Fair Use, Grokster and Piracy, oh my!

As I’ve mentioned, I attended some great discussions at my law school reunion. (Yes, other people got continuing ed credits for them and I just attended for the hell of it – whatever.)

In the tradition of Mary T. at Mom Writes, who attends wonderful author lectures in the Bay area and blogs about them (the only possible way on God’s green earth I get to hear about them), I thought I’d.... (follow the jump) share some of the more interesting and pertinent things here.

(Also, I’m going to give you the bottom lines. I'm this stay at home mom now. Who has time for all the actual legal blow by blows?)

“Piracy, Grokster and Encryption: The Industry Strikes Back”

Now that the Supreme Court has decided the Grokster case, where are we now? Um, the Grokster case, you ask? That’s the one where the media moguls –the Recording Industry Association of America and the Motion Picture Industry - sued Grokster for the actions of their users, saying they are liable if their users use Grokster to share copyrighted movies and videos with each other. The Supreme Court ruled – well, they didn’t quite get to whether or not Grokster IS liable, they decided an initial question – that Grokster CAN be sued for copyright infringement by their users.

And so now? Our fellow blogger and Panel member, Denise Howell at Bag and Baggage (also an intellectual property attorney at a big LA firm) had the bottom line: what we can do is still going to be decided on a case by case basis - what is “fair use” is still not completely defined.

(In other words, once you've purchased, say, a song by Cold Play, what can you do with it? Change formats - yes. From CD to computer to ipod. You can time shift and space shift. That much is settled. As technology allows you to do more, what will be allowed? It all depends on what courts consider to be "fair use" of the thing you bought.)

(And I think: it may need to be that way for awhile. Who knows what technology will allow us to do in the future. And it seems there is some fine hairsplitting going on – you can Tivo a show for later, but you can’t loan it to your friends. But they can come to your house to watch it….And no one ever thought of Tivo seven or so years ago…)

And an additional worry she brings up – potentially the case brings into question the possibility that any aggregator of content could be liable (ie Google, Yahoo); the rules are still that unclear.

The next two speakers debated about what makes consumers tick – why do people think they can download for free? (I guess in some ways it doesn’t matter, but in terms of dissuading people psychologically instead of legally, it is helpful to consider.)

Neil Netanel, a professor at UCLAW, contends it is difficult for users to make distinctions between how copies are made. He thinks the entertainment companies need to come up with new business models rather than keep their old ones going. (Yeah, bring on the dinosaur jokes, said the MPAA attorney.)

Robert Rotstein, an entertainment and copyright lawyer in LA, contends that when you separate the content from the packaging (downloading from the internet rather than from a CD), it seems less like stealing. Also, he says, people are used to free things in their home: TV, the internet.

(I disagree here. Most college students now never knew the free tv era - they always had cable; same with the internet - unless you’re at the library you’re paying for it. However, the INFO you get on the internet, mostly is free. (And also suspect, but that’s another issue…) I contend people are just used to manipulating data in their homes. And that people probably are essentially on the economic free-rider system – they figure one little bits-and-bytes download of their song is not really going to break the back of the music industry. They just don’t see themselves as one of a million people doing the same thing, and thereby affecting the music industry. It’s a problem of disassociation from the role of yourself as an individual in the mass movement.)

David Ginsburg, the Executive Director of the Entertainment…Program at UCLA, points out this is no small matter: DVDs will outsell theatrical sales four to one. (Or do they now? I needed Tivo to back that part up…) Anyway, the numbers are big. From some 40 billion dollars for DVDs and some 10 billion for theatrical sales.

Finally, on the legal front, Dean Garfield represented “The Dark Side”, as he was jokingly called there. He is the VP and Director of Legal Affairs for Anti-Piracy for the MPAA (Motion Picture Association of America) – the chief legal officer who overseers all the litigation in the various anti-piracy programs around the world.

And he had a couple great points. First, Grokster and Kazaa make millions of dollars. They are big business. Second, theft is a social ill. It’s not right for people to steal from people who chose to make their living creating things. Also, peer to peer networks are not new, and they’re not going away. And I drastically paraphrase here, but in short – there is a need to work with them, but without giving away the content. Also, he pointed out that after the Grokster case, courts in China, Australia, Hong Kong and other places ruled similarly, companies around the world went out of business, so the Grokster case had many consequences.

Finally, we heard from Russ Chesley, from a technology company in LA which provides encryption software to the entertainment business. (One of the ironies of all this – if the technology can’t be controlled, do any of these legal issues really matter? Well, I suppose so – what individual wants to be afraid of prosecution for downloading a 50 cent song?) (And ironically, at a law school reunion, I was far more familiar with what he had to say – private key, public key encruption, etc, - from my years in software than the lawyers. And, they haven’t come up with anything new in three years? Shameful! (and odd!))

Lastly, when opened to discussion at the end, the Google Books project came up. Google wants to digitize every book known to man and open them up for searching. You still have to access a hard copy of the book somewhere. But is this okay? Do they owe any money? Are they just providing a service? Should they get permission from the library that already purchased a copy or from the copyright owner? What if the copyright owner can’t be found? Lots of interesting questions.

And just one example of why we will still be considering each new technology on a case by case basis, for it’s own fair use.

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Time for 29 MORE things already!

First, UCLA is so beautiful. Did I really go to school here for three years? And never once notice how green and inviting and beautiful it is? Wow. (Yes, that is my law school alma mater. Or whatever.)

Second, the family comes through for day care. It could not have been easy watching five children, but my wonderful sister and brother-in-law added my two to their brood so I could enjoy my reunion.

Third, poor spousal got sick and did not fly out after all.

Fourth, it was fun. It was really, really fun. I saw people I remember oh so well, and like every other reunion of my life, most are doing exactly what I would have guessed. I was surprised by a few – super-stand out law students, top jobs, gunning for the partnership on the hard-core track – and now full-time stay-at-home moms. Really, really surprised by that. But impressed because, for them at least, it was truly a sacrifice. (I complain about losing my career but to look back at it, it may not have been much of a loss.) (Not that I don’t still miss parts of it.)

I was also impressed at the number of women who seem to have managed to balance things well. A couple in particular, working only two days a week, enough for a very decent living as an attorney at a top law firm, but surely with more than enough time at home to at least feel *no* guilt about it. Of course, it helps that their husbands are also top-firm attorneys and they *also* have help at home, even on their days off. Sounds glorious, but I know husband and wife in those situations worked very, very hard to achieve their lifestyles.

Fifth. The fish was the absolutely, positively, worst thing ever. Don’t get the fish at a UCLA Law School reunion, that is all I can say.

Sixth. My class got ripped off in the law school building physical environment, AGAIN. We all commented on it and just could only laugh. About two weeks after we started law school, the place went under construction. The long hallway to our classrooms, with the beautiful view to a sunny courtyard, was boarded up (and it was DARK in that hallway), jackhammers went off day and night, we had to walk through a construction wood-panel tunnel (you know the type, they put them up on sidewalks in cities when buildings are being worked on and pedestrians might be hit with debris from above) to leave the building out the back door to go to the cafeteria. This went on FOR THREE YEARS. (Or: ALL of law school.) The remodel was finished LITERALLY two weeks before we graduated. This, alone, was a good reason to defer; sadly I did not. Anyway, our class was kind of the sacrificial class that way.

So at the reunion – where are we seated? In the beautiful new library they have constructed since we left? In the lovely courtyard we never once saw (until that last week or two) in three years? (Actually, it was too cold that evening to be seated outside.) No, no. The OTHER classes were in the new beautiful spaces. We were in the lobby of the dang building. With big, ugly, temporary dividers to wall it off. Really, it was pretty funny. (And it was fine; I never thought I’d be eating a formal dinner of bad fish in that lobby, or be there at all without a backpack slung over my shoulder and hours of reading ahead of me, but it really was not that bad.)(And to be fair it is highly doubtful that the planners of the event had any knowledge at all of our previous fate. Just bad building karma, I guess.)

I went to some great panel discussions on the first day of the reunion – the one where I was the only one there from my class, save one other – and even met a fellow blogger there who was one of the panelists. (You know, one of those famous-ish type bloggers.) They were interesting and I will, indeed, post about the content of them soon.

Seventh. And the girls? Had A BALL. My sister has all kinds of dressup clothes here, so they have spent the week being Tinkerbell, Snowwhite (sp?), a bee, a princess, you name it. Baby, it turned out, did just as well perched on her aunt (or uncle’s!) hip as on mine all day, and both have really had a great time.

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29 law school reunion things (so far)

Just a quick note from the reunion: ("29 things" shall we?)

1. I am ditching the tax session! Wow, good for me! I never ditched in school, ever, and man is it liberating. Even if it is only a reunion and I have a really great reason - my blog addiction.

2. The library here at the law school is actually beautiful and incredibly decent and nothing at all like when I attended. (Dark, dreary, and with an incredibly oppresive mural painted across the whole back wall - this huge dark painting with a man and some devils and whatnot hanging over the library - all gone! All replaced by pleasant colors and sophisticated shapes! WTF? They couldn't do this BEFORE that mural described and hung over my entire law school existence?)

3. Of course, we are having child care issues. Big surprise - big city, few connections, didn't plan ahead three months - having trouble finding a sitter on a Saturday night.

So as of now Baby is attending the law school reunion with me and the Hubs or - more likely - she'll hang at my sisters a couple hours away and we'll just have to drive there after the reunion dinner tomorrow night. (As I am doing today.) Not as much fun, but perhaps a little needed insight for me into the world of the working mom. (You know, childcare always being a struggle, etc.)

4. The next session is starting so guess I'll go to that. How fun! I get to decide, so guilt-free!

5. If you're new here, we never have 29 things in my "29 things" lists. It's just this thing I do.

6. Not enough of my class cohorts are here, so far. I'm hanging with some old geezers and ONE guy from my class, who has since left to workout. (Thanks a lot Saal!) Hoping the rest show up for drinks and dinner tonight and tomorrow night. You know. So they can meet Baby.

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HTML, Cousins achase, and reunions galore

Oh Good Lord. I guess I am just going to have to learn html.

For the simplest changes, it takes me what seems like hours of trial and error. Surely if I just even read the blogger “how to html” once I would be better off. Time off with little ones is rare; I shouldn’t waste it dinking around like this.

Anyway, we are seriously mid-trip now. The cousins are having an incredible time together. My Little Big Girl is only six months older than her “Baby” cousin (3, and 2 ½) but light years beyond him verbally – and not up to his speed physically – and they pal around together like nobodies business. (She walks around calling: Oh Baby L-l-l-l-ll, oh baby L-l-l-l-l-llllll…..and he comes running and they are OFF….) So cute. And her older cousins are so sweet to her, and of course, so sweet to the Baby. Who just wanders around looking from one “big” kid (2.5, 3, 5, 8) to the next, having the time of her life.

Tomorrow I see my law school buddies after (gack) fifteen years. Surely I should be in bed already so I won’t look as much like the sleep-deprived late-late-thirties-something (blogging) (and in-denial) mom that I am. And not the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, manicured, coifed and designer-dressed partner that (so far, and apparently not in this life time) I am not.

Wish me luck.

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"Lap child" - ha!

Little Big Girl, Baby and I have travelled long distances and are now primed to attend my law school reunion, in another state. (Well, one of us is, and that one is also hoping to line up some serious baby sitting for said event as well. (See how the legalese is slipping in already?))

Traveling with two small children - a lone adult, with one layover and one ditzy, careless and new airline representative sending said lone adult running with two small children, a stroller, a baby backpack, a pink princess suitcase and a regular backpack with diapers, food and entertainment for the little ones to THE WRONG CONCOURSE only to have us all come schlepping back (and then greet them with a big smile as if she's never seen them before) - was, um, arduous.

Not to mention that whole "baby won't sit still in my lap even though if she'd only read her ticket it clearly states she is a lap child" thing going on, as mentioned in the title here. For the record, Little Big Girl was an absolute dream and very sweet and very helpful all the way. Baby was...well, let's just do as her Daddy does and call her a pistol.

In the meantime, pre-reunion, we get to spend some much anticipated and much over-due time with LBG and Baby's cousins, aunt and uncle. And that will be great.

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Celebrity competitor I miraculously forgot about

I forgot about something. Topher Grace.

I am so all about John Cusack as a celebrity crush, and I *am * so all about John Cusack as a celebrity crush, that I forgot all about the most amazingly obvious celebrity crush of all, Topher Grace.

I have been this closet fan of “That Seventies Show” for three years. I say closet for two reasons. First, who was it made for? Not me, clearly. I am too old, too mommyish, too old. Secondly, anytime Spousal walked in and saw it on, he would say, Is that that show? And then pretty much leave. Or sometimes just leave. He couldn’t stand it AND couldn’t see what was funny about it. I, on the other hand, would be laughing so hard I might really be wiping away tears.

I mean, Jackie? She’s hilarious. Hyde? My man. Donna? The so younger me. (I like to think.) Kelso? Okay, he’s an idiot but you actually kind of believe that actor (I know, he’s famous, whatever, I can’t remember his name right now…) Okay, Fez, or the actor who plays him, really is annoying. But at least he was consistent throughout the show.

(And, for the record, if I had children under age 18 who wanted to watch that show (and not the Tubbies), I wouldn’t let them. I mean, I remember when Happy Days was racy. Ok, I was eight. But still! When they were making fake IDs and Marion kept trying to bring them cookies? I didn’t even know what they were doing but clearly it was very grown up and not allowed at all. But That Seventies Show? Oh my goodness. All about sex. All the time. Yikes!

And the funny part is (not so funny) my only real co-fan was an eleven year old girl who came to our house for dinner one time. She got so excited when she found out I liked That Seventies Show (I don’t even know how we got on the topic; no doubt I brought up something. Like Topher Grace.) that she near-shouted to her mother sitting right next to her: She likes That Seventies Show, Mom! And her mom said: Then we like her. I thought that was cute. (Being liked for my secret show, by an eleven year old. Works for me.)

Ffffff. Topher Grace. How could I forget?

(And if he’s done something really dumb in real life lately, I don’t know. I don’t keep up with the tabloids much. Don’t tell me. Unless it’s pretty interesting.)

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Weekends were made for milkandjuice

This summer, I called a friend of mine back home, hoping we could get together when I was in town for a wedding. She is smart, funny, and down to earth. To me she is one of those people who completely has it going on; she’s married to a kind and fun guy, they have two little boys, and she is a partner at a national law firm.

(How she does all this, I will never know. I think it helps that she actually likes practicing law; all those hours aren’t so heinous if you like what you’re doing. Also, she met the hubs pretty early-on, before she started at a big firm, so she didn’t have to worry about meeting someone, either, in terms of all those hours logged.)

(And why I thought I could see her when I was home for a wedding I’ll never know. When was the last time during a wedding weekend you had any time for anything but the wedding events? So that was dumb. I guess I was thinking – whee! Built-in baby sitters! (My parents.)Time quadruples! I can do ANYTHING!!! ….(not))

Anyway, inevitably when I talk to a working mom, I always ask one of two things. Either (and I try to be so casual about it), So, what are you working on right now? I just love to think, even for a second, about what legal or other workplace issues people are working on. (That whole brain-atrophy thing I’ve got going on…)

Alternatively, and if I can say it without sounding like a stalker, (and it’s all in the tone), So, what are you wearing? I know it sounds crazy but, if there’s one thing I miss about working, besides the mental stimulation, the paycheck, the lunches with friends and the freedom, it’s the clothes.*

(* Time for my disclaimer here: I AM HAPPY TO BE AT HOME. I LOVE MY CHILDREN. I JUST NEED A MENTAL BREAK SOMETIMES.)

Because inevitably if I wear anything other than mommy jeans (yeah, I got em, they’re called LEVI’S) and soft cotton shirts, I get spit-up, mud, and possibly pee all over me.

In her case, because I couldn’t sound non-stalker-like, I asked about work.

Wow, I said after she told me. That sounds interesting. And then I blurted it out: God, I am so bored at home sometimes.

“BORED?!” said my working-mom friend. “I would *never * be bored at home. I have – well, I already volunteer with so many groups, I would do more of that. I would go out to lunch all the time. I would see my friends. I have a bunch of projects I’d like to work on, on my own. I would *love * to stay at home. I would NEVER be bored.”

Wow, I thought. That sounds great!

Hey, wait a minute. I’m at home. Why aren’t I doing all that?

Oh yeah. The actual CHILD CARE involved in being at home.

I think this is one of the biggest misunderstandings between working moms and stay at homes. The working moms think their life would be exactly the same, only they wouldn’t have to go to work.

(Now, maybe for some that’s true, if they get to keep that full-time nanny (witness my friend in a previous post.))

But barring keeping the full time day care – YOU become the full time day care. Providing three meals and two snacks a day. Changing, clothing, holding, comforting, reading, playing. Cooking, laundry, pick-up. Playgroups, parks, grocery store. There’s not a lot of time in there for, oh I don’t know, lunch with girlfriends and volunteer work, let alone your novel or other secret project.

So to the working mom, who is wondering what it’s like at home: you know how the weekends go? How they are filled with feeding, clothing, caring for your kids, and shuttling them to an event or two, jammed in between errands?

It’s the weekend, baby. All the time. That’s how it goes.

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29 Things part C

1. I’m guessing this will be about eight items, in reality.

2. My baby is a little lady. She loves the following things: shoes, hats, and purses. If I had gloves around I am sure she would go for them. She is always walking around the house, shuffling her feet while wearing either my shoes or a pair of Little Big Girl’s shoes, wearing at least one hat or maybe two, and holding a purse, in each hand. It is totally adorable. When you look at her she gives you a big grin as if to say, I’m ready! Don’t I look great! Very, very proud of herself.

3. My Little Big Girl, on the other hand, is a heathen. She does not want to wear clothes, ever. When you get in the house she immediately sits down to take everything off. (As I have mentioned before – the Consummate Hallway Hazard.)

4. I take it back. When we leave the house, she is very, very concerned that everyone know she is a GIRL. The ONLY way to be assured of this is to WEAR A DRESS. AT ALL TIMES. Luckily, she also loves tights, so now that it is getting colder in New Mexico this dress thing might be navigable. (She has long hair and a girly face and the only color she will ever wear is pink, so I’m pretty sure it’s not that much of an issue…but she is Concerned.)

5. A perfect for-instance: all shoes, even pink ones with sparkly material and sparkly laces, are BOY-ISH, unless they are dress shoes. Meaning little heels and straps, and she is a good little girl and calls them “church shoes” even though the poor thing has not been taken there in weeks.

6. It was a beautiful sunny day today, a perfect fall day. Crisp air but not too cold. We actually took the girls to the (in-door) pool to get some swimming practice in, but after nap time we all went out in the back yard and hung around. The girls played with a group of neighbor kids, first next door and then they all trooped over to our yard, Spousal (I just told him tonight his name is Spousal on the site; he’s not sure what to make of it. I say, if you don’t *read * the site, you have no say.: ) anyway – Spousal did some weeding. Neither one of us can stand to be out in the yard, it seems, without weeding. (“I think the dandelion is one of the most hardy and brilliant plants ever. It will survive anything…” Spousal has a little dandelion diatribe, I will try to repeat it better next time. But he is right that even though we may have weeded every one of them last time, and even though it’s fall, and even though the sprinkling system has been turned OFF, no matter when we go out there, there are new dandelions.) (Yes I know it’s really called sprinkler but I thought sprinkling sounded funny. Maybe it’s just late (and I deal a little too much with “sprinkling” : ) )

7. I chatted with the mommies of the neighbor kids, then watched the kids in our yard, then connived Spousal to take pictures of me with the babies (he had to take off the garden glove and what not) to put up on the blog. Should I ever manage to figure out how.

8. And really, I am pretty much out of thoughts for the evening. : )

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An update because it’s only fair

I called to break up with Comcast and they freaked out. (Reminding me, indeed, of many a prior relationship.)

Whereas before I had to wait four days for a service technician – TWICE – he showed up this time in fifteen minutes.

With two service tech-type buddies.

On a Friday at 4:30.

They checked out the computer. (Them: Hey, it’s working! Oh, wait...no it’s not. Me: Yeah, that’s what it does. Welcome to my world.) They went into the crawl space, they rummaged around the outside of the house, they ran new cable over the roof. (Spousal wasn’t psyched about this. “Couldn’t they put it UNDER the house?” “Yes, but they PUT IN NEW CABLE!!” was all I could say. "And I'm sure they stapled it down on, you know, the sides of the house...")

They came back twice THAT DAY when, after they drove off, the internet still wasn’t working. (First Tech had foolishly given me his cell number on a previous visit – I put it to good use.)

Finally they gave me some shmancy new modem and I am back, baby.

(Or so I hope.)

I have to say (after two and a half weeks and three service calls) they came through. Thanks Comcast.

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Comcast still sucks

Comcast is down *again *. Well, with that whole intermittent-thing. Is there anything more annoying? No. No more surfing smoothly to all my sites. Oh, no. Nothing close. Site, site, site, then nothing. Grrrrr. Unplug, shutdown, reboot. Grrrrr. Site, site, collapse. Grrrr. It’s enough to bring on a mental collapse.

If and when it comes up I will throw this up there so fast no one will even see it coming. Those bast*rds down at Comcast. Reboot, my ass.

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Getting it together - yet another human theory

I have this theory about people. (Well, I have a lot of them. Here’s just one). It’s about organization, sort of. It’s really about – about – being Together. As in, Having Your Shit Together. (As in , knowing what you are going to call this theory before starting to write the post…)

And the theory is, you can hang with those in your same class of Togetherness, and you can hang with people one up or one down. But nobody can hang with someone more than two levels away. So for instance, you can hang with your friend who is one level less organized than you. And you can hang with someone one level up. You can even hang with her friend, one level above her, but not that often. But there is no possible way, on God’s green earth, that your friend and her friend can hang. Ever.

Why? Because your friend, or, in my case, MY friend, is pretty much late for every meeting, every dinner and every birthday. I can hang with her because I’m late for a lot, but not all. So I understand. My friend’s friend, on the other hand, (who in this case is my friend too, but just barely, based on the whole Togetherness Quotient) would leave her own mother if she dallied when getting in the car. But her mother wouldn’t dally, of course, because she raised Ms. Super Together, and neither one of them is ever later ever for anything.

(And I know this from personal experience. I mean – she left On Time. And if you were going with her, and you were not in the car on time, she left without you. Knowing this, I always made it into her car on time – but just barely. (My other friend would have never made it at all.) Now, some may say, that’s a whole other level of Not Really Together. You know, bordering on the mean and odd side. I’m just saying, she is never late anywhere. Presents are on time, meals have all ingredients, invitations go out promptly, work is done orderly, life is Together.)

Which brings us to another point - by this Shit Togetherness thing, I don’t mean of the mental- emotional- psychological variety. That’s a whole other, different topic. For purposes of this discussion, I’m assuming everyone has some base level of functionality, but that we all, indeed, have our little Quirks.

What I mean is more along the lines of being organized, but that really doesn’t encompass it all either. Are you late very often? How often? All the time? By, like, 7 minutes (my personal claim to fame), or an hour or so? Or do you forget scheduled events altogether, on a regular basis?

Do you plan ahead? Do you know what’s happening tomorrow or next week ? Are you prepared? Really? Have you bought the ingredients for the meal you are making tomorrow night or the gift you are giving this weekend, or is that happening at the last possible minute? (Or, like me, do you have to hire a babysitter just to get to the store to buy chips for your child’s school party happening in a half hour, even though you purposely signed up for chips because they keep and you could buy them ahead of time if only you had ever remembered?)

Also, do you usually (or ever) have cash on hand? Pay your bills on time? Pay many late fees? Have a bunch of old clothes in your closet you have to shove aside in order to find something to wear? Mail in those rebate forms on time? Call your friends (and others) back in a timely manner? Know when your magazine subscriptions are going to end? Schedule age-based well-child checkups before the child is actually that age?

You know, general have-your-shit-together, Together.

I really like to pretend I am in the middle. I’d like to think I’m the perfect Golden Mean– not too anal-retentive that we can’t enjoy life, not so disorganized that we can’t, well, enjoy life. (I can still picture a friend of mine speeding off to accomplish three must-do errands before the weekend and a party, and even I knowing he would never make the party, at least while it was still happening…)

I know there are people much more Together than I am, and a few here and there who *might * think, Man, she’s got it together! (No one’s told me that, EVER, so perhaps that one is, um, WAY off base.) But I really don’t know where I stand on the spectrum because you can’t, as I mentioned above, hang with anyone more than two levels away. So it’s hard to get any perspective.

I was thinking of this theory lately for two reasons. One, I am going to get to see those friends I was talking about soon, at my upcoming law school reunion. (Or so I hope. But, you know, only a couple of them have RSVPd, and you know which ones…)

But secondly, because I met a fellow-mommy recently I really like. She is nice, and funny, and smart. And we’ve made plans twice to get together, and guess what? Neither of them worked out. And neither of us managed to cancel ahead of time or in a normal manner. (For the second one, she told a mutual friend that she happened to run into to let me know…and yet, I so understand. Odds were pretty good I’d see T., she didn’t call for the same reason she couldn’t make it (in-laws visiting and small babies – always a good excuse) and telling a friend in this town is almost like telling you…)

Anyway, we are clearly on the same level of Togetherness, or ones very close by. And that worries me. We are so much alike - we may never get to be friends.

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That Nanny came through - and a story...

So my girlfriend J. called me back, and we had a great chat; it was so fun to talk to her.

Her Nanny actually did give her somewhat of a message – enough that we got to talk – but it wasn’t easy. Turns out the message she got (big surprise) was: Kris called about the reunion. Now, there were a lot of Kris' in our law school, and it turns out her college reunion is the week before, so when she called she actually had no idea who she was calling back. Nonetheless, she called, it was me, we were both happy, it worked out great.

She told me a good little story about her college reunion. Like a lot of schools, hers puts together a booklet with the updated bios of every alum who bothers to turn in the form. At her tenth (yes, this is her twentieth. GACK!!!! (because that means mine is coming up in a couple years)), she was pretty happy with things. Had a great, really interesting government law job, was married, had a baby. Happy to fill out the form.

When the letter came around this year, she was less sure. She’d since left her job, now stays at home with three kids, and has moved to a fairly isolated smallish city for her husband’s job. (Sound familiar? Yeah, all except that *still has the nanny * part she’s got going on…I need some of that…)

I guess I should preface – or, middleface – and say – she went to a very competitive, nations-best type undergrad; she was feeling very aware that maybe she wasn’t doing the most competitive, highest achieving thing anymore.

Anyway, she opted out and didn’t send in the form. And recently, she received her copy of the booklet pre-reunion. She said, Everyone pretty much had the same thing to say that I would have. We’re all taking care of kids, taking time off work....(Hm! I thought. The *exact * main (original) point of this blog....! : )*

“So,” she says, “turns out I should have filled out the form.”


*and I have to say, Yes! We are happy to do it, we are lucky to be parents, it was all a choice - all true, etc etc. Still. I still think most of us had absolutely no idea what this is like... : )

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Oops, I taught her that

I realize, every once in awhile, that at this age my children still look to me as the arbiter of normal behavior. This is really not such a wise idea on their part.

For instance, once we started using non-toxic cleaners, and then non-toxic everything else (soap, shampoo, dishwashing detergent! vitamins, etc) I started realizing how many things around us probably are made with ingredients that aren’t really all that good to be putting into our systems.

Like, for instance, envelope glue. It tastes bad, it stays on your tongue for awhile, you lick it. I thought, that can’t be good. But it’s a hassle to go and get a wet sponge or something just to pay one bill. So I’ve started licking my finger and rubbing the envelope flap. That gets just the right amount of slobber on the flap to make the glue work, and I don’t have to get that taste in my mouth.

And then I helped my little girl put a picture she made into an envelope so she could mail it to a friend. And she took the envelope, licked her finger, and rubbed it all over the flap.

My poor, poor little children.

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29 Things Part Deux

1. Again, there is no way this will be 29 things.

2. It is amazing to me the way babies can be so on-off about sleep. When Baby is asleep, she is SO asleep. She is just completely out, and looks like she is having The Best Sleep Ever. And then, bing. She is awake. Sitting straight up, rubbing her eyes, making little grunty noises, the type that threaten to become a full-blown wail. And she makes it very clear that the only possible way she could ever, even possibly, go back to sleep is if she nurses for a very, very long time, just like she did an hour ago, even though she is now One and should not be waking up at night at all.

That is just amazing to me.

3. Last night my little three year old came into the room and said she was cold and asked if she could sleep with us. Baby is already there. It was late. (It was early.) I was too tired and it seemed too arbitrary to say no. So up she climbed.

When you sleep with your little babies, they have to be as close to you as is humanly possible. So there I was, sandwiched between the two of them, lying perfectly still with my arms at my sides, and getting squished by the two of them more and more. (I felt like that woman on Seinfeld from Elaine’s work, who keeps her arms totally straight.) It was like sleeping in a little human press; eventually my shoulders were, like, up to my ears. No wonder my neck hurts so bad today. It wasn’t the best sleep ever. But it was some of the sweetest.

4. We have the world's dumbest cleaning lady right now. And just saying that bothers me so completely. I hate assessing intelligence. Let's just say, she is not the brightest bulb in the box. (And, yes, THANK GAWD, we have a cleaning lady. She only comes once every other week for a few hours, I still do all the picking up which takes even longer than that - and I swear I try to keep things neat - but I would gladly give up things like bread and milk, at least for me, to keep us in the cleaning lady employment business,) Anyway, back to poor not-too-bright. She has asked me THREE TIMES where we keep the trash bags. Every time she comes. She's been three times. My husband recently told me she's asked him at least three times also. WE KEEP THEM UNDER THE SINK. NEXT TO THE TRASH CAN. MY GOD.

And that is just one little sample. But she is incredibly sweet. (Also - where do we keep the broom? Five times. We only have one cupboard with all things cleaning, including a second set of trash bags.....grrrrr.....)

Husband says I can't let her go for being not too bright. But I just wonder what else that means she is doing. I already have pulled misc. toy parts out of that said trash bag she uses. And put IN actual trash that she missed. You know, like from the. trash cans.

I don't know. I will ride it out for now before I call the service and politely inquire about someone else. At least she is really, really, really nice. While driving me nuts.

5. Again, that’s all. Told you.

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Congratuations on a new world member

Good news! My friend Also Pregnant has had her baby. Congratulations AP!!

I have mentioned Also Pregnant on the blog before - she of the English and Australian background, who’s lived in London and Tokyo, speaks fluent Japanese, and is a wonderful cook and homemaker. From now on, we call her Mother of Two. : )

My friend L. and I went to visit her in the hospital tonight. And newborns – they are so tiny!!! With both of my babies, everyone said that to me, and all I could think was – are you nuts? That thing is huge and it came out of me!!! (And now it wants sustenance from me to sustain it…!!) But when you see someone else’s baby, that is all I can say. He’s so tiny! And so cute! And so tiny!! (Completely normal-sized, but still. So tiny!)

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I don't know *what* this means...

I keep having these *brilliant* ideas for posts for the blog. Usually while I am, oh, I don’t know, loading the dishwasher per usual with the Baby on my hip. And so I one-handedly jot myself down a few notes to remind me of the genius-like thing I thought of so I can write it later. Like at midnight. (Image: hip jutted *way * out, to keep the Baby hanging on, while I lean over the counter sideways - with the Baby away from the cupboard doors so she won't start pullling things out - and try to jot a note with one hand while the tiny pad on the counter keeps skittering away.)

Here is the latest little note I found to myself:

hippie women
Sunday
Hallmark
Notre Dame

I have NO IDEA what this means. I’m sure I meant “hippie” as in the ‘70s. I know almost nothing about Notre Dame, Hallmark or Sundays. (ok, well, the first two anyway.)

Feel free to write this post if you’d so like. Or consider it written by me at this point now. Thanks a lot. : )

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Tough act to follow

PS to the last post:

Actual conversation my cousin had with John Cusack at the time they met. You know, when he was chatting her up. At the underground nightclub in Berlin. And she had no idea who he was.

(Preface - first John asks what she does for a living. Of course, she does interesting and cosmopolitan work.)

Then this exchange-

Cousin: And what do you do?
John Cusack: I'm an actor.
Cousin: Hm. (pause) Tough business.

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Famous people I have a crush on, whether or not breathing

People I have a crush on:

J. Robert Oppenheimer
Have you seen his eyes? There is something about a genius man, even one with an enigmatic personality who helped create the atom bomb and died shortly after I was born, that is completely attractive.

John Cusack
Because. Come on.
I have to admit to seeing him in a club onetime in LA before I moved away. I debated and pondered and stole glances over (we were there for a band – note how I said “we” as if we were there together but really we were both just there doing the same thing : ) and of course he moved away before I went over, probably because of the stalker-looks I was giving him.

My cousin, in the meantime – the one that was with me when I drove my car into a sinkbed of soft sand, the one in the cute skirt that inspired all of our many rescuers to make their way to us – in the meantime, to repeat, met the guy. He chatted HER up. She had no idea who he was. They were in an underground club in Berlin because, without fail, my cousin knows all the hip things to do. He gave her tickets to a movie premier. HIS movie premier. Only after (during) (presumably at the opening credits) that did she figure out who he was. And he left her with his card with his private number. And this was last year and why in the hell she hasn’t called him (oh yeah, the live-in boyfriend, whatever) I will never, never, probably never be able to know.

"Girl Crush"
The obligatory "girl crush" - which I am not even sure what that means, but I notice is something other bloggers write about, and I am nothing if not a copy-cat in the blogging world. (I mean, I have a blog now, right? And it's not like I thought up this blogging thing.) Maybe it would be more accurate to say: A chick I *really* wish I could have been friends with:

Dorothy Parker
Because she was so damn funny. I always thought of her as so much older than me and more mature. Looking at a picture I saw recently – that chick was funny when she was Young.

That’s all I can think of for now. Just cleaning out my desk desperately looking for some important document I needed yesterday and found the Dorothy Parker picture and it reminded me of J. Robert Oppenheimer (go figure) which led naturally to John Cusack. Obviously.

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How *not* to charm me, to paraphrase Ms. Dooce

Ring, ring.

Nanny: Hello, Smith residence. Mrs. Nanny speaking.

Me: (calling friend from law school I haven’t talked to in a couple years, to see if she too is going to the reunion): Hi, is Julie there?

Nanny: No, she’s not here right now. Can I take a message?

Me: Yes, can you tell her that Krisco UnusualLastName called?

Nanny: Yes, okay,

Me: Here’s my number…

Nanny: (pause) Just a minute, let me get a pen.

Um – *what* exactly was the Nanny GOING to be telling my friend? My maiden name, which my friend knows me by, is kind of unusual, and I have yet to see someone remember it for a message to be given hours later.

I can just picture the conversation.

Nanny: Mrs. Smith, someone called for you.

My friend: Okay. Who?

Nanny: Um, I don’t know. But she knew you.

Yeah. It’s been three years. I’m likely to be the recipient of the call-back on that one.

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The heart of a home

There is this debate raging over at Opinionistas – apparently one of the world’s most popular blogs.

All about women and how unseemly it is for them to want to get married and have kids, or to be worried about finding someone to love.

The co-worker Opinionista wrote about openly says she wants to get married and is looking for a husband. She is in her early thirties and is thinking about having some eggs frozen because she is worried about being able to have children, since she hasn’t met the right man yet. (The post is called: Freeze).

You should see the comments. The women are all up in arms, attacking the co-worker. They said *they* were cool, they would *never* look for a husband, that sad, sad, pathetic woman!

But the men were the worst – they said how “scary” she is.

So of course I chimed into the comments and in effect – okay, literally – called the men commenters “pansy-ass.” I don’t even know what that means but it seemed like the right thing to call them.

I really have found – now that I have hit forty (gack) - that women in this country get such short shrift. (And is THAT even a phrase? I don’t know…) So many, still, like my generation, are brain-washed into saying things like – I don’t need a relationship, I may or may not want children, I’m not interested in getting married. And why? My theory – because so many men act so damn afraid of relationships and marriage.

Because if a woman said, going into dating “Yes, I’d like to get married someday. I am accepting a date from you to see if you even nearly qualify for consideration,” men would run screaming.

Or would they? Maybe, for once, they’d be respectful of the woman who said that. Maybe you don’t need to say that, but to have that attitude.

Because Goddamn. Marriage and having children and raising children is HARD WORK. And women do the lion’s share of most of it. So why we (I) ever discounted our value in this regard I WILL NEVER KNOW.

(Sure, sure. I might be revealing all kinds of psychological shit about me, but I look around and see so many other (especially young and unmarried) women saying these same things, which I know I said. I think I was just a product of the culture, because I don’t see this attitude going away just because I finally clued in.)

And definitely, if a guy completely blew you off when you said that, you would be better off. You would know now, rather than in six or ten or fifty weeks from now, that he was never serious about you, and save you from spending your time and, worse, your heart.

Because if there’s anything more worth protecting than a woman’s heart, I don’t know what it is. Because that is what it takes to commit to someone, to bear a child, to GIVE BIRTH to a baby, to raise children, and to keep a home. And I don’t care if you’re working somewhere else or not.

Our friend F. says to his wife T. (or so she tells me : ), “You are the heart of this home.” I think that is amazing and perfect.

And if that co-worker of Opinionistas is willing to say she has enough heart to do that, she should be applauded. And not ridiculed.

Scary indeed.

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A little Los Alamos evening

Last night we went to a perfect little Los Alamos evening. Well, it was fun anyway.

Our friends T. & F. have moved from a Duplex – one of the earlier-types of housing that the government built for the Lab – to an actual, nice, new condo. So they had a little Open House.

(The Duplexes are all over town, five or ten in a row each time. They have a lot of light, and hardwood floors, but they can be kind of dumpy – they are fifty or more years old. The condo is nice and new, but the reason it can even exist is certainly a little sad – the huge fire (also started by the government – conspiracy?) that burned down a good portion of the town five years ago.)

Anyway, we went about dinner-time. We were waiting for Little Big Girl to get up from her nap in order to go, and the nap just went on and on. Finally her Daddy checked on her, and she was just sitting there. “Reading.” (Read: once again devouring her catalogues.) So anyway, we finally got to the party.

We brought actual home-made deviled eggs (the more I cook, the easier certain things get : ) and a bunch of flowers from our garden. Wow, how small-town-ish! (and it was…)

The party was great. Although we were on the late side, there were quite a few people there: our friend U. from Poland, with her kids, and four or more German families (T. & F. are German), an Italian doctoral student, some Americans. Of course, the men hang in the kitchen near the beer, the women in the living room with about a billion kids and the pot-luck spread, and the two child-free couples hid out in the dining area. Lesson: party location stake-outs are the same internationally.

(Although I have to be fair and say that Spousal spent a lot of time with our girls and all the kids. He’s great about that at parties so I can chat. Also, at times the only language going in the kitchen was German : )

While there, I started getting bummed thinking our friends might move away soon. ('Soon' being in about a year and a half, so not SO soon.) But that’s one thing that is hard about Los Alamos. A lot of people here are “post docs”, which means they're here a couple years, and then they might leave. The “post-doc” is supposed to be an interim job – after your doctorate and before your “permanent” faculty or scientist position. But for some people it can become a way of life. This is F.’s third, all around the world. Why? Because some specialities don't have a lot of permanent jobs, no matter how great you are at it. Like his speciality - Theoretical Astrophysics.

(And what do they do? I have NO IDEA. Making up stars? Imagining moons? Pretending about really far-away places? I really, truly, have no idea. And, um, I've actually asked before.) Anyway, his last post-doc was in Canada, and they really liked it there.

So, just in case the Lab won't have a permanent position here, he is interviewing. All over.

When I finally get to talk to T. at the party, I say: You’re going to go to Canada, aren’t you? Yah, she says, I hope so. Why? I say (in my biggest baby-whine, because I *really * don’t want them to leave). The water, she says, I need the water. (They love to kayak and canoe.) Also, she says, here. It is so artificial.

And by artificial, of course, she didn’t mean some Hollywood air-kissing kind of thing. She meant here, the place. It’s sort of like living in a Sci-Fi Disneyland. Surely they have a Scienceworld there, right? That’s where we live.

On the drive home (which took about three minutes), I was kind of sad. I know it’s a ways away, but I really don’t want them to leave. And she’s right, it is artificial here. There is something about a place that builds up over time, organically, based on actual interests and happenstance of history. Not a town thrown up overnight and still left over some sixty years later, with basically no other reason for being except this big science-research place. (And of course, that IS a good reason. But it’s still a bummer it seems like the *only * reason.)

Spousal said, We can leave if you like. Really? I said. But you like your job.

Of course we can, he said. This has to work for our whole family, not just my work.

Hmm, I said.

Well, we don’t plan to go anywhere. But it was nice to know we have the option.

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This is what I meant to say

I was pretty sure I was going to write all my posts about this. But I've, um, kind of veered away. Since Mother In Chief has managed to be responsible and not write mostly about (lack of) shopping, old dating stories and family interactions, I'll just link to her.

I'm sure someday I'll be responsible again. (No breath-holding.)

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Some things take longer than others...

Conversation as Little Big Girl skips off to play in the sandbox:

Spousal: She sure loses interest quickly.

Me: Spousal, you’ve been carving a pumpkin for an hour and a half. She’s THREE.


--------

(Spousal deserves this one, because after this exchange, he said, “….This one’s going on the blog isn’t it?” And I said, “(pause) Great idea!”

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Welcome and Thanks

I am a little late in recognizing this, but I wanted to thank Mel from Actual Unretouched Photo and Thrusher, from Thrusher : ) for blatently recommending my site. Hey, thanks guys!

Also, Welcome!! to anyone visiting from either of those sites! We're happy you're here. (Although I tend to be the only one to post lately, my Sister and Cousin swear they check in regularly and are emotionally pulling their weight:)

Also, if there are others who have recommended Crib Ceiling, well, um, a very belated thanks. Thanks! I am flattered by any and all attention. I may not be up to speed on blogetiquette yet, but then I'm not really up to speed on regular etiquette either.

And finally, in a very big brother-ish move, I've noticed there are people visiting from all around the world, and from a bunch of places in the U.S. and Canada. Wow! Thanks! and Welcome!

Places reported: Japan (Hi Thrusher and friends!:), the UK, Australia, Korea, The Netherlands, France, Sweden, Germany, Denmark, Finland, Slovenia, Ireland, Romania, Venezuela, Singapore, Chile, and Portugal. There were even others! : ) Wow! Welcome!

And in the U.S. - well, it's crazy. Washington DC, New York state and NYC, Washington state, South Dakota, Texas, California, Iowa, Missouri (not Misery! Just Missouri :), Louisiana, North Carolina, Michigan, Ohio, Hawaii, Kansas, Arizona, and MA but I can't figure out how to spell it right now. : ) And again, I skipped a few. (nothing personal:)

And in Canada - Ontario, Nova Scotia and Alberta.

I personally find the whole tracking-thing kind of anathema to blogging - I mean, blogging is all about free expression. And tracking is all about big brother. How does that jibe? But I guess because everyone wants to know they're not barking into the dark, it's nice to know you're all there.

Welcome.

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Resale Phenomenon

Yesterday was the Resale up here in this tiny town, at the top of a mountain at the end of a highway. (My favorite way to describe this place).

The Resale is a hectic, crazy day of every mother in town exchanging her kid’s clothes for some other mother’s kid’s clothes.

Now, I have to say, ONCE AGAIN, this is something I never really thought I’d be taking part in.

But here we are, in this tiny, well, you-know-where town. There IS technically shopping here. There is, um, this place called Beales but they say it Bells. This seems to be a department store chain that is only in small, weird, rural America. So guess what the clothes look like. Yes, all-poly, all the time. Styles that will appeal to – well – I don’t know to who. Now, I am being a little critical here, because, to be fair, I’ve only been in there once. But come on.

The other place is called CB Foxx. This is owned by the Foxx family in town, as I understand it. I also understand that this was not the first department store in Los Alamos; there used to be another one, I have heard from old-timers. This just took over from that one, or some such thing. So it’s been here awhile. (The whole town only started in 1943 so how old could it even be. The fifties? Sixties? But for us, it’s an Institution.)

Anyway, if there are any other one-store, family-owned, department stores left in this country, a la Mayberry, I would be surprised. Why? Because they are BF Expensive. Can you say $45 for children’s shoes? Because, according to them, they stock the plastic pair and the leather pair would cost more? Can you say Target has shoes for $6? Now, clearly Target is not really a fair comparison to CB Foxx. But I don’t know what is so let’s leave it at that.

Anyway, the Resale at least provides a chance for the moms to unload their stuff, and stock up on other people’s, without having to either drive an hour off this mountain or fend their way through Beales or CBF. And to be fair, when you’re talking little kids clothes, they’re often in pretty good shape. They outgrow them before they wear them out.

So women line up a half hour before (that’s a lot in this town), rush into the converted church-hall that has become a massive kid’s clothes rummage sale, and rush the tables. All clearly labeled Boys 3-6 months and Girls 3T, etc, and neatly stacked for, say, the first ten minutes. (And, yes, there really are very few dads there. Like one for every eighty moms. And they don’t line up ahead of time either. They get there when they get there and take what they can get. Or rather, their kids will.)

There’s also books and toys, shoes and coats. (It sounds like the jolly load in The Little Engine That Could train! : )

And you get to see a lot of your friends, which is great. Of course, there’s no time to chat because you have to hurry before all the good, new or un-worn clothes in your kid’s size is gone. So you rush by and say Hi S! and she says Hi K!, and you share a little smile at how ridiculous it all is, all without breaking stride.

But towards the end, I did get to sit down, on the floor at the back of the long line to checkout, with one of my friends, and go through my huge bag of treasures to get a second opinion on which to keep or throw back. When you’re in there long enough, and you have a huge bag of things that look new and oh so cute, and cost about a dollar each, you kind of lose your perspective. (New but grey outfit – three year old won’t wear it. Purple outfit with frilly skirt and soft pants – keeper.) And I shared my thoughts on her choice of toy selection. (TWO garbage-size bags of Legos?…Come on….Oh, you spend every afternoon playing Legos with your young children? Have at it, baby! Get a third bag too!)

And I think we are all, all set. Until the next Resale, in the spring.

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About all the highlight I need

Spousal is sitting in front of the television – both children miraculously asleep simultaneously – watching football.

Me? I’m bloggin’ baby.

Husband: Honey, they just had a highlight from XYZ College. (XYZ being the school I briefly transferred to in the middle of an actually good college education; I quickly went hightailing it back.) Since we have Tivo, the obvious implication here – he can back it up for me!

Me: Oh, okay. Um, did it have a bunch of football players?
H: Yes.
M: Were they running around on a field?
H: Yes.
M: Was there a ball involved?
H: Yes.
M: Great! Thanks a lot. That’s pretty much all the highlight I need.

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A really long lead-in to a really short story

Actual conversation with my husband tonight sitting around the dinner table, (and after Little Big Girl was in her room, the only child in the house who could have maybe understood the words…) -

We were talking about my upcoming law school reunion, and how he had decided to fly out for the weekend part for the big dinner. He wanted to know a little about the people.

And me being who I am, I couldn’t really explain about some law school people until I prefaced with some info about college people.

Which dragged in high school people. Ha! You see how it’s all a big circle? Or a big continuum? Or something?

Anyway, the story is, there was this guy in law school and he was pretty dang into me. (I feel pretty safe at this great distance saying such a thing. At the time I’m sure I was – Do you think he likes me? Do you? I wonder…Now I can just say – well, what I already said.) And I, you know, I was interested. But he had this girlfriend in another city. Who kept showing up. Completely against his will, of course.

And my whole deal was, lose the girlfriend, let me know.

And he basically took that as rejection, got pissed off, and hardly spoke to me again. For three more years. Gave me the silent treatment, the cold shoulder, what have you.

So what I was trying to explain to my husband – not that he really asked – was why I had that attitude. Which dragged in everything else.

And in short – I had just been on both sides of that situation, lost out both times, and didn’t want to go for round three.

In other words, I had this friend in college. Great friend, hung out all the time. (Notice I didn’t say “great guy” – a little harbinger there. : ) HE had a girlfriend, so I figured he was a “safe” guy to hang out with. You know, one who wouldn’t want anything else going on. At the time, I was done. Done with dating, not interested, etc.

About a semester and a half into hanging out (that’s a sign! bad idea! anyway…) he shows up, per usual. This time he says, I think I love you. I broke up with my girlfriend. Let’s change things around.

Huh? I was like, What? And then I thought, well, maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Maybe it is supposed to be a friend that you really like and you hang with and you know – okay, so what the hell. (Of course, there’s a key here. It really needs to be the *right * friend for this scenario to work….but I digress...) Anyway, so we fool around a little. He’s delirious, things are great, whatever.

Three days later, he disappears. For a month. Or more.

Shows up six weeks or so later and says, I still think I love you. But I didn’t break up with her. And the guilt was killing me. Sorry! In short, goodbye forever.

Okay, so that part was no good.

On the other side, just the year before – I found out my boyfriend of four years had been cheating on me with another woman who in fact thought SHE was his girlfriend. Which would bring the whole high-school thing in because, if you do the math, he had to originate in high school.

And, to be fair, that relationship was over long before. I kept asking him to break up – that’s the problem right there, by the way, should any young ladies be reading this – TELL HIM, do not ask him. You know, he kept saying no. So I kept “dating” him, really, just biding my time to break up with him again.

So the fact he found someone else did not really break my heart. At all. But it did piss me off. Surely we could have just broken up nicely like I wanted to all along and not have me be so embarrassed and humiliated and what not? Could we not have? I think yes, we could have.

And then flash forward to the guy in law school, with the girlfriend, and you can see why I’d say – um, no thanks. Been on two sides of that merry go round and I don’t want to go again.

….What the hell was I telling this story for?

Oh yeah. As the preface for this conversation we had tonight, after dinner:

Me: (in the middle of the above story): …so we fooled around a little…

Him: What?! You had sex with that guy? You never told me that.

Me: What? Who said that?

Him: You did. You said you had sex with that guy,

Me: No, I said I fooled around with that guy.

Him: Same thing.

Me: (pause) What, do you have a different language in Texas or something? You think that “shack up” means to have sex, as in a one-night stand, whereas in the rest of America it means to move in with someone. You think “hook up” means to have sex, whereas most people think it means hanging out romantically but not necessarily having sex. And now you think “to make out” means to have sex, too.

Him: (considers; nods in agreement)

Me: Is there any phrase you know that does *not * mean to have sex?

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Scamming the scammers

My girlfriend L. via the phone as well as Meredith in the Comments has informed me that both The View and 60 Minutes have followed those bozo Nigerian money scammers out to the end of their scam...and they never get the money either! Geez! What is this, a scam or something?

And now I see (thaks Gem!) that there's even a website dedicated to how to mess with the Nigerian scammeisters. Cool.

Per usual, I don't know what is going on. I do know that Sesame Street tends to repeat segments and mixes it all up, and do they ever just create a whole new show? Or is it part of their pysche-of-young-children thing that they repeat on purpose? You know, so that children feel *familiar* with the show.

I also know what Baby smells like, and how sweet Little Big Girl is. And how damn hard it is to get a meal on the table the times a day every day not including morning and afternoon snack.

On the other hand, I haven't kept up with the news so much. So who knew 60 Minutes and The View already outed those scamming basturds. (huh! I like that spelling!:)

Another thing I forgot - on The View, they reported that the Nigerian Scammers lure people to Nigeria nad then kill them!

Well, so far, I have done NOTHING else.

In the mean time, I have received two more emails from Nwanua.

Here's what she said:


Dear Karol Chenders,

Please,quickly send below information to enable me commence with the
documantation process;-

1)Your name
2)companys name
3)country and Address
4)Telephone,mobile and Fax numbers

Waiting your uregent response.

Barrister Haney.

For the record, I made that name up. Pretty good, huh! So maybe I'll write back and ask for more info and see what she says.

I'm beginning to think Nwanua may be a guy.

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I'm pretty sure this whole deal is legit...

So - I've gotten one of those Nigerian scam emails. When I used to work, I deleted them without even opening them. I guess now that I, apparently, am desperate for something else to think about, I want to find a way to mess with them. Question - is there a way to string them along without actually providing any helpful information?

So far, I emailed back and just said that I *so completely* understand their horrible predicament what with all this money on their hands and no one to give it to, and that if it would really help them, I suppose they could give some to me.

I was hoping they'd think they had a live one on their hands.

I guess it worked, because Haney Nwanua emailed back three times.

I'd like to think this was over-enthusiasm, but I really think it was due to a faulty automated system of some sort.

Anyway, in her response (I've decided Haney's a girl), she first said: . . . for a transaction of this magnitude to be successful, all parties involved must be Honest, Sincere and Truthful to one another.

This right before she tells me she is procuring the documents necessary to prove I am the next of kin to someone I've never met before, in Africa. So much for the whole Honest & Truthful thing.

Here are the documents she is going to get for me:

1.A SWORN AFFIDAVIT
2.LETTER OF PROBATE
3.CERTIFICATE OF LEGALITY

Now, in this other life I had, I actually was a lawyer. And this list strikes me as maybe Pontifical sounding, but really a sad, sad little thing. I mean, a sworn affadavit - saying WHAT? That would be the point - if you are going to swear to something (the whole "sworn" part) it has to be to something. Otherwise it's just like, a piece of paper someone signed. And someone else signed that the first guy signed it. And the "letter of probate" - huh? What does that even mean? I don't know, I never practiced Estates from the Distribute The Stuff phase, so maybe it does mean something.

But that last one - that Certificate of Legality - that's the best. It's like they looked at the list of the first two and said, "We need one more! Yeah! Lawyers always have at least three scary-formal-sounding documents around!" I mean, what the heck is that even supposed to be, a Certificate of Legality. I guess it would say: "This certifies that whatever I am saying here is really really legal! Really!"

It reminds me of those Star Registry ads, where you can "buy" a star, and the name you pick for it will be published in a book and registered with the TRADEMARK OFFICE. Which is sort of like buying a bridge from someone and having them register your title by dropping off a little note at the local Target.

(And I apologize to anyone it they have actually purchased a star this way. I agree it sounds like a really romantic thing to do. It's just - the trademark office? Couldn't they at least say that they'll drop it off at some kind of astronomy museum, and then stand around and beg them to use the names? ("Excuse me sir, where you say "Gamma" in this display, don't you really mean "Bob Loves Jodysue"?)

Clearly, I've digressed. Again.

Back to Haney - I guess I'll email again and ask how she found me, this long lost unknown relation of the guy in Africa. Cuz I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be sending her any actual information, which is what she wants next.

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5 Things About Me Times 5

I've been memed! Renee over at FroggieMom asked me to answer these questions. I guess it has 7 answer lines but I'm copying her and giving 5 answers. Just thinking of five was hard! :)

Now that I'm all about taking care of other people (I so *was not* all about that most of my life), apparently I am forgetting a little about myself. How is that even possible? Well, this little exercise was fun and made me think a little. (a lot). Thanks Renee!

5 things I plan to do before I die:
1) Write a book
2) Or two
3) Raise happy, self-assured children
4) Make up with anyone I pissed off in the past
5) Drive a little Mercedes coup when I’m old

5 things I can do:
1) Ski the bumps (or I used to anyway...)
2) Make people laugh
3) Talk to people I don’t know
4) Figure out complicated logical problems
5) Pack a car like nobody’s business

5 things I can’t do:
1) Sing on key
2) Ski powder
3) Speak “code” (indirect speaking – goes right over my head)
4) Mail birthday presents out on time
5) I can pretty much do everything else : )

5 things that attract me to the opposite sex:
1) Intelligence
2) Candor
3) Height
4) Humor
5) Involvement in the world

5 things that I say most often:
1) Clearly
2) I don’t think so
3) NOW!
4) Can you pass me my New Yorker?
5) I’m just gonna read for a few minutes…(zzzz)

5 celebrity crushes:
1) John Cusack
2) repeat
3) repeat ad neasuem
4) there really is no other
5) John Cusack already!

7 people I want to do this:
Since I can't check all my regular favs since Comcast still sucks (and connectivity is still intermittent), I'm gonna say - please consider yourself memed if you read this and are interested. (Kind of how we used to invite people to our parties in junior high - if you heard about it, you were invited. (Usually the guy whose house we used heard about it last, but that is another story...along the lines of: Party at Jeff's!! and Hey, is that party I keep hearing about - is that at my house? Yes, Jeff. Anyway, clearly I digress....)) Please mention you're thinking about filling this out, if you are so inclined, because I would love to come read it. (When Comcast doesn't suck as much, of course.)

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Learning new things about M&Ms

If any of you have read a few of my earlier posts, you know I have a little, um, M&M problem.

That hasn’t gone away.

But I learned something tonight.

Half of a brown M&M looks EXACTLY like a dead roly-poly. Lying right there in the middle of all that crunchy colorful “chocolate” goodness.

It threw *me* for a loop.

I mean, I stopped eating the whole package. Stopped mid-chew. Put my face down to the open grab-size bag on the counter, (purchased at our last stop on our car trip), to inspect a little closer – while contemplating gagging.

I mean, we have a three year old. Every single dead roly-poly in our backyard for the last two years has been brought to my attention, and a few that have shown up on the carpet. I do not think that she is responsible for roly-poly-tricide – I think it’s just a coincidence – she also points out the live ones. I am just very familiar these days with what a dead roly-poly looks like. A little, dark, half-moon shaped thing with appendages sticking straight out.

A lot like half a brown M&M.

But then I realized it wasn’t a dead roly-poly and it really was half an M&M, and I carried on.

Package gone.

(Of course you have to wonder – how did half a brown M&M get in the package to begin with? And not a clean break M&M, a half-chewed looking M&M? Gack. Well, I clearly have thought about this for too long, because . . . it’s too late now anyway. Gack.)

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And the mess awaits...

Welcome back to a house that hosted three people non-stop for seven days, two of whom have little or almost no sense at all.

We kind of ran out the door yesterday (Gawd, was it only yesterday? It was great to get away, it seems like several days ago,…) without picking up. That kind of drives me crazy because I love to come home to a clean house.

Conversely, it bums me out to come home to a mess. You wander from laundry pile to toy pile to newspaper scatter and go, Oh yeah, I gotta do that. Oh yeah, and then there’s that, too. Oh yeah, Gawd, have I still not done that.

Bleeeeh.

Of course, if we waited until I (and corralling some other family members) had picked up the place, we couldn’t have gone; it would have taken all weekend.

In the long run, we will remember that we went; that we took a dip in the outdoor hot tub with both girls in the cool night air, Baby crawling in and out of the tub, squealing with delight, Little Big Girl showing off her kicking skills (just normal hot tub behavior, right?); that LBG and Daddy started the whole Nemo Ice coliseum clapping; that Baby made up a new game while playing with us, trying to stick her finger in our noses, to make us laugh. We will remember wandering through Old Town and getting LBG a PBJ and Banana sandwich, that Baby really wanted to share. And Daddy, Little Big Girl and Baby napping together in the car while Mommy shopped one more time.

We will remember that we had an adventure.

And not that the house was a big fat mess when we got home.

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Hitting the Big City For Fun All Around

We are sprung! Free! Outta there! With the kids! Wha . . . ? Yes!

After x days in the house – we won’t talk about that anymore – husband realized he is a government employee, and he has Monday off.

(Wait, I mean – AS a government employee, at the Lab, he has Monday off since he realized, it’s Columbus Day. (Just kidding ya there Sweetie, on that first way I said it. : ))

So off we went out of town, to the Big City, to take Little Big Girl to the Nemo On Ice Disney Tour. (That name is wrong but close; LBG will know the right name.)

Of course, it’s Albuquerque, and I have all kinds of not very nice things to say about Albuquerque, but hey, it’s big enough to have a “Coliseum”, and big enough to have a Disney show, so that’s good enough for us.

If you don’t live in a teeny tiny town, at the top of a mountain at the end of a highway, it is hard to imagine (at least, it was for me), how isolating it can feel sometimes. Ha! Disney show! Ha! I don’t think so. We don’t even have Target for Gawd’s sake.

So it’s nice to be here.

And I twisted his arm to agree we ought to stay in ABQ overnight at a New Mexico-themed hotel in Old Town (seems odd they would have a NM-themed hotel in NM, but it strikes me that way – all the Santa Fe style, in a Best Western! Go Figure! We could be anywhere, with these sanitized versions of southwest design – earth-tone cave-painting upholstery, turquoise and brown geometric shapes on the reception desk, fake-y Native American-looking artwork on the walls (large white leather things with garish suns, waves and other natural shapes painted on them), brightly painted cabinets scattered about – but, in fact, we actually ARE in New Mexico. How odd! …Whatever, at least we’re here…)

And why the hell am I blogging, right now, in the middle of the night, sitting in the Santa Fe-inspired lobby, while LBG and Baby and Spousal are asleep up in the hotel room?

Because there is something wrong with me.

Clearly.

In fact, as I was tiptoeing out the door after getting the Baby to sleep, my husband blearly said: You’re not going to blog are you? Do you know what time it is? What if the baby wakes up? (Baby mostly wants me in order to go back to sleep, a problem we all know we have to fix somehow…)

Anyway, I said, No….well, um,….not much…..here, I’ll bring my cell, call me if the Baby wakes up….And I scurried out the door. I guess he has my number, in both senses of the phrase.: )

But I digress. Technically speaking I am in the lobby to use their WiFi and purchase tickets for an upcoming trip to California for LBG, Baby, and me – my law school big-but-off-number reunion, gack. And the reservation expires tonight. And, you know, while I’m here….and I don’t have a Baby climbing on me….what the hell…. (Ha! I just noticed that sentence above sounds like “big butt, off number, reunion.” It might be that too . . .: )

That upcoming reunion is the reason I went clothes shopping tonight instead of actually attending the Nemo Skate On Ice Show. That was a Daddy and Big Girl treat, and what a treat. She had the time of her life. Daddy even claims THEY are the ones who started the whole coliseum clapping after Nemo and Daddy were finally reunited, they were so excited about it.

And I hit Ross and cruised by TJ Maxx because after spending my college summers in a variant of the May Co., I still can’t stand to pay retail or step foot in the Muzaked hell that is a department store, of any stripe. Don’t they all only have floral-print skirts and coordinating sweaters, in a billion sizes? I just can’t go there.

Well, now I am spotting creepy men loitering in the corners of the lobby too, so I suspect it is time to retire. First I’ll greet the receptionist dude again, then get on my cell phone and pretend to talk loudly to my husband to tell him I’m on my way up.

More later. On all topics herein mentioned, I suspect. (Look, that law school reunion thing is already beginning to affect me...)

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The Chuppa Chup Story

Notes from the four days (five) (seven) spent indoors:

The Chuppa Chup Story

On the way home from the doctor’s for the baby, Little Big Girl and I decide to “treat” ourselves to Sonic for lunch. (It’s disgusting, I know. I never thought there would be a time in my life that I would go to a place like Sonic “for real” – not as some kind of ironic joke or social experimentation. And yet, … here I am.)

Anyway, as part of the Wacky Pack, Little Big Girl is given a plastic spider that holds a lollipop. “Did I get a lollipop too?” she asks. I looked in the bag. “Yep.” I pulled the thing out of the bag, and read the label, “It’s a - - Chuppa Chup,” I said. I am always amazed at her – and maybe all little kids do this – but she always uses the exact right technical name for everything. (For instance, her “Holiday Christmas Snow Globe”, as it was so-labeled, a TJ Maxx purchase from last Christmas which she still loves and still calls that whole thing. "Can I hold my Holiday Christmas Snow Globe please?") So I don’t know why it surprised me that she stopped calling the thing her lollipop and started calling it her Chuppa Chup. Can I have my Chuppa Chup now? No. She first has to eat her (oh so nutritious) “meal” first.

After that, she says, Can I have my Chuppa Chup? Sure, I say. And I start to unwrap it. And it is impossible to unwrap. Maybe there’s some secret to Chuppa Chups. Maybe you are supposed to twist the whole thing off or some crazy thing, but it is glued like nobodies business at the base of the candy, and that wrapper was not moving.

(And is Chuppa Chup a New Mexico thing? Because I'm thinking maybe it's a MEXICO thing that got transported here. Any candy afficianados, chime right in. :)

I began to fear the thing had been tampered with and the psychotic poison-leaver was also not that bright and had used superglue to put the wrapper back on.

What are you doing? What are you doing? Asked Little Big Girl. I rolled down the window to push the little red button on the sign at Sonic. “I’m going to get you a new one,” I said, “I can’t get the wrapper off this one.”

So now I learn – it happens fast. That whole My Parent Is An Idiot and I Know Better thing, that I thought wouldn’t happen until she was, like, ten. At the earliest. She’s – THREE.

At least she was sweet about it.

She says: I can do it! I can do it! Give me my Chuppa Chup! Give me my Chuppa Chup! Mooooom, I can open it, please give me my Chuppa Chup.

No, honey, really, it won’t come off.

Her: Yeeeees, Mommy. I can do it. Hand me my Chuppa Chup please. I can do it! I know how! Hand me my Chuppa Chup please!

The whole thing was so hilarious I just handed it back to her.

It would make a better story if she got it open. But she didn’t. So I pulled the car out of the spot (no one had arrived with the replacement Chuppa Chup yet), drove around the building to where I could see the car and walk to the “kitchen”, opened the door and asked for another sucker. I may have even said “Chuppa Chup.”

The good news is that the second one was just as hard to open as the first – I had to slice at the wrapper with my car key - so I don’t think there was a psychotic poison-leaver tampering with the Chuppa Chup anymore. I’m back to the theory that there is some trick to opening the Chuppa Chup. And someday, my little girl really will tell me what it is.

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A Little Rant You Can Forget About Now

Here's one of my rants I went off on when the internet was STILL DOWN and only MS Word was working on my computer. I'm feeling a little better now although Comcast is providing service still intermittently. (Not that the two are completely tied; I had better sleep, we're probably going to get to the park today - there's other reasons things are looking up:) Ok, the kids are cute, I'm lucky to be at home, I'll shut up now. But here it is anyway:

Why I am going insane

After the fifth – or was it the sixth – day at home alone with two small tired sick-ish children and no internet, my husband wondered why I was so bent out of shape about the internet thing. The lack of internet thing.

He said, I would think, after a day like that, when the girls are finally in bed, you would just want to sit on the couch and go “ah!” And he made a gesture of just kind of hanging out, mindlessly.

No, I said. No. Hanging out mindlessly, That is what I DO ALL DAY.

Sure, I get to color. And read children’s books. And hear The Tubbies and Barney and Elmo in the background while I load the dishwasher and fold the laundry. And argue with a small child about getting dressed and wrangle a young baby into a clean diaper.

But unless you count those last few items as meaningful mental stimulation . . . pretty much the LAST thing I want to do when the kids go to bed is sit around on the couch and go “Ah.”

(I know, I know. I do get to do the coloring and the reading and the block-building or at least block-mess-making WITH my kids. And that part is good. That interaction part. But twelve hours a day? For days on end? Do you want to interact with your spouse that long and often? Or your parents? And you love them don’t you?

I just need something else to think about once in awhile. That’s what I’m saying. That’s all I’m saying.)

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A Story Little Big Girl Told Me

In my three year old’s playschool class, there is a little boy from Russia.

(There is also a little girl from Poland, one from Germany, and one from Israel. They all have varying abilities to speak English, based on when their parents came here – last week, last spring, last year.

And, if you are new to the blog, we live in Los Alamos, city of 10,000 people representing 9,000 countries. Just kidding on that last part, but people here are from everywhere, and I don’t mean Iowa.)

Anyway, Little Big Girl was telling me how Sasha, the Russian boy, was throwing sand the other day.

He was? I said. Yes, she said. And what did the teachers do? I asked.

She: They said, Sasha, Nyet! Nyet!


. . . . Just another day at playschool here . . . .

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A beautiful morning. At 3 a.m.

Another thing the doctor suggested is to take Baby outside if she is having trouble breathing. (Gack! Breathing?! Yikes.)

THANKFULLY, she hasn't had trouble breathing with this Croup thing.

She has, however, had a little trouble sleeping and she keeps getting upset.

So last night at about three in the morning, when she had woken up (for the sixth time) and this time did not want to nurse and could not go back to sleep, I took her outside.

We walked to the back porch. At least getting her out there made her stop crying. She was looking around all amazed like, what the heck is this? We can go outside in the middle of the night? Why don't do this all the time? IT"S BRILLIANT! (Baby loves the outdoors.) She looked delighted. From crying to delighted; go figure. What mother nature can do for you.

It was beautiful out, and that was supposed to be the point of this post. Fall is definitely starting here in New Mexico, and it was cool but not clear when we went out. Out our backyard is a national forest, and when we went out, there was this low-lying fog. It was so unusual for New Mexico, I thought it was cool. We have a lot of flowers in the backyard, which are thankfully still blooming (I need to remember to cut a bunch and bring them in before it freezes out), and we could make out the flowers under the fog, and see the trees beyond over the fog - but right where we were lookiing it was all wet and cloud-ish. A very 3 a.m. type moment.

And after that she went right back to sleep. A nice end to that little story.

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29 Things I Learned and Bad Mommy Stories

29 Things I Learned While Stuck at Home with Sick Children

1. There is no possible way this will be 29 things. I just liked that number.
2. The Baby has The Croup now too.
3. The doctor’s office is a lovely place to go on your only break out of the house.
4. And…I’m done.


I am a Bad, Bad Mommy

The doctor prescribed some kind of horrible, awful, bad, makes-me-gag kind of medicine for my little girls.

That description comes directly, mind you, from Little Big Girl’s mouth.

I feel SO BAD about this, I just feel like an idiot.

In previous sicknesses, when our little girl had to take some medicine, we gave her some juice after each sip, to wash it down.

Well, Husband (I AM going to blame him!) came up with the genius idea of mixing the medicine right in with the juice – drink it all at once! (not “!”). I was not there the first time this was administered. He said it went “bad.”

The next time, I did the same. Bad, bad, mistake. Apparently, the juice in no way cuts the flavor of the steroid medicine. (The nurse later confirmed this, although couldn’t I have figured this out from my child’s reaction to the juice-steroid concoction?)

So instead of having ONE TEASPOONFUL of hatedness to drink, I turned her medicine into ONE HALF CUP worths.

And Little Big Girl is so sweet, and even tempered, and rational (she can be bribed!), she worked her way through the whole thing. It took, like, a half an hour. And I don’t mean to say it was pretty. Face scrunching up, involuntary gagging, tears in her eyes, and tiny tiny tiny sips.

Also, lots of cajoling, and talking her out from behind the door, and in the closet, and – God! You would think I would clue in! – I just thought once she started it, I didn’t know how much else to give her if we chucked the juice-blend. Too much? Too little? I didn’t know. Next time (there will be no next time of THIS, just some other bone-headed mommy move…) I will just chuck the nasty mixture, and guess on how much is left to give her.

SO that whole thing was just really cruel. Wouldn’t you rather drink one teaspoonful of something unpleasant than a half cup’s worth? Goodness.

And the nurse gave me a new tip: the CHOCOLATE SYRUP chaser. Now we’re talking.


I Have Ruined Baby For Life

Is it possible you can make it so that a baby – a GIRL BABY – will never like chocolate again in her life?

I think it is possible, and I think I did it.

How? Why? With that same aforementioned Chocolate Syrup chaser to the also aforementioned Really Nasty Bad Icky Tasting Medicine.

In other words – Baby had never had chocolate before. Let alone a spoonful of Dark Chocolate Syrup, unadulterated by things like ice cream or cookie parts. Just the syrup. It was Hershey’s, but still.

The first time I stuck a spoonful of that stuff in her mouth (she is ONE, mind you. LBG had chocolate for the first time, oh – last week. Not really, but she was older than one. Like by a year . . . anyway - ), she liked it. She lit up, she wanted more.

And then I followed that with a squirter full of the medicine. Big, big, bad face.

Then I stuck more of that chocolate in her mouth.,

She was, like, shaking her head she was so confused.

And then eight hours later I did it to her again.

Suffice it to say she wasn’t going for that big spoonful of chocolate the second time around.

It is possible I have ruined one of the greatest joys in life for my Baby girl. And I feel very, very bad about that, too.

(I haven’t, however, fortunately, ruined Little Big Girl on the good stuff. She came out from the nap she wasn’t taking, saw the chocolate syrup bottle on the counter (next to the sobbing infant), and said “I want some!”

In another mean, mean, mommy-mode, I said – Ok. Are you ready for more medicine too? And that sent her scurrying back to her non-nap.) (Luckily for her, the doctor says she is actually done with the medicine. Phew.)(And I didn’t give her chocolate syrup at that point because – come on ! - she needed a nap. She is still under the weather. Not to mention I needed her nap.)

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Thanks for the support!

Thanks for the kind comments.

I had Husband read them to me from his work. Ha! I *need* my little connection...(He's an enabler!:)

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Floating in and out of reality...

I'm back up! But it is only momentarily; from Comcast I have learned that much.

Unfortunately, the Baby got The Croup too.

I thought, no big deal, we'll do the same as we did with Little Big Girl. Fine until the doctor mentioned how babies can end up in the hospital with this. Great!! Luckily, so far, we haven't been close to that with Baby. But poor little thing, it has been worse than it was for LBG. The two of us were up on the hour last night, her hacking and crying and needing to nurse to go back to sleep.

Needless to say, today we can chalk up as: SIXTH day at home, with two grumpy, tired, sick-ish little ones, and NO INTERNET SERVICE. And more sleep deprivation than ever! Wheee!

Comcast was down, but Word was up. (as much as it ever is)(can't miss out on an MS bash-chance...: ) so, if I can, I will throw up a few of the things I drafted anyway, when one or the other or both were sleeping or nursing. Kept me entertained anyway.

Here's hoping this, and then the others, can actually post . . . (hang in there Comcast! One more second! : )

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A brief peek out into the internet...

Today is my fourth day locked in the house. I AM GOING INSANE.

I think Little Big Girl is on the mend; she seems to be in the stage of “hacking up the stuff”, to use the Nurse’s technical language.

In the meantime, Baby may or may not be getting it, depending on how I want to interpret the symptoms.

We have been reading, watching Barney, and generally tearing the house apart for four solid days. She is under the weather, but neither is (luckily) so ill that they want to sleep much.

Adding to my claustrophobia is that of course THE INTERNET HAS BEEN DOWN all day yesterday and today. I need my little outlet. I may not smell the fresh air, but if I can check out what is going on with all of your lives, out there, well, . . . I feel a little better.

I suppose what is worse is that our link is intermittently on and off. So it fools me – and then it goes down. I have been on the phone with Comcast ten times. I KNOW they can “fix the line” over the phone – I witnessed them do it. But they don’t want to get in a habit of it. So they tell me to shut down, unplug the modem, then boot all back up. Which will make it all work for about one page load. So imagine the frustration.

I think I read about this in that one psychology class I took; the rats were more frustrated if they didn’t know what to expect. Will it work? Won’t it work? My own little food pellet button is maddeningly indecisive.

If I actually get this posted in that one page load (hm – that takes two; probably won’t work…) then you’ll see this. Otherwise nada til GOD KNOWS WHEN.

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Fun with your archives, please

I have been tagged by The Desperate Housewife with a little blogging game. And I get to tag five others. (!)

Here it is:

Fun with your archives. The rules:
1. Go into your archive
2. Find your 23d post
3. Find the fifth sentence (closest to)
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog with these instructions
5. Tag five other people to do the same.


Wow - this is so cool. This sentence was actually not written by me, but by my friend Col, who writes in now and again. This is from the first time she wrote in and said:

Thanks for sending the link to me...I'll be checking in from time to time because I am also going a little stir crazy and realize that putting a few hours in at work does not solve the problem. ...- Col

Phew! I couldn't say it better myself. I love when other people comment and/or contribute via emails. And she summed up the theme of this blog (at least initially!) So that is kinda cool! (Col, did you see this?!!)

The people I tag are: Ms Sizzle, Mom Writes, Christa,, Thrusher, Long Division, Frogola.

I'd also like to hear from these women, but one is out of town, one just got engaged, and one already did a meme recently, so I'm not holding my breath :) : Industry Whore, some girl (the newly engaged), and Nelly.

Yes, this is more than five. So I broke the rule. :)

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Not the Usual Barney Bashing

The dreaded Barney rant.

I just can’t do it. Even though he, and all his insipid little over-acting childish friends deserve it, I just can’t do it. I mean, what could be more annoying than them? Nothing. And yet I just can’t do it.

Why? Because the lessons my three year old has learned from his videos so far are: cross the street safely, wear your seatbelt, and eat vegetables for a snack.

I am supposed to complain about that?

This is the lesson she has learned, by heart and wholly and completely, from The Arial Video (as it is known here, otherwise known as…well, you know…The freaking Little Mermaid): Defy your father in order to track down, AT SIXTEEN, and MARRY, the cute guy you’ve never met from another species.

Huh? Why is this good? Ok, when I was a kid I would’ve thought the whole “defy your Dad” thing was a good idea, but now I’m like, Huh? This is good?

But there is this one thing. There is this one, little tiny, one thing that I cannot stand about Barney. And that is this: THEY ARE TOO CHEAP TO PAY FOR THEIR OWN MUSIC.

There. I said it. That is what bothers me.

I didn’t practice law long. But the one field I spent the most time in, of all things, was entertainment law. And the one thing I learned the most about was, of all things, music law. (Maybe it was that music lawyer I was dating, I don’t know…) But anyway, this is the deal. If they had hired someone, okay, ANYONE, to write something for them, okay, yes, they would have had to pay him, or her, for eternity, on every video they ever sold. (And have a fight about the DVDs, but that’s another story.) Okay maybe, maybe, they could have worked a deal and bought the music rights outright initially, but not after it became a hit – who would go for that? But they were too cheap EVEN BEFORE IT WAS POPULAR.

That is why they use only regurgitated nursery rhyme tunes. Because they ARE IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN. Hence, FREE. Now, I hear nursery rhymes all day long. I sing nursery rhymes all day long. I hate when a toy plays a synthesized version, hell, I hate when Baby Bach plays a synthesized-sounding version of Bach. I can stand and even like the kids voices singing the nursery tunes on certain toys and games. But for some reason, it just sounds like fingers on a chalkboard to me to hear the nursery tunes on Barney, sung with different words. And it occurs to me that maybe it is even more annoying to me because I know that they were JUST TOO CHEAP to get their own melodies and now we all have to live with this hell.

There. I did my Barney rant after all. Ta da! ☺

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Sunny Day, & Barney is Saved (for now)

Sitting out here on the back patio, in the sun - it is a beautiful New Mexico day. Not too hot, very sunny, slight breeze, just perfect.

Thank goodness for a laptop; I brought it out to entertain myself while Baby makes herself busy at the playhouse. It’s in the shade – so maybe a tad chilly – but she’s got a little baby light-fleece on.

Poor Little Big Girl woke up at five a.m. with a big cough. We took her into the Children’s Clinic, the main (only?) pediatric doctors in town. Fortunately they have Saturday a.m. hours. They think it might be croup. Just in case, they have prescribed steroids. Sounds sketchy to me; but the doctor assures me it won’t hurt (anyone know otherwise?) and if we don’t, and it’s croup, she will have a miserable night tonight.

So for now, she’s taken her first dose, she’s inside on the couch, hanging out with Daddy and watching a loaned Barney video.

I was, in fact, planning on this post being a complete rant against Barney. Not in the usual way, oh no, I had my special Barney rant all mapped out. Wrote it in head last night, over and over, after hearing only one hour or so of Barney yesterday. That was enough.

But for now, I’m outside, I can’t really hear the insipidity (good new word there! you heard it here first!), and besides, The Barney is making Little Big Girl so happy right now. So for now I won’t do it. Trust me, I will. But not right now.

I just saw an ant walk across the monitor. Is that a good thing?

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