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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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")

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.

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:

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.

"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."

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!

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.

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?

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!

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.

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.

Last Day of the Year

Little to no blogging of late, because Viva and Sweet Dub have been on vacation and that means we all spend a lot of time together, very little of which involves a computer. Even now, after I've spent just a little time getting caught up on email and blogs, they are giving me a hard time for being on the computer. It is 1:23 pm and I am still in my pajamas, letting 2008 wind down in mellowness.

To all of you out there in Internetland: many blessings in the new year. May you be healthy and swimming in joy.

Rainy Days and Mondays

It's raining and chilly here in Southern Cal and that makes me want to do not much of anything.

Despite the rain, after dropping Viva off at school I motored on and interviewed a childcare provider today and (dare I say it?), it looks like we may actually have secured a spot for our little one next month. I really like the director of the program, I like the philosophy of the center (for those keeping score at home, they use the RIE approach) and it's only 5 minutes from my job.

As far as the other kid: we have made the decision to suck it up and leave Viva at her current school, even though we will probably have to dip into our savings to pay for it for the next six months. I still want to get her into the decent public school in our neighborhood, but I have to go through a permit process to try and get her in for September since we are outside the boundaries. (Yes! How can it be more of a struggle to get her into public school? I don't get it.) We don't want to move her twice in one year, so we will keep her where she is. Errrgh. Ye gods.

In holiday news: what are the odds that I'll get Christmas cards out this year? Scratch that - what are the odds that I'll get Christmas cards with a photo of the family on them out this year? I'm thinking those odds are not good. The only photo I have of Viva and Cily is very grainy, but maybe I could make kind of an artsy card...

This is on my mind because we recently processed some 35mm film from this summer. I wish I had a beautiful photo like this of my two girls together:

Viva peeking out from the pear tree in our (former) front yard. Sadly, the only picture I have of the two of them (besides the grainy one taken off the videocamera) is of me pregnant with Cily, hanging out with Viva:

I don't think this really counts as a picture of the two of them. By the by, I can't figure out why the scanner is putting those black bars on the side of the photos. It's wildly irritating to me. But I love this series of photos and I wanted to share and I can't find the photo CD that has these shots on it. And let's be real, it's difficult enough for me to get on the computer these days...

Viva dancing around the front yard...

Aaaand... Miss Cily's up. Time to go attend to her every whim...