Santa lives in Texas

Sometime in late November, I took Little Big Girl, who's three, to see Santa at the Hallmark. I met my friend L. there and her two little ones.

(So small town-ish! Santa at the Hallmark!...Hey, I was glad he was here at all.)

Sitting on his lap, LBG told Santa that she wanted a Snow White costume for Christmas.

Later that week, when I asked her again what she told Santa, she said – a Snow White costume.

In the coming weeks, when anyone asked what she wanted for Christmas, she would say – a Snow White costume.

Now, I think it is completely fair, at this point in the story, to call me DENSE. Because this is what I was thinking: LBG loves the princesses. She has bought the whole Disney Princess marketing juggernaut hook, line and sinker. Or, shall we say, ball-gown, crown and glass slippers. She loves Arial, and Belle, and Cinderella. When she’s not in her Arial costume, she’s wearing another dress that she says is Belle’s, or Cinderella’s. She loves those girls, she loves their stories, she plays out their plotlines all day long.

Snow White? Sure, she’s in the mix, I guess. LBG really likes the whole apple-part of that story. And, also, Baby gets in the game by giving her the kiss to wake her up. But every time she said “Snow White costume,” I heard: Princess Costume. Belle, Arial and Cinderella were the big three that she mostly talked about. Snow White - whatever. Okay, call me that now. Go ahead. Call me Dense.

So anyway, as grandparents are wont, my Mom asked what LBG would like for Christmas. She would love, I say, a princess costume or two. And she already has Arial. Any of the others would be fine. Great! says Gege. And in a day or so I get the report: Cinderella AND Belle costumes are on their way, along with Crown and Glass Slippers. Wow, I say. That will be perfect!

And then about the day before the day before Christmas, I overhear LBG talking to her playmate/sitter, telling her she told Santa what she wanted for Christmas. You know. A Snow White costume.

And does a light go on in my head? No. Because. I already told you. I am Dense.

Instead, that day is spent packing and organizing. LBG and her Daddy drive off that afternoon – he wants to drive, don’t ask me why.

The next day, at six in the morning, I am off with Baby to fly. Of course, given where we live, that entails a two-hour drive to the airport, and two flights. And given where the in-laws live, another two hour drive after the airport. (Okay, I guess Spousal does have a point on the Let’s Just Drive thing; it’s a bit of a toss up. But traveling with Baby in the car at this point, for ten hours, when she cries nonstop after one – for now Baby needs as little seat time as possible, or my ears do, and the two of us flew.)

So anyway, long about two-thirty or so, Spousal and LBG arrive at the airport to pick us up, still mid-drive for them. (They hoteled it over night.) There is luggage to get, children to corral, drive-throughs to be driven through for at least a glimmer of sustenance, and again we are off.

It was only in that next, few, quiet hours, with both girls miraculously sleeping, that my brain got still, and then started to ponder, and then certain thoughts kept coming back to me: I told Santa I want a Snow White costume. What do you want for Christmas? A Snow White costume. What is Santa bringing you? A Snow White costume. OH MY GOD, I said to Spousal. A SNOW WHITE COSTUME!!

It is now 5:30 on Christmas Eve.

I told you, at the beginning of this, or thereabouts...I am Dense.

Eventually we wheel into Spousal’s hometown. (What’s between point of realization and Spousal’s hometown? Great big nothingness - cotton fields, oilrigs, darkness. Spousal’s hometown is the first lights we’ve seen for miles.) We have officially missed the service his family was at; they are now on their way to a Mexican restaurant. We cruise into the Target parking lot, Spousal hops out, both girls keep sleeping, and I have my fingers crossed. A minute later he is back: they’re closed. We both look at the clock. Six o’clock.

We wheel out of that parking lot, cross the street, and pull into the Toys R Us lot. Closed at 6:00. You know, I said. I think I would have begged at Target.

We scream back onto the service road, cruise down the street, and careen into the Wal-Mart lot. Spousal hops out and starts jogging. Two minutes later, gets back in. Closed, he says. I look at him, terror stricken on both our faces. Our daughter’s first remembered Christmas, and we blew it. Santa is totally not going to come through.

Well, he says. Do you want to try that begging thing? I look at him. I got to, I say. And I get out of the car, and hustle to the store.

It is 6:10.

Walking up to the door, there are all kinds of people, milling about. Obviously with a similar problem to mine, and obviously turned away. As I get to the shut door, I see some shoppers just leaving, and the security guard opening the door for them.

“We’re closed, sorry,” he says, as they leave, without really looking at me.

I know, I say. I’m sorry. And I pause. And then I say: But you know what?

What? he reluctantly says, a middle aged man, steeled, ready for the end of the day. But still – I had an opening.

And it comes flying out, unplanned, as succinct as could be. The only thing my three year old wants, I say, is a Snow White costume. And nobody got her one.

And I looked at him.

And he looked at me.

And he whispers: Come on in. And he waves me in, looking over his shoulder.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, I say as I rush in. Just inside the store I pass what is likely the store manager, but I don’t look for another approval. I accost the first real employee I see: Do you have Snow White costumes? We do! Over in toys!

Yippee, I am on my way. It takes a few minutes – those stores are big – and two more directions – but I round into the Princess aisle. And there it was. I swear there was a light shining on it – a Snow White costume. Size 3.

As I rushed out of the store after checkout, I pulled the dress partway out of the bag to show the security guard. Thank you so, so much, I said again. Sure, he said, and smiled. Glad you got it. Merry Christmas.

As we joined the rest of the family for dinner that night, my husband and I overhear a conversation between LBG and her five-year old cousin.

What did you tell Santa you want for Christmas, LBG? says Cousin.
A Snow White costume, says LBG.
And what else?
That’s all, says LBG. That’s all I want.

And we look at each other, tears welling in my eyes.

And it’s obvious where the real Santa is - the kindly security guard at the Wal-Mart deep in the heart of west Texas, who let an extremely Dense mother into the store after closing. Now that was a gift.

Thank you so, so much.

(And for the record, yes, it made her Christmas. When the doors to the living room were opened, and Little Big Girl followed her big five year old cousin into the room, eyes wide open, hands tucked under her chin, and was directed to her little pile of gifts with the dress draped over the top – she squealed, and took it up in her arms, and jumped up and down. And promptly sat down and put it on. It was a big, big hit. Santa came through.)

(And, for the record, after she found the other dresses, she was thrilled with those too, and switched between all three of them for the next three days, wearing the glass slippers and crown with each of them. But the Snow White dress was the Queen.)

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Oh wait, Christmas!!

It was lovely. Really.

The cutest thing was (and here it comes...the inevitable gushing parent story...) our three year old jumping up and down at each present. Adorable. And a hit with the great aunts.

And her three-year-old cousin yelling out "I always wanted this!" before she even finished opening the present or could tell what it was; every present.

Baby got a little discombobulated, but I guess that's to be expected.

The food was amazing, especially the sweets. And on the grounds that I will personally never create such confections, I sampled them all. Once or twice. Or so. You know. Just to be polite.

The grandparents were doting. The cousins had a ball. Aunts and uncles got to observe neices and nephews.

A very good time was had by all.

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On hiatus and that really good Texas theory I have

Krisco, you ask - what exactly happened to What's For Dinner Wednesday or Tuesday? Not to mention Storytime Tuesday, Which May or May Not Be on Tuesday?

I mean, we know Storytime may or may not be on Tuesday, but this is the *first* week, and What's For Dinner Wednesday or Tuesday is a pretty straighforward concept, so what's the deal?

Ah, my Sweet Internet Friends (all five of you, and I LOVE you all!!!! : ) we are on HIATUS this week.

I just wanted to use that word in homage to my once and then abandoned career in the entertainment field. (And no it was not at GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS but thanks for asking; just read my earlier posts on said topic.)

In reality, due to the fact this is Christmas week, we are taking a break from our regularly scheduled programming. Even if I only made up that programming last week.

Besides, on Storytime Tuesday, I was off visiting with high school and elementary friends of Spousals, in Large Town, Texas.

(I have this theory about Texas - and Spousal agreed one time so I don't think I'm talking out of school here - but God knows today will be the day he forgets, and some ONE from Texas reads this blog and gets offended which is not at all intended - but I am prone to my (random) opinions - that the reason the homes there (at least in the town we go to) are so neat and orderly, with perfectly manicured lawns and straight streets and east coast and southern style houses, filled with tailored goods and women with perfectly coifed hair, makeup and super sparkly jewelry - is that Texas is hewn from THE WILDERNESS. All that sparkly and orderly goodness is purely to ward off the natural hell that awaits you otherwise outside your door if earlier Texans hadn't wrestled it to the ground and put a stake in its heart. And by wilderness, I don't mean some lovely tree-filled, bird-chirping, fuzzy-animal loving place. I mean the kind of wild that has minimal water mostly unfit to drink, scorching sun half the year, and the bare minimum of scrub brushes in the sand necessary to hide the tarantulas and poisonous snakes. A place people really should think about not inhabiting. Were it not for the oil underground and now several generations who have made that state their own, damn it.

In other words, the more put-together you and your home look, the more you convince yourself and everyone else that you all actually do belong to Civilization, and can forget about the fact that the place you put all this civilized living is actually one ornery, hard-scrabble, hot, dusty, wild west kind of a place.

That's my theory, anyway. (Seriously. This is what made that rhinestone "TEXAS" pin you see down there finally make sense to me.)

And hopefully Spousal will remember that we had this conversation and that HE AGREED. Otherwise I will be in trouble and/or this post won't stay up long.)

Oh wait - I got distracted - there was no Storytime Tuesday because I was off visiting with some very nice people and laughing at their stories and generally having a good time. Ditto What's For Dinner Wednesday except I was traveling.

So I guess we could have Alternatively Random Theories On Tuesday Or So, but... nah. We're good. It'll just all be back later.

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Really

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to the blogosphere.

And I mean it.

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Santa Fe Day! Or, at least, Morning!

(Hey Everyone - Thanks for playing What's For Dinner Wednesday! ~ I thought it was fun. : )

Next week we'll have Even Easier Rules! Like: you can share what you had on Tuesday in What's For Dinner Wednesday! : )


And here are the lessons for today:

Traffic Court: Time-out for grown-ups. You shouldn't have been doing what you were doing, and now you're just going to have to sit here until you've really thought about it, young man. Or older woman. Or young-feeling middle aged housewife.

(We're all sitting there, in the back of the courtroom waiting for our names to be called, looking at each other out of the corner of our eyes, wondering - what did you do wrong? Better or worse than me? Who's the real badass here, anyway? (Big surprise: it probably wasn't me.)

Also, this being Santa Fe, everyone seems to know at least one other person in the crowd. Or else the judge.)

Cafe Paris: Totally undeserved but wholly relished Reward for getting up at the crack of dawn, driving an hour to Santa Fe, leaving children to a combination of Spousal, Playschool and Babysitting Pal, and surviving Traffic Court. (Deferred Sentence!) Result: French cheese pastry and double loaded coffee with extra leche and several packs (read: three) of the brown crunchy suger.

(A little teeny, tiny picture of cafe here: Cafe Paris)

Luxury Bag Store on San Francisco street in Santa Fe: Inspiration for future Fame and Fortune, or at least Fortune. Name of store sounds pedestrian, does not do justice to contents. ("In Transit." Eh.) Was it the smooth, soft leather, or the suger and caffeine high? (See: Cafe Paris) Regardless, fell in love with and proceeded to fondle $485 "Bambas" hand-made and 'tatooed' leather bag from the Czech Republic. Surely I deserve this bag but can't think of why.

(Bag looks sort of like this, only thinner, longer and more hip: hip Bambas Czech bag replica-ish. Left it, of course, for the next Santa Fe shopper.)

nambe store: Location to acquire beautiful New Mexican gifts - wedding present for Spousal's sadly widowered, now glee-fully remarried kind and wonderful Uncle, and Christmas present for wonderful Babysitting Pal, who Little Big Girl and Baby adore more than anyone else they are not actually related to.

(Got a couple of these sweet numbers: nambe frames)

Surrender Dorothy: Serendipitious Discovery on the way to far more pedestrian stores at De Vargas mall, for purchase of presents still needing acquisition for other people in life (read: Spousal). Contains funky, unique apparel from actual cities! Fell in love with shoes (purchased) and faux black sheared-lamb mid-level coat. (Still justifying in head. Will acquire next week.)

(You can kind of get a feel here for the store: Surrender Dorothy card ("Retrospect" as seen in pic, is their other store) and here: Surrender Dorothy review, half way down the page.) (Tried to send pic from phone of cool funky shoes but can't figure out how.)

The Actual Speed Limit: What I will be driving for the next ninety days. (See: "Deferred Sentence!") I mean, ninety years. Whatever. Really. For a long, long, time. I learned my lesson!

On the other hand: If it gets me out of the house, out of town, and off shopping, coffeeing and generally have a good old time - alone - maybe I'll have to break the law again sometime. ...Kidding, kidding!....

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What's For Dinner Wednesday

Tell me what you are having for dinner!!!

New Rules for "What's For Dinner Wednesday" Rules

* Tell us WHAT ARE YOU HAVING FOR DINNER?
* In the comments
* Anything counts, as long as you are eating it and it's around your dinnertime. Sandwiches. Salad bar. Take out. Eat in. The freaking snack machine.
* Feel free to gloat if either 1 - you're not cooking it or 2 - it's take out. Yea you!
* Foreigners especially - let us know what interesting things you are having for dinner
* Locals - same deal. Just spit it out, so to speak. What are you having?
* By the way - NO RECIPES HERE!! If you really like it, you can post the recipe on your site, and we'll come visit you there.
* If no one else responds, I guess I'll know that all those supposed hits really are spam engines. Woe is me.
* Thank you for responding


Finally, thanks for playing!! (And I'll even start it)

Why I am doing this:

Last summer, I enjoyed getting to know one of my neighbors a little bit better. Also a stay at home mom, with two little girls just a little older than mine.

Both of us weren't doing as many planned things as we were this fall, and we tended to be around in the afternoons. Plus, despite the fact it was summer, we were both beat by the afternoons. So we fell into this habit of calling each other, and getting the girls together to play.

It was GREAT. We randomly alternated houses - no set thing - and let the girls run wild. One of my best memories of the summer was to go down the street to walk Little Big Girl back up, just three at that point, and she and the two neighbor girls - two and five - were otherwise naked from having been in the wading pool, but had since donned large pink butterfly wings and were gleefully chasing each other around the lush lawn and flowering plants. So, so cute. It took my breath away.

Anyway, in the meantime, S. (the other mom) and I fell into the same conversation: What are you having for dinner?

We didn't even share recipes, much. It just was helpful, interesting, inspiring to hear what the other one was going to be having.

I liked that so much, I am initiating that here. Now, I can't guarantee this will work because I really, really need help from you. But please, please, tell me - WHAT ARE YOU HAVING FOR DINNER?

Yea! Please play!! My first interactive fun blog thing! I need you people. No guilt or anything. BUT WHAT ARE YOU HAVING FOR DINNER???!!!!


* What are you having for dinner? Put it in the comments!
* No Recipes here, please! However - if you want to share (and please do!), let us know in the comments, and then put the recipe on your site!
* That way the five or six people checking in here will check out your site too for your scrumptious recipe! Perfect Blogging-WhatsForDinnerWednesday-Synchronicity!
* (If you don't have a blog yet, but want to share your recipe, okay - great! YOU can put it in the comments.)
* You can comment first and put the recipe up later. We're good about time lags like that.
* If you live abroad or in Texas or somewhere else with imaginative food, we REALLY REALLY want to know what you're having!

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Crow on the menu

Well, I am shocked, SHOCKED, to report that - the University of California, in conjunction with Bechtel, has won the contract to run LANL.

Wow. Okay, I guess CROW is what I will be eating for dinner today, because I really, really thought that Lockheed was a foregone conclusion.

Was it the slide in the administration's popularity and hence political clout? A loss of focus on ruining *everything * in the country because the chief architect / wonderboy / devil's minion is under threat of his own indictment and his eyes are off all the balls they can get their grubby hands on and convert to their very own?

The actual realization that turning over a research center primarily to a defense contractor is inherently antithetical?

I don't think we will ever know.

But I am relieved. And for once glad to eat crow.

Okay, now back to the more entertaining things - What Are YOU Having For Dinner? It's What's For Dinner Wednesday - please (please please!) Play!

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LANL about to face its future

On a serious note -

The government is announcing today the new contractor that has been selected to run the Los Alamos National Laboratory.

This is a lab with a sixty year tradition of science excellence in the name of national security.

The two contenders are the University of California, which has teamed up with Bechtel, and Lockheed Martin, which has teamed up with University of Texas.

It doesn't take a genius or a cynic to know who the likely winner is. The likely winner of a considerably more lucrative contract than the government gave the Univ. of California for the last sixty years for running the nation's preeminent science institution.

The same government which gave a multi-billion dollar contract to run the physical plant to their favorite contractor - a subsidiary of Halliburton - without even taking bids from anyone else.

And I have read - but have not independently verified - that the group making the Lab decision was made up entirely of Bush Administration officials. No scientist, no one from the Lab, no one from another lab who might have a clue what is needed to run a national science research facility.

The scientists here this morning are tracking a private chartered plane from Austin on its way to Santa Fe.

Sounds creepy but there's a website they can track that on.

I fear not only for the future of this lab but for the future of our national security. There is a place for pure research. The odds of a defense-industry contractor, motivated by profit, continuing to keep the excellence in science that is here, are negligible. I know it's early, but once again - where is the outrage? Not everything should be a political spoil for the dividing.

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Storytime Tuesday - Just Setting the Rules

Tuesday is hereby officially designated Storytime Tuesday here at Crib Ceiling.

I can't guarantee I'll always have a story on Tuesdays. I can't even guarantee it'll always be Tuesday if I have a story.

I'm just saying, from now on, Tuesday is officially Storytime Tuesday.

Oh, and by the way - Wednesday from now on is What's For Dinner Wednesday. (At YOUR house, not mine.) So get prepared.

(I do, actually, have a story today. See below. :)

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Our Little Christmas Tree

As a kid, I remember so well, every year, going to pick out our Christmas tree.

Now, we went to the lot that got set up every year down the street from the grocery store. Eventually I became aware of other families – ruddy, red-faced, healthy outdoors families – who would march into the woods and the snow with a little hatchet or a big ax and come out with their own, special, grown-in-the-woods tree. It’s not to say that we weren’t ruddy and red-faced – well, we weren’t - but we also spent more time indoors reading and putzing than we did out hiking around, despite living in Colorado. The families that did that were always of an Other type to me. I envied them. But it also looked like a lot of work.

So back to the lot. It was always cold when we’d go, of course, and dark – we’d go as a family one night after Dad got home from work. And there’d be lights on the fence around the lot, and the smell of hot apple cider that the workers were holding. Probably offering, as well, but we were too busy, as kids, running around the lot, looking for the perfect tree.

Of course, you couldn’t really tell which one that is right away, because they would still be tied up tight. But you could get kind of an idea.

Also, you had to know what we were looking for. Not your typical, rounded, symmetrical, picture-perfect tree for us, oh no. We wanted tall. And skinny. And a little misshapen. A tree, in other words, that needed a little love. A tree that deserved to be taken home, decorated, and turned into a thing of beauty by our paint-by-number ski boots, stryofoam balls with sparkles pinned on, and ancient glass baubles from my dad’s grandmother’s house. A tree that may not look perfect at first, but with our time and attention, and one-of-a-kind ornaments, combined with it’s essential, though not readily apparent, tree-goodness, would create a thing of Christmas beauty in our home.

We loved our Christmas trees.

I don’t really know where that tradition started. It may be because we’re sort of the tall and skinny (though not particularly misshapen, thanks be to goodness) family. Or, more likely, it was inspired by my Dad’s general cheapskateness. Rounded, perfect trees cost more. But I like to think, regardless of what started it, we took happily to this tradition. We made it a point to find a tree that, were it not for us, might otherwise be left over in the lot at the end of the season, cut down for no reason at all. Instead, it was specially selected by us, warmed and welcomed to our home, and made our own.

Now, it turns out – come to find out years later – we were always ridiculed for our trees. By our own family! Possibly by our friends as well, but, you know, they’re not always as honest. But our relatives noticed, too, that we always had these tall, skinny trees, which often, it turns out after you take the string off and the branches “fall out”, had these big gaping holes. We didn’t mind the holes – perfect to put the big dangly ornaments in, and we’d put the biggest hole towards the back. We had a plan for holes.

Anyway, they’d call it our Charlie Brown Christmas tree. We’d call it that too, but in our case it was loving.

In their case, it was just mean.

My cousins, for instance – and I’m not going to tell you which ones, because we have a lot of them, Irish Catholic and all, but they were the ones we spent a lot of Christmases with – always had the perfect tree. ALWAYS. It was full and rounded and pretty darn tall. And draped with the swirling, symmetrically-placed ribbons and hung with matching ornaments. In an orderly pattern. It definitely could have been in a large mall display. For all I know, they got it at a large mall display.

Ours may have been ugly, but it had our personality all over it.

And now for our own traditions, with my own kids. Sad to say….we have downgraded again. We still don’t march into the woods, all ruddy faced and eager, to chop down our own tree. I thought I’d do that with my kids, but I don’t. We don’t even take them to a lot.

Sad to say, we have the plastic tree, with built-in lights. It looks great, actually. In our case closer to the tall, skinny variety – although without the gaps – but I could make some if I wanted to, the branches are pliable – than the rounded kind. That takes more money too, and I inherited a tiny amount of my dad’s cheapskatedness, but married a man with a full-blown case.

Plus every other year we take off to another state for the actual day-of. So it’s hard to get too worked up about decorations.

Maybe, when my kids are older, we’ll don the hats and mittens and march into the woods. Or, at least, go pick the skinny needs-a-home tree from the lot.

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Oops, look at that picture...

Do I look like I'm kind of looking out of a hole here? Because I kind of think I do...

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Waking up to the real world

Let the crying commence.

I have gotten a reprieve on the state test I want to take – they extended the deadline to February – so now, without a need to study every night (by flashlight next to the sleeping baby), I can take a hit on the sleep meter and let Baby cry a bit. At least for tonight.

I know I said I’m against letting them cry it out. Really, I am. But also, I’m against me being nursed on for a very long time, and then sitting there while she rolls and plays and laughs and says “mama, mama, mama” (okay, that part’s cute), and then falls asleep and then wakes up and throws her head in my lap, and then laughs, and then sits up and basically JUST DOESN’T WANT TO GO TO SLEEP, all while I sit there for two hours to train her to sleep without crying because I’m against that.

This in a FIFTEEN MONTH OLD. (I say that because, for those mothers actually good at sleep training, their babies have been sleeping through the night, without being nursed to sleep, for like eight months now. You know, where you put them down awake, and they smile and coo for awhile, and then roll over and go to sleep. Just like a little dream. …. just like my older girl used to do ….. Oops, I just compared children and that’s not very nice, especially when this particular problem was brought on by me, because I failed to do sleep training with Baby sooner….But still…. she IS a little old for this.)

So enough. For now. I am sure I will cave before we hit too long here. Yes, yes, she is crying as I write. Crying her little sad tears out. Sometimes it sounds fakey though, and that’s when I don’t feel so bad. It’s those actual, lonesome, worrisome, deserted crys that make me go running…so let’s hope she sticks with the fakeys for awhile…

So about this test extension. Did anyone notice that I said I took my final for my real estate course? Okay, it was correspondence. And, okay, one law school friend made a comment like, wasn’t it so easy. (This from a girl – as much as I love her – who was probably not all that hot in our real property class to begin with, and who later kept referring to looking for a house with her boyfriend, when they were renting, and didn’t understand why people thought they wanted to buy…but I digress…(and yes, I tried to explain that to her at the time…))

But frankly – no, I didn’t think it was so easy. I thought it was hard. I had to study a ton (at night, by flashlight, and at naptime, ditto, and by day, with a sitter at home). But I got through the class and now I can take the real test.

And, okay, I remembered a few terms from law school like remainderman and leasehold interest, but does that mean I remembered what they meant? I’m not even sure I knew what they meant at the time.

When I started law school I had been a tenant in my life for, like, a week, and had never (yet) been a subtenant or a lessor, let alone a property holder. Life eventually taught me more about real estate than real property law class.

So – anyway. I still have to take the actual exam, which is obviously the only one that counts.

I am glad that they gave us an extension. New Mexico is changing the laws to get a license – it gets harder in January – and a lot of people like me had the bright idea to slip in under the wire.

So many that the wire is not big enough and they can’t get us all tested in time. So yea! Now we have until February to take the test.

So that’s great, because at least for this week and next I can stop studying and think about something else for a change.

Has anyone else noticed that Christmas is on Sunday?

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But, I'm a secret New Yorker!

How odd is this? I was SO SURE I would be New York. I love that place. I always wanted to live there, I love spending time there. It was perfect to go for work - because then I could be involved, and have a purpose there besides tourism, but still just hang for a few days before or after and check things out. Plus, then I got to stay in some swank hotel in a cool neighborhood in the city...

Get this. I even went back and RE-DID my answers to try to come up with NYC. (Now...that is lame. I mean, what's the point of taking a little quiz like this if you try to scew the results?) And still I came up with London. I don't even know how to fake getting linked with NYC! Ha! Guess I'm a Londoner after all. Maybe I need to spend a little more time in London.

You Belong in London

A little old fashioned, and a little modern. A little traditional, and a little bit punk rock. A unique woman like you needs a city that offers everything. No wonder you and London will get along so well.

What City Do You Belong In?

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29 Things pour moi

1. I sent Spousal on the dreaded feminine-products run last week. Surely a man who has witnessed two births live should not have a problem acquiring tampons. And yet - he feared the dreaded anouncement over the grocery store speaker "Mr. Spousal needs help in the tampon aisle." Why the store would announce such a thing just because a man has entered that aisle and is standing there looking confused, I don't know. None the less, it was his fear.

2. It did not come to pass.

3. I was a little unfair. I sent him with the instructions: medium. Now, this was actually cruel. And to be technical, I sent him after pads and not tampons. As most Americans between the ages of twelve and menopause know (men excepted), there are far too many choices in this aisle. Sort of like the toothpaste aisle. Why the business majors of this world are taught that if only they tweak their product a little bit, they will get more market share, I will never know. What they get is more market annoyed. We really, really, don't need that many choices. And contrary to what most product managers may think, whatever change you made was probably not really that much of a help.

4. Back to the cruelty. This is the thing. If I'd hinted to my specifically-oriented, over-achieving, exactingly-correct physicist of a husband that there were more choices than "medium", he would have wanted THE EXACT PRODUCT NAME AND SPECIFICATION. And I don't care that much. So even though I can still picture him standing in that aisle, overwhelmed by the options, and trying to find anything that said "medium", I think it was the way to go.

5. Good job, hon. I know you don't read the blog, but if you ever do, you did just fine. Whatever you got, was perfect. Now you're good to go for next time.

6. Today is my birthday. I don't really want to talk about it.

7. We're off to Santa Fe for a few errands at real stores and then for a sushi dinner for moi. Yippie yi yay! (I guess we'll let the other family members eat too. Whatever.)

8. I bet if you added up all my 29 Things items from all my 29 Things lists there would be 29 things. More or less. Probably more.

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Sleep not training

I have so many things I want to blog about lately, and yet, no time do it. And why is that? Well, for one, I am interrupted constantly by a little one year old, even late at night. She is convinced, absolutely convinced, that she cannot sleep without me.

This is a child who is fifteen months, by the way. FIFTEEN MONTHS.

This child needs some SERIOUS Sleep Training. (You know, where you teach them, lovingly and kindly, to SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT. I, for one, am not big on the cry-it-out deal. Neither, coincidentally, are either of my kids. Both have been known to cry for upwards of three hours when we've, out of desperation, tried that method, without even sitting down let alone approximating a sleeping position.)

So that means other things. Like sitting there next to them while they cry it out. And then they realize you are still there and are just confused. And so sit, and play, or stand and look at you, yell a little bit, look confused again, and sit down and look at their toes. Eventually they pass out from exhaustion. And so do you.

The problem with Sleep Training is that, while you're doing it, no one gets any. Least of all mom. So you really have to time it right. And frankly, when I'm also trying to study and keep everything else going, now is not the time. I will take the measly sleep I get, for now, and go with that.

Speaking of which, she has reawoken and I need to go.

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Nello rocks my world

Whoa! What is this, you say? I didn't know you were working on this, Krisco!!

Well, who knew indeed.

Actually, I can take no credit. Kelly over at Nello Designs did all this - and look - isn't it great?!

I love it! Thanks Nello!

You can check out her site design here, and her great blog here (Diary of the Nello), which I found years ago (okay, July) from Blogher because I loved the name of her blog. What is a Nello? I asked myself. And soon I found out.

Tell her all kinds of good things about it, won't cha?

(Oh, and there's a pic of me now. Stay? Leave? Didn't notice? Well, for now it's up, unless I get really harassed about it. Then I'll just put up someone else's.)

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But- the upside - chocolate always helps

And here's another little pathetic thing about the grocery store. They had a huge display of large sized chocolate bars at the front door. And so what do I do? Put four of them in my cart.

And then go to the cereal aisle and proceed to eat a good portion of two of them (dark chocolate and milk with heath bar) while standing there cogitating my organic options. And then just pretending to cogitate while I really focused on that toffee deal. Knowing - full well - it will keep me up tonight. Knowing, even, that if Baby wakes up and I have to nurse her back to sleep, it will keep her up too.

But I did feel so much better. Life looked grand!

Pa.the.tic.

(And here's the chocolate/suger kicking in full force, but - Baby is so freaking cute. Why not just play with her all day? Her and Little Big Girl? (Also totally adorable.) That's a good plan. What was wrong with me? Or maybe it's the fact they've been asleep for an hour or more since I've come home, and I've been able to have my own thoughts in my head for more than 2.5 minutes consecutively, and in general am feeling better. Okay. I just need this down time. Note to self: next time go to Starbucks, not Smiths.)

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Stir crazier than ever

It’s Friday night, and I went to the grocery, because I JUST HAD TO GET OUT OF THE HOUSE.

God, that is so sad, and so pathetic that my best choice in town is Smith’s.

Yes, I guess I could have gone to Starbucks, although they were closed by the time I left Smith’s so clearly they would not have been open long enough…and also that mom-guilt takes over and I think, okay, I’m leaving the house, but we do need some orange juice.

Oh, and also our film picked up - because God knows I have yet to pick a photo for our Christmas cards, which should have been sent out last week but won’t even be ready, at the earliest because they’re not even ordered yet, until the week after next. (January cards, anyone?)

Baby took a very short nap today and refused to go back down. So she was up and wanting constant attention from early afternoon until her Daddy came home at dinnertime, and then she alternated between us.

Yes, sometimes it would suffice to hang with her older sister, once she got up. But in general, not so much. It's pretty much mommy, mommy, mommy.

Sometimes I think, I am just a bad mother. Because I can’t do this. I can’t be a baby’s sole entertainment for 3 ½ hours because I GO CRAZY. And the only way to relieve it is to do housework, which by the way in my earlier life I never did at all. BECAUSE IT IS TOO BORING.

Grr. Argh. EEEEEEEEEH.

This is the thing. You just have to give over to it. Instead of trying to feed your brain here and there – read a post, read a headline, sort the mail – just stop. Just sit and play with your child because otherwise you will both just be frustrated.

Why can’t I ever learn that?

(And here's the ironic part - I wasn't even there with them this morning. Oh, no. I took a test, the final for my class for the real estate test. So they were with a grownup playmate-sitter all morning. And still I went insane when I was only here by myself with the wee ones for the afternoon. Surely I am just not good at this.)

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Pad, pad, pad.....no pad....

Following Little Big Girl to her room, Baby padding along right behind me.

Get to LBG's room - no baby.

But that's okay, right? There's no bathroom on the way from there to here, is there - how much trouble can she get in without that hazardous area?

Help LBG with something - forget what. Seventeenth change of clothes for the day or twentieth buckle/unbuckle/buckling of shoes, possibly.

Finish task, realize Baby still not in the room, go find her. Oh no! B in kitchen, freeing water from it's bottled prison.

Funny - not much water on the floor for how long she's been gone.

Clean up water, pick Baby up, go about my day.

A few minutes later, realize jeans in two weird places are soaked through - right where Baby's feet are. Huh? Figure out Baby's socks are soaked solid. Like two little sponges. Nay, like two tiny little wading pools, dangling at the end of her legs.

No wonder there wasn't much water to mop up - Baby pre-soaked it all up while standing there, with her little socks and the bottom quarter of her pants.

Have a little laugh, change socks, pants and jeans, and carry on with day.

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Sometimes I think of the way I think

Something I realized while driving around town, hustling to get my law school transcript sent to NM in time for me to take the real estate exam (which required two fedexes, a signature, a check, and some begging): just because I have the books in my backpack in the car with me does not mean I am at that moment learning from them.

(Now, to be fair, there are other times when I actually get to open them and I do (or so I like to tell myself) seem to be making some progress.)

Anyway. Then I realized the following, which, sadly, is just so true of my life. (Also, when I thought it in my head, it seemed sort of poignant. Now that I read it, it just sounds trite. Hallmark, anyone?)

But here goes (for the smarm hall of fame):

Putting healthy food in the refrigerator is not the same as eating well.

Carrying a heavy book in my bag is not the same as learning from it.

Having a friend cross my mind is not the same as calling her.

Thinking about you is not the same as telling you what you mean.

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The - seems like the millionth - Encounter

Another encounter with the World’s Nicest Cleaning Lady. (She has another superlative; I just don’t feel mean enough to put it in here this time. Perhaps you can discern.)

Did I mention she is also The World’s Most Chatty Cleaning Lady?

Oh, and also, The One Who Can Bellow The Most If She Can’t Find You For One Of Her Weekly Questions (“WHERE ARE YOUR TRASH BAGS?”) Even If Both Children Are Sleeping, One Is Sick, And She Knows Both These Facts.

Here’s what I learned anew, or rather, for the first time: things she ought to be able to discern *also * do not sink in.

So, for instance: I use these non-toxic, reasonably priced, work-great mail-order cleaning supplies. Exclusively. I like them so much I introduced them to the cleaning service, and they love them, and they use them at all the other houses they clean as well.

The other people they have sent have shown up only with those products.

The Nicest Lady Ever, for some reason, also shows up with Clorox.

We have, for the record, discussed the fact that I only want the non-toxic cleaners used in this household with small children. And that I am the one who introduced them to her boss. (“They sure do love these! So do all the customers. I like them too. They work well. Plus they smell so much better than those other ones. You know, they don’t smell so good. It makes you wonder what’s in them.”) Yes. Indeed.

Today, as I saw that little shaker of Clorox in her bin, as she was about half-way through the house, this ensued:

Me: You know, please don’t use that. (pointing to Clorox)
Her: Where?
Me: (pause) IN MY HOUSE.

Goodness.

Apparently it was too late.

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Yukes

Uh oh. The barfing baby midnight trick.

Whole family up. Baby barfing. Things amess.

Yukes was a typo but it works.

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Queenly - that's me!!

I am also thrilled to anounce that I am a Queen now. Yes, Ellen over at The Reign of Ellen has deigned to knight me - wait, there must be another term, I'm royalty now, I should figure it out - hm. I've been Queened and she drew my little picture and you can see it at her site!

If I could ever figure out html at all I would put the little picture up here. In fact, I really, really want to do that. So, um, someday somehow hopefully that will happen. Stay tuned.

In the meantime, Thanks Ellen! You rule! (You are the Queen of the Queens and Kings and all.)

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Mommy Bloggers unite(d)

I am flattered to say that I have been interviewed! Well, sort of.

Okay, whatever, they asked me to answer a few questions, sort of like a stationary meme, and the answers are over at Mommy Bloggers, along with a few others.

Still, it was really fun. And I was flattered.

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29 Things part...something

1. Not really, but you knew that already. I just think it sounds funny.

2. Studying is going – okay. I think I am learning things, and then I get the feeling that while I may know something WHILE READING IT, it then immediately leaves my head. So for instance – appraisals? Got it! But then I realize – appreciation? From yesterday? Totally gone. Shit! How do you do that? There’s some kind of a number, and you add it, or maybe you divide it, and what if the house has gone down in value and you only know what it’s worth now – shit!

3. That’s sort of exactly how it is going.

4. I still like it.

5. Baby is learning to talk. I want to do a whole post about that, about how amazing it is that for months – and months and months – your infant understands (apparently) nothing. (Sort of like mom and depreciation – oops, this isn’t about me…) and then one day she clearly understands something you’ve said. And shortly thereafter she understands everything that is being said around her. And then she starts to try to say it back. Wow, it is so cool.

6. So today Baby even tried to initiate a word. Lately it’s been things like “Unh! Unh!” (still the most common word). I said – what, Baby? What do you want? And she said – rayzn. Wow, raisin! She said it! Wow! But today….I was loading up a bunch of stuff to take to Little Big Girl’s room, and Baby volunteered – Boo! Boo! Unh unh unh Boo!!! And I looked, and yes, I had LBG’s pink hiking boots in my arms. And Baby loves to wear those. Wow, boot, you said it! I said. That was so cool. So of course I gave them to her. (So much for picking up the house...)

7. What with this test and all that may be the most of a post I can do on that. Dang. She deserves more. What a cutie. Can I say “wow” too many times?

8. Yes.

9. Oh, and also – she’s started to use some of the sign language signs we’ve taught her in new ways. Now, that is cool too, because she's taking a word she knows in one context and extrapolating (just wanted to use that word) to use it in another. It really is cool. So, for instance, we taught her “more”, which has always been in the context of food. But the other day as I put diaper cream on a nasty little rash she had, she said “more”. Wow! That was so cool! She liked her diaper cream and it helps her, and she could tell me that! Wow! (Bad mommy that she had the rash, but whatever. I’m focused on her mental skills here, obviously…: )

10. And then, today, at nap time, as we walked around the house, me carrying her, looking for her blanket so she could go to sleep – which is left, inevitably, in the most random of places, wherever she happened to be when something else caught her interest – I said, where’s your nigh-nigh sweetie? And she said, with her hands, all gone. (Both hands up in the air, palms up. Like you might do when you shrug and say “I don’t know.”) This is also something we've only used in the context of food with her. Oh, that was so cute.

11. Enough gushing and rambling. They’re both little dollies. Maybe thinking about something else once in awhile helps me see that better. Yeah. That’s what we’ll go with here.

12. Now to bed so maybe depreciation – or was that appreciation – in any case I think you add or minus from a hundred and then do that other thing – will make more sense tomorrow.

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No wonder I read the first sentence five times

Things I did today before I could study today:

Accept generous offer of girlfriend to watch the girls
Change baby's diaper and clothes
Help LBG change from fav party dress she was wearing for breakfast this morning to equally inappropriate summer-weight dress to go play at her friend's house
1-2 buckle her shoes
Undo shoes, help her change tights colors, 3-4 buckle her shoes again
Write out grocery list for Spousal
Check on current quantity of wipes and diapers for grocery list (stocked)
Honor request to inspect Daddy's braiding job of LBG. Perfect! (otherwise...nope, perfect!)
Pack their snack
Check diaper bag
Put on their coats hats mittens
Send out door!
Slice and core bell peppers to put in oven for dinner later
Switch laundry to dryer
Sort and load up new load in washing machine
Put soap in dishwasher but wait! can't start til washing machine going
Sit down to actually think

Realize too wired to concentrate; write this instead.

Phew. I think it helped.

Start dishwasher. Study.

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Great news for the blogosphere....

Holding a sleepy baby.....who is giving *me* sweet pat-pats as I type....but wanted to welcome my sister to the blogosphere with her own blog!

She is more interesting and far more knowledgeable than I on a whole range of topics that I never talk about. (I'm funnier. But then, the younger sister has to have some claim to fame, right?) She's just getting it going, but I am sure it will be great.

Here's her blog: Improve Home . . . Somethingerother : )

Please stop by if you have a chance, and say hi! Thanks.

Now, to night-night so I can hit the books again tomoorow. : )

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Ranges, townships and 1/4 sections of 1/4 sections...

Okay, here's something going on with me.

Not everything, but one little thing.

I am trying to take this New Mexico Real Estate Licensing exam. In December.

That means like, the week after next. Which means studying so much now and next week and last week.

If you (too) are a stay at home mom, with little ones, you know how hard it is to get time to yourself to think, to do something like study and learn. So I've been lining up sitters and studying while nursing and ditching the family for the guest room right after dinner.

It's a little stressful because I am also too tired (or is it too old?) to learn things the way I used to.

And I can't do it late at night, like I used to blog, because I can't think straight enough then. I mean, I have to understand how to appraise a house or calculate the principal due after four payments have been made. Not at midnight (or 2 AM), baby.

So posting may continue to be light for a bit.

Or, light-ish. We'll see.

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Thursday Thirteen Lateness

Thirteen Things about Krisco at Crib Ceiling 1. I have to go make dinner 2. My baby just asked for a snack 3. So did my three year old 4. I think that means I am late starting dinner 5. I am late with most things 6. Including both babies 7. And having them in life 8. And sending thank you notes 9. Christmas cards 10. and birthday presents 11. My entire family is the same way 12. I am sure my children will be better 13. NOW I will go start dinner Links to other Thursday Thirteens!

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!


The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

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Bush and the Holiday card flap

At the risk of offending people - and I really don't want to offend anyone - but my god this country is evenly divided and no matter what I tend to piss people off anyway (I'm a sag; we speak our mind) - our lovely president has got himself in trouble again and this time, I think it's pretty funny.

In short, he has pissed off his constituency. Again.

According to the women on The View (which I briefly got to see while awaiting Sesame Street before realizing Tivo had no data and would not be taping Elmo if we waited all day).....it seems Bush has sent out Christmas cards to one million people, all of which say: Happy Holidays.

Ha! I think that is funny!

First, if he really took advantage of the Patriot Act as he ought, he would *know* already who was a practicing Christian or not. (Maybe in a tricky move, he just doesn’t want to *reveal* that they know this already.) Surely, then, he could have sorted his card list, and sent the Merry Christmas cards to Christians, and the Happy Holiday cards to Jewish people and non-affiliates. (I'm just guessing here, but I suspect they've scrubbed any of that *other* major world religion from their lists.)

I'm being facetious, of course (or so I hope), about the Patriot Act. I'd like to think that our government does not keep a running list of our religious persuasions.

But this is the part I don't get (“second,” as it were): His fundamentalist base is up in arms about him sending out Holiday cards.

Now, here is where I get a little bit on a soap box.

Because - whaaaa? Honestly, I don't get this. Given the fact he (probably) can't divide up his list by religious preference, doesn't this make sense? Seriously. Because if you’re not Christian, and in fact don’t celebrate Christmas, why would you want a Christmas card from someone? And why would you send one to them? Sure, he celebrates Christmas. But that's not the point of sending the card, is it. The point is to wish THE OTHER PERSON something. So sending Christmas cards to non-Christians is illogical. Not to mention, rude.

(Unless, of course, they assume he sends cards only to Christians. Which would bring up a whole other set of issues.)

I mean, really. What ever happened to, oh I don’t know, Christian charity, caring and concern for others? Since when is being a Christian all about being really rude?

Sadly, I think there is something more sinister going on than outright inconsiderateness. I think it's part of this overt and no-longer-subtle attempt to make one religion - and, frankly, only one particular flavor of it - the national Official Faith.

And here is where I can really get going. Because isn't that why the Pilgrims came here to begin with - to escape the one-official-government-enforced religion thing? And isn't it patriotic and American to honor that? In fact, to CHERISH that? As, for instance, a fundamental bedrock to our American way of life? (Now read all those sentences again with a period instead of a question mark. Wait, an exclamation point! And without the initial query!)

Or is all of that important, American-way-of-life, freedom-thing irrelevant now, for some reason that wasn't revealed to the rest of us?

I don’t get it. I really don’t.

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Just the facts

Sometimes, Little Big Girl, age three, asks me questions which really let me see the world from her perspective.

Last night, it was:

LBG: Who has the magic hat?
Me: Um, the magic hat…(think think think). A witch?
LBG: Nooo….

(And by the way, they’re really not riddles, although they sound like they are. She wants to know the answer. But she’s also working on it while I think about it too. She sits at the table, eating, her face concentrated on the question.)

Me: Um, a magician! A magician has a magic hat.
LBG: Nooooo.
Me: Greg. Greg from the Wiggles. When *he * does his magic tricks, he uses a magic hat.
LBG: No.
Me: Honey, I don’t know. I'm sorry.

And, really, at that point, I didn’t know. I was out of ideas. And dinner continued.

A few minutes later, a pros pro of nothing, Little Big Girls says: I know! I know!
Me: You do?
LBG: Frosty!
Me; Ah. You are right! Frosty. Frosty has a magic hat.

Now, how she knows this I have no idea. We have never seen the show with her, we have never sung the song to her. But obviously, somewhere – she either saw an ad, or another child or someone else sang the song around her. But it really got her thinking. Frosty. Whoever he is, he has a magic hat.

And then, a few minutes later, she says: Who is the boy who doesn’t have a mommy, who loses his feet and goes flying through the air?

Ooh boy. Who knows.

Me: Um…that little boy at the beginning of Sesame Street? The one who turns into a butterfly? (We count the initial PBS promo and McDonald’s and other PBS-support ads as the beginning of Sesame Street.)
LBG: No.

Me: Um….I know! Peter Pan! (We’ve been reading it.) He doesn’t have a mommy, and he loses his shadow, which is almost like losing his feet. And he flys!
LBG: No.

Hm. This one I still don’t know. But someday, I am sure, she will remember, or we will otherwise stumble across it. Some character, somewhere, is a little boy who loses his feet and doesn't have a mommy and then flys away.

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A total non sequitor

When I lived in LA, for awhile I worked at a large law firm in Century City. For those not familiar with those surrounds – it’s like a downtown on the west side; we were in a large skyscraper on Avenue of the Stars. The firm had ten or fifteen or more of the upper floors.

And in the parking garage, there worked a whole group of guys from the same foreign country. And I am shagrined to admit that, after this many years, I don’t remember which. I used to know. Paraguay? Chile? I don’t know. But they spoke Spanish, they were young and hussling (in the sense of working hard), and seemed to me to all be relatively good looking. And without fail, every young, old and even moderately attractive woman who came into the parking garage, they flirted with relentlessly.

Ultimately, they were nice and kind and harmless and helpful. I had an easy repoir with them; eventually the flirting with me mellowed out. But I still got to see them in action and really, they were just outrageous flirts. Every one of them.

I guess there must have been valet parking in that garage, because I can’t think what else they were all doing, hussling around down there. I am sure at my rank at the firm I was just parking on my own, and saying hi as I walked by.

One day, in the elevator in front of me, was a woman dressed to the nines. I mean, high heels, short skirt, hotty shirt, designer purse. The full makeup and do. She was still somewhat dressy looking – not all trashy although I know it sounds that way – and she was standing right in front of me. I remember thinking, oh man. Those guys down there are going to *love* this. They will eat this up. It will take her an HOUR to get her car.

And oddly, it wasn’t like that all. The men were efficient and professional. They scurried about, taking the parking stub, getting her keys, getting her car. No one even made eye contact with her. I thought, huh. This is so weird. This is not like these guys at all.

I had a moment to take all this in – she was in front of me and got to the parking garage first – before turning to make my way through the garage to my own car. Before I got far one of the younger parking attendants sidled up to me. “Hey” he said. “Yeah” I said. And he nodded to the beautiful woman. “That’s a man.”


(And I have to say, yes – that was my first (known) encounter with a transvestite. And I must say, to this day, she was beautiful. They should have flirted with her anyway. I had time to look back. And, hm. Okay. From behind, even though she was thin, and even though her legs were together at her thighs, at the heels, they still weren’t together. A sure sign of a man. I think the parking attendant guy may even have pointed that out to me. Once he said it, and I looked back – he was right. I just never would have guessed.)

(I was also younger and had seen a lot less in my day by then.)

Oddly, I was at the grocery store today, and something reminded me of that story. And no, it was not a transvestite. But I sure don't know what it was.

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The Light Parade

There are a few things I really do like about a small town. One is the way in which residents will do things to entertain themselves.

For instance, the Light Parade. (The one we didn’t go to this year. As a girlfriend of mine pointed out – You better go! It’s the only thing we’ll have! All season!) (Unless you count Santa at the Hallmark pre-Tday, which we went to, or Santa at the local department store recently, which we skipped. How many Santa’s helpers can you see in one year?)

But I remember it well from last year, my first Light Parade: as many participants as observers; cars and trucks from various businesses strung with Christmas lights rolling slowly along the parade route (four blocks long?); kids following and dancing behind; participants dressed warmly and in red; the high school band and a local grown-ups fun band providing the music….Sincerely, it is endearing.

It was also SO cold last year (as it would have been this year had we had gone.) The Parade doesn’t last too long. (Don’t be late! You’ll miss it!) It’s right there on the downtown main street (Central) in front of Ashley Pond – named, non-ironically, for someone named Ashley Pond – the same pond which the original Lab buildings used to surround back in the day. (You know, the Lab where they created the atom bomb. Lots of jokes about why that pond is strictly non-swimming….)

Then everyone waits around fifteen minutes or so. Long enough in the brisk wind, with little ones, that you wonder if maybe you should just go home. And then, everyone starts counting down, and they turn the lights on around the pond, lights strung through all the trees surrounding the pond. It really is pretty. And for Little Big Girl, who was really little then – just two and a half – quite exciting. She actually talked about the Light Parade and the Lighting Ceremony now and again this whole year.

Making it more surprising that she chose wearing a skirt over going. Of course, she is three.

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A completely logical conversation

On Saturday evening, the following conversation took place:

Spousal, to Little Big Girl: Honey, do you want to go to the Light Parade?
Little Big Girl (in complete three-year old enthusiasm): YEEES!!!!
S: Okay, let’s get ready to go.
LBG (in sweet sing-song voice): Ooo-ka-ye

(LBG was wearing a classic LBG outfit: flouncy skirted dress,and tights)

S: Okay, we need to put some pants on you.
LBG (in terror): NOOOOOOOO!!!!!
S: But honey, it’s cold outside.

(It was bitter cold with a biting wind.)

LBG: No! No it isn’t!
S: Well, honey, yes it is. Don’t you want to go to the Light Parade?
LBG: Yes!
S: Okay, let’s get ready to go.
LBG: Okay.
S: I’ll get your pants.
LBG: NOOOOOO!!

Repeat three times. In the end don't go. It was pretty darn cold and not really worth the pants-hassle that would ensue.

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An a-ha moment

I finally figured it out.

I was so depresseed after coming back from California. I thought for sure it would be a million times worse leaving Hawaii, but it wasn't bad at all.

And the difference is - Hawaii was a vacation. California was a glimpse of another life I chose not to have.

I have been back before, of course, since moving away. But maybe not for awhile. And not since I have gotten really dug in where I am - husband, children, small town. I guess, before, I could always go back.

But now I see what it is like thirteen years later. My friends all have lives there; not the sort of temporal, early twenties, winging-it thing that we had when I left. But real jobs. And real homes. Real families. They have made a life.

And I have made a life, too. Just a very different life than the one (whichever one) I would have had if I had stayed.

And I guess that really bothered me.

I mean, I was so down and miserable those two weeks between the two trips. (And what right did I have with two trips anyway? Sheesh.) But I was just dragging myself through.

A friend of mine I saw at the reunion - completely single, in entertainment, gay - said to me: It's never too late K. I had mentioned to him how beautiful it was, and how I missed a lot of things about southern California. Why don't you come back? he asked. It's too late, I said. It's never too late. Hm. Maybe. Maybe when you're completely single. Child free. Not esconced in someone else's career and life. Not responsible for a decent education, life, and security for two small children.

Am I a big baby? Completely neurotic? Alone in thinking about all the might-have-beens?

At least it didn't get worse when I came back from Hawaii.

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Great news

ALL my favorite blogs have updates! Woohoo, I'm in nirvana!

Oh wait. I just haven't read any in two weeks.

But still! It's so fun getting caught up! Yea!!

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We're baaaaaaacck.

Two weeks away and it seems like a lifetime.

It was incredibly relaxing; the weather was warm and beautiful; the kids all got along great. The grandparents had a great time with their keikis.

The Baby thought she could do everything the big kids could do, even crawling over the chair laid sideways at the top of the stairs, the additional baby guard, for her. It took her the full two weeks of surreptitiously working on it, until some adult or other would stop her, but eventually she could scale the thing like it wasn’t even there.

Little Big Girl made her first, three-year old attempt at snorkeling. Sadly, right as Daddy suggested she put her face in the water with her mask and snorkel on, the little wave went out, and she got a very closeup view of the sand. She was just lying flat out on the beach, face down with the mask on, in the sand. She still stood up and pronounced it great (and so easy to breathe!), and it was incredibly cute.

I relished in being responsible only for beach-vacation type things. Making sandwiches for the day (wait, I delegated that to Spousal), packing the beach bags, bathing the girls, making rice once in awhile when my brother-in-law grilled fresh fish. I still somehow managed not to get some sushi while there, my all-time favorite meal (well, one of them) but that was the only mar on an otherwise blissful time off. Oh yes, also there was snorkeling and scuba involved. (So I saw some of those fishies; that’s almost like having sushi, right? Can I pretend that?)

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