulling a guitar into his lap. Because you know, what better way to pass the time waiting for the light to turn green than to strum a few bars to yourself. I was about to make some snarky comment like “lost on the way to the Lilith Fair,” but even I don’t know where I was going with that.
The World is a Rainbow
Last night, a very dear friend of ours, Lady E, was in town for business and we had her over for dinner. (I know! On a Monday night! We frickin’ rock.) (P.S. We ordered Indian food. What, you thought I was going to cook?) Lady E is black and her husband is white. She was telling us that her oldest child B. is very race-conscious and is always describing people by their color. “You know that book, Shades of Black? It describes all the different colors of blackness, like you’re yellow like popcorn, you’re brown like a pretzel – you know what I’m talking about?” Evidently they talk a lot about race at their house, and it doesn’t hurt that they live in Oakland, right near Berkeley. She jokes about her daughter being a little militant for a 5-year-old. But anyway, yes, I had heard of this book and I felt a tinge of guilt for not having a copy of it because I do try to show Viva books that validate her experience, yada yada yada. And about two seconds later I got over it, because God knows Viva has a very strong self-concept and is very proud of being brown – and that didn’t come out of a book.
Later, after Sweet Dub had dropped her off at her hotel, he said to me, “That book she was talking about? That is the last thing we need.” As it turns out, B. pointing out what color people are is not always welcome. I know! With all the complications surrounding race in this country, who’da thunk?
We’re All Friends Here
Viva will be turning six in just a couple of months and she is already demanding to know what we are doing for a party. I won’t go into our labored and lengthy discussions, but want to put this out there: do you feel it is acceptable to not invite all the kids from school to a party that is not held on school grounds? Is it ever okay to invite just the kids she’s friendly with? And where does one draw the line?
Sweet Dub and I are divided on this issue based on previous experience. I won’t bias your response by telling you my opinion. What do you think?
**This post has been edited to correct the misspelling of Super Bowl. What, I thought it was all one word. I don't know from football.
Seriously? One of the Best. Headlines. Ever:
Early Humans Had Nutcracker Jaws
As an Anthropology major, I salute you, Yahoo! News!
The Golden Age
For years, Sweet Dub has complained about car commercials never showing a black man in the driver’s seat. I admit I had never noticed this because I am not insane, but once it was pointed out to me, I realized he was right. Finally, over time, we actually began to see black men driving the car in some of the car commercials. This weekend, Sweet Dub was watching the post-Super Bowl TV offerings and said, “Hey, look – a black man driving the car. Now you see it all the time…[thinks for a moment] Black President, black coach wins the Super Bowl, and black men driving the cars – after all these years of being the boogeyman, this might be our time. It’s the Golden Age of the African American male, honey.”
And with that, Cily spit up all over her daddy’s hand.
“There’s your Golden Age,” I said to him. “How’s that workin’ out for ya?”
A Musical Interlude
Yesterday, on the way to school/work, I eased up to a red light and happened to look in my rearview mirror. The guy in the Honda CRV behind me was pulling a guitar into his lap. Because you know, what better way to pass the time waiting for the light to turn green than to strum a few bars to yourself. I was about to make some snarky comment like “lost on the way to the Lilith Fair,” but even I don’t know where I was going with that.
The World is a Rainbow
Last night, a very dear friend of ours, Lady E, was in town for business and we had her over for dinner. (I know! On a Monday night! We frickin’ rock.) (P.S. We ordered Indian food. What, you thought I was going to cook?) Lady E is black and her husband is white. She was telling us that her oldest child B. is very race-conscious and is always describing people by their color. “You know that book, Shades of Black? It describes all the different colors of blackness, like you’re yellow like popcorn, you’re brown like a pretzel – you know what I’m talking about?” Evidently they talk a lot about race at their house, and it doesn’t hurt that they live in Oakland, right near Berkeley. She jokes about her daughter being a little militant for a 5-year-old. But anyway, yes, I had heard of this book and I felt a tinge of guilt for not having a copy of it because I do try to show Viva books that validate her experience, yada yada yada. And about two seconds later I got over it, because God knows Viva has a very strong self-concept and is very proud of being brown – and that didn’t come out of a book.
Later, after Sweet Dub had dropped her off at her hotel, he said to me, “That book she was talking about? That is the last thing we need.” As it turns out, B. pointing out what color people are is not always welcome. I know! With all the complications surrounding race in this country, who’da thunk?
We’re All Friends Here
Viva will be turning six in just a couple of months and she is already demanding to know what we are doing for a party. I won’t go into our labored and lengthy discussions, but want to put this out there: do you feel it is acceptable to not invite all the kids from school to a party that is not held on school grounds? Is it ever okay to invite just the kids she’s friendly with? And where does one draw the line?
Sweet Dub and I are divided on this issue based on previous experience. I won’t bias your response by telling you my opinion. What do you think?
**This post has been edited to correct the misspelling of Super Bowl. What, I thought it was all one word. I don't know from football.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
It’s Not Easy Being…
In these economically distressed times, most days I've been brown-bagging it to work. Except I don't use a brown paper bag, I use one of my Chico bags, which is actually a shopping bag and really too large to use as a lunch bag. So today while eating lunch at my desk, I was looking into reusable bags and eco-utensils and I got distracted onto Fleurville’s site. You know, they’re all environmentally friendly and stuff. And I came across this:
It’s the Calla Chair, the coolest looking (and eco-conscious!) high chair known to man (or maybe just to me). You know, Cily will need a high chair in a few months. Some day she might eat actual food. And you know what?
It’s $675. SIX HUNDRED SEVENTY FIVE DOLLARS.
Ye Gods.
Apparently you need to have some green to go green these days. Go figure.
It’s the Calla Chair, the coolest looking (and eco-conscious!) high chair known to man (or maybe just to me). You know, Cily will need a high chair in a few months. Some day she might eat actual food. And you know what?
It’s $675. SIX HUNDRED SEVENTY FIVE DOLLARS.
Ye Gods.
Apparently you need to have some green to go green these days. Go figure.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Talking to Myself
Note to self: when it is 3 am and your baby is wide awake and lying next to you gurgling and smiling and staring into your eyes and not by any stretch of the imagination going back to sleep, remember that she will not be this small forever. Smile back at her and cuddle close. And that baby puke smell on the towel you’ve laid out under her on the bed? With the wet pukey spot close to your face? It’s sweet, is all it is. Repeat that like a mantra as the baby tries to grab your nose with one clammy (clammy? From spit-up? Best not to think about it.), chubby hand.
Note to Cily: yes, it’s sweet the way you want to rest your head on Mama’s shoulder all the time. But could you maybe not spit up on her shoulder every single time she picks you up from daycare? Because at home, it’s fine – she’s usually wearing something she can just throw in the wash anyway. But when she’s getting you from daycare, she’s generally wearing something that’s dry clean only, and honey, it’s getting expensive.
Note to Viva: I love your – how shall I put this? – “spiritedness.” You have a very strong personality, and I applaud how firmly you assert yourself. However, sticking your tongue out at Mama when she says something you don’t agree with is a sure way to find out the meaning of “there’ll be hell to pay.” And saying you’re really, really sorry does not negate the rudeness. Thus, you will be going to bed with no story. That’ll learn ya! Also: in general, please keep singing. The sound of your voice, coupled with your enthusiasm and complete lack of self-consciousness, brings me joy. Even when I have a headache, I still love it. As long as it is not accompanied by the sticking out of the tongue mentioned earlier. (I really hate that.)
Note to husband: we are ships that pass in the night. I love you. What was your name again?
Note to self: perhaps deciding to get your black flats repaired while in your eighth month of pregnancy, at a shoe repair shop that is not located in the flow of your regular life, was not the best decision. I would place a bet that your shoes are no longer there. Console yourself with cyber window shopping at Zappos. Mmmm, shoes.
Note to Neutrogena: your hand cream rocks.
Note to crazy mom at Viva’s school: Friday at 5 pm, in a ridiculously congested and densely populated part of the city, is not a good time or place to have your child’s birthday party. Calling me three times to try to convince me that Viva really wants to go? Makes me want to accommodate you even less. And for the record, a Dora the Explorer electric toothbrush has to be one of the weirdest goody bag gifts ever.
Note to Riley, the dog next door: Why do you keep trying to escape from your house? Why do you always run to our house? Your people genuinely seem to like you, since every time we call them to tell them you are with us, they dutifully drop whatever they are doing (generally having the nerve to have dinner! Without you! Somewhere outside the house on a Friday or Saturday night!) and drive home to get you. Please, Riley. The last time you escaped you really almost hurt yourself. Try and summon up some survival instinct and stay inside your yard.
Note to the movie industry: Wow. DVDs and pay-per-view are really chapping your hide, aren’t they? Um, here’s the thing. I took my kid to a matinee this weekend and between the tickets and popcorn and such? I spent THIRTY-ONE FIFTY. For real. So not cool. Get with the program.
Note to self: Yes, you know that you don’t have it so bad if that’s your worst problem. Over and out.
Note to Cily: yes, it’s sweet the way you want to rest your head on Mama’s shoulder all the time. But could you maybe not spit up on her shoulder every single time she picks you up from daycare? Because at home, it’s fine – she’s usually wearing something she can just throw in the wash anyway. But when she’s getting you from daycare, she’s generally wearing something that’s dry clean only, and honey, it’s getting expensive.
Note to Viva: I love your – how shall I put this? – “spiritedness.” You have a very strong personality, and I applaud how firmly you assert yourself. However, sticking your tongue out at Mama when she says something you don’t agree with is a sure way to find out the meaning of “there’ll be hell to pay.” And saying you’re really, really sorry does not negate the rudeness. Thus, you will be going to bed with no story. That’ll learn ya! Also: in general, please keep singing. The sound of your voice, coupled with your enthusiasm and complete lack of self-consciousness, brings me joy. Even when I have a headache, I still love it. As long as it is not accompanied by the sticking out of the tongue mentioned earlier. (I really hate that.)
Note to husband: we are ships that pass in the night. I love you. What was your name again?
Note to self: perhaps deciding to get your black flats repaired while in your eighth month of pregnancy, at a shoe repair shop that is not located in the flow of your regular life, was not the best decision. I would place a bet that your shoes are no longer there. Console yourself with cyber window shopping at Zappos. Mmmm, shoes.
Note to Neutrogena: your hand cream rocks.
Note to crazy mom at Viva’s school: Friday at 5 pm, in a ridiculously congested and densely populated part of the city, is not a good time or place to have your child’s birthday party. Calling me three times to try to convince me that Viva really wants to go? Makes me want to accommodate you even less. And for the record, a Dora the Explorer electric toothbrush has to be one of the weirdest goody bag gifts ever.
Note to Riley, the dog next door: Why do you keep trying to escape from your house? Why do you always run to our house? Your people genuinely seem to like you, since every time we call them to tell them you are with us, they dutifully drop whatever they are doing (generally having the nerve to have dinner! Without you! Somewhere outside the house on a Friday or Saturday night!) and drive home to get you. Please, Riley. The last time you escaped you really almost hurt yourself. Try and summon up some survival instinct and stay inside your yard.
Note to the movie industry: Wow. DVDs and pay-per-view are really chapping your hide, aren’t they? Um, here’s the thing. I took my kid to a matinee this weekend and between the tickets and popcorn and such? I spent THIRTY-ONE FIFTY. For real. So not cool. Get with the program.
Note to self: Yes, you know that you don’t have it so bad if that’s your worst problem. Over and out.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
I Am Gon
In all the excitement over the inauguration yesterday, I forgot to mention that this weekend, Viva made her first attempt at running away from home.
Ah, yes. I remember when I was about her age, getting furious at my mom about God only knows what, and pulling out my blue flowered suitcase, throwing some beloved possessions inside it, and telling my mom I was leaving home and not coming back. I threatened to move to my grandparents’ house, and as I recall, my mom did not try to dissuade me. We were living in a housing project then, in a concrete townhouse kind of dealio, and I stomped down the stairs to the front door, which I remember was royal blue and metal, and then I sat there in the doorway with my suitcase, pretty ticked off and kicking one sandaled grubby foot at the pavement, halfway stubbing my big toe in the process. Every now and then I would steal a look up at the kitchen window, and my mom would quickly pull the curtain back as if she was not looking at me at all and wasn’t worried I was going anywhere. Realizing that she was watching me not leave, I got up a few times and walked out of sight, a few houses down and back, just to make it look like I meant business.
Finally, I gave up and went back inside and told my mom I wasn’t leaving today. I think there was some apologizing and hugging, but I can’t fully remember.
Back to my firstborn. Over the weekend, Viva got mad at Sweet Dub because they were playing Wii and she got frustrated with whatever they were playing and burst into tears. One of our house rules is that if you start to cry while playing a game, you need to take a break from playing it. She threw such a hissy fit when Sweet Dub told her to take a break that he grounded her from playing Wii for a week. This only made matters worse, and she stomped up the stairs in a screaming whirlwind. Sweet Dub was – well, it wasn’t his best moment. I decided to mediate, and I went up to Viva’s room.
Viva was crying loudly and yelling at the same time about how she was NOT going to stay in this HOUSE and she was going to RUN AWAY and how Sweet Dub was the MEANEST meany daddy EVER and it’s not FAIR and on and on in a continuous loop. I knocked on her door and went inside.
“Viva?” I said. She was inside her closet dragging out her suitcase, surrounded by various items of clothing and toys. Among the things she had pulled out to take along was her hoppity horse – perhaps not the best choice unless she was going to use it as a means of transportation.
She screeched something unintelligible and angry at me.
“Why are you mad at me?” I said. “I have nothing to do with this and I’m just trying to see if you’re okay.”
“I’m mad at everyone in this FAMily,” Viva said.
“Even Cily?” I said.
“Yeah, because she made a NOISE while I was playing and it made me lose my concen-TRAY-shun,” Viva said. “And that made me LOOOOOOOOOZ…” and she started bawling again.
“Oh, honey,” I said. (Is it just me, or when your kid cries, does it make you want to cry?) “I know you don’t like to lose. But you know games are supposed to be fun, and when it stops being fun maybe you should—“
“I am running aWAY,” Viva yelled, crying some more.
“I understand that,” I said. I watched her pick through some more of her things, sniffling and moaning. “Can I say something to you first?” Viva nodded. “Can you come here for a minute?…Closer. Closer,” I said, and then pulled her toward me to hug her.
“I just want to say that I’ve really enjoyed having you around for these five years,” I said. “And I’m sad that you want to leave us, and we’ll really miss you. And I’m sad that Cily might have to grow up without you, because you are such a great big sister. And so I hope that you’ll reconsider your decision. And I love you.”
And I kissed her, and then I walked out of the closet, out of the room, and closed the door.
Later, after Viva had come back downstairs and was playing Legos without further incident, I happened to be taking laundry upstairs and found this note taped to her door: “I am gon Love Viva” I quickly spirited it away, to be filed with my “you dot love my”and “it’s omost The Week End hep hep hray” notes from previous encounters. Oh, my girl and her drama. I do love her so.
Ah, yes. I remember when I was about her age, getting furious at my mom about God only knows what, and pulling out my blue flowered suitcase, throwing some beloved possessions inside it, and telling my mom I was leaving home and not coming back. I threatened to move to my grandparents’ house, and as I recall, my mom did not try to dissuade me. We were living in a housing project then, in a concrete townhouse kind of dealio, and I stomped down the stairs to the front door, which I remember was royal blue and metal, and then I sat there in the doorway with my suitcase, pretty ticked off and kicking one sandaled grubby foot at the pavement, halfway stubbing my big toe in the process. Every now and then I would steal a look up at the kitchen window, and my mom would quickly pull the curtain back as if she was not looking at me at all and wasn’t worried I was going anywhere. Realizing that she was watching me not leave, I got up a few times and walked out of sight, a few houses down and back, just to make it look like I meant business.
Finally, I gave up and went back inside and told my mom I wasn’t leaving today. I think there was some apologizing and hugging, but I can’t fully remember.
Back to my firstborn. Over the weekend, Viva got mad at Sweet Dub because they were playing Wii and she got frustrated with whatever they were playing and burst into tears. One of our house rules is that if you start to cry while playing a game, you need to take a break from playing it. She threw such a hissy fit when Sweet Dub told her to take a break that he grounded her from playing Wii for a week. This only made matters worse, and she stomped up the stairs in a screaming whirlwind. Sweet Dub was – well, it wasn’t his best moment. I decided to mediate, and I went up to Viva’s room.
Viva was crying loudly and yelling at the same time about how she was NOT going to stay in this HOUSE and she was going to RUN AWAY and how Sweet Dub was the MEANEST meany daddy EVER and it’s not FAIR and on and on in a continuous loop. I knocked on her door and went inside.
“Viva?” I said. She was inside her closet dragging out her suitcase, surrounded by various items of clothing and toys. Among the things she had pulled out to take along was her hoppity horse – perhaps not the best choice unless she was going to use it as a means of transportation.
She screeched something unintelligible and angry at me.
“Why are you mad at me?” I said. “I have nothing to do with this and I’m just trying to see if you’re okay.”
“I’m mad at everyone in this FAMily,” Viva said.
“Even Cily?” I said.
“Yeah, because she made a NOISE while I was playing and it made me lose my concen-TRAY-shun,” Viva said. “And that made me LOOOOOOOOOZ…” and she started bawling again.
“Oh, honey,” I said. (Is it just me, or when your kid cries, does it make you want to cry?) “I know you don’t like to lose. But you know games are supposed to be fun, and when it stops being fun maybe you should—“
“I am running aWAY,” Viva yelled, crying some more.
“I understand that,” I said. I watched her pick through some more of her things, sniffling and moaning. “Can I say something to you first?” Viva nodded. “Can you come here for a minute?…Closer. Closer,” I said, and then pulled her toward me to hug her.
“I just want to say that I’ve really enjoyed having you around for these five years,” I said. “And I’m sad that you want to leave us, and we’ll really miss you. And I’m sad that Cily might have to grow up without you, because you are such a great big sister. And so I hope that you’ll reconsider your decision. And I love you.”
And I kissed her, and then I walked out of the closet, out of the room, and closed the door.
Later, after Viva had come back downstairs and was playing Legos without further incident, I happened to be taking laundry upstairs and found this note taped to her door: “I am gon Love Viva” I quickly spirited it away, to be filed with my “you dot love my”and “it’s omost The Week End hep hep hray” notes from previous encounters. Oh, my girl and her drama. I do love her so.
Obama Sandwich
The Blah Blahs took yesterday off to view the inauguration at home together as a family. Yesterday in the late morning, Sweet Dub’s Blackberry was blowing up with texts and emails from folks who were all saying, “You said there’d never be a black president! You said there’d never be a black president!” I said to him, “You should write back, ‘I’ve never been happier to be wrong.’”
“Oh my God,” Sweet Dub said. “That’s exactly what I said.” He scrolled down in his Blackberry and showed me the message: I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.
“Same sandwich,” I said, and kept right on washing out baby bottles.
(This should go without saying, but we stayed home to watch not just because Barack Obama is the first black president. We stayed home to watch because of the phenomenon that Barack Obama has become, and the response he has engendered among the public, as evidenced by the insane turnout on the Mall. People are ready for change, and even if he doesn't accomplish all that he sets out to do as president, he has energized a goodly segment of the population. In and of itself a very positive thing.)
(We also stayed home to watch so we could scream with glee and jump up and down like idiots as George W. got into the helicopter and flew away. If I could get that video and the video of the Iraqi reporter throwing his shoes* at W. on a continuous loop? Man, that would be the best video ever.)
(* I really do think that should be W's "thing" wherever he goes. I wish everyone at the inauguration had thrown their shoes at him. And Dick Cheney. Like, just at the two of them, maybe in an isolated space without anyone else around, so there wouldn't be collateral damage to other people. I am not totally heartless.)
Edited to add: OH MY GOD! How did I miss this?? ("Bush Protest: Shoes Thrown at White House")
“Oh my God,” Sweet Dub said. “That’s exactly what I said.” He scrolled down in his Blackberry and showed me the message: I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.
“Same sandwich,” I said, and kept right on washing out baby bottles.
(This should go without saying, but we stayed home to watch not just because Barack Obama is the first black president. We stayed home to watch because of the phenomenon that Barack Obama has become, and the response he has engendered among the public, as evidenced by the insane turnout on the Mall. People are ready for change, and even if he doesn't accomplish all that he sets out to do as president, he has energized a goodly segment of the population. In and of itself a very positive thing.)
(We also stayed home to watch so we could scream with glee and jump up and down like idiots as George W. got into the helicopter and flew away. If I could get that video and the video of the Iraqi reporter throwing his shoes* at W. on a continuous loop? Man, that would be the best video ever.)
(* I really do think that should be W's "thing" wherever he goes. I wish everyone at the inauguration had thrown their shoes at him. And Dick Cheney. Like, just at the two of them, maybe in an isolated space without anyone else around, so there wouldn't be collateral damage to other people. I am not totally heartless.)
Edited to add: OH MY GOD! How did I miss this?? ("Bush Protest: Shoes Thrown at White House")
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Sandwiches and Synchronicity
When Sweet Dub and I first began dating we kept being struck by how similar we were. Naturally, some of that was just part of getting to know each other and finding out how compatible you are (or are not). At one point while we were dating, I arrived at Sweet Dub’s apartment after a horrible day at work and rather than cooking anything, he decided he would just go get us some sandwiches at Subway. Tenderly (partly because you know, these were our early days, and partly because I’d had such a crummy day), he said, “What kind of sandwich would you like, my sweetie?”
“The [sandwich name redacted because now I can’t remember it],” I said. “It’s not on the menu anymore, but if you ask for it they’ll make it.”
“Are you KIDDING me?” Sweet Dub said.
“No, I know it sounds weird, but they’ll know what you’re talking about,” I said.
“I KNOW,” he said. “That’s my sandwich.” He actually sat down, he was so thrown. “I can’t believe it,” he said. “We are so alike that we even eat the same sandwich.”
That has become a shorthand of sorts for us.
Recently, each of us unbeknownst to the other, on the same day, went on to craigslist to check rental prices in our area. While we just moved (JUST MOVED! You remember?) in November into a year-long lease, we both already went back to craigslist to look around. I think both of us were wondering in this economy whether we are getting our money’s worth in the neighborhood we’re in. The consensus: yes. Rents are not coming down, at least not here. We both independently concluded that we should continue to watch the market and possibly start looking at buying a house later this year, as our lease expires. When we discovered that we had each done this on the same day, all we could do was laugh.
“That is unbelievable,” Dub said.
Yeah. Same sandwich.
“The [sandwich name redacted because now I can’t remember it],” I said. “It’s not on the menu anymore, but if you ask for it they’ll make it.”
“Are you KIDDING me?” Sweet Dub said.
“No, I know it sounds weird, but they’ll know what you’re talking about,” I said.
“I KNOW,” he said. “That’s my sandwich.” He actually sat down, he was so thrown. “I can’t believe it,” he said. “We are so alike that we even eat the same sandwich.”
That has become a shorthand of sorts for us.
Recently, each of us unbeknownst to the other, on the same day, went on to craigslist to check rental prices in our area. While we just moved (JUST MOVED! You remember?) in November into a year-long lease, we both already went back to craigslist to look around. I think both of us were wondering in this economy whether we are getting our money’s worth in the neighborhood we’re in. The consensus: yes. Rents are not coming down, at least not here. We both independently concluded that we should continue to watch the market and possibly start looking at buying a house later this year, as our lease expires. When we discovered that we had each done this on the same day, all we could do was laugh.
“That is unbelievable,” Dub said.
Yeah. Same sandwich.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
A Mixed Breed
With all the turmoil in the world right now, and all the burning questions of the day – should the U.S. government bail out, well, pretty much everyone? What can be done to fix the mess in Gaza? Will Los Angeles ever rid itself of smog? (Apparently not.) And, does this inauguration make my ass look big? – with all that, I say, I know what is foremost in your minds: which dog should the Obama family choose to bring with them to the White House?
The Obamas have narrowed it down to two choices: the Portuguese water dog or the Labradoodle, both of which are evidently good for people with allergies because they don’t shed. (First Daughter-Elect Malia has allergies.) Fortunately, the experts have been quick to weigh in, and at first it seems all sweetness and light: Sen. Ted Kennedy owns three Portuguese water dogs and enthusiastically endorses them as a good choice for the First Family. And then there’s Christy Westover, who breeds Australian Labradoodles in Klamath Falls, Oregon. She says the dogs are “family-friendly, loyal and sweet-tempered…It's a great choice."
Okay, so then I don’t care either way. But then there’s this:
And now that you know my vote, I’m sure you can sleep soundly tonight. Live, from Los Angeles, I’m Lisa Blah Blah, signing off. Tune in next week as I rant about my bellybutton lint.
The Obamas have narrowed it down to two choices: the Portuguese water dog or the Labradoodle, both of which are evidently good for people with allergies because they don’t shed. (First Daughter-Elect Malia has allergies.) Fortunately, the experts have been quick to weigh in, and at first it seems all sweetness and light: Sen. Ted Kennedy owns three Portuguese water dogs and enthusiastically endorses them as a good choice for the First Family. And then there’s Christy Westover, who breeds Australian Labradoodles in Klamath Falls, Oregon. She says the dogs are “family-friendly, loyal and sweet-tempered…It's a great choice."
Okay, so then I don’t care either way. But then there’s this:
The American Kennel Club does not recognize the Labradoodle, a cross between a Labrador retriever and poodle, as a breed. The club wants the Obamas to choose the Portuguese water dog, according to Daisy Okas, spokeswoman for the AKC.My (kneejerk reaction) vote: Labradoodle. The AKC can kiss my ass and mind its own bidness. President-Elect Obama is biracial himself. What’s wrong with being mixed? Go, Labradoodle, go!
"All dogs are wonderful," said Okas. "But a Labradoodle is a mixed breed and its predictability can't be compared to a purebred. We think especially for such a high-profile family, they need to know what they're getting."
And now that you know my vote, I’m sure you can sleep soundly tonight. Live, from Los Angeles, I’m Lisa Blah Blah, signing off. Tune in next week as I rant about my bellybutton lint.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Caffeine, How I Love Thee
The coffee maker in our office break room is broken. NOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
P.S. Two of us who work closely together have infants at home (mine 2.5 months, his 7 weeks old). We are both frantically sleep-deprived. The coffee maker breakdown is truly a Crisis of Epic Proportions. Work productivity? What's that?
P.S. Two of us who work closely together have infants at home (mine 2.5 months, his 7 weeks old). We are both frantically sleep-deprived. The coffee maker breakdown is truly a Crisis of Epic Proportions. Work productivity? What's that?
Geeking Out
My first week back at work was rough, especially after not only being on maternity leave but having thoroughly enjoyed the holiday season. Okay, there were some moments where I thought I might lose my mind with so much togetherness, and here I must shout out a very belated note of thanks to Los Angelista: not only did Viva receive the SpongeBob Lego Rocket Ride set* in time for us to discreetly wrap it and set it under the tree, but she also received a SpongeBob Lego ER set. She literally played Legos for two days straight and refused to leave the house or change out of her pajamas. I know I said that she was crazy for both SpongeBob and Legos, but even I could not have predicted this extreme response. It was just a bit worrisome...
So anyway, as I say, going back to work was a bit of an adjustment. Cily is at a daycare center just five minutes away from my job and I’m actually pretty comfortable with her being there. I think Sweet Dub had more anxiety about it than I did, to be honest, because he hasn’t been there yet.
With going back to work and with the new baby, I’ve been feeling a little…removed from Viva, and so when she came home with the news that she had a science project to do – and then it turned out that in their science unit, they’re covering animals, and that the project involved creating a diorama and a mini-report – oh my God, do you even understand what a geek I am that I was so excited that we were going to work on this together?! (I am pretty sure that last run-on sentence was a hot mess, but hello, sleep deprivation.)
Viva told me the animal she’d chosen was a lion, and that she needed to create a diorama of the lion in its habitat and then write a mini-report about where lions live, what they eat, etc. I went to Target Saturday morning and along with new outfits for Cily, who is outgrowing all her clothes quickly, I bought a couple of lion figurines so we could get started. Of course, Cily was going through something this weekend, adjusting to childcare and then adjusting back to home, so her sleep has been all messed up and she was irritable, harkening back to her colicky days, and it seemed she just wanted to be attached to me 24/7.
During one particularly rocky period with Cily in the afternoon, at Viva’s urging, Sweet Dub emptied out a shoebox and they began work on the diorama (it’s due at the end of the month). Do you know they pretty much finished it?? It looks frickin’ great. Viva made a bloody zebra carcass out of Play-Doh and they printed out pictures of zebra herds and pasted them on the savannah background they’d already installed so it looks like the rest of the zebras have run away. She cut out long golden grass and stuck it here and there so the lions are kind of half-in and half-out of it. Viva ran to me to proudly display it.
“It looks fantastic, baby,” I said, and then to Sweet Dub mournfully, “I didn’t know you were going to do the whole thing!”
“She still has to write the report,” he said.
“That is not exactly the fun part,” I said. “You know I was geeking out about getting to do the creative part.”
“We still have to decorate the outside of the box,” he said in a conciliatory tone.
“Whatever,” I said. I had to console myself with reading one of the Junie B. Jones books all cuddled up with Viva. Her obvious enjoyment of the Junie B. series also pleases my inner geek. I gotta get my thrills where I can, people.
* Through a fantastic giveaway on the Los Angelista site! If you haven’t been over to Los Angelista’s, what are you waiting for? She posts just about every day and it’s always something interesting (unlike this space). So go, already!
So anyway, as I say, going back to work was a bit of an adjustment. Cily is at a daycare center just five minutes away from my job and I’m actually pretty comfortable with her being there. I think Sweet Dub had more anxiety about it than I did, to be honest, because he hasn’t been there yet.
With going back to work and with the new baby, I’ve been feeling a little…removed from Viva, and so when she came home with the news that she had a science project to do – and then it turned out that in their science unit, they’re covering animals, and that the project involved creating a diorama and a mini-report – oh my God, do you even understand what a geek I am that I was so excited that we were going to work on this together?! (I am pretty sure that last run-on sentence was a hot mess, but hello, sleep deprivation.)
Viva told me the animal she’d chosen was a lion, and that she needed to create a diorama of the lion in its habitat and then write a mini-report about where lions live, what they eat, etc. I went to Target Saturday morning and along with new outfits for Cily, who is outgrowing all her clothes quickly, I bought a couple of lion figurines so we could get started. Of course, Cily was going through something this weekend, adjusting to childcare and then adjusting back to home, so her sleep has been all messed up and she was irritable, harkening back to her colicky days, and it seemed she just wanted to be attached to me 24/7.
During one particularly rocky period with Cily in the afternoon, at Viva’s urging, Sweet Dub emptied out a shoebox and they began work on the diorama (it’s due at the end of the month). Do you know they pretty much finished it?? It looks frickin’ great. Viva made a bloody zebra carcass out of Play-Doh and they printed out pictures of zebra herds and pasted them on the savannah background they’d already installed so it looks like the rest of the zebras have run away. She cut out long golden grass and stuck it here and there so the lions are kind of half-in and half-out of it. Viva ran to me to proudly display it.
“It looks fantastic, baby,” I said, and then to Sweet Dub mournfully, “I didn’t know you were going to do the whole thing!”
“She still has to write the report,” he said.
“That is not exactly the fun part,” I said. “You know I was geeking out about getting to do the creative part.”
“We still have to decorate the outside of the box,” he said in a conciliatory tone.
“Whatever,” I said. I had to console myself with reading one of the Junie B. Jones books all cuddled up with Viva. Her obvious enjoyment of the Junie B. series also pleases my inner geek. I gotta get my thrills where I can, people.
* Through a fantastic giveaway on the Los Angelista site! If you haven’t been over to Los Angelista’s, what are you waiting for? She posts just about every day and it’s always something interesting (unlike this space). So go, already!
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Cutie Patooties
Day Four of work. Buried! Up to my neck! Ridiculous!
In lieu of a real post, I give you pictures of my girls -- pictures that, had I gotten my act together, might have accompanied a Christmas or even New Year's card:
I say to you that I still hold out hope that I may (a) print these out and (b) send them with thank you notes to old folks back east who generously sent the kids things for Christmas and who as yet have no clue how to access email or download attachments. That is my hope.
All the best to you and yours.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Black Woman Here No More
Adieu, Maternity Leave. As of yesterday, I am back at work. I have a new, larger office with nice furniture and, because one of the senior therapists here just retired unexpectedly for health reasons, for the entire month of January I have a Reserved Parking Space (RSP), which I am capitalizing so you will understand what a Big Deal it is.
The only problem with the RSP is that no one seems to know which space it actually is.
Our organization has four reserved parking spaces on the first floor of the parking structure, and they all are labeled with the name of the organization only – not with the name of the person who is to park there. Since I don’t want to cause any ill will by parking in someone else’s space, this is a bit of a dilemma. So today, I went to the parking attendant supervisor guy (PASG) and explained the situation and asked if he could tell me which space it is. “I’m parked in 138, but I don’t know if that’s her space,” I said.
The PASG, whose first language is definitely not English, said, “Black woman?”
“Yes,” I said. Vice President with advanced degrees, but he doesn’t know that.
“Black woman here no more?” he said.
“That’s right, she’s retired,” I said.
“Oh, black woman here no more,” he mused. Then he gestured and said, “Come on.”
We went down the ramp to look at the spaces, which he identified as “Nissan Xterra, BMW, and Mercedes.”
Since Dr. Black Woman Here No More drives a Mercedes, we determined I was in the wrong spot. However, Nissan Xterra, also known as White Guy On Vacation, is a suitable spot for the moment and I don’t have to move my car.
The only problem with the RSP is that no one seems to know which space it actually is.
Our organization has four reserved parking spaces on the first floor of the parking structure, and they all are labeled with the name of the organization only – not with the name of the person who is to park there. Since I don’t want to cause any ill will by parking in someone else’s space, this is a bit of a dilemma. So today, I went to the parking attendant supervisor guy (PASG) and explained the situation and asked if he could tell me which space it is. “I’m parked in 138, but I don’t know if that’s her space,” I said.
The PASG, whose first language is definitely not English, said, “Black woman?”
“Yes,” I said. Vice President with advanced degrees, but he doesn’t know that.
“Black woman here no more?” he said.
“That’s right, she’s retired,” I said.
“Oh, black woman here no more,” he mused. Then he gestured and said, “Come on.”
We went down the ramp to look at the spaces, which he identified as “Nissan Xterra, BMW, and Mercedes.”
Since Dr. Black Woman Here No More drives a Mercedes, we determined I was in the wrong spot. However, Nissan Xterra, also known as White Guy On Vacation, is a suitable spot for the moment and I don’t have to move my car.
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