What's your thing?

About a month ago my mother-in-law emailed me to see if it was alright if she bought Vivian a doll for her birthday. I'm not sure why she felt like she had to ask me, except that she knows I'm not much of a girly-girl and maybe she thought I'd be annoyed by a doll or something. I learned long ago not to try and understand where MIL is coming from, though: she can be a wonderful and generous person but her motivations are often beyond comprehension, if not suspect.

Anyway. She sent the email, and I responded. "Of course!" I said, "Buy her whatever you want. Just do me a favor and don't go overboard. She's only two, after all, she doesn't need every possible outfit and accessory for the doll, too." I only added the last bit because my mother-in-law is a complete Ebay addict, a collector, AND she had three sons. Vivian is her first chance to buy dolls, and I knew that she might get a little crazy. (This woman has over 400 of those Carolers, the little singing Christmas dolls. I'm not kidding.) MIL agreed, and that was that.

(Ha. Ha. Ha. Oops, excuse me.)

Before we left for vacation, MIL handed me several new outfits she had purchased for Vivian's birthday. She wanted her to be able to wear them back East, so she presented them early. Great. I thanked her profusely and went on my way. The day before we left, MIL dropped by with a doll and diaper bag she had purchased for the doll. The diaper bag was full--6 outfits for the doll, new shoes, baby lotion, baby powder, a tiny teddy bear for the doll. "Here", she said, "this is so Vivian can play dollies with her cousin. I thought they'd have fun doing that." "Oh. Okay. Well, uh, thanks. Vivian, what do you say?"

So a bit more than I had asked for, but whatever--she's the grandma, I'm not going to rain on her parade. What's a couple of outfits for a doll anyway. Cue our return from the East Coast, when we walk into our house after a long long flight only to see a twin baby stroller, with two more dolls. Attached is a balloon that says "Happy Birthday Vivi!". Oh but we're not done yet. Last weekend, Vivian received 4 more outfits for each doll, 6 new baby blankets, and two doll sleeping bags. Unwrapped, but at my MIL's house, out for Vivian to play with, was a doll pack n' play, another stroller, and several more assorted cribs/blankets/doll teddy bears.

It was like being at the Bitty Baby store. Everywhere I looked was another present or another toy. I know all of this makes my MIL extremely happy. She finally has her girl to buy for! I really don't want to take any of that joy away from her, and especially now, when Vivian doesn't have a clue what's going on. But it makes me grit my teeth. It is so against my main tenet (my only tenet?) of parenting, which is: DO NOT SPOIL YOUR KIDS WITH A BUNCH OF UNNECESSARY CRAP.

You know how everybody has a "thing"? Something that is really important to you, or really gets under your skin, or something that you are acutely aware of? For me, it is elitism and entitlement, and I'm sure the reason I have such a bug up my ass about it is that I went to a prep school, with tons of extremely rich kids, and many of them were complete assholes. I really don't want my kids to be like that, or to be around that. I have an extremely difficult time with people who just expect to be given a free ride, who think that by virtue of their birth they are entitled to everything they want.

In my opinion, buying a lot of "things" for your kids is wrong for a couple reasons. In the first place, if you buy your child everything they could ever want, how are they going to learn to appreciate anything? If they get a Mercedes for their 16th birthday, what's going to top that? Do you really want the peak of your kids' happiness to be at 16? Nevermind that giving them everything they want denies them the opportunity to work hard for something, to earn it, and to feel proud of themselves. I want my kids to be self-sufficient, and if I buy everything for them, how are they going to learn to do anything for themselves? Secondly, I think buying things just for the sake of buying them is a waste. A waste of your money and a waste of the environment. Of course it's nice sometimes to buy nice things, even if you don't need them. But I like to impress on my kids that you can be just as happy with fewer things. Things don't make you happy.

I'm not articulating this very well. But here's another way of saying it: $300 worth of crap from the American Girl store does not equal love. At two, Vivian would have been just as thrilled with one doll and one outfit. At six, maybe she'll want more. But if she gets five bajillion things today, what in the hell are we going to have to get for her at six? Furthermore, isn't there some value in learning delayed gratification? Like, if when she's six she really really wants the double stroller for the twins, she can ask Santa for it, or save her allowance? And then if she gets it, think how thrilled she'll be! Oh wait, we've denied her that joy, because she already has the thing. Which she got for doing approximately nothing, when she was two years old. When she had never even heard of Bitty Baby.

Anyway, I'm probably making too much of this. I know that the whole spending-too-much-on-the kids-thing is my own personal cross to bear and I'm over-sensitive to it. Still, those Bitty babies are making me itch, and not in a good way. (Is there a good way to itch?)

Is there something in particular about parenting that gets to you? Something that react to more strongly than you maybe should? Or am I the only freak out here?

Random bullets to fill time until I get the vacation post done*

• Strange weather in L.A. lately. Last night it was humid. Humid, in L.A.! It was still 75 degrees at 8pm (usually the temperature drops to the 60s by then). You will think I'm lying, but I actually like humid weather. I'm praying it keeps up through the 4th.
• I have switched to non-fat milk in my lattes and--horror of horrors!--lite beer. I still fear that will not be enough to get me back into my pants. I may have to start (gulp) exercising. Someone kill me now.
• I had a long post done entitled "Pasadena, otherwise known as Bum Fuck Egypt" about a cocktail party we went to last weekend, about how it takes forever to get there, and the weather is crappy and the smog is horrific, and how the people are so snotty and the country club set is in full effect there--but then I decided I probably shouldn't trash the entire town based on one experience. Just because everyone I've ever met from Pasadena has been a judgmental snob to the nth degree doesn't mean there aren't some perfectly nice people who live there. Also, truth be told, although the people at the party were indeed country-clubby in their cliqueishness, and though there was a fair bit of snotty behavior going around, some of them were very friendly, and I shouldn't complain. The host, a friend of Lance's from high school, has never been anything but kind to me, and his wife seems nice enough. I am glad I don't live there, though. And very glad that whole social hierarchy thing means nothing to me, or my husband.
• Got the BBQ issue of Bon Appetit the other day. I really dislike hamburgers (I was a vegetarian for 10 years, and eating a burger is just way too "meaty" for me). However, I love summer so much, and barbecuing is such the symbol of summer to me, that the cover actually made me salivate. I know some people can't stand the heat, but to me, summer is all the good things at once: fresh, yummy produce. Barbecues with friends. Beer in the lingering afternoon sun. Staying light until after 8 o'clock. No school! Laying out in the sun with a good book and some girlfriends. Shorts and flip-flops. I wish it was summer every day of my life.

* It may be awhile.

My own personal Abbott & Costello*

Scene: in the car, we drive past a dad with his young daughter.

Isaac: That looks like my friend Nadia.

Vivian: Nania!

Isaac: Nania?

Vivian: Nania!

Isaac: Nadia?

Vivian: Nadia.

Isaac: Do you like Nadia?

Vivian: Yes!

Isaac: Why do you like Nadia?

Vivian: Cuz I like Nania, and . . .

Isaac: Nania?

Vivian: Nania!

Isaac: Nadia? or Nania?

Vivian: Nania! Nadia! Nadia! Nania!

Isaac: Do you like Nonnie**?

Vivian:Nonnie! Nania! Naaaaannnnieeeeaaa!


*Not quite ready for prime time

**They call my mother-in-law Nonnie.

Also, this was funnier in person. I swear!

Sadness, on three fronts

1. I never have time to blog anymore!

2. Carolina lost the Baseball College World Series last night. Even though I find nothing more boring than baseball, it was still fun to have my alma mater in the race, especially since we are definitely NOT a baseball powerhouse.

3. I can no longer fit into the pants I bought when I was 2 months post-partum. (And not because they are too big.)

Conversation, a few minutes ago.

Me: Hi Linda, it's Amy.
Mother-in-law: Oh hi there.
Me: What's going on?
MIL: Just the usual.
Me: Do you and Trent have plans tonight?
MIL: We'll be here. Do you need a babysitter?
Me: Actually, yes. Darren just invited us to his housewarming party--the post office sent our invitation back to him for some reason, so we didn't know about it until today.
MIL: That's fine, just bring them over on your way to Pasadena.
Me: Great, thank you so much! Don't wait up for us--we'll just sneak in quietly and get them later.
MIL: Why don't they spend the night?
Me: Are you sure? That would be great!
MIL: In fact, why don't we keep them until Sunday, since you were planning to come over then anyway?
Me: Really? Until Sunday?
MIL: We haven't seen them in so long, we'd love it!
Me:Wow. Okay. THANKS!

Lance and I now have the entire weekend free of children! Yeehaw! What a nice unexpected weekend bonus!

(The only issue is that once again we'll be leaving Isaac, this time for two days. I'm sure this will NOT help the separation anxiety. What does it say about me that when considering these two things: Isaac's fear and my freedom, freedom wins?

Mother of the year nominations, anyone?

UPDATE: Turns out the last minute party is tonight (Saturday), so we didn't get to fob off the kids after all. Not until tonight anyway. Better for Isaac, not as good for me.

Separation Anxiety: what not to do

For reasons I cannot fathom, neither of my children has ever really suffered from separation anxiety. They've always been happy to go to whoever wants to hold them, happy to be left with a babysitter, or my in-laws, or whoever. There's been the occasional tear, if Lance and I leave too close to naptime, but always the crying has ceased before we even make it to the car. Even when I left Isaac at pre-school for the first time, there was only a millisecond of concern before he was off exploring all the new toys.

I feel fortunate that my kids are like this, but I doubt it has anything to do with my parenting skills. I'm not sure what it says about my parenting skills that my kids are just as happy with anyone else as they are with me.

As I've mentioned, right before we left for the East Coast, we took a trip up to Carmel, to see some old friends. The kids have been there before, but I don't think either one of them remembered. Strange surroundings, strange people, but they both did fine. Immediately afterward, we went to Delaware where again the kids were dumped into a strange home, surrounded by strange people. The time change plus the long napless flight exhausted them, but still they seemed okay. Right after we got to Delaware, my brother-in-law, my dad, and my niece and nephew took the first car down to North Carolina. We sent Isaac and Vivian with them, since I had some training to do at my dad's company and my sister had tickets to see Brooke Shields give a speech* that night. At first, they were thrilled with the idea--riding in a car! With their cousins! And there was a dvd in the car! But once they were all strapped in and reality set in that I would not be joining them, Isaac started to lose it. "But Mommy! I'll miss you", he whined. "I'll be there before you know it", I reassured him. "I need ya, Mom! I miss ya! Don't leave me!"

I gave him a few more kisses through the window, and sent them off, assuming that once they got going he would forget all about missing me. According to my dad, he did fall asleep shortly thereafter, and all seemed well. About 1.5 hours later, he woke up, and immediately started crying. "I want my mommy!" Nothing my dad, brother-in-law, or anyone else did made a difference. He cried/whined for two straight hours. He finally got over it, and managed to have an okay time for the next 24 hours (again, in new surroundings) until I arrived, but the damage was done.

Ever since then (June 7th, 2006), whenever I leave for any amount of time, no matter who I am leaving him with, he has a complete fit. Screaming, crying, refusing to leg go of my legs. "I need ya, Mom! I miss ya! Don't leave me!!" When we left him with my parents so Lance and I could go out to dinner, he cried for 10 minutes. When we left him with a babysitter so all the adults could go out to dinner, he cried for 30 minutes. When we finally got back to L.A. and I took him to school, he screamed for 20 minutes (something he's never done there before). We left him last night with my in-laws, whom he has stayed with hundreds of times, and he cried bloody murder for five minutes. This morning, at school, even after insisting to me that he wouldn't cry, that he was excited to go to school, he screamed. (Though they did call me a few minutes after I left to say he'd stopped right away.)

Update: today I had to carry a screaming Vivian out of preschool ("No go, Mommy! Stay! I want to stay!") while the sweet pre-school teacher held a flailing Isaac ("Don't leave me! Mommy! No!"). Fun times.

I'm really hoping this new phase/ personality quirk is short-lived, as it's agony to leave him when he's that upset. I'm not used to it, and it makes me feel incredibly insecure about my mothering abilities. (Should I leave him? Should I ignore the behavior? Should I explain again how I'm coming back? How could I have done this to him? Is he ruined forever? etc etc)

Vivian, on the other hand, has been totally non-plussed by all the comings and goings. Apparently, for her, I'm still as interchangeable as ever.


*I'd give her a B-.

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 . . .

Stop. Just stop.

Why does winter drag on and on, endless days of grey skies and uncomfortable sweaters, but the minute summer gets here, the weeks fly by?

I am still running around, not even close to being ready for our trip back east, much less the Carmel weekend we leave for in the morning. I'm jonesing to read all your perfect blogs but can't even find the time to open bloglines. We get home Sunday afternoon from Carmel and leave less than 24 hours later for Delaware. I probably won't get a chance to post at all while I'm home. This makes me even more anxious to get on the computer today--I can't imagine two whole weeks without you people.

We get back June 20th. Vivian will be TWO YEARS OLD by then. How is this happening? My children are not babies anymore. My children are almost done with being toddlers. I need to get off this train, and pronto. I feel like I am going to wake up tomorrow and be sending Isaac off to college.

I was thinking earlier (I know, I know, I shouldn't strain myself), and realized that I have only the smallest bit of time left when Isaac and Vivian will love me as much as I love them. In a few years, they will start seeing my flaws, being embarrassed by my clothes, feeling annoyed when I kiss them. Can you imagine? I can't tell you what a big part of my life it is to walk into Isaac's room at night, give him a kiss, and have him sleepily murmur "I love you, Mom". I don't want that to end!

Well I could write a novel about that topic but then I would be procrastinating all the laundry/cooking/packing I have to do before tomorrow morning, so I guess I'll just sign off.

See you in a few weeks!

Date Night

My in-laws live a mere 8 miles from us, so they frequently take the kids when we need a break. However, they live in the valley, which means we have to drive 6 miles on the 405 freeway to get to their house. The 405 freeway must be the most congested freeway in the country. During rush hour, it can take 2 hours to drive those 6 miles.

As a result, we have to plan our babysitting adventures in advance. If Lance and I want to go out to dinner, I need to get the kids over to my in-laws' house before 2pm (in time for their naps and before rush hour starts). We generally let them spend the night, and then I pick them up around 9:30 or 10am, after the morning rush has passed. The kids are with their grandparents for almost 24 hours, which is great for me, though it does also mean that we don't ask for this service too often. It probably happens about once every two months, sometimes during the week, sometimes on the weekend. (We do have a babysitter to call in the event that the in-laws can't do it.)

Last night was one of those nights. A friend had emailed me a flyer about a benefit for a pre-schooler who had recently been diagnosed with a rare kind of cancer. A restaurant offered to donate all its profits Tuesday night to the the family. Rare night out for Lance and I plus a good cause--it seemed like a win-win to me, especially when my in-laws agreed to take the kids.

Lance and I so rarely spend quality time together without the kids these days, you'd think that any date night would be fabulous. Somehow, it doesn't always work out that way. We argue, or have trouble connecting. We drink too much or bring up the wrong topics. Somebody orders the wrong entree, the wine is too expensive, I forget my wallet. Or I don't know, the sky is blue and somehow it ruins the evening. I'm not saying that happens every date night, but it does happen, and more frequently than it seems like it should.

Yesterday after I dropped off the kids, I came home to a beautifully clean house thanks to Lucrecia, our life-saving house-keeper. I had the entire afternoon free, and I spent it reading blogs, finishing a novel (good!), laying in the yard, and fixing some chicken salad with the leftovers from the night before. So peaceful and easy, so pleasant. Around 4:30 I took a relaxing shower, then blew my hair dry and put on an outfit I haven't worn in a year or so. On a whim, I put on a pair of heels I haven't worn since the wedding I bought them for 3 years ago. (I have a bad back, and only wear heels at special occasions, maybe once or twice a year).

Lance came home shortly thereafter, and his face lit up when he saw me.

"Why are you so smiley?" I asked him.

"It's not often I come home to a quiet house, my wife all dressed up and looking relaxed and refreshed, with no kids running around."

That's how the whole evening went. We were thrilled to be with each other. We laughed and talked easily, we didn't think about the kids at all. The food was fine--not fantastic, but it didn't even matter. There was a kind of electricity between us that hasn't been there in ages. We were eager to get home for "other activities", but we also wanted to keep talking forever. It felt like an actual date, the kind you have before you get married. It felt incredibly nice.

I wish all our date nights turned out as well. Having the afternoon to myself really helped. Being able to get myself ready without refereeing the kids' arguments, fixing their dinner, & being sure the babysitter had everything she needed helped too. Often by the time we get in the car, I'm already resenting Lance for not helping me in the exact way that I want him to, so it was nice to feel nothing but anticipation for a change. Also, the combination of heels plus the color I got at the beach this weekend made me feel surprisingly sexy and confident. To top it off, it's summer, and summer always makes me happy.

What a perfect evening!

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.

Will I ever do a real post again?

Random bullets, ala Phantom.

1. Last night we took the kids up to the neighbors' house for a bbq. I drank two beers and 3 margaritas. I actually had bed spins as I was trying to fall asleep. I haven't had bed spins in 15 years. I feel like roadkill this morning.

2. Bed spins.

3. I have no memory of getting the kids into pajamas and bed last night. It's a miracle we ended up in the right house. At some point, I also folded the laundry, so I can't complain too much.

4. Hooray for long weekends. We had two days of spectacular weather this week and now it's back to grey. I hope to God it clears up soon. We are attending a pool party tomorrow, where I was hoping both kids would miraculously learn to swim, so that I won't be forced to don a bathing suit for swimming lessons at the local pool.

5. Tonight I'm going with Heidi over to the bride's house for some girl time--wine, snacks, gossip. I've been looking forward to it all week--except, roadkill and all.

6. At every meeting we have with our architect we discuss budget. After 6 months of planning, the architect now believes that the house he has designed will be way beyond our financial scope. There is no way to cut back on the design without losing the aesthetics of the house. So it's back to square one.

7. Because my husband is a saint, he got the kids dressed, put Vivian in front of Nemo, and took Isaac to pre-school this morning so I could nurse my hangover. He left me his car, which is great, except it has no carseat in it. I shouldn't really call him and complain, should I? Do you think Vivian will be okay if I leave her here while I get some coffee? I really, really need coffee.

8. Lance just came home with the car so I decided to run over to Annika's house with the lasagne I made for her yesterday. Except that I live in L.A., you know, so the 12 mile drive took 30 minutes which meant I was running late to pick Isaac up at pre-school. She opened the door, I threw the lasagne at her, yelled "what a cute baby!" and left. Nice. He is a cute baby, though. So tiny! So sweet!

9. Tequila, elixir of Satan.


(10. I just came home after a doctor's appointment to see what you lovely people had to say about my bed spins and--surprise!--nothing is posted. How can that happen? There's this little button called "publish post", see, and you have to click on it. Oh my pretty pretty braincells, I'm miss you already.)

Question

If you are 3 years old and you don't fall asleep until 9:30pm, and then for some reason you wake up at midnight and cannot get back to sleep until 2am, don't you think you would sleep just a little later than 5:30? Don't you?

I mean, really. WHAT THE FUCK?


In other news, Mieke did the walk for Adelaide last weekend. Thanks to you guys, she made her $5000 goal, and then some. Isn't that fabulous? Go read about it, here. Awesome. Truly awesome.

I got nothin'.

Because I have nothing to say and it's already Wednesday night: another meme. And, oh yeah, Melissa tagged me. AGAIN. So blame her.

I AM: on my third beer.
I SAID: "Nice knowin' ya."
I WANT: my son to be healthy.
I WISH: my sister was happy.
I HATE: Peas. Winter. Sweaters. Tom Cruise. Shopping. When friends act like assholes.
I MISS: my family.
I FEAR: too many things.
I HEAR: my children squabbling. ALL. THE . TIME.
I WONDER:why my son wakes up before 6am EVERY SINGLE MORNING.
I REGRET: losing touch with Andy Nye, my college boyfriend. (Inside joke, in case he's reading this (which, yeah, of course he's not, but I'm on my third beer, so whatever): "Do what?") {It's an INSIDE joke, okay? Not funny to you, but it's not meant to be. Sheesh.}
I AM NOT: crafty. Nor do I want to be. Keep those scrapbooks FAR AWAY from me.
I DANCE: with my kids. Except they always want me to pick them up and swing them around, and goddammit, I am not their father! Can't you just move your feet or your hips? Must I do EVERYTHING LITTLE THING for you??
I SING: hardly ever. (Be glad. I'm tone deaf.)
I AM NOT ALWAYS: smart. I wish I was.
I MADE: the beds a long time ago. I need to change the sheets again. Crap.
I WRITE: this blog. That's it. Isn't that enough?
I SHOULD: change the sheets more often.
I START: not much. Sadly. No, actually, that's really sad. But it's true. I don't start anything. I mean, I guess I start the car every day when I drive to pre-school. But that's all I can think of.
I FINISH: a tall chai latte way too frequently than is good for our finances.
I BELIEVE: in myself. in my husband. in love. in happiness.
I KNOW:that you probably think I'm full of shit.
I CAN: kick your ass in soccer. And I never played soccer as a kid. I'm much more athletic than you think.
I CANT: carry a tune.
I SEE: lightning bugs. Oh wait, no I don't. I live in California, where they don't have lightning bugs. Can you believe that? A place with no lightning bugs?? It's unfathomable. And yet, here I am. Here my children are, in a world without lightning bugs. I'm not sure they'll ever recover. I know I won't.
I BLOG: when I should be playing with my kids. Do you play with your kids? I mean, really play with them, often? Because, GOD, it bores me to tears to play with them.
I READ: blogs and not much else. It's because of you people that I haven't read a novel in over a year.
I AM AROUSED BY: lazy afternoons, sun spots on the bed.
IT PISSES ME OFF: when people refuse to accept responsibilityy for their actions.
I FIND: my husband's belts all over the house. Is it that hard to hang them up in the closet? Is it? Really?
I LIKE: beets. (So what? At least it's not brussel sprouts!)
I LOVE: 48 Hours Mystery. And Grey's Anatomy.* Oh yeah, and my family.

* Thanks for the reminder, Kate!

Note to self:

If a recipe calls for julienned carrots, scallions, & apples---actually, if it calls for julienned anything--- do not attempt.

I repeat, do not attempt.


Updated: No missing digits, just lots of swearing and heavy sighing because chopping up all those things into little tiny sticks is a complete waste of time. And really, really annoying.

Confession

You may not know this about me, but I can be slightly, well, ditzy. And yes, I am blonde (naturally, even!). Apologies to all the intellectual blondes out there, I really don't mean to give us all a bad name.

Thing is, I often forget what day of the week it is, or that Memorial Day is next weekend, as opposed to a few weeks from now. I forget when I tell Heidi to come over for dinner, so she arrives to an empty house, since I've taken the kids out for tacos. I go to the grocery store because we are completely out of trash bags and come home with $40 of groceries, but no bags. I respond to birthday party invitations, put the invitation on the refrigerator, write the date in the calendar, and still forget to attend. I've been known to start the washing machine and then forget to put the clothes in.

One of the more annoying manifestations of this trait occurs, almost daily*, in the shower. I'll be standing there, the warm water running down my body, when I'll notice the bottles of product on the shelf. "Hmm", I'll think, "did I wash my hair already?" Then follows a minutes long conversation in my head, debating whether I washed my hair, or just my face. Or did I mistakenly use the face scrub on my hair? Because I can remember opening that particular bottle, but I don't remember washing my face. Maybe I should just wash my hair again--but my hair is so dry already, if I wash it twice, it will look worse than usual. Then again, if I don't wash it again, it may very well turn out that I didn't wash it at all, and then this whole shower will be wasted. I'll be walking around with the same greasy hair that prompted me to get in in the first place.

It's about this point that my mind generally wanders to something else--whether having my kids so close together makes me as trashy as Britney Spears, for example. A few minutes later, the product bottles will catch my eye again, and I have to start the conversation in my head one more time.

I'm quite sure if I was a brunette, this wouldn't keep happening to me. Think I should dye my hair?


*It would definitely occur daily, if I took a shower daily.

Lazy is as Lazy does

It all started last night. Lance was gone for the weekend already, so it had been me and kids, alone, all day. One day--no big deal. But once the kids were finally in bed (note, I did not say asleep) and I surveyed the toy-littered floor, the crumb-covered table, the dish-filled sink, it seemed like a bit much for one person to handle. Self, I said. Self, why don't you just leave this mess and clean it up tomorrow? God knows they'll just make another mess in the morning, why clean up twice?

So I left it. Ate my frozen pizza on the floor in the family room, amongst matchbox cars and half-full sippy cups, ignored the giggles from the kids' room, and watched several season finales on TiVo. Eventually, the kids fell asleep, and I moved into the bedroom, where I let my dirty clothes languish on the floor, and when I gulped the last sip of water from the water bottle, I just tossed it across the room towards the trash can, not caring when it missed by several inches.

This morning I awoke, at the lovely hour of 6:03am, to a disaster of a house. Looking around made me crabby, and I barked at the kids to hurry up. Still, when the time came to clean up breakfast, I couldn't manage much more than throwing the dishes in the dishwasher and starting it.

After dropping Isaac off at school, Vivian and I headed to the grocery store. Once there, I decided I didn't feel like cooking, and why would I, since Lance wasn't home? So I just grabbed some cereal and blueberries and soy milk, figuring that would hold us for a couple days. I had an hour or so at home to clean up before I had to pick Isaac up, but again, I couldn't find the motivation. Lance wouldn't be home and no one else would see the house, so who exactly was I cleaning for?

Lather, rinse, repeat. Every opportunity I had to clean up today, I let pass by. As a result, the dishwasher is full of clean dishes, the sink is full of dirty dishes, the floor is littered with crumbs from breakfast, lunch and dinner, you can't walk in the playroom because of all the toys, and there are clothes all over the living room floor (a half-hearted attempt to do laundry, where I just moved the dirty clothes from the hamper to the living room where at some point, I suppose, I will sort them).

You know what? Letting all the dirt and crap pile up did not make me a better mother today. It's not as if I used the time I might otherwise use cleaning to play with my kids. In fact, other than a 10 minute dance party, I'm not sure I played with them at all. Actually, I spent most of the time exasperated that they were bothering me while I tried to blog, or watch more TiVo, or read People. I was the definition of a shitty mom today.

I'm sure it was an attack of the lazies. This used to happen to me at work: if I was busy, I would crank out work, getting a ridiculous amount of things done, and done well. But the days that were slow? Mistakes right and left, not to mention a bunch of stuff simply left undone.

Crap. Guess that means I'm going to have to clean up tonight.

Or maybe tomorrow morning.


(Incidentally, I'm blaming the lazies for the plethora of sub-par posts around here lately, too. Don't tell me otherwise, k?)

Heavy

Whoa, I just spent some time typing a post, entitled "Fair", and you are very relieved that I re-read it before I hit publish. Talk about depressing!

I'm blaming the weather, as it has been ATROCIOUS here in SoCal lately. I'm talking one hour of sunshine a day for the last 30 days and temperatures in the high sixties. YUCK. If I'm going to live in a place where the property values are this inflated, I should at least get the benefit of sunny beautiful weather, for pete's sake.

Also depressing: Lance is out of town, on his annual father-son fishing trip. He left yesterday morning, and I haven't killed the children yet, so that's something.

(Does it seem like he's always going out of town? No? Huh.)

I'm gaining weight. Maybe my dryer is just really working hard lately, shrinking up all my clothes. Or is it because I went off the pill? I thought I was supposed to LOSE weight when I got off those hormones. On the other hand, I finally have my sex drive back, so I guess I shouldn't complain. (Though, I'm not sure about that trade off--skinny versus sex.)

I make no apologies for the fucked-up-ness of this post (or was that an apology already?). I'm alone with the kids, people, take what you can get.

Carnival

Remember the carnival last year? How Isaac was soooo excited to get on the rides but then once they started going he freaked out?



Well, the carnival came to town again last weekend. This year, the rides didn't scare Isaac away at all. In fact, we couldn't tear him away from them.



At first, even Vivian thought the rides looked kind of fun, and for a minute I thought she was going to surprise me, and ride the bumper boats with no fear.



Sadly, it all proved a bit much for her. Although she did attempt to get on several rides, she never managed to sit down long enough for the ride to start. This frustrated her to no end: I could tell she really really wanted to ride, but her fear held her back.

See how pissed off she is at herself?


We had a nice couple of hours anyway, and even though this traveling carnival is pretty low-rent, I look forward to attending every year. I'm hoping next year, both kids will be brave enough for the rides.



(In the interest of full disclosure, I should add that I made Lance ride all the ones that Isaac was too small to ride alone on. Not because I was scared (!) but because I'm such a wimp that even the kiddie rides make me vomit.)


Also, thanks so much for yesterday. I am feeling a bit better--nothing like a cathartic sob-fest to clear your head--and I'm not just saying that!

Exceptional

When I was in high school, I remember thinking, with typical self-absorbed angst, that my life would be so much better if I was REALLY good at something. If only I was the prettiest girl, or the smartest student, or the best athlete, or the coolest kid. Instead, I was just okay, at everything. No, I wasn't the prettiest, but I wasn't ugly. I wasn't the smartest, but I was in the top half of my class. Wasn't the best athlete, but I made all the varsity teams. Far from the coolest, but I wasn't a dork, either. Just so fucking average, in every way. I really envied those kids who had something to define themselves with, who were stand-outs. (Truth is, I was far too lazy to do the kind of work that might have made me a stand out, but my teenage brain just blamed the rotten luck to have been born without some god-given talent.)

Last night, I watched the season finale of Grey's Anatomy that the capricious TiVo gods had generously taped for me after all. I cried and cried and cried some more. I shook with sobs. I could not catch a breath, I was that upset. You know, because a fictional character on a television show died during sweeps. Shocking.

But here's the thing: that's not really why I was crying. And when I finally figured that out, I realized that there IS something that I'm exceptional at. I can be a stand-out, just watch me.

Turns out, I'm really, really good at saying "I'm fine!" "It's okay!" The smiling shrug, the soldiering on, the "don't worry about me"s--these are things I've got down pat. And it's not as if I'm in denial--because I'm also quite adept at platitudes like: "yes, it sucks, but I try to look at the bright side" or "I know it's going to be difficult for him, but it could be so much worse".

What I'm NOT good at? Crying in front of people I love--or, people I don't love! Or people I don't know! Here, take my screaming child and cut him up, he's all yours. I am a rock, I don't cry! Whee, this is fun! Definitely NOT good at saying "Guess what? I'm terrified, and I don't care if it makes you uncomfortable, because this is what I feel like and you are not making me feel better by telling me that everything's going to be alright. In fact, you don't know what THE FUCK you are talking about."

Much better at saying " Thank you so much, I actually feel okay about it now. What's going on with you?"

So last night, when Denny died, I lost. my. shit. I cried because it does suck that Isaac is sick. I cried because handing him over to the surgeon last week while he begged me not to through hot tears killed a part of my soul that I will never get back. I cried because I am terrified of what the future will bring us, terrified that this will not work, terrified that even if everything goes exactly right it is still going to be REALLY, REALLY hard in ten years or so, and I don't know if I have what it takes to get through that. Cried because he is my son, and I want to make things easy for him, and I can't. This is hard, dammit. Hard now, hard later, hard for the rest of his life.

And it doesn't really matter that it could be so much worse. Yes, it could. Yes, Isaac is fine, Isaac is not going to die, I am okay, we are all okay. That is true. But the feelings I have about the whole situation--the whole shitty, un-fair, craptacular situation--those feelings are valid, and real, and they have to go somewhere.

I suppose it's a good a place as any for them to go to the television.


Tomorrow, when I read this, I will be embarrassed at my dramatics, and probably delete the whole ridiculous post.