Just Heat and Serve!

I am less than two weeks away from going under the knife. On Monday, October 8, I’ll be having a myomectomy to remove the 7 or so fibroids that are making my life less than stellar. I will spend two to four days in the hospital and then recuperate at home for anywhere from six to eight weeks. We have spent the past couple of weeks periodically making arrangements for this time – mapping out medical leave (Sweet Dub will take one week off), arranging for my in-laws to take Viva the night before, etc.

One of the reasons I am having the surgery is to eliminate the back pain I’ve been having, which is fairly constant at a dull roar but likes to flare up with screaming meemies every now and then. The past couple of nights I have not been able to get comfortable enough to go to sleep. So last night I was channel-surfing and came across this show, about a family with 8 kids – first a set of twins, and then sextuplets. I missed the first part of the show, but was intrigued because the mom was preparing to have surgery with a long recuperation and I was wondering if she was having something similar. Er, nope – she was having a tummy tuck. But she went shopping with her 5-year-old twins to buy enough food to prepare two weeks’ worth of meals. Sweet fanciful Moses! It took her 24 hours to cook all the food, and then she was on to packing clothes and diapers and the kitchen sink for all her kids as they were preparing to drop them all off with various friends and relatives.

Let’s stop right there for a second, because I’m still floored by the food (and let’s face it, laundry? For 8 kids? Yes, that gives me nightmares). The mom, Kate, explained that she wanted to cook all the food for her kids ahead of time because they had never yet tasted junk food and she wanted them to have organic food as much as possible, which is admirable, and I can see where she’s coming from. And her husband, like mine (love you, babe!) is not all that skillful in the kitchen. But let me tell you, the second I found out I’d be in bed for at least a week, two words came to mind: Trader Joe’s.

Trader Joe’s, sweetie. It won’t kill you. I intend to stock up on as much frozen food as possible and try some new things I’ve never had before. It’ll be an adventure!

Don’t Get Caught with Your Pants Down

As the school year has recently kicked off, and with the 6th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks fresh in our minds, I think there is no time like the present to take stock. More specifically: it’s time to get prepared. Are you ready in case of an emergency?

(By the way: Two posts in 24 hours? WHAT?!)

(Ahem.)

Sweet Dub and I have always had earthquake bags and first aid kits in our cars and in the house. But it’s hard to keep up-to-date on the emergency bags when you have a little one. At a birthday party this summer, Viva soaked through her shirt with a melting Sno-Cone not once but twice. I always carry one change of clothes with us, but wasn’t prepared for her to have another wardrobe change during a 3-hour party. I rummaged through the emergency bag in my trunk and came up with a size 2T T-shirt. It was a stretchy material, and it actually sorta fit, which I think is why it was in there in the first place, but still. She currently wears a 5T, people.

So I think the Blah Blahs will be staging Emergency Preparedness Weekend to go through our house and cars, restock on water, pack emergency kits for at work (jerky and granola bars, anyone?), and update our family phone tree.

If you haven’t done this recently, I hope you’ll consider doing the same. Because an ounce of prevention is worth – oh, you know the rest.

That Thing, That Thing, That -- Huh?

Aaaaand, we’re back. Yes, I realize that I am now posting about once a week. This is because my life has gotten even more hectic than previously, and let me tell you why. I informed my boss and her boss that I will need six to eight weeks off for this medical leave, starting in early October. All of a sudden, it appears, I must try to do everything that is crucial that would need to be done through mid-November within the next four weeks.

This evening, my boss’ boss tried to reassure me that I needn’t worry about all that. He may as well write his name on the wind. He doesn’t seem to get the significance of my having been raised in New England, which means that (a) I have that annoying Puritan work ethic and (b) I internalize all anxiety related to that. My stomach lining is like the ozone layer right now. Added to my existing medical issues and I don’t have a whole lot of energy left over for much more than rolling around on the rug with Viva, practicing somersaults. Wait, I only did that three times. I was sure I was going to dislocate my neck or something, and that, on top of everything else, would quite definitely make my husband leave me*. And I just can’t have that.

So anyway, I am making myself a little nuts with work, despite having potentially met half of my fundraising goal for this fiscal year in the first quarter (hey, and we’re not even finished with the first quarter yet. This freakin’ rocks!). Blah blah blah, work stuff is completely boring since I can’t tell you any of the details that make it interesting.

Example: I went to a work thing today where roughly one-third of our entire staff attended. (Maybe 100 people). I don’t understand why some people do not get what proper work attire is. I will not give the play-by-play, but flip flops? NO. NO. NO. I can’t say it enough. NO. For God’s sake, NO. If you wear them with suit pants and a blouse, it looks ridiculous. If you wear them with some cavernous burlap sack dress, it looks like you have truly given up caring and are just waiting to throw yourself in front of a train. Either way, I don’t want to see it and neither does anyone else.

Speaking of which, what the…???



















(Link to story) I am speechless. And kind of sad. It seems like Lauryn Hill has been having some kind of breakdown over the past few years and no one is doing anything about it. What’s happened to her? I say this as a fan of her music – I think she is hugely talented. I mean, look at that picture again.** And then look at this. What on God’s green earth??

Sigh.

Someday I will write a post which will be poignant and evocative and leave my readers gazing wistfully out the window and marveling at the wonders of the world. Today is not that day, my friends.

See you next week.


* Yes, he’s been threatening to do that lately because Viva and I are both so accident-prone that he can’t stand to be around us. Last week, I mangled my toe such that I couldn’t wear a regular shoe. But in what has to be a record, within a 20-minute span, Viva fell and scraped her knee, dropped her eraser into the toilet, and then pinched the side of her hand in the bathroom door, breaking the skin. Sweet Dub went screaming off into the other room that we were driving him nuts and he just couldn’t take it anymore and if one more thing went wrong with one of us he was going to lose hi s mind. Yes, I was the calm one at that moment. We have a flair for the dramatic, we Blah Blahs. It is our way.

** I suppose I should thank my friend, Mr. X, for sending me that link. Well, thanks for nothing! Aw, whatever, I love you, you big baby. Stop crying. No, seriously, stop it.

Disco Inferno

This post is brought to you today by the letter H (for HOT) and the number 90 (for super freakin' hot).

1. Hey, guess what? It's September in Southern California, which means it's the hottest time of year. My brain, she is melting. Hence and therefore, I can't promise that this post will be about much of anything besides the heat, for which I apologize in advance because I am quite sure that many of the 7 people that read here regularly are probably also quite hot. And I mean that in both senses of the word. Smooch, smooch.

2. The chorus to "Disco Inferno" is in my head. Burn, baby, burn. Hey, now it's in yours. See how sneaky I am?

3. Medical update: I am having surgery in early October to rid myself of these dratted fibroids. Did you know that compared to other races, African-American women are 3 to 9 times more likely to have fibroids, develop fibroids at a younger age, and have more numerous fibroids? Whee! I got ripped off on the melanin, but I got the fibroids. It is like some frickin' cosmic joke.

4. I am relieved to be having the surgery, which shows you that things have gotten pretty damn bad around here.

5. Speaking of melanin, the Blah Blah family went to the beach this weekend. After a couple hours sitting by the water in the sun, I was completely incapacitated for the rest of the day. We arrived at the beach at 8:40 AM and left by 11:00 AM. Once again, it is hard to believe that I am descended from people who toiled for hours in the sun.

6. Viva was reunited with her best friend on Saturday. (Her best friend, who she's known since the age of 2, recently moved to a different school. Her older brother was having issues with one of the teachers and Best Friend's parents decided to move both kids.) There was much rejoicing. I brought my camera but damned if it didn't come out of my purse the entire four hours of the playdate. Again, I blame it on the heat. Because I can.

7. When I arrived at work this morning, there were fire engines outside my building. As you might imagine, not wanting to sizzle like a blister in the sun, I asked the parking attendant about it as I was driving in. "Fire drill," he said, waving me in. Hey, you know what? WRONG. Rolling blackout, and people were trapped in the elevators, and the firefighters were trying to get them out. Since I always take the stairs, I was spared that. However, I did end up stuck at work for a couple of hours with no phone, no power, no air conditioning. By about 9:30, I was sweating and yet still taking calls on my cell phone from someone I work with, detailing all the work I needed to do once I got home. Damn. So unlike some people who can only work if they're on the network, no extra day off for me. I can always write from home.

8. Nonetheless, this doesn't mean I might not run a few errands. I just realized that I've managed to go all summer with one pair of decent shorts. I pretty much wear either them or one of two pairs of capri pants when I'm hanging around the house like this, so maybe I'll actually buy another pair. Bonus: they may actually be on sale because it is so late in the season. I'm also trying not to run the air conditioning here at home because it makes Sweet Dub have the conniptions. So the mall, the library, and the movie theater are all looking like great options.

9. And, I'm out. It's heating up in here. Time to hit the dry cleaners and grab something iced to drink. Peace!

In Which I Channel Andy Rooney

I’ve been thinking a lot about healthcare lately. My fibroids continue to kick my ass, so I am seeing a new doctor tomorrow. As I Mapquested the doctor’s office yesterday, I was inwardly bemoaning the lack of continuity of care I’ve received over the past few years. Between changing insurance carriers through Sweet Dub’s employer, starting a new job myself, and then having my employer change insurance carriers, this will be the fifth OB-GYN for me since Viva was born. Every time, I have to fill out extensive forms with my health history, get old records from previous doctors, etc. It is not a good system.

And now the latest U.S. Census data on poverty, income and health insurance are in. According to the report:

Both the percentage and the number of people without health insurance increased in 2006. The percentage without health insurance increased from 15.3 percent in 2005 to 15.8 percent in 2006, and the number of uninsured increased from 44.8 million to 47.0 million.

"The Uninsured" (which strikes me as a good name for either a horror movie spoof or a satirical version of the great Clint Eastwood movie "The Unforgiven") are those who don't qualify for medical insurance through any government program, but who can't afford to buy private insurance. That translates into close to one-fifth of the American population pretty much just relying on hope and a prayer that they don't get hit by a bus, or develop a persistent cough, or what have you.

Meanwhile, our family received an offer from Wells Fargo Bank recently for medical emergency insurance. For only $10 and change a month, we can get coverage of up to $400 a day for 365 days in the event that one of us has an injury or illness that leaves us hospitalized that long. The cover letter mentions that even with private health insurance coverage, an extended hospital stay can bankrupt a family.

I’m sure everyone out there either has a story or knows someone who has a story about the evils of the current health care system in the U.S. I have a dear friend who made the mistake of getting cancer and then her husband got laid off. He found another job, but inevitably there was a period of time when COBRA was running out and it appeared they would have to pay $3,000 a month for the experimental medicine that was keeping her alive.

The Wells Fargo notice tripped me out because now corporations are finding yet another way to capitalize on a bad situation and making money by exploiting people’s fears.

Note to presidential candidates: It’s not just the war, it’s the health insurance, stupid. Other developed nations have figured it out. Time to get on the bandwagon.

P.S. I have not yet seen Sicko. I think my head would probably explode. And I don't think my insurance covers that.

Worst. Mom. Ever.

This morning, at approximately 7:15, the fruit of my loins shot me a look dripping with venom*, stamped her foot and said:

"You are RUINING my LIFE!"

I truly was not expecting this until she was a pre-teen. I suppose I should have been taken aback, but in fact I was just amused. For those of you who are wondering:

How to Ruin Viva’s Life

1. Pour her a bowl of cereal. Add milk to said cereal straight from the carton, as opposed to pouring it into a separate cup and allowing her to add the milk herself.
2. Blow out the scented candle in the bathroom right before you take your shower. Even though you think you are doing this so as not to leave a candle lit and unattended while your 4-year-old is up and about, in actuality you are doing it in direct violation of the Universal Candle Rule, which is that any candle that is lit anywhere in the universe must be blown out by Viva, after the “Happy Birthday” song has been sung, even when it is not her birthday.

* Not literally. Visually speaking, this is a rather disturbing image, as it implies that some type of viscous fluid** was dripping from her eyes. If indeed that were the case, I want to assure you that I would not have remained where I was, on the bath mat, with water dripping from my hair, explaining to my offspring that she was being a bit unreasonable. I like to think that I would perhaps have thrown on some clothes and taken my kid to the pediatrician, with great quickness.

** Note: if you Google “is venom viscous” just as a form of copyediting yourself***, you are directed to this site, which provides detailed instruction on how to extract and smoke the venom of the Psychedelic Toad of the Sonoran Desert. I guess I know what I’ll be doing this weekend.

*** I am greatly concerned with quality control. Quality, not quantity!

Stimulatin' the Economy

Sweet Dub, on viewing two bags of clothes/shoes/toys sitting next to our front door to be donated to charity: “Jesus! We are such consumers!” Turning to me, he continues, “I mean, doesn’t it seem to you that we are constantly getting rid of stuff? What kind of lesson are we teaching our child? It’s such a consumer culture.”

“Most of it is clothes Viva has grown out of,” I say. “And toys she doesn’t play with anymore.” (And honestly, most of those, we didn’t buy ourselves, since not only does Viva get scads of stuff on Christmas and her birthday, but at each and every other birthday party she attends. Oh, not to mention at school they have a party about once a month and she gets even more useless crap there. Since I am an anti-clutter freak, I sift through her room and donate a lot of stuff on a pretty regular basis.)

“Agh,” Dub replies disgustedly, and this seems to be his final word on the crass commercialism of the fine society in which we find ourselves.

Five minutes later: “We need a new couch.”


(To be fair, he immediately picked up on his own hypocrisy and laughed at himself.)

Full of P*ss and Vinegar

Just so you know, I’m not just snubbing you, I’m snubbing the world. I never call, I never e-mail, and I’m pretty sure everyone hates me, or at least vaguely wonders whatever happened to me when they happen to think of me. At any rate, lately I’ve been feeling better, so I’ve actually been getting back in touch with members of my own family this week, and maybe next week I’ll move on to all my friends I haven’t called or e-mailed or lunched with in eons. I realized this weekend that I am so antisocial that Viva does not even know how to comport herself whilst I am on the telephonical machine. While I was talking to my stepfather, who lives thousands of miles away and who we last saw over three years ago, Viva began flinging herself onto the floor and moaning because I was talking to someone else besides her for 15 minutes. She just could not bear it.

So last night I was on the phone with my sister, and she was actually offering to have my kid sleep over on Saturday night, and that very selfsame kid was screeching at me to play with her, PLAY with her, oh my GOD how could I be on the PHONE when she needs me to PLAY with her, so I was playing tag in the back yard and then hide and seek while still talking on the phone, and my sister said, “You are such a fun mom!”

Which is so not true, apparently, because this weekend Viva told me that I am boring because all I like to do is read books. Never mind that she has begun reading herself (“I see the cat. I see the milk. No! No! No!”), which I have to partly attribute to the fact that she has been read to so much by her parents. Never mind that I play with her for hours at a time in various imaginary scenarios in which we morph from schoolteachers to space explorers to magicians to firefighters to professional athletes. Or that we play board games and card games and make little families out of Play-Doh and do all kinds of art projects. Have I mentioned that I have a full-time job?

Aside from that, this morning, one of my co-workers praised my writing and said she wants to start a writer’s group and wants me to be part of it. As in, she’s actually going to encourage me to write stuff not for work. And she thinks it would be good and stuff. That’s really heartening, because she’s a creative and thoughtful person and I respect her.

And then! My friend Cee nominated me as a Rockin’ Girl blogger today:

(Okay, I'm blushing a little bit. Aw, Cee, see?)

I tend to be a bit self-deprecating, which no doubt is a defense mechanism with roots in my adolescence. (Let’s not get into it.) But for whatever reason, compliments are coming my way, and I need to gracefully accept them. With grace! So thanks to one and all and the universe, for realizing I needed a little validation. Good for the soul.

I’m back, and I rock. More to come.

I Don't

So a week or so ago I was dropping Viva off at school/camp, and because I drop her off at 8:15, and school/camp doesn’t actually start until 9 AM, she hangs out with a mixed-age group of kids for a half-hour or so. Imagine my shock when I saw one of the little girls in the group wearing this:




















In case you can’t read it, or if your mind can’t put the two incongruities together, the shirt proudly proclaims: “Everyone loves a drunk girl.” Well, I don’t. Particularly not when she is 7 years old. I mentioned it to the teacher on duty. She said, “Oh, Katie? Yes, she’s worn that a few times.”

“Don’t you think it’s odd?” I said. I mean, it strains all limits of common sense.

“Oh, well, yeah – I think her parents are from Korea. They probably don’t know what it means,” she said.

“Well, don’t you think someone should tell them?” I asked.

“Oh ho ho, ho,” she responded gaily, and then pretended to be distracted by another kid.

Well, you know I can’t just let that kind of thing go. I was running late that day, and so I left, determined to call the school later from work. Well, I forgot. And then it was the weekend. And then on Monday, we went to school/camp and there she was, swinging with wild abandon on the swings. I don’t think she was drunk, but she was wearing the T-shirt. I just don’t get it. This is a school that has rules against wearing open-toed shoes, a school that mandates that if you are in pre-K or above, you have to wear a uniform. They seem to have a little bit of a concern with how one comports oneself on their property, and yet no one has evidently any concern about a kid running around with this shirt on. I feel like sending Viva to school in a hand-blocked shirt that screams in all caps, “Fuckity fuck fuck fuck!”

Just to see what would happen. You know.

At any rate, so, I talked to the assistant principal about it, and his jaw dropped on the floor. “I get the impression that her parents may not speak English,” I said. “If it was me, I’d want to know.”

I haven’t seen her wear the shirt again. Yet. But I’ll keep you posted.

A Dollop of Blog

Holy crap!  A new blog post! Let's hope it's mind-blowing, earth-shattering and dare I say death-defying!

 

Are you wondering what's happened to me? I'm kind of wondering that myself. 

 

The truth is that I am working a lot (like everyone else), I'm tired, I'm preoccupied, my health problems are kicking up their heels again, and all that is not very interesting. 

 

However: I'm doing a lot of cool reading for work these days. I'm working on a reading program for what are these days termed "juvenile offenders," so part of what I get to do is talk with two writing instructors/published authors about literature that would be appropriate for this population. Despite my thoroughly liberal arts background, I'm getting introduced to a lot of great fiction I haven't read before. Since I LOVE to read, and I am a huge lit geek, this is fine by me.

 

Speaking of that, I need to get back to it. But rest assured that I am still alive, just posting sporadically. I leave you with this snippet:

 

Viva: Do kangaroos have bellybuttons?

 

Sweet Dub: You know, that's a good question. I bet they don't have a cute little bellybutton like you. 

 

Viva:  Why not?

 

Sweet Dub: Because you are a placental mammal, and a kangaroo is not.

 

I'm serious. Do you see? Do you see what I am dealing with?

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Hello, 1954

While I was listening to NPR on the way to work this morning, I heard the news that the U.S. Supreme Court has ruled that race can not be a factor in assigning where children go to public school.

 

I need a minute to get my head together.

 

Race is something that I think about A LOT when it comes to school.  When I was looking for a preschool for Viva, I was looking for one that had a lot of ethnic and racial diversity.  I didn't want her to feel "different," to be the only brown face in a sea of sameness.  But I didn't look for a predominantly black preschool, because I wouldn't be comfortable with that either.  I think there is inherent value in spending your days with people of a variety of backgrounds, to get different perspectives and yet to see how very similar you are.  As she gets older, I want Viva to be able to operate effectively in any situation she might find herself in, and part of that is learning how to interact with different types of people.

 

I have been looking at public schools now for, oh, at least a year. I am troubled by my local public elementary school's mediocre test scores, and by the miniscule black population in the school, which echoes the small black population of our neighborhood (our neighborhood skews pretty much white urban hipster/Latino middle-class/second-generation Asian-American/smattering of Armenian and the occasional black person-I won't even say black family because I have yet to see one).  I have looked into charter schools, which there is no guarantee I can get her into.  I have looked into other private schools, and there's no economic diversity there. (That, I think, is fodder for a whole different post about growing up privileged and not having a realistic view of the world.)

 

When I look at the "best" public schools in mid-city Los Angeles – the schools with great reputations, great test scores, high rates of parent involvement, great extracurricular programs – I can't help but feel defeated. We don't live within the boundaries we'd need to in order for Viva to go there.  Here's the ethnic/racial breakdown on each:

 

HC School is 58% Asian, 23% white, 9% Latino, 7% black, 2% Filipino, and 1% unspecified. 

SL School is 47% white, 28% Latino, 10% Filipino, 9% Asian, 5% black, and 1% unspecified.

LC School is 56% white, 21% Asian, 14% Latino, and 10% black.

 

I would say each of these has to some degree a fairly good mix.  The public school where we live, and where Viva would go to kindergarten if she went through the LA Unified School District, rates a "C" academically.  Its ethnic breakdown is 75% Latino, 11% Filipino, 7% white, 4% Asian, 2% black.  Also diverse, but you see? Hardly any black children. 

 

In contrast, Viva's current school, which costs us upwards of $15,000 per year – note well, she is now in Pre-K, not even elementary school – breaks down as follows:  28% black, 28% white, 28% Asian, 11% Latino, 3% American Indian, and 2 % unspecified.  It's not perfect, but it's pretty damn good.

 

Yes, I know, I live in a dream world.  But apparently I'm not the only one (hello, Justice Roberts!). The Supreme Court decision pisses me off, and let me tell you why:  it completely ignores the reality of race and education in America.  Does anyone honestly believe that schools in minority neighborhoods are as well-funded and well-run and well-staffed as those in predominantly white areas?  Seriously?  It's not a level playing field.  If it were, we wouldn't have needed Brown vs. the Board of Education in the first place. Separate but equal, my ass.

 

I don't think it's a coincidence that my local school has a population that is predominantly minority, one-third bilingual (one-third of kids in the school do not speak English as their first language) and low-income (85% of kids are getting free or reduced price lunch) and has such shitty test scores. Is this because I think minority kids are inherently deficient? No. I think it's because they have parents who can't help with homework and can't be involved with the school and advocate on the kids' behalf. And I think they can't do this because they're concentrating on basic survival -- getting food on the table and paying the rent and doing all this in another language, in a strange place. It's not that they care any less about their kids than Jane in Bel Air does about hers.

 

I am fortunate to be in the position where I feel I have some choice about where my child goes to school. Sweet Dub and I have been discussing whether or not we should move, and if so, where, in order to get Viva into a "good" public school.  The fact that we have to do this in the first place, before even considering race as a factor, shows you how horrendous the Los Angeles public school system is.  It's extremely hit or miss; some schools happen to have good principals and parents who have the time and energy and money to assist with leadership and building a strong school for their neighborhood.  And some just don't.  If the public schools were uniformly good, I wouldn't be pissed off. 

 

If we had to, we could continue to send Viva to private school. But a lot of folks don't have that option. And the Supreme Court decision, in my mind, paves the way for a lot of children of color to miss out on getting a quality education.

 

Whew. I'm worn out. 

 

And still pissed.

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Brevity is the Soul of Wit

About this whole Working Full-Time Dealio: I don't remember if you asked me how I feel about it, but quite frankly, it's not all that it's cracked up to be.

I just wrote a whole long post about it and I was boring even myself, so bleep that.

I just wish I had more time.

Farmer in the Dell

Have I mentioned that we at Casa de Blah have become gardeners? The cold winter (cold by Los Angeles standards, that is) killed a whole strip of pretty purple rushes we had going on in our backyard, so we pulled them out and planted food. Okay, maybe that's not quite right. I think what I meant to say was that my next-door neighbor, who is retired and has some time on her hands, volunteered to come over one day while we were at work/school and she not only singlehandedly ripped out all the reeds or rushes or whatever the hell they were, but also planted three tomato plants, a zucchini plant, and some string beans. Inspired, I also planted some strawberries. Through this process, I've learned that I really like gardening. (I know, hardly earth-shattering, but for someone who grew up around a lot of concrete, a pleasant realization.)

Here's the patch:















And now we are inundated with zucchinis. The strawberries are coming in slowly (we eat one at a time), the tomatoes are taking over the yard (though not ripe yet), and the beans? Well, the beans have not been looking so good. We keep debating what to do about them, but not doing anything, because that is our way.

This afternoon, while I was working from home, Sweet Dub came home for lunch. "We might have to pull out these beans," he said, walking around them. And then: "Oh my God, a bean! Hey, another one!"

Hey howdy hey, we have beanage. It's all very timely because I have been reading that Barbara Kingsolver book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle about how she and her family spent a year trying to eat only food that was produced locally. Now, it does help that they were able to move to a farm that they conveniently already owned, so they were able to grow a lot of food themselves. We don't own a farm. We merely rent a little house with a yard. But it's an interesting concept nonetheless, and if I ever finish the book and have the time or inclination to do so, maybe I'll review it fully here! in this very space!

The Cheese Stands Alone

Ever since we got back from Hawaii, Viva has had trouble sleeping by herself. We made the mistake of letting her sleep with us in the king-sized bed in our hotel room. This was perfectly okay because (a) there was plenty of room; and (2) we were in a suite, so if we wanted to get up to any shenanigans while she was asleep, we had a separate room (with a door!) we could go to. Now, at home, Sweet Dub and I sleep in a queen-sized bed. We sleep in a queen-sized bed because we like each other and like to be close to each other. It works for us unless there is a skinny four-year-old draped in between us, kicking her father in the back and poking me in the face with her elbow while sleeping.

The first week we were back, Viva made it known repeatedly and loudly, with much whinage, that everyone else had a brother or sister to sleep in their room with them and why didn’t she and we were horrible parents who were scarring her for life with our insistence that she sleep on what amounts to a splintery plank raised up off the floor with only the rats for company in her drafty attic room where the snow drifts in and her filthy handkerchief-sized blanket doesn’t quite cover her enough, ALONE, ALONE, ah the agony. And so on and so forth.

We finally got her off of this tack by numerous explanations that even if she had a brother or sister, they might not share a room, or even want to, and that if she had a brother or sister, she would definitely have to share us with him or her, and that would mean less time and attention for her, which, as the ultimate drama queen, you know she is not going for. And so we were saved.

And then there was Pee-Wee.

While channel-surfing recently, Sweet Dub came across Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure, and knowing of Viva’s love of the dance, he recorded the portion of the movie where Pee-Wee dances in the biker bar in the high-heeled patent white loafers. If you haven’t watched the movie 500 times, you might not remember that after that scene, Pee-Wee takes off on a motorcycle (or should I say hog?) loaned to him by one of the bikers. He immediately crashes through a billboard and gets rushed to the hospital, whereupon he sleeps fitfully, and you see that he is having nightmares of what has happened to his own bike. These are nightmares featuring scary clowns doing unspeakable things to the bike and leering horribly at the camera. I didn’t remember this part of the movie, unfortunately.

Thanks, Pee-Wee! This scene is now seared into Viva’s hefty braincase, where it has marinated in the splendiferous goop of her imagination and now takes over almost every brain function after the sun goes down. What I am saying to you is that Viva is now terrified not just to sleep in her own bed, but to pass by an open closet or even take a bath for fear that scary clowns will come up out of the drain.

Once again, my “Good Parent” badge is hanging a bit askew. And she doesn't want to go to bed.

(I honestly didn’t remember that scene. Why would I deliberately torture my sweet bobblehead so?)

Pinkberry, Shminkberry

As middle age advances upon us, Sweet Dub and I find ourselves a bit behind the trends. I have been hearing the hype about Pinkberry for nearly a year now. There's a Pinkberry mere blocks (walking distance!) away from my office building. There's one in Los Feliz, a stone's throw from where I live, and there's one in Larchmont Village, a stone's throw from Viva's school. All the "cool" neighborhoods have one. I've watched the growth of their evil empire with great interest. I've been to the website and imbibed their evilly catchy jingle. But I haven't yet darkened the door of a Pinkberry.

Sunday, after hiking in Griffith Park, we decided to check out the new Pinkberry that just opened in Silverlake. Before we went inside, Sweet Dub said, "This is exactly what we don't need to be doing. We don't need something that becomes a new addiction."

We ordered: I had the original flavor frozen yogurt topped with fresh mangoes, raspberries, and blueberries. Sweet Dub had green tea frozen yogurt topped with strawberries, bananas, and granola. Viva had original flavor with blueberries.

The cost: Fourteen bucks! Are you kidding me?

The verdict: Meh. Not so much. I expected to be all, "There's a party in my mouth! Ooh la la!" Instead I was all, "For fourteen bucks, I could've bought some Haagen-Dazs and a pint of raspberries and called it a day."

Sorry, Pinkberry. Your evil charms did not work their magic with the Blah Blahs.

Nice jingle, though.

Maui: What’s Not to Like?

How was our trip? In a word: glorious. Maui was gorgeous.

We did not seem able to drag Viva off the beach. Every time we spent more than 15 minutes in the car, she’d start to whine, “When are we going to the beach?” so while we managed to check out a few other parts of the island, it was by no means a comprehensive tour. For my money, that was better than running around like Type A crazy people, parasailing, SCUBA-ing, whale watching, luauing, and all the rest. We actually relaxed and rested for most of the trip. (Sweet Dub did go on a sunrise 38-mile bike ride down a volcano, which he says was amazing beyond description.) I did not check phone messages, e-mail messages, or blog feeds while we were gone. Needless to say, I’m a little behind, but it was well worth it.

One snippet from the trip:

We are having lunch in Lahaina with two of Sweet Dub’s friends from college, who he hasn’t seen since he graduated 512 years ago. They live on Oahu and made a day trip over to see us while we were semi-close-by.

Female friend: So, what do you think of Maui so far?

Sweet Dub: Oh my God, it’s incredible. The ocean, the air, everything is so beautiful – you wouldn’t believe the rainbow we saw the other day! It was—

Female friend [snorts]: Rainbows! GAWD – All you tourists are busy looking at rainbows and I’ve got to get to work! Quit looking at the damn rainbows!

Big Red X's

Counting down the days to vacation. I have been so busy at work --

[Excuse me. I was just interrupted by my hubs, asking if I was blogging finally. I mumbled yes and kept typing.

Sweet W: Are you blogging about how I'm lying on the couch, watching HBO--

Mama Blah: No, I'm not saying anything about you.

SW: Why not? [shrieking hysterically] It should ALWAYS BE ABOUT ME!

So you see what I'm dealing with.]

At any rate, we leave next Monday. Here is the Blah Blah party line when asked about anything, anything at all, particularly work-related: first, you must interrupt the offending party by standing with one arm stretched out toward them and your hand up, palm facing them, in the international symbol for "stop." Then you say, "Excuse me, are you Hawaiian? Are you offering me a drink and showing me where the best food is on Maui? No? Then why are you talking to me?"

This seems to have actually been effective at Sweet Dub's job. At mine, they laugh and then continue to ask me about the best way to report on domestic violence statistics. That doesn't seem quite fair.

P.S. Sweet Dub is currently switching between watching a Bunny Ranch documentary on HBO and Planet Earth: Life in the Desert on the Discovery Channel. What more need be said, really? You see what I'm dealing with.

The Words Are Late

I am afraid that I did not get very much accomplished today as far as work goes. I found an interesting blog today: Syntax and Soul. (Note: This is not why I did not get much accomplished today. I just couldn't get my thoughts together. But tomorrow morning, I am sure, the adrenaline will kick in when I realize how much I have left to do, and I will burn through the project I'm working on and shape it into usable form. )

I like this entry for its description of various people's reactions to a delayed flight at the airport, but particularly for the term "arguing with reality." I think this is a very common and silly thing to do, and I know that I am quite often guilty of it. And I recognized myself toward the end:

The planes come, if not on time. The words come, if not when I want them. I do best when I use the time of waiting engaged in something other than arguing with reality.

The planes come, and I have never missed a deadline.

Scatterbrained. What?

I am working from home today and barely know what to do with myself. We welcomed a new VP to our department three weeks ago and since then I have been even more insanely busy than usual - mainly because we are approaching the end of one fiscal year and the beginning of another and we have been working together to create a work plan for our department. The new VP is a great addition to our department - very positive, lots of great ideas and follow-through - and we are all very excited. However, I'm finding it difficult to get other work done.

My blog looks like crap and I want to fix it but have not made the time.* Has anyone out there used Listal.com? I like the look of Shelfari for cataloguing my library but I'd also like to include music I'm listening to, where it updates automatically on my blog as I add it to my online account.** It would be wonderful to be able to do both things on one site rather than having to either update manually on my blog template or update two separate sites. Since I'm barely posting to my blog these days, I need to find something that is fairly quick and easy.

I am also trying to figure out how I can make my blog a little more specialized. When I post, my thoughts tend to be all over the place, depending on what I'm interested in that day. Now some might say I'm a dilettante, but some might say I have a bit of attention-deficit going on. What? Where was I? Oh, you!

I guess what I am resisting is the idea that I might be pigeonholed in some way depending on what I write about. But even reading back over that sentence makes me want to smack myself - I mean, just frickin' write something, for God's sake.

Here's what I want to write about: family dynamics (I had a great Mother's Day post in my head, but hey, that was days ago), children's welfare issues, race and gender issues, parenting in general, parenting in an environmentally responsible way, real estate, clothes, and shoes. And I'd like to reserve the right to occasionally post about politics, religion, philosophy and pop culture. You know, I'm just multidimensional, is all. I'm embracing that in myself because I am a strong woman warrior who needs answer to no one.

Okay, I no longer know what the hell I'm talking about, so I'm signing off. Love and kisses!

* "Our perception that we have 'no time' is one of the distinctive marks of modern Western culture." - Margaret Visser

** UPDATE: Never mind, I found a Pandora widget. Now I just have to figure out how to bookmark what I'm listening to. Whee!

Blazin'

Greetings from Los Angeles, where fire season is officially underway. It's about 80 degrees here today, unless you happen to live within the vicinity of Griffith Park, which is ON FIRE. The fire, which started yesterday at around 1:30 in the afternoon, has snarled traffic in the area and deposited great quantities of ash in my backyard and all over my car. Yesterday evening, as Viva and I were returning home (a 5 mile trip that took 45 minutes), you could see a gigantic dark plume of smoke churning just behind the Griffith Park Observatory. Have I mentioned that I live a mere stone's throw from the park? Whee, good times.

Fortunately, no lives have been lost, although one man was reportedly badly burned in the blaze. My grandmother, who lives 45 miles north of me, called me at work today to tell me in her inimitable way that she had been "follerin' the fire" on TV and that they were evacuating my neighborhood. This was news to me, and to my elderly next-door neighbor, who I called immediately. "But the sky is blue!" she protested, popping outside to look. "There's no smoke!" The evacuations actually happened last night, and at last report, people were being allowed to return to their homes today. I guess Grandma was a little late to the party.

Viva was intrigued by the fire, if a little disturbed that our favorite hiking area was being burned to a crisp (and by inference, all the animals that reside therein - On a related note, the L.A. Zoo miraculously escaped unscathed). When she got up this morning, she said, "Is the fire out?" When I told her that it wasn't, she insisted she must watch the news. Then she muttered something about the stock market, but I didn't quite catch it.

We did have a wonderful teaching moment while in the car on the interminable ride to school (again, 45 minutes to go 5 miles, thanks to the freeway and street closures): Viva asked what had started the fire. "They say it was a cigarette," I said.

"A what?" Viva said.

"Cig – a – rette," I said. "He was smoking. This is another reason why you should never take up smoking."

"Nobody should ever have a shug-a-rette," Viva said stoutly.

Words to live by, my friends.

Land of Opportunity and Traffic

The people have spoken. At any rate, Cee in SF has spoken, calling me out on my slackerness: "New post! New post!! We want a new post!" her comment shrieks. I wish I could tell you I've been doing something exciting, but in fact, I've been working a lot (yes, even weekends). Ugh, no good.

Happy May Day, my peeps. If you are here in Los Angeles, you know that we are in the midst of immigration rallies which are expected to immobilize downtown and Koreatown, although turnout is anticipated to be much lower than last year. Anecdotally, I know that some folks who marched last year are discouraged that the march didn't seem to have much of an impact – i.e., that immigration reform hasn't made much progress in the legislature.

I realize that immigration is a hot-button word these days. The message boards on all the immigration stories are particularly nasty. My opinion on undocumented immigrants and all the issues surrounding them is not fixed in stone, and the more I learn about it, the less I think that there's an easy fix. The U.S. has not secured its borders, provides free emergency healthcare and public education, and let's face it, supports a capitalist system that makes a bigger profit when it uses low-wage workers. It seems pretty clear what the draw is, so now what?

But, I digress and I only have a second to write this*. Since I work in Koreatown, the site of the second demonstration of the day – one which will start mere blocks from my office building at 2 pm and then travel south and east to reconvene for a 5:30 pm rally – is of concern to me, primarily because I have to drive straight through that area during my evening commute. I have a 3:30 meeting and I really want to bail. I wish I had been able to work from home today. Yes, it's all about me. Viva la self-absorption!

* I've already been interrupted twice. You see how it is.

So Much to Say

Apologies to everyone out there in BlogLand. I have been experiencing an unusually heavy workload of late, and I don't anticipate it lightening until at least June. I am working from home today so I can get in uninterrupted time on a $900,000 project that is due Monday. And yet, after I dropped Viva off at school, I ran by the supermarket to get a few things. It's a beautiful day today here in Los Angeles, clear and sunny. The sky is blue, it's breezy -- in short, it's a day when it's hard to be in a bad mood. As I got out of my car in front of the market, I took a deep breath of spring air and felt a bit wistful for the days when Viva was a wee tot, when my most pressing decision was whether to go to the park, the library, or maybe venture out to the children's museum.

Don't get me wrong -- I love the people I work with, I love the organization I work for, and I think what I do for a living actually does make a difference. But I miss the unstructured free time. What a luxury! I was so blessed to be able to stay home with Viva for the first 2.5 years of her life, and I know that.

I just know that our lives ran more smoothly when I was home. When Viva was first in preschool (a few hours a day, three days a week), I began freelancing again and that was great, too. I was making a little money and utilizing my brain cells and during the week I was able to do all the things that made our lives easier -- grocery shopping, cleaning, scheduling doctor's appointments and haircuts, getting the car serviced, whatever. Now all that minutiae is crammed into my weekends, when all I really want to do is relax and spend time with my family. I'm not exercising, and I'm not doing any creative writing. It kind of sucks.

I relayed all this to Sweet Dub recently, and he groaned. "Now you want to quit your job?" he said, and then screamed theatrically, "Why can't I ever make you happy?"

I'm not quitting my job. That would be silly, and it would really squeeze us financially. I'm just, like every other working mother out there, trying to figure out how I can make things work better. I think they call it balance.

Perhaps more coffee is the answer.

In other world news: Viva turned 4 on April 1st. This was a happy occasion and I will remember it with great fondness, always, especially because almost immediately afterward she morphed into this great whining, screaming, constantly pissed-off creature. Every now and then, on the weekends mostly, her old, sweeter side will show itself. I cherish those moments. I am really disliking the age of Four. It has failed all my expectations of it.

On vacation: we are traveling to Maui in June*. Can I get a "fuck, yeah!" We haven't had a real vacation since, well, forever. We went to Legoland last April for Viva's birthday, but I really don't think that counts. Sweet Dub and I have been trying to get to Hawaii since 2001. We were supposed to go for our honeymoon, but you know, we got married three weeks after 9/11 and travel was a very scary proposition at that time. So here we are, five-and-a-half years later. I'd say we earn points for patience.

And finally, last but certainly not least: a HUGE and hearty and very affectionate congratulations to the entire Oral Hygiene Royal Family. (I have been meaning to congratulate you for, I don't know, weeks? And I can't ever get near my blog or any blogs to comment? Frickin' firewall.) I wish you all the very best on the new addition! Sneaky, sneaky!


* We will be traveling sans grandma. She has serious sinus issues causing her sinus passages to fill up with fluid if a flower even looks at her the wrong way. Since Hawaii is pretty much abloom with tropical floral goodness round-the-clock, it seems pretty likely Mama Jay would be incapacitated as soon as the plane landed. Oh well -- so much for her free vacation. Sweet Dub's best friend, who has a 5-year-old daughter, is trying to schedule a few days in Maui when we are there, so maybe this will all work out just fine. I am a little bummed, because unlike most folks, I adore my crazy mother-in-law, but I guess it's not in the cards.