5 items

I have been doing very well on my diet this summer, with the notable exception of alcohol. Still, I've lost 5-7 lbs and gained a bit of muscle and I'm starting to like the way I look again. To celebrate, today I made a pan of brownies with the kids and promptly ate 1/2 of it. I'm pretty sure I gained back 3 lbs just doing that.

Vacationing with friends is lots of fun, especially if you keep it short and sweet--say, a weekend at most. But differing parenting styles are never more apparent than when you are in an enclosed area for an extended period of time. Quick question: if your 5 year old cried like a baby over every. little. thing. and pouted and whined for an entire weekend, would you not be embarrassed? Would you not have something to say about it other than, "oh, honey, what's the matter?" Oy.

San Francisco is a beautiful, vibrant, hip city; I know, I lived there for 8 magical years. But man, there's just something fundamentally wrong with shivering in jeans and a Northface jacket in the middle of July. Seriously, the cold. I can't take it.

My husband is really cranky when he is tired. I completely hate it when he is cranky, which is funny (read: shameful), considering I've been cranky for the past year.

I don't think I'm supposed to admit this, but here it is: being a stay-at-home-mom is BORING. I mean, at first it wasn't. When the kids are little it's exhausting, and I think, a lot harder in many ways than being a working mom. But now that they are older? I have GOT to find something to do with myself. I have some feelers out there--there's a possibility I could be an aide in the kindergarten next year, except the budget cuts are holding that up, and my old job has expressed an interest--but it's really difficult to find a job with the hours I need (i.e. 8:30am to 11:30am) and that pays enough to be worth it. (Although at this point any money would be worth it.)

Want some photos with your blather? Okay:

(It was squinty. This was from our weekend to San Diego with the neighbors--warm but overcast)

From our trip to Colorado with Lance's parents:

(Ain't she cute?)

From our trip to the Outer Banks with my family:

Now that looks like summer, doesn't it?

Letters of my 20 year Reunion

Dear Heavyset man sitting next to me on the red-eye,
Did you notice that all the lights on the plane were out? ALL of them? Except yours? And when I put the blanket of a thousand germs over my head to block out the glare of your "reading" light which was burning holes in my cornea, did you consider turning it off?
WHY NOT, asshole?

Just trying to get some sleep,
32D


****
Dear Delta,
I know that someone has to sit in the back row of every flight. Someone has to sit in the seat that doesn't recline, has to smell lovely aroma of the latrine for 5 hours. But did it have to be me on both flights?

Seriously. What up, Delta?

Unhappily,
32D and 33C


****
Dear Amy,
You are too old to take the red-eye.

Sincerely,
Hindsight

****
Dear Men of Connecticut,
Blue blazers. Why? You know those yearbooks that were lying around, the ones from 1948 and thereabouts? Did it seem strange to you that the students in those yearbooks were wearing exactly the same clothes as you are today? Maybe you should consider something slightly different, so you don't match every other alumni in the reunion tent. Maybe a black blazer. Or, if that's too crazy, maybe a blue blazer without gold buttons.

Oh, but mixing it up by wearing pink pants instead of khakis? So very very wrong.

Sincerely,
Every other state in America

P.S. Bermuda shorts with a blue blazer and a tie? Shudder.


****
Dear Universe,
I know you have it out for me lately. I get it. It's okay, you've been good to me before, I realize I have to take the bad stuff too. But making every single conversation with my former classmates go from "do you have kids?" to "I have three kids" to "do you think you'll ever try for a third?" to "isn't it fun to have three" to "I always wanted three, how can you be sure you are done at two?" etc etc ET CETERA THREE KIDS THREE KIDS THREE KIDS was a little bit harsh, don't you think?

And then having me get my period unexpectedly Saturday afternoon? Uncalled for, truly.

You got me, okay? Uncle.

Pissed off,
The one you keep fucking with


****
Dear Brain,
What happened to you? Yeah, yeah, red-eye, twenty years, whatever. How can you not remember so much of what went on in high school? Everyone else there seemed to have a better grasp. Nodding and smiling and pretending to remember didn't fool anyone. Should we be checked for early Alzheimer's?

Worried,
Amy


****
Dear Former Classmate who was my best friend at one time,
Wow. I get that you're nervous. But I googled you, I know how successful you are. And you look hot. So the obscene jokes and crazy behavior just to get a laugh seemed really over the top. I mean, at first it was funny--you were always funny. But when it became clear that that was all you were going to do, when it just escalated and escalated as the night wore on, damn. It got really old.

What happened to you?
Puzzled,
'Tommy'


****
Dear Class of 1988,
I was nervous to see you all. I was. I figured that I would feel lame, that you would all strut in with your fancy jobs and your perfect lives and that I would feel inferior. I thought I would stutter over the "what do you do?" question, that I would feel fat and ugly or worse, invisible.
But it wasn't like that for me, and I hope it wasn't like that for any of you. Yeah, a lot of you have fancy jobs. And a lot of you---most of you, really--look great, look better than high school, even. But none of that seemed to matter and I am so grateful for that.

Maybe I'll even come back again before another twenty years go by.

See you in 2018?,
Amy


****
Dear tiny prep school full of wealthy teenagers where I spent my formative years,
I don't know what to say. For a lot of time I've hated you. What a cesspool of entitlement and snobbery and cluelessness, not to mention the preponderance of blue blazers. But you were pretty this weekend. You showed off all your new buildings, you preened under the cloudless blue sky and easy 70 degree temperature. The green fields, the lacrosse sticks and mouthguards, flying cleats and cheering parents--it all seemed promising instead of elitist somehow.
And yeah, there was a lot of pomp and arrogance too. Many of your students, former and present, do not live in a reality that would be recognizable to 95% of the rest of the world, and they maybe never will. They mostly don't have any desire to. A lot of them are assholes, are small-minded, are selfish and ridiculously out of touch. But not all of them. Some of them are even interesting. Some have broken free of that world. Some of them haven't, and yet are still kind and compassionate and funny.
We had some good times, back then, and I remembered why this weekend. Turns out, you're not all bad.

Cordially,
Me


Though I do have to repost this delicious parody, just so I remember to keep it real:

Who says you can't go home again*

We have now been in Delaware for almost a week. Actually, we are, at this very moment, less than two hours shy of one full week in the state of my youth, with two weeks to go.

It's fun. No, really. I enjoy coming home, especially for long periods of time, so I don't have to cram seeing everybody into 15 minute intervals while I race across town with the kids from house to house. I like driving around the streets of my childhood and adolescence, reminiscing about lazy Saturday afternoons on the high school football field debating the merits of the Born in the USA with friends back in 1985. I enjoy hearing my sister talk about kids--sons and daughters of people that I went to 8th grade with--that her kids are now playing with. Most of all, of course, I like spending time with my family: sitting around the kitchen table with mom, gossiping about all 5 of her siblings and their extended families, driving around town with my sister and her two kids, discussing the new Carolina football coach with Dad.

My parents' house is extremely comfortable, even with all of us extra folk taking up space. The guestroom I stay in is huge, with a remodeled bathroom, both of which are nicer than what Lance and I are currently building in L.A. The kids have a nice room with twin beds and lots of leftover toys from when my niece and nephew were small. Best of all, the basement: chock full of old toys and games, a partially working television, kid-sized table and chairs leftover from my childhood, and three different boiler-type rooms to hide in. My kids will play down there, happily, for hours, leaving me to make dinner, phone calls, read the newspaper, or watch TiVo in utter peace. I could get used to living here, trust me, especially since my mom stocks the fridge and only lets me pay for beer. There is even a spare car for me to drive around in. Also, I get to spend quality time with my best friend Susanna and her two children, commiserating about girls who turn into brats at age two and husbands who are wonderful in so many ways and yet still drive us crazy. In L.A., I don't have any "good" friends who are also moms, so it's nice to be able to talk to someone who totally gets where I'm coming from for a change.

You'd think I'd have more time to blog, then, but to be honest, I'm enjoying the break. I miss you guys, of course, but it's a little bit of a relief not to have all those November posts to plow through every day. No matter how much you guys make me laugh, or cry, or nod in agreement, sometimes it's nice to just live my life outside of the computer for a little while.

One of the great things about coming East for a few weeks is the opportunity to see old friends. Along with Susanna, I also get to see old friends from middle school, friends from college who trek miles just to see me, and blog friends. Since I'm here for 3 full weeks, it's fairly easy to fit everybody in. I have even found the time to fit in a visit with my Dad's mom--a difficult woman, and a visit I don't generally look forward to. But it's done! Already! My mom's mom can be difficult too, but in a different, much more loving way, so we've already spent several nice afternoons with her. Last weekend, I actually drove with the kids to Virginia (about 4 hours away) to visit Lance's brother Mark and his wife. They live on a neat old farm in the middle of nowhere, between Charlottesville and Richmond. (This is the nice brother, of course. I would never travel any distance to see assboy.) The kids had a blast riding tracters, playing in the barns and feeding the goats, and I had a great time hanging out with Mark and Margaret. My sister's daughter (age 9)came with us which was a huge help for me, especially in the car, especially since the traffic going home had us traveling from 10am until 5:30pm.

I will leave you with a few shots of the gorgeous leaves--we got here just in time to catch the last gasp of them in the neighborhood; now they are mostly gone. For many of you East Coasters, this is nothing, so these pictures are dedicated to my fellow California bloggers (you know who you are):



I hope everyone is having a wonderful November!

*I have a sinking suspicion that the title of this post is a song lyric from someone like John Cougar Mellencamp--and now you will all see me for the top 40 music redneck that I am. I know that you've been pegging me for a Radiohead fan all these years, but alas, I've finally given myself away.

Where have I been?

Last Thursday, I left the kids at school and flew home to Delaware. My mother's 60th birthday was Friday, October 20th. My dad surprised her with a weekend trip to Bermuda; the two of them left Thursday morning. The second part of the surprise came when my brother, sister and I showed up at their resort for dinner Friday night.

She was thrilled, and completely shocked. Yes, that means I flew 6 hours Thursday and then another 2 on Friday morning, followed by a 13 hour travel day two days later, but it was totally worth it. You only turn 60 once, after all. Not to mention, Bermuda! Yet another tropical family vacation, and you know I never say no to that. *

I had never been to Bermuda before, and it's always fun to go to a new spot. We were there less than 48 hours so there wasn't much time to explore, but the weather was gorgeous. The resort where we stayed was extremely nice, and my father booked my siblings and I into a large suite so the five of us would have a place to congregate. My impressions of Bermuda are two: beautiful, as you'd expect from a tropical island, and also a little stuffy, in a British/ New England kind of way. (Lots of blue blazers and madras pants, know what I mean?) Oh, also? Horrifyingly expensive. Moreso than Hawaii, and that's saying something. However, as I said, we had very little time to explore, so those impressions could be way off, and might be more indicative of the resort than the whole island.

I would go back in a minute, especially if someone else was paying.

Here is where I would normally post pretty pictures, but I forgot the camera, so you'll just have to take my word for it. I really wish I'd gotten a picture of Mom's face when she walked into the dining room and saw us there, but even without the photo, I'll remember it forever.

Some things to remember:

The "family" that flew with me on the transcontinental flight fro L.A. to Philadelphia. Mom and 3 year old in front row, Dad and 4 year old in second row. Several times during the flight, I thought to myself, "Hmm, that Dad sure doesn't help much (he had passed his kid up to sit with the Mom very early on)" or "I would kill Lance, if he was just sitting there reading the paper while I dealt with all the kids". Then, when we arrived in Philadelphia, the mom said "Well, thanks for playing with us, Megan!" and got off with her daughter, leaving the stranger and his kid to get off on their own. Yeah. He passed his kid off to a complete stranger for the entire 5-1/2 hour flight while he read the paper.

Water. This particular resort does not have mini-bars in the rooms; instead, they send you a list of possible items to choose from before you arrive. My sister filled out the form, and decided that we'd need several bottled waters. Assuming their bottled water was the standard, 8-12 oz kind, she ordered 18-- 3 a day, per person. The bottled water came in liter size, which, if you're not quite sure, is slightly larger than a bottle of wine. 18 liters of water to drink in less than 48 hours. This led to much hilarity, in the form of water-pounding competitions, and jokes along the lines of "Gosh, I just wish I had some clear liquid to drink. You know, that doesn't taste like anything, but is refreshing. Where could I find something like that?" or "Maybe we should take the water with us to dinner--do you think they'd charge a corkage fee?" For the record, my brother and I won the who-can-drink-the-most-water contest, and in fact, we did get through all 18 liters, not to mention 12 beers, a bottle of rum and 1/2 a bottle of champagne. This doesn't include what we drank at dinner.

Family. It hasn't been just the five of us in years--probably 20 years. We had such a great time, and Dad stepped right back into his preferred role of director, getting out the maps and tourist information at dinner Friday night and organizing our whole day Saturday for us. This was much more endearing than it is on longer vacations: there was no sense that he was trying to control our holiday, since this was only a weekend, and we were there just for Mom anyway. Nobody bickered (again, it was only a weekend), and we all left in better spirits than we arrived. I love my family and miss them, and holidays like this just reinforce that lucky feeling--I am truly blessed to have these people in my life.

The one stressful moment occurred when we decided to rent mopeds--two doubles and one single. My dad and Chip drove the doubles, with Mom and I as passengers, and Ann rode the single. Mopeds are big--bigger than you think--and unsteady--and in Bermuda, they drive on the left side of the road. My dad has a bum knee, so it was difficult for him to steady the bike, and I felt pretty unprotected, riding behind Chip. Fortunately, after we spent a good twenty minutes learning how to ride the bikes, with my stress level rising every second (it was scary, y'all) and my dad furiously licking his lips in concentration at every turn, we went to sign the contract and discovered that they only had 24 hour rentals. Since it was already 4:30 pm and we were leaving the next morning, we decided to skip the mopeds and hop in a cab instead. At that point, I don't think anyone was too thrilled about the moped ride (with the possible exception of my brother), but no one wanted to be a kill joy for anyone else. When it became clear that the rental terms would give us a way out, we all sighed in relief.

I'm glad to be home, and, even better, Lance is glad that I'm home. He's a bit tired from a weekend alone with the kids (she says, with just a trace of smugness). Hope everyone else had a nice weekend too!

*I didn't mention it here because it was kind of last minute and also I felt a little sheepish, having just returned from Hawaii a few weeks ago.

Hawaii is Heaven

First of all, I need to plug our little hotel in Maui. The Mauian is surprisingly affordable (Hawaii is tres, tres* expensive), steps from the beach, and completely clean and comfortable. Each small "studio" holds a queen bed, a daybed, a bathroom, kitchenette and balcony or deck. No TVs or telephones or anything remotely fancy, but it was clean. And did I mention? Steps from the beach. They held a continental Hawaiian breakfast every morning in the great room, which also boasted a bookshelf full of guilty beach reading, and a TV, if you just had to have your Sportscenter fix. Many of the people who were staying there had been coming for twenty-plus years, and some who had brought their children years before were now bringing grandchildren. The vibe of the place is completely down-home and friendly, and I loved it. If you're looking for pampering, this is not the place for you, but for us it was perfect. I would stay there again in a heartbeat.

My in-laws stayed next door, at a fancier resort (though still not ultra-fancy--probably two steps up from The Mauian. It seemed very nice, too.) The truth is, in Hawaii, you tend to spend a lot of time on the beach, or in the ocean--so the rooms don't really matter that much. I'd go with the $200 cheaper place per night everytime, especially as the two hotels share the same (spectacular) beach.

Isaac loved the pool of course, but most of all he loved the kids that were also staying there or next door. Lauren, Kelsey, Matthew, Gavin: he was never happier than when running across the green with anyone of them. He also braved the ocean several times, getting tumbled once or twice yet hopping up with a smile on his face. Vivian, of course, stayed as far from the surf as possible, but she played happily enough in the sand, several yards away.


I won't bore you with a million details of Maui--it was all good, and there's not much more I can say about it. We wore out our mouth muscles smiling, drank Mai Tai after Mai Tai, soaked up the sun and explored a teeny bit. I read several books--nothing worthwhile, but enjoyable all the same. Lance's brother and his wife (the nice ones) were their usual easy-going selves, my in-laws were on their best behavior, and Lance and I didn't even fight that much.

We stayed in Maui four days, and then headed off to Kauai for a week. More on that to come.



*Anyone know how to do those little accent thingys?



In other news, I visited a good friend today (my old roommate, from the San Francisco days) whose wife had a baby while we were in Hawaii. Ah, newborns! I couldn't help tearing up, just touching his teeny tiny toes. And his soft downy head. And the silly mewing noises he made. Is there anything sweeter than a newborn? Both parents are head over heels gaga over their son (1st baby) which is really special to see, too. Remember that? When you just can't stop staring at this baby you've created? When the miracle is so fresh and all your emotions are so ripe and overwhelming? Ah.
Most of all, though, I was struck by how in awe the parents were of each other. At different times during our visit, I was alone with each of them, and they both had nothing but nice things to say about each other. "She is such a good mom, Aim. I just . . . I just can't even believe how well she handles everything . .." "Alex has been so amazing. He does laundry, he cooks, he changes diapers, he is so involved, and he wants to be. I am just so glad that he's the one I married."

Today is my 8 year wedding anniversary to Lance. As I sat there today, holding that perfect infant and listening to my two friends overflow with love, I remembered feeling the same way. Feeling so positively blessed to have him in my life. Feeling like the luckiest person on the planet. How we got from there to here--a place where arguing comes more naturally than loving--I'm not really sure. But I need to do some work to find my way back. And it starts tonight. Hawaii was a good start, and now the real work begins.

Back(s)

We're home--well, home to our new apartment, surrounded by boxes, anyway. I think I'm going to do this everytime I go away--post naked butt pictures of my kids when I return. Good for increasing traffic, no?

Hawaii was incredible, the move was hell, and I have lots to tell.

I've missed you all.

More later . . .

Things are gearing up around here

I think I've mentioned our remodel before, right? Well, we are moving out of this 1950s Californian bungalow in a few weeks to let the work begin, and hopefully by early next summer we can move back in to a 21st century contemporary--or is it modern?--2 story home. No, I have not found us a place to live in the duration yet, though we do have 3 appointments on Thursday.

Here's the rub: we are going to Hawaii with Lance's parents (I know, I know: we are spoiled, spoiled people) from September 19th to September 30th. Construction will likely start October 1st. That leaves me just about three weeks to find a place to live, divide this house into three piles: garage sale, storage, & temporary rental, and pack it all up. In other bad-timing news, guess who's pre-school is closed this week?

But. I'm not really complaining, though I'm sure you wouldn't be surprised if I did. After all, we're going to Hawaii (and the nasty brother-in-law is not coming, thank you Lord Jesus, praise be to God etc. etc.) and I'm getting a bigger, better house out of the deal. Pretty fucking exciting, no matter how much work it is. Yes, the financial strain is terrifying, but I'm keeping my eyes on the prize, as they say, and hoping for the best.

Here some photos for your viewing pleasure.

Current abode:


What the new house will look like:

(Actually, this rendering was our original plan that turned out to be WAY TOO EXPENSIVE, so imagine this house but smaller, without that "two-story volume" thing. The tower thing, you see what I mean? Oh, and we do keep the tree, evening though it doesn't show up in the picture)

Whaddya think? I know many people have issues with modern (you should hear my mother-in-law's suBtle hints), but to us it's different and elegant and, well, cool.

Best of all, it will have insulation!

Most importantly, thank you for all your kind comments and emails regarding my post at the Basement. It helps, tremendously. And it means a lot to me.

BlogHer, the necessary gushing post

Note: I would upload my pictures to Flickr or post them here, but my mother-in-law checks out my flickr page, and she has no idea about the blog and so--it ain't gonna happen. Fortunately, I'm too much of a dork to take many pictures anyway, so you're only missing a few.

First of all, if you ever go to BlogHer, you need to room with Yvonne. Period. There is just no other way to experience it. Yvonne is fucking hilarious, (which you know, because you read her blog--right? You NEED to be reading her blog!), but also totally sweet and considerate. She knew I was a "bit" nervous about the whole meeting-700-women-for-the-first-time-in-a-new- environment-thing, so she kept checking in with me, to make sure I wasn't curled up in a fetal ball under a table somewhere. Fortunately, most people were so kind and funny that I actually DID do okay (the fetal ball came later--two bottles of wine in 3 hours later). I never would have attended BlogHer without Yvonne's insistence, and I definitely wouldn't have enjoyed myself as much without her presence. I'm so glad we've gotten to know each other over the past year or so and been able to hang out and talk (on the phone! I know!) and swap stories and be friends. Everyone at BlogHer wanted to meet Yvonne, because she's awesome, and so is her blog, and it felt great that she was the person I knew best at the whole event.

So. Yvonne was awesome, but I already knew that. Guess who else is awesome? (Again, this will come as no surprise.) NANCY! I love her! I've been reading her blog for months now--in fact, I think it is through Nancy that I fell into that whole IzzyMom--Her Bad Mother--Motherhood Uncensored circle, and I'm so glad I did, because my other circles were not there (more on that later). Back to Nancy. Nancy is completely adorable. She completely understood my neuroses (all of them) and was more than willing to sit down and chat with me for hours on end, when everybody else had other places to be. Whenever I felt overwhelmed or lonely or scared, I could search the room for Nancy, and as soon as I found her, I knew it would be okay. I felt totally comfortable going up to her and asking if I could sit with her--she was the most welcoming person there, to me, and I am truly grateful. Best part about it? I didn't feel like she was doing me any favors. I felt like she wanted to sit and talk to me, and that was a very welcome feeling for this nervous introvert. I'm sure all of you are already reading her blog, but if you haven't clicked over yet, please do it now. She is hilarious and smart--a unique combination!--and you won't be disappointed.

I'm not going to go on and on about the other women--you've been reading about them all day elsewhere in the Blogosphere today anyway. Just rest assured that I LOVED meeting Izzy (gorgeous!), Christina (who also took the time to check in with me every now and then--how sweet is that?), HBM, Kristen, Liz, Mommy Off the Record (who only showed up for the last night so we didn't get to talk enough, no fair!), Jennster (even MORE animated in real life than on her blog, and you didn't think that was possible, did you?), Becky, Lena, Tammy (totally beautiful in real life--not to mention, she sat through kid stories with incredible grace), Zoot, Mindy, Dutch, Wood & Juniper (I only shook hands with them, but what an adorable family), and so on and so on and so on. (Seriously, I'm getting carpal tunnel from all the linking, I just can't do it anymore.)

But. The best part about BlogHer? Meeting some new cool peeps! I hadn't anticipated that, for some reason, and was pleasantly surprised by the kindness of strangers, so to speak. First of all, my new best friend is Jen. Maybe you already know her. Hilarious. Absolutely hilarious. Then there was Roo: gorgeous and kind and friendly all at once. Elizabeth from Table for Five was incredibly welcoming and fun, and it felt like I'd known her forever. Sue from RedStapler kept quietly cracking me up. We'd just be sitting there, and someone would say something, and then she'd make a joke, completely without ceremony. I loved it. Nancy's friend Amy (lots of Amys, Kristens and Jens at Blogher) was sweet and edgy all at once. I also met Maria from Alembic who was fascinating. You probably know Dawn, but I didn't, and now I wonder why.

In fact, there were TONS of bloggers there I didn't know and had never heard of. Reminded me just how huge the "blogosphere" is, and what a small spec I occupy. The worst thing about blogHer was the fact that my first loves--you awesome ladies who kept me company way back in the beginning and still mean so much to me--were not there. I loved meeting new people and meeting some of the folks on my blogroll, but honestly, I really, really missed the rest of you.

Seriously. The linkage on this post is going to kill me. But I do have to mention one more--and it's a bit of a name drop, though I really wish it wasn't.

Saturday night, both Yvonne and I were feeling faintly puckish (can't imagine why), and the food at the cocktail party did not look exactly welcoming. We loaded up our plates with congealed- cheese-covered-potato skins anyway, but when we ran into Beth, and she suggested we leave the hotel and get some real food, we jumped at the chance. I knew who Beth was--way back when I first started blogging I had stumbled onto her blog from a Dooce link--but I hadn't read her in a while. I am not sure why I stopped, but I think it was just one of those things--I didn't know how to use my blogrolling account very well yet and forgot to link her or maybe I thought that, as a friend of Dooce's, she sure as shit wouldn't need or want any new readers. In any event, Beth and Yvonne know each other through blogging, and so there I was, out to dinner with two "celebrities". (That is the part I hate, and which I'll write about later. Who the fuck cares if you are a blog "celebrity"? Why do I feel like people are going to roll their eyes at me and call me a kiss-ass just because I went out to dinner with them? Hate it.) Beth is completely engaging and totally refreshing. I can't tell you how nice it was to be out to dinner with the two of them, away from all the social politics at BlogHer, away from people running up and gushing over them whilst ignoring me. Nice to feel like both Beth and Yvonne respected me and wanted to hang out with me, and didn't give one rat's ass if my blog gets 10 hits or 10,000 hits a day. (And you all know it's 10,000, right?) Thanks, Beth and Yvonne, for proving to me how easy it is to be genuine and kind, even if you have a "big" blog.

And that is what I did at BlogHer. What I didn't do? Attend ANY of the conference classes, even though Trish was kind enough to sign her pass over into my name since she couldn't come at the last minute. I couldn't find the motivation to attend, and was much happier hanging out at the pool with Nancy, and Jen, and Tammy etc. (Well, okay, also Saturday morning I was puking up foam, so classes seemed less then appealing.)

Aftermath

BlogHer was fun, and weird, and everything I expected in good ways and bad. I have a couple posts brewing in my brain, but in the meantime, I leave you with this photo, and a question:
Does anyone know who these beautiful women are??

I had an awesome conversation with them Friday evening but I (cough, cough) can't seem to recall their names, and definitely not their blog urls. I do know this: they did not have business cards (you know, with all their bloggy info), and neither did I, and we all three of us thought that made us extra special in a very hip, un-BlogHer way. (We don't need no stinkin' cards! We are too cool for that!) Um, except now I may never find them again.

Damn you bloggers and your silly ideas that prove to be practical in the long run.

Oh, here's another photo, so you know what I'm talking about:



Update: Ha ha ha--that IS Chase from Taste the world, and guess what? She totally gave me her card. It's even in the picture I took last night--the picture of all the bloggy businessy cards that I thought we were talking about not having. Apparently that was a conversation with another blogger? Or perhaps I misunderstood when she handed me her card? Maybe I thought she was just giving me her autograph. It is possible, just possible, that I had a wee bit too much to drink Friday night. Maybe.

Vacation, all I ever wanted

Bullets, because otherwise I will never get around to writing this post.

1. California is really an entirely different country from Delaware. At least, it should be. Everything is different, and I'm always struck by that whenever I go home. I've been going home now for 15 years, and I'm still struck by it. The smells are different: the flowers, the trees, even the factories produce aromas that you just don't find in L.A. The light is different: in Delaware there are trees--big, leafy trees--that filter much of the sunlight, while California has smaller, thinner trees, trees that don't take up so much space, that don't offer the same kind of shade. The clouds are different, too: Delaware has the big, puffy cumulus clouds, clouds that change over the course of a day or a week. Los Angeles doesn't have clouds to speak of, not really. The enormous uninterrupted expanse of blue sky that you see in L.A. almost every single day does not exist in Delaware. Of course the climate is different--it's humid in Delaware: thick, oppressive, sweaty heat. Wet heat that moisturizes your skin and plumps up dry limp hair like mine. Not the mild, dry heat you get out here. But most of all, the people are different. People look different in Delaware. I've been trying to figure out why for as long as I've been living on the other coast. Is it the haircuts? The clothes? The Phillies caps and the Tevas? The genealogy? Definitely less Mexican, more Puerto Rican. Less Hispanic in general and more African American. More Italian, I think--only maybe it's just that there are more Southern Italians in Delaware and more Northern Italians in L.A. I don't really know how to describe this, but there is a "look" to people that I recognize the minute I get off the plane in Philadelphia, a "look" that feels as familiar to me as my mother's potato salad. Maybe it has nothing to do with genealogy and everything to do with me, and my nostalgia for home; I'm just not sure. But it fascinates me, every time I go home.

2. I love my family, all of them: my five aunts and uncles on my mother's side and their spouses and children, my two living grandmothers, my parents, my siblings, my brother-in-law, my niece and nephew. Even the 3 aunts and uncles on my fathers' side, who we rarely see, I have no issues with them. We have our typical family squabbles, but there is no high drama. However. However, I am very very glad to live 3000 miles away, and not only because I am afforded prodigal daughter status whenever I go home. Also because I have this very strong feeling that if I lived less than a mile from my parents, the way my sister does, I would not love my family nearly the same way. And they would not love me, either. My parents can be prickly; let's just leave it at that.

3. Lance and I do not get along around my parents. After 8 years of marriage and countless visits to my folks, we have not yet figured out how to appreciate each other the same way we do when we are in L.A. I'm sure part of me reverts to adolescent behavior when I'm around family, but Lance is also guilty. He feels threatened by how much I miss home and ends up acting snide and irrational when at home he'd be making jokes. Knowing that he feels threatened somehow does not translate into me toning down my "oh, I wish we had lightning bugs in California" comments but instead ratchets them up a notch. ( I've been known to complain that California doesn't have mosquitos--there's something I need to see a therapist about.) My mother loves to play "pick one child and gang up on them" games (no doubt learned in a childhood shared with 5 siblings) and Lance is thrilled to play along, especially if Amy is the victim. Lastly--and this one deserves a post of its own, but god knows when I'll get to it, since it requires retrospection and thought, something in short supply at the POW household lately--I seem to have married my father. And two controlling guys, used to having their own way, do not always mesh seamlessly. Throw in Lance's passive-aggressive tendencies and my own shrill, defensive and critical behavior and all is not always fun.

4. I'd love to talk about FFB here, but since he occasionally reads this blog (thanks again, Lance!) I guess I can't relay how annoying it is that he refuses to share his every thought and emotion with the rest of the clan. How, duh!, we all just want the best for him and why can't he just tell us what he's thinking so we can all dissect it to bits until we've solved all of his problems for him, without asking his permission. I will say that it's always, always great to have him around, and even if he doesn't feel the same way about the rest of us, we still smile bigger whenever he's in town. (Is this how it always is with the youngest? The youngest, the most loved, the one who doesn't necessarily return the love, he is the one we all want to be with? Is that why he doesn't share things with us? Because our love, our need, our want is too strong? FFB, elaborate.)

5. Isaac learned to swim. He can't lift his head to take a breath on his own yet, but he can easily swim 5 feet or more all by himself. I can't tell you how pleased I am about this, not least of all because we didn't have to attend any classes for this to happen. Vivian, of course, is not about to put her head under water, though she will blow bubbles on demand, and likes to float along the top step of the bubble yelling "Watch me! Watch me, Mommy, I swimming!!"

6. My sister lives less than a mile from my parents. (Did I mention?) Yikes. She is a saint. An occasionally opinionated, rigid, anal saint, but a saint nonetheless*. Though, she makes my niece and nephew do schoolwork during the summer. Isn't there some law against that? Shouldn't there be?

7. We spent a week at the beach in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. My parents own a rental property there, and for the last 4 or 5 years, my dad has allowed us to spend time there during the season. This is huge, as for the 15 years he owned the property before that we were only allowed to stay there during the winter, when it's cold and windy and there's nothing to do. We had a great time, and Lance couldn't complain about there feeling "claustrophobic" because he's so far away from the ocean. (God.) My niece, who is 9, loved babysitting, and my kids worshipped their older cousins (my nephew is 10). This made for a sometimes relaxing vacation, which those of you with toddlers know is an oxymoron.

8. Why can't my best friend--you know, one of the ONLY close friends I have with children--live on the West Coast? Why must she persist in staying in Delaware, so that I can't run over to her house with Vivian whenever I need a distraction? Her daughter is Isaac's age, and her son is the cutest two month old you've ever seen, and now I will not see them again until Christmas. Bah.

*If my sister had a blog, I can only imagine the adjectives she might use to describe me. (Clueless? Self-absorbed? Not-very-smart?)

And now, pictures:

Vivian and her cousin Sawyer, in the matching Lilly dresses my mother snuck out and bought, careful to remove the price tag before she presented them. Wasn't I talking about grandmotherly excess just the other day?



My best friends'** kids and my kids--don't they look like they'd all be great friends? If only we lived closer . . .


Isaac, jumping off the diving board. (Hmm, maybe you didn't actually need a description here. Uh, that's my nephew, Kitchel, standing on the side. There.)



. . and swimming:



Three generations (me, my mom, her mom, my sister):



At the beach:


**Don't worry, Heidi, you are also my best friend!

First things first: traveling with toddlers.

Because my family lives on the other side of the country, my kids are more seasoned travelers than your average 2 and 3 year olds. They have both survived at least 2 or 3 cross-country flights in each year of their lives. I have flown alone with each of them before--Isaac at 10 months, Vivian at 3 months--but I have never flown alone with both of them together. Until this trip.

I have learned a few things about flying with kids in all our travels: schedule the flight around nap/bedtime; bring a few extra diapers in case the flight is delayed; carseats are a pain in the ass to lug onto the plane, but once you get them on, they are a godsend; and it's never as bad as you anticipate, even if it's really bad. The easiest kids to take on a plane are infants or pre-mobile babies. Once they are mobile, things become progressively more difficult until they are old enough to really understand consequences, around 2.5. At least, that's been my experience. Easily the worst part about flying with children is the logistics of it all: getting all the gear and the babies through all the lines and onto the plane without a meltdown (from the babies, you, or airport personnel).

All that is a really long introduction to the story of our flight a few Mondays ago. In retrospect, I should never have planned a trip to Carmel, which involved a six hour drive up on Friday and a six hour drive back down on Sunday, immediately followed by a six hour flight Monday. Yeah, I think that was a bit much for me, not to mention for the kids.

Our flight left at 1:30pm, naptime. Perfect. The difficulty lay in maneuvering both kids, the diaper bag, and two un-wieldy carseats through the security lines. Fortunately, Lance was able to get a pass to help us to the gate. We ate a quick lunch while waiting (airport food, yum) and got in line (Southwest, which allows families with kids to pre-board), then Lance had to go back to work.

With some difficulty, I managed to get both kids on the plane, in their carseats, and after a 10 minute delay, we were off. The first hour or two of the flight went well enough--no screaming, no fighting, but also no napping. Isaac required 3 separate trips to the bathroom; have you ever tried to fit three people in one of those tiny airport rooms? Even if two of them are well under four feet, it's quite a challenge. Around hour two, the captain turned on the seatbelt sign, as we were experiencing some very minor turbulence. Unfortunately, that sign stayed on for 4 more hours, the remainder of the flight.

For reasons unknown, neither Isaac nor Vivian slept at all during the flight. By the end of hour three, they were both tired of sitting in their seats. By hour four, Vivian was crying "Unbuckle me! Mommy! Get down!" at decibels loud enough to be heard in the cockpit. Isaac joined in, too, hollering to pee, grabbing whatever toy Vivian had in her hand, repeatedly kicking the seat in front of him and generally behaving like a jackass. That continued until we landed in Philadelphia around 9pm east coast time.

Here's what I find odd: I didn't really care. Wait, that's not what I mean. I definitely cared that both kids were so upset. I cared that I had to try and calm down both of them for 3 straight hours. But I didn't care what any of the other passengers thought. I didn't care if Vivian's crying was annoying them. I didn't care if they were tired of Isaac asking for more milk. I had enough to deal with, trying to handle the crises that was both of my children, and that's all that mattered. Further more, the way I figure it, if it was annoying any of the other passengers, imagine what it was doing to me, their mother. Cry me a river, people.

This is not my usual attitude. Generally, I'm very aware of the way other people perceive me, my children, and my parenting abilities, and I do everything in my power to ensure that we leave a good impression. But I don't know, on that flight, I just felt like it was all I could do to deal with the kids and I couldn't waste any brain function worrying about anyone else.

In the end, we made it to Philadelphia unharmed and I suppose that's something.

The flight home was easier for two reasons: one, Lance was with me, and two, the flight was scheduled for 6pm, which meant both kids slept for the majority of the flight. There was the unfortunate problem of the flight being delayed for 3 hours, however. This made for some interesting time in the Philadelphia airport. I must admit that at one point Vivian was running around with another two year old--chasing after him, and being chased, giggling hysterically (by this time it was 8pm, way past her bedtime), often running into other very important adult, annoyed passengers--and I didn't stop her. We'd been sitting there for 3 hours, every flight in the area was delayed due to thunderstorms, and I just didn't feel justified making her sit still any longer. I'm sure the kid-less people in the gate area did not appreciate her behavior, or mine, but I still feel no shame about it.

Right before we boarded the plane, a very nice couple who had been talking a bit with both Isaac and Vivian during the wait told me that both children were "adorable, and very well-behaved". I smiled sweetly and thanked them, not mentioning the chasing game which they had very obviously not witnessed.

Oh, and I should mention here too: at one point, a very kind woman, around 60, I would guess, came over and offered to watch the kids for me while I used the restroom. Lance had gone off foraging snacks or magazines, and she thought I was traveling alone with them. Isn't that nice? I just love when people are good, instead of shitty.

That's it for our plane travels, though we also survived another 6 hour car ride, this one from Delaware to the Outer Banks of North Carolina and back. Here's a recap of our schedule:

Friday June 2nd: 6 hour drive to Carmel
Sunday June 4th: 6 hour drive back to L.A.
Monday June 5th: 6 hour flight to Philadelphia
Wednesday June 7th: 6 hour drive to Duck, NC
Friday June 17th: 6 hour drive back to Delaware
Monday June 19th: 6 hour flight back to L.A.




Yeah, I'm glad to be home.

Back.

We had a great time, but I'm thrilled to be home. The kids are exhausted after a long flight last night, I've got piles of laundry to do, there's no food in the house, and Vivian is two. (TWO!)

More to come . . .

This one's for Jennster

The sun has finally decided to grace us with its presence, and after 6 weeks of fog and gloom, we had a beautiful sunny weekend that is still holding strong today. I'm not sure what it says about me that I am so affected by the weather, but, again, I thank my lucky stars that I live in Southern California. Hopefully the gray is gone for the season and we'll be enjoying 80 degree temps for the next few months.

Typically, the weather is grey and gloomy in June (hence the nomiker, "June gloom") so there is still the possibility that the sun will disappear again, BUT . . . we are leaving next week for two weeks back East. By the time we get back on the 20th, it should be all sun, all the time. Just like I like it.

We are also leaving this weekend to head up to Carmel and visit some old friends from San Francisco. We have been taking this annual trip to Carmel for 4 or 5 years now, and we always have tons of fun. Carmel is beautiful, and we stay in a gorgeous ranch owned by a friends' dad. The only small blight on the trip is that it reminds me of Tim, since he was one of the original members of the Carmel crew. (If you don't have time to click the link, Tim was a friend who died in a freak accident about 2 years ago) His old fiance has a baby now, although she is not married, and I don't think she'll be there this weekend. I'm sure we'll toast him at least once, and tell funny Tim stories and reflect--all that is good. But it still leaves me with a tiny ache in my heart--he should be there, to tell the stories himself. To make new stories. I have such a hard time with his death, still, even though we weren't particularly close friends.

ANYWAY. We had a lovely weekend, spent a ton of time at the beach, and now I'm running around trying to get ready to leave.

So, since Jennster loves the family photos so much, here are a few to tide you over until I can write an actual post of substance.

San Diego, balm for a burnt out Amy

Okay, so here, finally, is the wrap-up of our weekend in San Diego, at the wedding of a very good friend, while the kids stayed home with grandma.

Since it's Friday and I'm lazy, a photo-essay:

Good Times:
The unbridled joy of the bride and groom, but especially the groom.


The fact that Heidi confiscated my camera, which meant that some pictures actually got taken. And good ones, too!



The incredible awesome-ness of the wedding band. Besides being a 30 piece band, complete with dancing girls in sequined dresses and 18 year old blonde surfer dudes in shiny tuxedos singing Earth Wind and Fire at octaves usually heard at the opera, they featured a blind piano player doing Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles impressions, several outfit changes for the whole band, a fiddle player to challenge any Kentucky blue grass band, and a God Bless America medley which might have been cheesy, but for the one soldier at the wedding, in full uniform, standing at attention through the whole thing. Oh, and later in the evening they handed out props, like the guitar you saw me "playing" in that other post. Seriously, even the fact that they sang both "Kokomo" and "I just called to say I love you" did not take away from the fun times we had dancing. Oh, and maybe the best thing of all was the priest throwing down when they sang Mary J. Blige's Praise Me* towards the end of the night. I WISH I had a photo of that.

there he is, before the dancing started

the band, going off

That my husband performed his best man duties admirably, including giving a nice speech at the rehearsal dinner that didn't even embarrass me.

(I'd love to have a picture here, but--well, Heidi wasn't at the rehearsal dinner, and although I did bring the camera, I didn't remember to take it out of my purse. Sorry, honey. He looked hot, though, trust me.)

That Heidi's new boyfriend continues to step up to the plate, say the right things, and be the right guy.

(Again, no photo. The Cake, as we call him, is relatively new, so he did not get the invite to the reception. He came for the weekend though, and loaned Heidi and I his porche to drive to the church and back. Very cool.)

That so many people who were at the wedding are good friends and good people.



That my kids enjoyed spending the weekend with their grandparents almost as much as Lance and I enjoyed spending the weekend without them.



That my dress, due to the extreme tightness around the bodice, which required two people to zip up and made breathing difficult, actually gave me some cleavage. A miracle in and of itself.



(the existence of cleavage is enough to overlook the fact that my face looks terrible in this shot. Focus on the boobs, people.)

Not so good times:

That I lost Heidi's $450 sweater at the last bar we went to, after remembering to grab it from the church, the cocktail spot, and the reception hall, all of which are places where, HAD I left it there, I would probably have gotten a bit more help than the guy who answered the phone at the bar ("What? Sweater?Oh, I don't think so. Someone else probably stole it already.")

See the sweater?

there it is again

That although we managed to arrive in Del Mar with an hour and half to spare, we still missed our designated start time at the church for the rehearsal by 15 minutes, since my pretty pretty husband was so busy primping, AND saying things like "Don't be such a nag!" "It's only 15 minutes away!" "Chill-ax, babe". Oh, I love him so. The bride was thrilled, as you can imagine.

That the 8-year-old dress I brought to wear to the rehearsal dinner made me look exactly like a stuffed sausage. Since apparently when I tried on said 8-year-old dress a week or so before the wedding, I was drunk. Or blind. Or something that caused me to believe it actually still fit.

(No picture. Duh. Haven't I embarrassed myself enough?)

That there was not sufficient water pressure at the ghetto, I mean Best Western, where we were staying to get the shampoo out of my hair.
(See all above photos.)

That we decided against calling a cab and instead walked 1 mile to the hotel from the bar (withOUT the sweater, I should add) in barefeet.

And that was our weekend. Very much fun, and worth the life-threatening hangover I had all day Sunday.

The happy couple. We owe it all to you:



*Okay, I was very drunk at this point, but I swear it was a Mary J Blige song, and I swear she was singing Praise me! or Praise him! but now I can't find a song like that anywhere.
In any event, the priest was wasted and REALLY enjoying whatever song it was.

Dinah Shore 2006

Early Friday afternoon, I left Lance with the kids and drove to Palm Springs with two new friends for a bachelorette party. Prior to this weekend I have been to two bachelorette parties, including my own. Most of my close friends who are married live on the East Coast, and if there is such an event, I usually can't fork over the cash to fly across the country for it. So I'm a bit of a bachelorette party virgin.

Anyway. There were 7 girls in all, two of whom I would consider "close acquaintances", two of whom are "new friends" and two that I had only met once or twice before. No one that I felt completely comfortable with. In case you haven't been reading my blog for very long, I should tell you this kind of situation is my absolute worst social nightmare. (Well, okay, no. The worst nightmare would be to go away for the weekend with 6 acquaintances, but there's no way in HELL I would ever agree to that, so. So.) I admit to being fairly nervous about the whole thing.

On the other hand, it was an opportunity to go away--for a whole weekend!--without the kids, and an opportunity to leave my husband in charge for 2.5 days, something he's never done before. Not to mention, Palm Springs is in the desert, and thus warmer than L.A., and have I mentioned? I live for warm weather. Sitting by the pool in 80 degree weather is my idea of heaven, and worth whatever social anxiety I might have.

(Also, the bride-to-be, one of the women I'm terming a "new friend", is marrying a very good friend of ours, and once they marry, she, along with her husband, will be my kids' guardians. Lance is the best man. I couldn't really get out of it, even if I was desperate to.)

The traffic was hell getting to Palm Springs, as one might expect on a California highway on a Friday afternoon, and we got a later start than we intended, so we didn't end up arriving at the hotel until 5:30 or so. The other women were already there, on the patio, having cocktails.

One of the things which worked in my favor was that this bunch of women came from all different parts of the bride's life. In other words, it wasn't 5 college friends and me, or 5 work friends and me. Two college friends, two post-college friends, the sister of the groom and the sister's best friend, who had come to know the bride that way. This meant there was no telling of old stories that only I wouldn't remember, no reminiscing about other friends who only I never knew. In fact, although at least 3 of the women there knew the bride and each other much better than I did, I was the only one, besides the bride, who had actually met everyone.

We quickly got settled in our rooms and headed out to the patio, where we guzzled our first cocktails of the evening and I tried to get the lay of the land. I ended up sitting between the two women I barely knew, and one of them was smoking, which made me a little uncomfortable. But one glass of champagne later things seemed to settle down a bit. Also, one woman, A., who I drove there with, has one of those loud, accepting, all-inclusive personalities, and having her there definitely eased everybody's transition from nervous attendee to happy-go-lucky partier. (Wouldn't it be great to be that person? Who can make anyone feel at home, and make everybody laugh? Sometimes funny people intimidate me, because I feel like they are judging me for not being funny, but A. just wanted to make sure we all had a great time, and so we did.)

A little while into our patio-fest, A. and I got up to try the ladies' room. As we walked inside, she turned to me and whispered, "Is it me, or are there a lot of lesbians here?"

Maybe you don't know this about me, but I am pretty oblivious. Just ask her. I tend to not notice anything that isn't right in my line of sight, or otherwise important for me to take note of. So I hadn't, in fact, noticed any lesbians. Or, at least, if I saw a bunch of women, I didn't take notice of the fact that they might be lesbians.

"Oh, A., I am the wrong person to ask. I never notice things like that."

"Okay, well look around now, and tell me what you think when we go back."

We continued on to the ladies room, and I began to look around the lobby and inside bar of the hotel. She was right: almost ALL the patrons were women, some of them obviously lesbians (either because they were sitting on each other's lap, or they were dressed in very typically "butch" attire), some of them who might or might not be.

Here is where I say: I hope you all know that I have absolutely nothing against lesbians. It just is worth mentioning when you find yourself in a very large hotel and that's all you see. Not the norm, know what I'm saying?

In any event, by the time we got in the cab to go to dinner, everyone else had noticed, too, so we asked the cabbie about it. We were right. This past weekend was Dinah Shore weekend in Palm Springs, which claims to be the biggest lesbian event in the world. According to the cabbie, at least 150,000 lesbians had descended on the town for the weekend. Also according to the cabbie, Palm Springs is 40% gay, which is maybe why they held the event there. Apparently there is also a gay party every year, equally as large.

The rest of the weekend, wherever we went (except the very straight cheesy dance club we went to Saturday night) there were lesbians everywhere. This was hilarious. (Again, not making fun of lesbians here.) The thing is, it's very funny to see so many lesbians, so openly out, everywhere you go. Especially when you are celebrating a bachelorette party. I felt very square, and very straight. Especially since the bride was often wearing t-shirts that said "I love D" or "the future Mrs. D"--oh, and also, a cheesy veil. Sometimes I wished we could tag along with one of the lesbian groups, because you could tell that they were having an incredibly good time.

Instead, we went out for dinner the first night, then came back and hung out in the bride's room, where my several (but not too many) cocktails allowed me to crack some jokes that had the room doubled over. By the end of Friday night, I think everyone's nerves were settled, as it was obvious that we would all get along fine.

Saturday was spent by the pool--I laid there basically all day, as various members of our party came and went, leaving for spa treatments or to go hiking, etc. Around 11am, I heard one of the kids in the pool tell her friend that her name was Rowan, and a few hours later Brooke Shields showed up to claim her. They actually stayed at the pool all afternoon, and I was by terms impressed and frightened by how well Rowan behaved. Not one meltdown in the 6 hours that she was at the pool. By my calculations, Rowan is maybe 2.5, and she was not wearing diapers, did not take a nap, and had a vocabulary that rivals Isaac's. Really the most astonishing thing was how well behaved she was. I admit to feeling a bit insecure in my own parenting skills just watching her. Fortunately, 3 of the other women in our party are mothers of 2 to 3 year olds, and all of them agreed that Rowan's behavior was unusual. We decided that she MUST be at least 3, if not 3.5, not matter what the celebrity mags tell us. Oh, Brooke is very pregnant, too, which I did not know. (It's nice here, under this rock, where I live. You should try it.)

Late afternoon, the sister of the groom (who was the only other woman to forego the spa in favor of the pool) convinced me to drink a double shot of tequila, and the night was on.

We had cocktails, including a lingerie shower and "newlywed" type game where we asked the bride embarrassing questions, headed off to dinner at a local steak club, and then to possibly the cheesiest nightclub in all of America. (I am astounded to discover they have no website). Had I been there for real, and by that I mean if I had been there in any other capacity than a bachelorette party, it would have been horrifying. As it was, it couldn't have been more perfect. At one point the bride got up on stage with the band to sing "Like a Virgin" (yes, it was an 80's cover band. I know, perfect!)

Sometime around 3am, we stumbled home and into bed. What remained of Sunday after we slept in, packed up and checked out consisted of more laying by the pool in the 80 degree weather, trying to detox, and catching up on all the gossip in the tabloids. No celebrity sightings Sunday, and we headed home around 2:30.

I am tired, and sunburned, and happy. My family was thrilled to see me upon my return, my husband has new appreciation for all that I do, and I feel proud of myself for not allowing the social anxiety to affect my weekend.

Back to life, back to reality

We're back in L.A., back to 70 degree weather instead of 35 degree "wintry mix", and it feels nice.

You know what's odd? I was sooo ready to drop the kids off with my in-laws Friday I practically threw them out of my moving car. Yet by the time I got to Raleigh some 6 hours later I already missed them. Then, I missed them terribly all weekend and yet when we went to pick them up, within twenty minutes they were driving me crazy again. ACK.

Despite the missing of the children, I had a fabulous weekend away. Two of my college roommates came into town from Virginia, and I got to see the other one in her home in Durham. We stayed with my favorite brother in his fabulous house (yes, I am quite green with envy over that), and enjoyed my favorite spot in all of this glorious country.

I'm not sure what it is about Chapel Hill, and the people from my time there, that make me so happy. Is it just the aura of the place? The history, the beauty, the friendliness of the inhabitants? Or maybe it's that the town is mostly populated by attractive, smart 18 to 25 year olds, which gives it an incredibly youthful, exciting vibe? Then again, I can't deny the nostalgia factor--who among us can walk past that first bar we were ever thrown out of, and not get all warm and fuzzy inside?

Then the people--my old college roommates, and my fabulous brother--who knew these people would mean so much to me? I don't leave near any of them--not even the same coast--and because I have such a difficult time with the phone, we don't get to talk much. We e-mail all the time, and the blog keeps them aware of my doings (more on that later), but I feel much closer to them than our communication would indicate. Is it because we share a common experience? Is it because we were at that impressionable age? Is it because I picked people of exceptional quality? (Obviously, this has something to do with it: there are many other people that I was very good friends with in college that I no longer keep in touch with.) My brother didn't share all the same experiences, as he attended five years after me, but we still have the college itself in common. It seems perfect to me that he is the one who lives there now: it just fits him.

I guess the quick answer is: yes. It is all of those things. So without further ado, a photo-blog. (This is incredibly difficult since I only took 6 photos all weekend.)



My two college roommates, Sarah and Lori, with Sarah's younger brother John. John is twenty (you heard me right, he was four when we were in school), and a sophomore. He kept stressing out about a financial accounting exam he had on Monday, and all I could think (and say, aloud, just to be a patronizing old hag) was "Oh, if that was my only problem!"



My brother and Lance. Note Lance's eyes, which look a bit cross-eyed. Although this photo was taken Saturday night, his eyes looked quite similar on Friday night. Which only partly excuses his hungover behavior on Saturday morning, when we got to hang out with Mommygoth and her fabulous husband. She made an awesome cheesy eggy spicy casserole for us all, yum!



My brother, moments after Lance told him that I had a blog. I know! He told a family member I had a blog! I tried to explain that night, and I'll do it again here: it's not that I didn't want you to read it, Chip. It's just that if I told you, I felt like I should tell Mom and Dad and Ann, and that's, well, different. They might judge me! They might ask questions! They might correct my grammar!



Here we are, the three amigos. Sarah, Lori and I were roommates for two years, and suitemates for one. We will be friends forever, to my great delight. Sadly, I have no photos of my other roommate, Mommygoth. Too hungover to remember to take the camera to her house, but you can see photos at her blog. All I can say is: Kayleigh is HILARIOUS, David is fantastic, her house is gorgeous, and it was too good to see her.

I love these people, all of them.

Now it's off to the laundry/unpacking/grocery shopping/cleaning that fills my days. Yee-ha!

Potty humor

I'm still in Delaware, counting the minutes until we can get back to California, where the temperature is reasonable. I don't have much time to post here, but I did want to note that Isaac, up until a few days ago, has been a complete dream since we arrived. After behaving much like a rabid dog for the months leading up to Christmas, he morphed into a sweet, thoughtful, polite, happy, perfect child the moment we got on the plane headed to Philadelphia. I am very grateful for that, so here's a little glimpse of him for your enjoyment.

(For full effect, be sure to pronounce the r's like Isaac does, with a thick Boston accent.)

Scene: The kitchen, just before dinnertime.

Isaac: "I smell something! I smell a fart, Mommy!"

Me: "Whew, Isaac! I smell something, too. Did you poop?"

Isaac: "No, I didn't poop, Mommy! That's just a fart."

Me: "Are you sure?"

Isaac: "No poop! Just farts!"

Me: "What do we say if we fart?"

Isaac: "Thank you, fart."

Me (giggling): "Or, 'Excuse me'".

What I did over Christmas Vacation, by Isaac

First Mom and Dad ran around like crazy on the morning after Christmas, packing up all the warm clothes we own. Then we went to the airport and waited in line for a long time. Mom got me a hamburger and french fries and let me have a sip of her soda. Once we got on the airplane I had to sit in my carseat, but Vivian got to sit on Mommy's lap. I took a nice nap, and Mommy and Daddy said I was a really good boy. Vivi was a good girl, too.

When we finally got to Delaware, Grandy and Grandad were there. They have lots of new toys at their house. It was really cold, but Daddy gave me some gloves to wear. He said last year I wouldn't wear them, but this year I know that my hands will be cold if I don't. Daddy says I'm much smarter this year.



I have cousins named Sawyer and Kitchel, and they live in Delaware too. They come over and play with me a lot. In Delaware they have basements, downstairs, and it's really fun to play with the toys there.


Grandy and Grandad were really glad to see us. They said we grew a lot since we went to Hawaii.


One day a bunch of kids came over. Mom said they were my second cousins.


Then, another day, Daddy's brother Mark and his wife (the good ones) came and stayed with us. They live in Virginia but drove up to Delaware just to see us. I think they are really nice people. Maybe they can switch houses with my daddy's other brother.


Daddy had to go back to California to watch the Rose Bowl. Mommy and I rooted for the Trojans, but they didn't win. Daddy was too sad on the phone to talk to me.



Mommy has a friend named Susanna who lives in Delaware and she has a baby in her tummy. I tried to see the baby but I couldn't. Susanna said she would send me a picture of the baby when it comes out of her tummy. How does that baby come out of there? Susanna has a little girl named Stella who just turned three. Stella is hot! I think I love her.



Mommy and Daddy leave us with babysitters a lot in Delaware. Once they went with Uncle Chip, Leigh, Uncle Ed and Annie to New York City. They even rode the subway and a nice man took their photo. Daddy says we have subways in L.A., too, but I don't believe him.




They saw Chicago, and met Huey Lewis after the show. My great-aunt dated him a long long time ago, so we are practically related. Mommy said she and Ed were the only ones brave enough to get a photo.



Mommy and Daddy went out for sushi one night and left us with a babysitter too. Daddy couldn't believe they had sushi in Delaware! Even Grandy and Grandad went and ate some raw fish. I don't think I like sushi.



I really miss my Daddy. I told Mommy it was time to go back to California. She said she misses Daddy too, but he has to work hard to make money so we can eat.

Well, that's all so far. I'd tell you more but Mommy is making me take a nap. She doesn't like to wake up before 6am, but I do.